Page 1 of Digging Deeper

1

Hendrix

“Sir, we’re going to need you to step outside,” my partner says. It’s obvious he’s losing patience with this situation fast. We have been out here several times in the last few months though, so I can’t blame him. This dude is a total tool.

“Or what?” the man asks, sticking his chest out at Jameson and me. “This is my house and I ain’t done nothing wrong.”

“Sir, there was a 9-1-1 call placed by one of your neighbors. They said they heard a man and woman yelling and noises like things getting tossed around. After the previous calls lately, we need to at least check in with your wife,” Jameson says.

The man sneaks one look behind himself, before turning back with an insincere smile. “Officers, look, my neighbors are being dramatic. Couples fight sometimes. There’s nothing to be worried about here. I’m sorry they wasted your time.”

Okay, so that’s how it’s going to be. “Sir, we need to see your wife and hear from her own mouth that everything is fine,” I growl, speaking up for the first time.

“Fine,” he spits, spittle shooting out of his mouth. “Georgia, give the police officers a holler so they know you’re okay.”

“No, I’m not okay, you son of a bitch,” comes the scathing reply as a woman hurries toward the door with a swollen eye. He puts his arms up on either side of the door, grabbing the frame and trying to bar her from getting to us.

“Ma’am, what are your injuries?” Jameson asks as he tries to peer around this asshole who’s taken at least one shot at his wife.

“It ain’t no concern of yours,” the man says, the volume of his words coming up.

“He’s beating me. He’s crazy. I want out of this house right now, officers,” the woman yells from behind him.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to step out of your house,” I say.

Then all hell breaks loose as he lunges at me. My attempt to remain steady goes unanswered when my foot slides off the back of the porch sending us both careening out into the yard. My arms encircle him, but the impact of the hit onto my back with him on top of me knocks the breath out of my lungs for an instant, giving him enough time to scramble to his feet and run for the middle of his yard. As I’m hauling myself to my feet, I hear Jameson yell, “Ma’am, stay inside.”

I faintly hear her screaming, “Don’t hurt my husband,” but I’m too focused on the husband who who is in the middle of the yard hollering obscenities and threats of suing as he backs toward our squad car. Jameson and I exchange a glance, always in sync with each other. Instead of making a direct line to the man, I circle around to the right as Jameson comes off the porch to go to the left. There’s no way we’re letting this guy get away from us. As we both take off at a full sprint toward him, the man scampers in the middle, back toward the house, before turning and pulling a gun out of the back of his jeans. What the fuck?

We’ve never even had to take one of them in before. It’s always been noise complaints and worried calls from neighbors, but this is the first time there’s been signs of abuse, so for him to have a gun is an escalation we weren’t prepared for. “Jameson, get behind the car,” I yell as the man swings the gun around, not pointing at any clear target. The minute I call out to my partner, the gunman focuses in on him and shoots, hitting him right between the eyes. “Jameson!” I scream.

Sitting straight up, sweat pouring down my face, my whole bed damp with it, I shake myself awake. It’s another nightmare, just a bad dream. The man didn’t shoot my partner. We’re both okay. We’re alive. Needing nothing more than to take a piss and get some water, I sit up and swing… no, I can’t swing my legs off the bed, and the memory of the night comes back. Jameson didn’t get shot. The last thing I really remember was the man waving the gun around and then pain. Brain-melting, suffocating pain. I can’t walk; I may never walk again. Slumping back into my bed, I ignore the need to quench my thirst and stare up into the darkness.

One call—a routine call—a house we’d been to many times before and my life will never be the same. The nightmare changes every night, how it plays out is never the same, but I can’t go back to sleep. Not now, not in the dark. The phantom pain chases me, the one in my head and the one in my lower body, and I struggle to catch my breath—praying for morning to come...

“Just leave me alone. How many times do I have to tell you I’m not hungry?” I ask the CNA from where my head is buried under the pillow. I hate when this particular young lady is on duty because she hovers until I have to scream at her to go away. Then I feel like a jerk when she gets upset, but damn, how many times do we have to do this?

“Look, Officer Weston,” she starts.

“Don’t call me that.” Yanking the pillow off my face down to my chest, I sneer at her. “No one knows if I’ll ever walk again, so saying that only pisses me off. If it’s supposed to make me push harder, be more optimistic, piss rainbows and sunshine, well… it doesn’t. Take that happy crap out of here.”

She blinks slowly as she wilts in front of me, shoulders hunching. “Okay, Hendrix. It’s my job to get you to eat and—”

I interrupt, “Part of your job is to make sure the patients eat?”

“No,” she says, eyeing me warily. “Part of my job has become making sure thatyouspecifically eat. You need your strength and—”

I wave her off before she can say more. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ve been hearing the same lecture every morning. And I’m telling you I’m not hungry. Can you please… can you please leave me alone now? I’m tired.” Then I roll over, dismissing her. It’s not that I don’t know I’m being rude, well, I’m being a total dick, but I can’t help it. I squeeze my eyes shut and reach back out for sleep...

“Dude! How can you still be asleep? It’s after noon already,” I hear my brother Holden say, startling me awake.

Fighting the brain fog, I blink several times trying to adjust to the sunlight flooding my room. “Why are my blinds open?” I ask, my voice coming out rough after my morning nap.

“I opened them because it’s after noon. They told me you refused to eat breakfast and couldn’t even get you to wake up for lunch. What’s going on, Drix? You missed your scheduled workout this morning. Do you want them to send you home?” he trailed off.

His voice sounds so sad I don’t even want to face him, but I promised his boyfriend, my best friend and work partner Jameson, that I would do better with my twin. He had moved away for college when we were eighteen, and I’d been disappointed when he didn’t come back a couple of years ago after becoming a veterinarian, but instead, chose to stay in the town he’d gone to college. It was only five or six hours away, depending on traffic, but we both had lives and didn’t see each other often. After our parents died our senior year in a car accident, I’d always assumed it would end up being us against the world, but for years we’d led separate lives. Now, after me getting shot on the job during a domestic dispute, he had moved back home for good. I’m happy he’s home, and even happier that while I was in a coma for over a month, him and Jameson had made a love connection and moved in together last week, but… “I’m sorry, Holds. I just woke up and I’m really tired and couldn’t make myself motivate.”

“What’s wrong?” His face transforms from angry at me to one of concern. “Is there something going on you’re not telling me?”

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