Butcher's Road Read Online Free Page B

the events leading up to your injury?”
    There was a girl in a green dress that reminded him of pond water, and then a man with a determined jaw was closing in, only steps away, and then he thought about water again.
    Swimming. Sinking.
    “Not really,” Lennon said. “Bits. Pieces.”
    “That’s natural enough. You took a nasty blow to the back of the head. Your memory got rattled. You might have even lost some of it for good. It’s hard to say in these cases. Just don’t let it worry you. You seem to be functional. We’ll want to keep you awake for at least a few hours to make sure you remain responsive. I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer through without morphine at least for the time being. We don’t want to addle your mind with drugs until we know the extent of the damage.”
    “How about aspirin?”
    “Not until we’re sure you’re not hemorrhaging internally.”
    “When will you know that?”
    “Another couple of hours should do it.”
    “And if I am bleeding into my skull?”
    “Don’t worry yourself, Detective Lennon,” the doctor said. “In these cases, if you can open your eyes, you’re probably just fine. This is all just precaution.”
    The doctor patted Lennon’s forearm and left the room. Then Edie returned, handkerchief to her face, still crying. She quickly resumed her place against his neck, smothering him with the scent of lilacs.
    “That’s enough, now,” he whispered into her ear. He didn’t dare lift his arms to try to push her away, though. The more alert he became, the sharper the pain. “Come on, sweetheart. Ease off. I’m one big bruise.”
    Edie pulled away, and Lennon was struck by the panic in his wife’s eyes. Edie was fragile and unworldly; she’d never really grown up, had never endured anything more than imagined discomforts. Swaddled in a soft environment, she couldn’t imagine a life without her husband.
    To his complete surprise, Roger realized he hated her in that moment. Her tears were accusations, prosecuting him for being wounded, for being weak. He could have died, and her wet eyes asked, “What about me? Did you ever think what would happen to me?” The grim emotion disturbed him with its suddenness and virility. And the grief in his wife’s eyes only fueled his irritation, because he knew he was bound to fail her. In Edie’s world, heroes were bronze statues, impervious and static. Her heroes never bled, they never fell down. But he couldn’t live on a pedestal; he couldn’t be a radio-drama husband who said and did all of the right things, and made promises that would last forever because the show needed to end on a high note and Frances Langford was singing them out.
    Quit looking at me like I’m disappointing you, he thought.
    “Gwendolyn and Bette are with my parents,” Edie told him, expectantly as if waiting for congratulations for having made a sound decision on her own. “When Curtis called, I was beside myself, so I called mother and…” Edie rolled her eyes and sniffed gingerly and tried to smile. “And I haven’t even asked how you feel? I’m so sorry. Darling, are you okay?”
    “You know those headaches you get that keep you in bed?” Lennon asked.
    “Of course.”
    “Like that, only scalp to sole.”
    “Won’t they give you anything for the pain? They must have something.”
    “No,” he replied. “Not just now.”
    “How can they just let you suffer?”
    Please go away, he thought.
    “Roger,” Edie asked, sounding one part concerned and one part perturbed.
    “They have to wait with head wounds. It won’t be long. It’s okay.”
    Curt Conrad appeared in the door behind Lennon’s anxious wife, and for the first time in years, Lennon was glad to see his partner. He couldn’t shake the way Edie was making him feel. His irritation with her grew with every tear she attacked with her handkerchief. He should have been grateful for her concern, thankful that she needed him so completely, but he was stuck with the