Here I am. Send me.--Chapter Eighteen

Chris relies on Evelyn in the aftermath of the attack.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Evelyn had fallen asleep with her phone in her hand, and it was resting on the pillow next to her ear when it went off at 2:30 AM. She jerked awake with her heart racing. Something bad had happened. Her phone showed that the incoming call was from Chris Leighton, Chaplain.

She answered. "Chris?"

"I'm sorry to call so late, but I need a big favor, and I don't know who else to ask."

"What is it?"

"I need a ride home from the hospital."

She processed this. "Which hospital?"

"Ascension Saint Thomas. I'm at the Emergency Room."

She skipped the rest of the questions. They could be answered later. "I'll be right there."

Chris looked at the phone as he rang off. The painkillers that he had been given had either not yet kicked in or were not strong enough. Every breath sent waves of pain through his body as his diaphragm pushed to expand against four broken ribs. The thick bandaging around his chest made a complete breath impossible and he sipped air in short gasps. It was making him light-headed.

X-rays had shown the broken ribs along with a fractured ulna in his left forearm. The severe bruising on Chris's face, coupled with the blood streaming from his scalp wound, led the doctor to take an MRI. It showed no major brain injuries. The doctor had said an MRI probably wouldn't show a concussion, but he probably had one.

When the testing and paperwork were finally finished, Chris was allowed to get dressed and he made his way to the men's room. The mirror showed him the blackening and swelling of both eyes and the large bandage over his head. With that cheery information, he limped out to the front lobby where it took two tries to find a means to lower himself into one of the chairs. The chairs were uncomfortable at the best of times, now they were torture. His breaths were coming with a slight wheeze. When had that started?

He sensed someone standing beside him and looked up toward the glaring ceiling lights to see the silhouette of a police officer holding an electronic tablet.

"Mr. Leighton?"

Chris didn't want to speak, so he nodded, which turned out to be a worse idea. More fireworks went off inside his head, followed by dizziness and then a wave of nausea washed over him. He waited for it to pass before he was able to verbalize an answer. "That's me."

"The doctor says that you might be able to answer some questions now."

Chris almost nodded again but stopped himself. "I'll try." His voice came out as a groan.

"Do you have any idea who the men were that attacked you?"

He stared at the floor trying to keep the bright lights at bay. "No. None. There were three of them, and they were all wearing dark clothes and masks, I think."

"You think?"

"It happened quickly, and I was really worried about being killed."

"That's understandable, sir. Is there anything else you can remember?"

"I saw flashes of skin. I'm pretty sure that they were all white or Asian."

"Can you think of anyone who might wish to do you harm?"

That was an intense question for someone whose head was filled with fog. "No. I can't think of anyone."

"Can you think of any reason people would break into the store and not steal anything?"

Chris tried to process this question. "Not steal anything? What?" That made no sense at all.

"Yes, sir. Nothing was taken or even disturbed other than the broken window... and you."

"Lucky me. Why would they do that?" The wheels in Chris's brain were turning, but not fast enough for him to recall that he had just been asked that question.

The officer realized he wasn't going to get anything. "A detective may contact you tomorrow to get some more information."

"Okay."

The officer put away his tablet and left the room, leaving Chris alone with the pain and his thoughts. Calling Evelyn made no sense. There were several members of the Lakeland Church staff whom he knew better and who would drop everything to come and help him. Also, he could have taken an Uber home. It would have been expensive, but it wouldn't have required a woman that he had known for less than a week to drive across Nashville in the wee hours of the morning. There was something about her that he trusted. She just felt right, and he was glad she was coming.

In the movies, they told people with head injuries not to go to sleep, but no one had mentioned it, and he was so tired. Sleep seemed like a great idea. He leaned his head back, which caused another riot of pain. Jerking forward, he breathed in several quick breaths, each one hurting his chest more than the last. He slowed his breathing and kept his head forward. The pain seemed to subside, and his muscles began to relax. He thought about Evelyn and looked forward to spending more time with her.

"Chris?"

His eyes fluttered open, and he saw Evelyn squatting down in front of him.

"Chris, what happened?"

He had practiced this line. "Occupational hazard." He hoped it sounded as cool spoken aloud as it had in his head.

Her face scrunched up in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

So much for being cool. "Some guys broke into the store I was guarding and beat me up."

She pointed at the plastic cast on his arm. "You've got broken bones. And your face looks terrible. What's under the big bandage on your head?"

"I was lying in broken glass when they were kicking me. I needed a few stitches. It was bleeding a lot."

"We need to get you home. What's your address?"

He opened his phone and handed it to her. She transferred his contact information.

She brought the address up on her map app. It was a twenty-five-minute trip.

"Can you walk?"

"The doctors and the insurance company tell me I can." He tried to pull himself up with his good arm. He made it a few inches before thumping back down in the chair. It hurt. It hurt a lot. The sound he made might have been a whimper. With that, his last hope of appearing macho evaporated.

She leaned down, took his right arm, and placed it around her neck. With both of them working together, he was able to make it to his feet. A charley horse spasmed in his left thigh, wrapping itself around what must have been a deep bruise. He stumbled, and it took all of her strength to keep them both up. In the process, she squeezed his broken ribs. He cried out, his knees buckled, and he dropped back into the chair.

She looked down in a panic. "What?!"

His head was swimming, and he tried to make a coherent sentence. "I... I forgot to mention... the broken ribs." His entire body was throbbing. What was in those pain pills? Sugar?

She allowed him to take a few breaths to steady himself and then leaned forward. "Are you ready to try again?"

His teeth were grinding against each other as the waves of pain slowly subsided. He nodded.

She held his right hand in both of hers and steadily pulled backward as he locked his knees. She gently pulled him to his feet, but not without him wincing several times on the way up.

He steadied himself and was surprised to find that he could support his weight. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held on tightly. His face leaned against the top of her head. "Your hair smells nice." In the whirling mist within his brain, this seemed like a perfectly normal thing to say.

They started moving slowly toward the door. "I haven't showered in nearly twenty-four hours, and it smells like flop sweat. You're delirious."

"Flop sweat. That's funny." He had not realized before how small she was.

Her car was waiting in front of the door. He could make that. He was just so tired. He slipped, and she squeezed with the arm she had around his waist to steady him. More pain reverberated through his torso.

They made it to the car, and she opened the door. The contortion he made to get into the passenger seat of the small car was excruciating. But, within a minute, he was seated and hyperventilating through the pain. He groped unsuccessfully for the seatbelt, and she reached across him from the driver's side to pull it around his waist. Again, she was pressed up against him, and he felt the nearness of her face to his.

His drug-fogged mind felt that he should say something: "You're pretty."

The seat belt clicked into place, and she turned to him. They were almost nose-to-nose. "Thank you. If only I could get guys who aren't concussed to say things like that. Just rest before you say something I'll take seriously."

He obeyed her command, and, within five minutes, she found out that he snored.

As she headed down I-24, her thoughts wandered. What was it with guys and the aroma of a woman's hair? The smell of hair did nothing for her. He had said that she was pretty. That was nice. Maybe he thought it, or maybe he was looking at her through pain medication goggles. Enough people had told her that in the past to give it some credibility, but it didn't match what she saw in the mirror every day.

Was she even interested in an office romance? Was he interested? Was it allowed? There were so many questions, and it was after three o'clock in the morning. She was putting way too much thought into this based on two statements from a man with a head injury. She started humming old songs to herself, and the last few minutes passed before she took the Waldron Road exit and followed it down into the Lake Forest part of La Vergne.

The houses were small and close together, and she had a little difficulty telling which driveway belonged to Chris's address. She made a guess and pulled in.

"We're here." There was no response. She tried again, louder. "We're here!"

He awoke mid-snore with a snort. "What?"

"We're here. At your house."

"Huh? Oh. Okay. Thank you for bringing me home." He opened the door and tried to get out. The effort failed.

She got out of the car. "Hold on, tiger. I'm coming around to help."

Making her way around the car, she repeated the method from the emergency room and steadily pulled on Chris's right arm until he was standing, and then carefully placed the arm across her shoulders and gently walked him to the front door, where they stopped.

"Keys." She asked.

"Say what?" The drugs and exhaustion were really kicking in.

"I need your key to get in."

"Keys." He pulled his arm from her shoulders with a groan, reached into his pants pocket, and pulled out a hefty key chain.

She took them from him just as he began to tip. She grabbed him around the waist with her left hand, evoking a grimace. But he stayed on his feet. She held the keys up. "Which one is it?"

He clawed at the air around the keys for a few seconds, unable to bring them into focus. He gave up. She started trying different keys and the door opened on the fifth one. They fumbled their way through the doorway in an awkward dance while Evelyn groped in the darkness for a light switch. When the overhead light finally showed her the room, it was reasonably well-kept and neat. But then she looked through the living room into the kitchen area, where a mound of dishes was stacked in the sink. It made her feel a little better that he wasn't perfect.

She helped him past the kitchen and down the short hall to his bedroom and turned on another light. Since the messy kitchen had made her feel better, the bedroom made her feel wonderful. Boxes and clothes vied for the limited floor space, with the ultimate loser being walking room. More clothes were heaped atop the unmade bed. With her free hand, she swept enough clothes to the floor to make room for him and lowered him gently down. He winced three times as he got settled in.

She looked down at him and sighed. "You seem to be in one piece, so I'll be on my way. I'll call you in the morning."

"No. It's too late."

"Too late for what?"

His words came out stronger than before, but still fuzzy. "It's too late for you to be driving around alone."

She was as emancipated as the next woman, but she wasn't stupid. He was right. As little help as he would have been if something had happened, just having a second person in the car was a deterrent. Not to mention that she was bone tired.

"Okay. Do you have a guest room?"

His brief period of coherence was fading fast. "Guest room?"

"Never mind. There's bound to be a clear flat surface in this house."

She looked into the bathroom and realized she would need to find some cleaner and a cloth to wipe it down before she could use it. The only other door in the hallway opened into what was designed to be a second bedroom, but was filled with more boxes, and a small area filled with exercise weights.

Returning to the living room, she sat on the sofa and didn't notice any inappropriate odors or noises coming from within. Plumping the one pillow, she lay down. She would be cold, but she didn't trust any blanket she might find.