God of War: Part 22
Lynn Jepsen
I was enjoying this more thoroughly when I was unconscious. Consciousness
means I can feel the hurt, hurt being way too indescript for what I'm
actually feeling. Sam could come in handy right now, Mr. Thesaurus
himself would have a better word than hurt. Vaguely, I recall Sam's
voice, grainy and pinched over the phone. I wasn't as scared then as I
was... hell, I don't know what I was. My side aches. It's this strange
throbbing pain, and when I reach down, I recoil at the swath of bandages
covering my left side, from hip to breastbone.
"Mr. Lyman, I am glad to see you waking." Oh God. No, I want to go back
to sleep. Can't I go back to sleep? "I am afraid some of my men were a
bit too... enthusiastic about bringing you in, and believe me, that
enthusiasm has only grown, but I did take the liberty of having you
patched up." I'm.... not real sure I'm following this. Instinctively, I
try to sit up and put a face with the voice. Wincing, I suck oxygen
hungrily into my lungs, trying to beat down the rush of pain and sit up.
"Mr. Lyman, stop being heroic. Stitches and a few hours sleep does not
cure a gunshot wound." My head swims for a good minute before I have a
chance to process those words.
Leaning back, I'm surprised to find myself on a bed. At least two pillows
are now behind my back, and I have to close my eyes to find my
equilibrium. When I open my eyes, I expect to see the same woman that
brought in the phone, the one that was at the car. It's not her. It's not
her, because this woman.... I know this woman. I'm sure I'm staring,
because she's gazing quite levelly at me. "But then, I'm being rude. You
did ask me to call you Joshua." Shit. I'm not hallucinating.
"You look a little green there." She's smirking. Dammit. Damn her. Damn
this entire.... Wait, what..... "You look a little confused there. It
will all become clearer, Joshua." She closes the distance between us, and
only the pulsing pain in my side, in my head, keeps me from bolting.
Instead, I merely flinch away as her hand touches my skin. "I have to
admit, I was a little surprised. The last time I saw you that blond mouse
was following you around." Diana is not a mouse! There's a strangely sad
expression on her face then, and she opens her palm, dropping something
cold on my chest. "Your little mouse was wearing a medal with.... Which
saint is it, Joshua?" It's Saint Christopher, and then I realize what she
was holding.
There's a ruckus outside the door, and I clench my teeth, hoping the
stooges aren't making a return visit already. The door blows open, but
it's not one of her thugs, it's her daughter. She has a daughter
Donnatella's age. Lisa wouldn't even let Elle in my office during the
thing with China, and she brings her daughter here? I'm numb when I hear
her ask her mother why I'm crying.
In the five years I knew her, I gave Donnatella, my Donnatella, my Donna
six gifts. There was the campaign pass, which I didn't count as a gift
until Donna informed me it was, and the Art and Artistry of Alpine
skiing. I had been particularly proud of that one. There were two other
Christmas presents, a birthday gift that last year, and a bracelet after
the now infamous Joey Lucas incident. In those five years, she gave me
one gift. It was after.... after that third Christmas, the second in the
White House. It was after they'd patched both my chest and my hand back
together.
I chuckled at the time. I mean, she gave me a gold chain with the Star of
David. That was, I don't know, like giving Sam's dad books by Doctor
Spock. Toby was religious - I had vague memories of Passover when my
father was still alive. I wore it anyway. Later, during our first trip
back to California after the election, Sam capsized his boat. The chain
must have broken. Diana replaced it. There was no fanfare, just one
morning, I woke up and it was sitting next to my watch.
Two very thoughtful gestures, and I think they just shortened my life
expectancy.
It takes too long to collect myself enough to listen to the small child,
and when I do, I have to fight the images of Lisa and Sam and Elle at
Camp David last month. I catch her last question though: "When can we go
home?" I'm confused and then.... I'm not. I get it. The ship has not
sailed. Wincing, I try to move into a more comfortable position.
God of War: Part 23
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