Page 24 of Shield
I thanked her, and she took the opportunity to grab coffees. I sat in the other chair, the monitors beeping a steady, reassuring rhythm.
His eyes flickered open, and he stared at the ceiling.
“Hey, Joe,” I said as I stood and tried not to loom and overwhelm him.
His eyes fluttered closed, and then open, and a weak, but genuine, smile spread across his face. “Oliver… you came.”
“Wouldn’t be anywhere else,” I assured him, pulling the chair closer to the bed. His sister came back at that moment and shut the door behind her.
“Brought you a coffee,” she said to me and handed it over, along with a handful of creamers and sugar. “Not that the sugar will help. The coffee is rank.”
“Thank you. Joe’s awake.”
Her wry smile over the coffee softened, and she pressed a kiss to her brother’s head. “Hey, big bro,” she whispered.
He caught her hand. “Gemma…” he began, then blinked at me, and back at her.
“It’s okay. Oliver’s here.”
Joe’s gaze was unfocused, his words slurred. “Cops… here… questions,” he mumbled, struggling to piece the sentence together. “I got retro—ret—gr—nesia?—”
“Retrograde amnesia,” his sister interjected smoothly when Joe tripped over the words. “He doesn’t remember a thing after getting a drink and sitting at his desk.” She paused a moment, then swallowed. “They say he might not get those memories back, but it’s common with head injuries.”
I could see the frustration clouding Joe’s eyes and the corresponding fear in Gemma’s.
“Yeah, retro… retrograde,” Joe attempted again, the effort furrowing his brow.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Gemma soothed, placing a reassuring hand on his. “You just focus on getting better. I’ll talk to Oliver.”
“M’okay,” Joe whispered and closed his eyes again.
“Doc said it was like trying to watch a TV with a bad signal. The pictures might be there, but they’d be flickering, out of focus and out of reach. I’m not sure I want him to recall a damn thing.”
The worry lines around Gemma’s eyes spoke of sleepless nights and fear. She leaned forward, her voice hushed as if the walls themselves might be eavesdropping.
“I get that,” I commiserated. I didn’t want to remember the attack, and all I’d done was observe the aftermath.
“Can you tell me what happened?” she asked, her gaze fixed on me.
I took a deep breath, recalling the event as best I could. “I remember walking into Joe’s office with the intention to cheer him up,” I began, my gaze flickering to Joe, who seemed to be following along as best as he could. “He was at his desk, and… that’s when I saw the gunman.”
Gemma leaned in closer, her hand gripping Joe’s. “And what happened then?”
“Umm, he was panicked, erratic. He’d hit Joe here.” I touched my temple. “And he had a gun pointed at Joe, and I froze, not wanting to provoke him. I knew I needed to talk him down, to de-escalate the situation,” I explained, the scene replaying behind my eyes like a film I couldn’t pause.
“And then?” Her voice was steady, but her eyes brimmed with unshed tears.
“I didn’t get a chance to stop it. He turned the gun on me, but all I had in my hands were coffee and files. I couldn’t… I couldn’t do anything,” I admitted, the helplessness of the moment washing over me once more. “Before I could even think, the man took off. I went straight to Joe before he fell to the ground. Called 911 immediately after,” I finished, feeling a shiver despite the room’s warmth. I left out the attacker’s threat, and finding Heloise locked in the janitor’s closet—I’m not sure she needed to hear the nitty-gritty.
Gemma’s eyes were bright, and her shoulders slumped. “Thank you for being there with him,” she whispered, squeezing her brother’s hand.
I offered a small, reassuring smile, wishing there was more I could have done, more I could do now. “I just wish I knew the attacker, or something that could help catch whoever did this to Joe.”
“The detectives keep asking him about a photo on the wall, but he’s confused. I’m not stupid, and I looked the detectives up; they work organized crime. I don’t understand. Joe would never have anything to do with that.”
By the time I left, Joe had woken a couple of times, and we’d even joked about the color of Lazlo’s hair, which was a running theme.
It felt almost normal.
