The Innocents by Riley LaShea

Author:Riley LaShea [LaShea, Riley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riley LaShea
Published: 2015-01-14T03:00:00+00:00

He woke to a gurgle, a revolting sound, like someone gasping for air from the underbelly of a swamp. It took Garcia some time to recognize the sound came from him.

Steady beep drumming against his brain making it difficult to form thought, a sticky trail formed between his lips as he worked them apart, and his eyes took even more effort to open.

Room, bathed in dull brown, at last blinking into view, he could feel the wires winding, like serpents, around his arms, and, for a second, Garcia panicked, unable to tell if the needles shoved into his veins were for there for maintenance or incapacitation.

“So, you did wake up.” Recognizing the voice, Garcia wasn’t sure if it was friend or foe, but his inclination to flee still petered back into fatigue. Feeling Fiona approach from the dark periphery, he was too tired to turn his head to look at her. “They didn’t know if you would.”

“You shouldn’t have brought me here,” he said.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Fiona returned, and, though he would never admit it, Garcia was amazed to still find her there. And somewhat grateful. If he had woken alone, he imagined it would have taken considerably longer to determine whether he was patient or prisoner.

“What did you tell them?”

“Relax,” Fiona said. “They think I’m your sister and you were in a fight.”

“With who?” Garcia questioned.

“With me.” He could hear the pleased lilt to her voice. “They had no trouble believing I kicked the shite out of you.”

Accepting that, given the circumstances, it was the best thing the hospital staff could be told to think, Garcia didn’t complain. Pillow feeling unsupportive beneath his head, he tried to lift his arms instead, finding himself an experiment in robotics with wires attached from shoulders to fingertips.

“Here. Let me do it.” Fiona sounded more irritated than concerned, but, with no other offers of help, Garcia gave into her assistance.

“How long have I been here?” he asked once she made him almost comfortable in the firm bed. Those last few moments in the outside world embedded like a needling chorus in his brain, he was too aware of how it ended, what he failed to do, of the work that still needed done.

“Like thirty-six hours,” Fiona answered.

“Did you call Rasputin?” Garcia asked.

“Garcia,” Fiona uttered. “You almost died.”

“For a reason.” Garcia groaned at the unexpected bolt of pain as he tried to shift to a position that felt less vulnerable. “Call him,” he gasped, ending up back where he started.

“For what?” Fiona asked.

“Tell him what happened,” Garcia said. “See if he knows what to do.”

“You just had major surgery,” Fiona returned. “What you need to do is rest.”

“I’ll rest when it’s done,” Garcia declared. “Call him.” Demand hanging between them for a moment in which Fiona made no move to do anything, Garcia, at last, acknowledged he was in no position to be making demands. “Please,” he added, and the trace of humility evidently all she was waiting for, Fiona pulled her phone from her pocket.

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