only been thirty-one when he’d died. He shook off the thought. At the moment, he needed to focus all his energy on willing Norman to live. He couldn’t even worry about the loss of Norman’s leg. If Norman survived, they’d all have to deal with it, but right now, getting him past this crisis was the most important issue.
The nurse slipped through the door. “The doctor’s coming out. He wants to tell you a few things before you go in to see your brother.”
Neil nodded.
Within seconds, Dunado emerged from the room, a grave expression on his face. The thick lenses of his glasses looked almost opaque as he directed his remarks to Neil. “The two of you can go in for five minutes. No longer. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” they both said at the same time.
“Your brother doesn’t know about his leg,” Dunado continued, “and I don’t want you to tell him. I’ll tell him when I think he’s strong enough to withstand the shock.” Neil frowned. Wouldn’t Norman be able to tell that his leg had been amputated?
“He’s groggy and in a lot of pain. He’s also restrained from much movement by the machines and tubes, so he’s not likely to realize what’s happened to him. By morning we’ll probably have to tell him.”
“I’d like to be with him when you do,” Neil said. He’d rather be anywhere else, but he knew Norman would need him.
Denise’s small hand slid into his, and Neil grasped it firmly. He could feel the tremor in her body.
“Okay, then, you two can go in. Whatever you do, don’t upset him. He’s probably aware enough to know he’s been seriously injured—just don’t give him any information he doesn’t need.”
After giving Denise’s hand one more squeeze, Neil pushed open the door, and they entered the room. It was dimly lighted from a low-wattage fluorescent light attached to the wall over the top of the bed. A cardiac monitor bleeped next to the bed, and there was a pole with an intravenous bag and tubes everywhere. It seemed as if every available stretch of Norman’s skin had something attached to it or stuck into it. Norman lay back against the pillows, swathed in bandages. His eyes were closed.
“Norman?” Neil said. He tried to control the shock radiating through his body at how suddenly helpless, even smaller, his brother looked. He’d thought he was prepared for this; he’d certainly seen enough injury and death during his twelve years on the force, but this was different. This was family. This was Norman.
Norman’s eyes opened. “Neil?” he whispered.
The whisper was faint—so faint, Neil had to lean forward to hear him. He smiled. “I’m here, little brother.” He touched Norman’s hand, which was lying on top of the blanket. “Can’t I trust you to stay out of trouble when I’m not around?” He forced himself not to look at the tented spot where Norman’s right leg should have been. A lump formed in his throat, and his eyes burned. He hadn’t cried since he was nine years old and the family dog had been hit by a car. But today, here, now, he wanted to bawl like a baby.
“I’m here too, Norman,” Denise said, walking to the other side of the bed.
Norman slowly moved his head toward her. He made a visible attempt to smile, then closed his eyes wearily. “Denise,” he whispered. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she answered, lower lip trembling. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she knuckled it away. Her dark eyes met Neil’s gaze, and for a moment they stared at one another in silent agony.
Don’t cry. Be strong. I know exactly how you feel, and you can cry when we leave this room, but not now.
Neil concentrated on communicating his message, and Denise blinked. She took a deep breath and nodded slightly. Neil relaxed. She was going to be all right.
“Neil,” Norman said, his voice weak but clear. “There was an accident, wasn’t there?”
“Yes.”
Norman closed his eyes, then opened them, frowning. “I...I think I re-remember.” The frown
Learning to Kill: Stories