Shatter Page 8

  As I watch the men maneuver my dad onto the gurney. They manipulate a plastic mask and fasten it over his mouth then put a cervical collar around his neck.

  “Is he breathing? Did you find a pulse?” I ask

  “His breathing is shallow, and he has a very weak pulse.”

  I can barely make myself ask the words, “Is he going to be ok?”

  “I can’t answer that, Miss. That’s a question for the emergency room doctors.”

  “He’ll be fine. He’s my dad. He’s lived through hell and come out the other side fine. He’ll get through this,” I say, trying to convince myself.

  The paramedic just nods and continues working with Dad.

  * * *

  At the hospital, I jump out of the ambulance and the paramedics quickly wheel Dad in through the Emergency ward doors. I stand and watch as nurses and doctors buzz around the gurney like bees to a hive. It seems so surreal, seeing him so vulnerable and helpless. My brain tells me that any minute, he’s going to sit up, pull the mask off his face and tell everyone to piss off. Helpless, I watch as they hook him up to wires, machines and IV. Next, they wheel him in through a set of doors marked trauma and a nurse walks over to me, “Your father is in serious trouble and we’re trying to save his life.” She puts her hand on my shoulder, “There are really good doctors with him and I’m sure they will do everything they can to help him.” She smiles sympathetically.

  This can’t be happening. How can I have been out to dinner with him last night and now, he’s fighting for his life? Like a robot, I turn around and walk to the nearest seat. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. Sliding it out, I see Katie is calling.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey sexy, where are you?” She says, upbeat and happy.

  “In hell.”

  “What? Jules? What do you mean?” She says, instantly concerned.

  I tell her how after she dropped me off, I found Dad in the apartment unconscious. No sooner do the words leave my lips, than she tells me that she’s on her way. A few minutes later, I see a doctor coming out of the Trauma doors and walking towards me. I take a deep breath and stand, terrified of what he will say.

  “How is my father?”

  “We won’t know anything until the scans are done. For now, we’ve had to put him in a medically induced coma.”

  “What? Why did you do that?” I say, panicking.

  “Because he’s suffered significant head trauma and we need to reduce the swelling in his brain.” I have no idea what to say. All I can do is stare at him.

  “Can I see him?”

  “No. I’m sorry. Not yet. We’re trying to perform scans and x-rays on him and you’d just be in the way. The paramedics took your number and we have it on file. We won’t know anything for a number of hours. If I were you, I’d go home and get some rest. We’ll call you as soon as we know anything.”

  Go home? I’d go mad if I went home. All I’d be doing is worrying and pacing the floor.

  The doctor leaves so I go back to sitting. After about fifteen minutes, I hear my name and turn around. Katie is running up to me, panting and looking flushed. She doesn’t say anything, she just runs straight up to me and wraps her arms around me. “I’m so sorry, Jules. How the hell did this happen?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “He was fine when we left him at the apartment last night,” says Katie.

  “By the dried blood all over him and the rusty colored droplets in the hallway at the apartment. iIt must have happened sometime last night.”

  We sit and Katie puts her arm around my neck. “Jules, why don’t we go to my apartment and I’ll make you some tea? You’re no use to your dad if you’re exhausted and stressed out. I’m sure they’ll call you when they know something. Then, I’ll drive you back here right away, ok?”

  She’s right. I’m useless to Dad just sitting here. What I really want to do is go to the bottle depot and speak to Jim. Last night, Dad said that he was going to go for a coffee with him. I need to find out if they did go out and what happened?

  “Ok. I’ll come with you but I need to make a quick stop on the way.”

  “Whatever you want, Jules.”

  It’s 4 PM and an hour before the bottle depot closes. Katie lets me out in front of the depot and parks the car while I go into the small, paint peeled building. When I walk in, I see a large room with a wet cement floor. There are sorting tables with different colored trays on them and a small white door to the side that says Office on it. It’s hard to picture my father working in this cold place, hours at a time standing on his feet. My bones feel sore even thinking about it. Just as I approach the office, a tall thin man with frizzy black hair walks out and shuts the door behind him.

  “I’m looking for Jim,” I say.

  “And who are you?” he says.

  “John Gordon’s daughter.”

  The guy nods. “Well, Jim up and quit this morning and your dad didn’t even bother to show up at all.”

  “It’s a little hard to show up when you’re in critical condition in the hospital.”

  The guys eyes widen, “Oh, wow. That’s terrible. I’m so sorry. Is he gonna be ok?”

  “Can’t tell yet.”

  “So why you lookin’ for Jim?”

  “He was supposed to meet my dad last night and go for coffee. I came here to see if he did meet with my father and what happened?”

  The guy nods. “Well, he’s not here. I’m sorry.”

  Katie walks in and up to where the guy and I are talking. I tell her that Jim quit this morning.

  She steps closely up to the guy and puts her hands on her hips, “Where does Jim live?”

  The man’s eyes widen, “Why the hell would I tell you that?”

  “Because I’m sure your boss doesn’t want a flock of cops down here asking questions and taking up your time. Just think of the money you’ll be losing.”

  He stands and looks at her with his mouth open. “Who the hell are you?” he asks.

  “Just a girl that works at the police station.”

  “Stay here, he says, sounding pissed off, and then walks into the office.”

  “Wow, girl. That was awesome.” I say.

  A few minutes later, the guy walks back out with a sheet of paper, “Here, this is the address he gave us on his application. Don’t know if it’ll do ya any good. Guys like him tend to bullshit a lot about where they live.”

  “What do you mean, ‘Guys like him’?” I ask.

  “Crackheads.”

  “What? He’s a crackhead?” I say surprised.

  Katie takes the paper out of the guys hand and then nudges me to leave.

  Outside, I stop beside the car and look at her, “What the hell would my dad be doing making plans with a crackhead? He knows that he’ll breech his parole if he’s caught with any druggies or criminals. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know?”

  “If Jim is a crackhead, my dad knew. Addicts can spot each other from miles away.”

  We get into the car and Katie hands me the paper. Jim Mayhew is written in blue ink with an address on East Hastings Street.

  Katie leans over and reads the paper, “Do you want to go there?”

  “Are you sure? I mean, shouldn’t you be at work?”

  “This is more important. Besides, maybe I’ll be useful to you,” she smiles.

  “You’re proving to be so far,” I say, putting my hand on her leg.

  After weaving in and out of rush hour traffic, we arrive at the address, a run-down shit hole of an apartment with a discarded stained mattress and bags of garbage on the front lawn.

  “Lovely. When we’re leaving here, remind me to see if they have any vacancies,” I say sarcastically.

  Chapter Nine

  There are no security measures at the door. We walk in and continue down a long narrow hallway. When we come to apartment number 14, I rap hard on the door. Hearing no response, I knock twice as hard a second time
. We hear a rustling sound from behind the door. I’m just about to knock again when the door unexpectantly swings open and startles us.

  A man about fifty wearing stained pajama bottoms and a white tank top stands angrily in front of us. His hair is sticking up in all directions and his eyes are sleepy and red. “Jim, I presume?” I say.

  “So what of it?” He answers grumpily.

  “Sorry to bother you. Were you sleeping?”

  “Or partying?” adds Katie.

  He looks at me and then shoots Katie a resentful glare. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” I say, trying to keep him calm so I can ask him about Dad.

  “Who are you and why are you here?”

  “I’m John Gordon’s daughter. My dad is in critical condition in the hospital and he mentioned he was going to meet with you last night.”

  Suddenly, his demeanor changes from defensive to paranoid. “Look, I - whatever happened to your dad had nothing to do with me. As soon as shit started to fly, I left the apartment.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Last night. I met with your dad. We went for coffee and then back to his place. Not long after we were there, the intercom buzzed and John let a couple of guys in. John and them got into an argument. Before I knew it, your dad was swinging punches and yelling at the guys. Soon, all three of them were brawling. I got the hell out of there. I’m on probation and don’t need to be around any heat.”

  “So, you just left my father to get the shit kicked out of him? You’re a coward!”

  “Fuck you, bitch.” He says before slamming the door.

  “Come back out here. We’re not finished asking you questions,” says Katie.

  Jim hollers from behind the door, “I’m not telling you anything else. If you wanna know more, why don’t you take a trip to Blood Alley and ask your dad’s pal, Slinky?” He laughs.

  “Pleasant fellow,” says Katie, looking over at me.

  I can’t believe he mentioned Slinky. Why the hell would Slinky know anything about what happened to my dad?

  * * *

  Katie and I leave the building and head downtown. It’s nighttime. Alley ways we drive past are dark and dangerous. It’s best to wait until morning to try and locate Slinky. We decide to go to her place so I can call the hospital and find out if there are any changes with Dad.

  As soon as we walk into her apartment, my cell rings.

  “May I speak to Jules Gordon?”

  “Speaking.”

  “My name is Doctor Peters. I’m one of the doctor’s in ICU that have been treating your father.” His voice is cold and official.

  Catching me off guard, I hold my breath. What if he’s calling to tell me that Dad didn’t make it? He would’ve been all alone. Oh God, please don’t let that be what happened. I couldn’t bear it. I feel my heartrate elevate and pulsate in my throat.

  “How is he?” I say, terrified of his answer.

  “He’s had trauma to the back of the head. The x-rays and scans show multiple fractures. Whoever hit him, must have used something heavy and blunt.”

  “So, someone hit him in the head with something? He couldn’t have sustained his injury by falling during a fight?” I say, surprised.

  “No, not with his injuries.”

  “So, what now? Will he make it? Is he going to be ok?” I say, panicked.

  “We won’t know the extent of the damage to his brain until he is awake. Hopefully he will come out of this fine but only time will tell.”

  “How long before he wakes up?”

  “In a few days we will introduce medication that will slowly bring him out of the induced coma. Shortly thereafter, he should start to come out of it.”

  “So, overall, this is good news?”

  “Yes. It could have been a lot worse, especially considering his pre-existing condition.”

  I sigh a huge breath of relief and tears fall from my eyes. Katie sits beside me.

  “Thank you so much, Doctor. God bless you. Please thank the rest of the… wait. Did you say, ‘pre-existing’ condition?”

  “Yes. I did. I presume you are aware of your dad’s diagnosis prior to this incident?”

  “What condition? He doesn’t have any condition. He would’ve told me if he was sick.”

  “I’m sorry, Jules. I assumed he would have already told his family.”

  “Told his family what?” I say, starting to panic again.

  “On his chart, it says that while he was incarcerated, he saw a neurologist who, after testing, determined that your father has an Astrocytoma tumor.”

  “There must be some mistake. My dad doesn’t have anything like that. Someone has made a huge mistake.” I say, unable to breathe deeply.

  “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this,” the doctor says, humbly.

  I’m back to feeling scared and as helpless as I was when the ambulance took my father away this morning. “Providing he comes out of the coma ok, what’s the prognosis on this Astro…whatever you called it?”

  “Unfortunately, his tumor was found late and had already reached stage four before it was detected. It’s hard to say how long any patient will live with this condition, but in my experience, it usually isn’t long.”

  I hang up without being sure if I said goodbye. Immediately, Katie asks what’s wrong? I shake my head, “All I know is, I’m living a nightmare.”

  I can’t stop crying as I try to tell her what the doctor said. Not knowing how to respond, she goes quiet.

  “I can’t do this, Katie. I know I can’t. It’s too painful. I feel like I’m on an emotional roller coaster through hell and all I want to do is jump off.”

  She starts to cry and holds my hand. “This is the worst news ever. Even if he gets through this head injury, he still has an uphill battle to fight. I am so sorry, Jules. My heart is breaking for you.”

  “I just don’t understand why he didn’t tell me he was ill? And how could I not have picked up on it? He’s never shown signs of being sick or in pain. Unless he has and I just wasn’t paying close enough attention?” I put my face in my hands and sob.

  Rubbing my back, she says, “None of this is your fault. How could you have possibly known he was ill? He chose not to tell you, that’s completely out of your control. Don’t feel guilty. As for why he kept it from you? Maybe he was just trying to protect you or, maybe he wants what little time he has left to be spent bonding with you instead of making you sad?”

  “Do you think that doctor could be mistaken? Maybe he read the wrong guy’s file? That happens, doesn’t it?”

  She looks at me sympathetically and shakes her head, “What do you want to do now, Jules?”

  “The only thing I ever do when things become too hard to deal with, I run away. But I can’t. Not this time. No matter what he’s going through, my place is by his side.”

  We sit and cry for an hour or so before I get up and go to the washroom to wash my face. After a few deep breaths, I compose myself and walk back into the front room. I ask Katie if she would give me a ride back to the hospital? Without hesitating, she grabs her keys and we head out.

  * * *

  Once in the hospital, we ask the lady sitting at the information desk to direct us to ICU. She points to a bank of elevators and tells us to go to the fourth floor.

  As soon as we arrive on the ward, my palms start to sweat and I can feel a lump growing in my throat. I don’t want to go into his room but I have to, he’s my dad. Katie senses my apprehension and grabs my hand as we walk up to a large desk. I tell a nurse my father’s name and she leads us to a near by room with a large window.

  I don’t recognize the person lying in the bed in front of us. I only see a body with an oxygen mask over the face, a bandaged head with black swollen eyes and wires and tubes attached to each arm. The nurse, fidgets with a beeping machine beside him and then tells us that we can’t stay long. She heads out of the room and quietly closes the door behin
d her. Katie lets go of my hand and I slowly walk to the bed. I reach out to touch his thin arm and recognize the tattoo by his thumb, Fn99. After all the years he spent in prison and now this. My heart sinks. Silent tears fall from my eyes and land on the sheet beside his hand. I whisper, “Daddy, it’s me, Julia. I’m here and I love you. Please don’t go away. You’ve got to get well and stay with me. Now that we have each other, I can’t lose you again.”

  A part of me feels protective and doesn’t want Katie to see him in this condition. “You know, when I was a kid, my dad would lift me on one arm and my sister on the other at the same time. We thought he was like Hercules.” I say.

  “I can see that,” she says, trying to make me feel better.

  Next, I tell her that Dad used to work part time for a moving company and how one day his boss came over for dinner and told us that my father was the strongest employee he ever had. He said that Dad would lift a couch all by himself and balance it on his back then walk up a ramp and set it down in the moving van.

  I hear the words as they leave my lips. It was a long time ago that Dad was strong. Even before he was here in the hospital, he looked weak and frail, not the powerful man I once knew. The stress of losing my mother and then Abby must have really kicked the shit out of him both mentally and physically. Not to mention all the years he was locked in prison: a cement jungle full of wild animals. Life was hell for him. More tears fall and I wipe my eyes on my sleeve. I should have visited him in jail, but I just couldn’t. I was always torn inside with questions of, did he kill my mother, or was he really innocent as he claimed? Another reason I didn’t want to see him was because of Abby.

  I knew that if I saw him, I would see my little sister in him and back then, I just couldn’t live through that pain. Still, I should’ve at least called or written him more often. Other than the odd Christmas or birthday card my grandmother made me sign to my father, he never heard from me. I’m ashamed of myself for not being stronger and keeping in touch with him. I hope he doesn’t think that I don’t love or care about him because I stayed away. I wish he was awake and I could hug him and tell him that I’m sorry and how much he means to me.