this.” Jim stood and clasped the doctor's hand again while Jessie did her best to pull her scattered emotions together.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Sheridan.'
CHAPTER TWELVE
'Morning, Tina. How's he doing?' Matthew Jenkins greeted the nurse as he breezed into his patient's room.
Since he had admitted Mark Taylor three days ago, the papers had been full of stories on the man and Matt was fascinated, but also worried for his patient. Not just for his physical condition, but for his mental state as well. It had been almost a blessing that Taylor had required sedation due to the breathing tube. Matthew hoped that by the time Mark was alert enough to be aware of the media circus that things would have calmed down.
At first, the stories in the news had been full of wonder, but now the press was beginning to turn against the guy. Some radio personalities wondered if Taylor had arranged the whole thing, pointing to his visit to the Medea girl and the job interview as evidence. The rumors had fired up the airwaves with debate. Matt felt guilty, but he found himself tuning in every chance he got, which, with Chicago's traffic, meant at least an hour every day during his commute. Most of the callers had silly conspiracy theories, but occasionally, a caller would get through who would tell a story of Taylor doing some good deed for him or her. Matt was sure that not all of them actually had a tale to tell, but some of the stories rang true.
One in particular stood out because the caller claimed it had happened only the day before the incident. That man spoke of Taylor catching the man's child and then having lunch with the caller's family. The man insisted that he'd called the radio station to defend Taylor more than to relate any heroic deeds and seemed reluctant to give too many details, but he did mention that Taylor had hit the back of his head against the pavement. That interesting detail matched a bruise Matt had found on the back of Mark's head. It had the characteristics of an older bruise, with yellowing at the edges. The one beside it was obviously new and the injury that had required stitches a few days prior had been to the right side of the head.
In fact, the reason that Matt had remembered the bruise at all was because when he'd initially seen it, he wondered about possible complications to having three head injuries in such a close period of time. It was fortunate for Taylor that he'd had no brain swelling or bleeding.
Matt supposed that there were some crackpots out there who might go to such extremes to garner attention, but after speaking to the people who actually knew Mark Taylor, he found it hard to believe the speculation that the whole thing had been staged.
Cards, letters and flowers had poured into the hospital for their famous patient. So many, that his business partner advised the hospital to give most of the flowers away to other patients.
Matt stood at the foot of Taylor's bed and glanced at the windowsill to where a small sample of the gifts were displayed. For the most part, his patient had been kept too sedated to notice any of them. A couple of times they had tried to decrease the sedation but the results had been scary. The poor guy had awakened extremely disoriented and fighting. They'd had to restrain his right hand and his left was in a sling due to the dislocated shoulder, but that hadn't stopped Taylor from straining to get free. At the moment, Mark was still, his breathing unlabored and his color good, but the livid bruises on his neck had taken on an even more colorful hue as the edges began fading. The yellow contrasted sharply with the still vibrant purple that circled his neck like a morbid tattoo.
'Good morning Doctor Jenkins. Mark's doing a bit better. His blood pressure has been stable and all his labs came back within normal limits. Oh, and the radiologist's report says that the laryngeal swelling is down.' Tina adjusted the flow rate of the IV.
Matthew Jenkins grinned. 'Great! I'm going to take a look at his chart, and then we'll see about waking him up and pulling that tube.'
He couldn't help feeling a little excited about finally being able to meet the man.
Mark blinked several times and tried to focus. Above him were white ceiling tiles with little tiny holes in them. A faint water stain darkened the corner of one. His eyes felt gritty and dry and he gagged on a hard plastic thing in his throat. It hurt. Lots of things hurt. He reached to remove the object, but found that his hand was tied down. Panic raced through him and he pulled as hard as he could against the bonds. The effort made him gag again and he tried to call for help. Nothing. The only sound he could make was an awful raspy whistling as his breath moved inside the tube.
What the hell was going on? Mark quit fighting, but his chest heaved as he tried to take stock of the situation. He turned his head, wincing at the stab of pain as the tube shifted in his throat, gagging him again. Bright sunshine streamed into the room hitting his eyes like shards of glass. He felt foggy and muddled and wondered about all the plants on the windowsill. This room definitely wasn't his loft. A dark-haired woman dressed in pink scrubs crossed in front of his vision and closed the blinds. Bless her, she must have read his mind and at least now he knew where he was.
Mark relaxed and let his head fall back against the pillows. Snatches of memory from his ordeal played in his mind; memories of Kern, the chanting and the warehouse. He closed his eyes and tried to push it all out of his head. He saw again the large wooden cross and his breathing quickened. How had he made it out of there? His last coherent memory was of seeing the sun rise. He had thought for sure it was his last.
'Good morning, Mark. I'm Tina, I'll be your nurse today.' She checked the tubing on an I.V. in his arm. 'Do you remember what happened to you?'
Mark looked at her eyes, saw the barely concealed pity and turned his head. Slowly, he nodded.
'Now take a big breath!'
Mark tried to obey the nurse's request, but choked as the tube scraped up and out of his throat. He coughed hard and followed by a groan when the coughing caused the pain in his belly to flare. Lying back against the pillows, he closed his eyes, starting when he felt a cool washcloth wipe against his mouth. He swallowed. There was still pain, but the removal of the tube was a big improvement.
'Mark?'
He opened his eyes. 'Yeah?' It came out more as a croak than an actual word, but it was the first word he'd spoken in three days.
'Are you having any trouble breathing?'
Mark took a deep breath. Except for some abdominal pain caused by inhaling so deeply, he didn't have any trouble. 'No.' He tried to clear his throat; grimacing at how raw it felt- like someone had taken a metal grill brush and swirled it around down there.
Tina swiped the damp cloth along his neck, a dry towel following behind. The personal care embarrassed him and he didn't want to think of what else had been wiped and cleaned while he'd been out of it. Her brown eyes lifted from the task and met his gaze. 'Try not to talk too much. We'll see how you do and if everything is good, I'll get you some ice chips in a little while, okay?'
It crossed his mind that if she didn't want him to speak, then she shouldn't have asked a question. Especially since nodding his head wasn't something he was eager to do either, but if a cup of ice awaited him at the end of the line, he'd do whatever she wanted. 'Okay.'
He didn't have a whole lot he wanted to say anyway. The last three days had been a blur. Mark vaguely recalled waking up a few times, but the details were sketchy. He remembered the blind panic he'd felt one time when he'd found that he was unable to free his arms. The room had been dark and he had thought he was still in the warehouse. When he'd tried to call for help, he'd gagged on the tube and tried to bend his head down to his hand to pull the offending object only to be firmly pushed back against the mattress. It embarrassed him now to
