Through the Darkness: Of Love and Loss Series Book One

5

The following morning—at least Everett thought it might be morning—he awoke to the distinct tap tap tap of the woman he'd come to think and mentally refer to as Pegleg making her way down the hall toward his room.

His entire body, inside and out, burned and ached with a fiery torment that had only grown worse since yesterday. But considering everything he'd survived, did it really come as a surprise?

Pegleg's tap tap tap drew closer, then suddenly stopped. He held his breath and strained his ears. Had she reached his door? Did she stand there, watching him? Would she enter, or had she merely come to see if he remained alive?

She crossed to his bed as though she'd heard the relentless questions tumbling about in his mind. Her tap tap tap caused his heart to race with a peculiar mix of excitement and nervousness. Although, where it found the energy for such a display of emotion, he hadn't the foggiest idea.

The tap tap tap stopped when she bumped into his bed with a muffled curse. The impact was light enough that he would have missed it had he not been so focused on her every move.

Her hand sought out his where it rested atop the covers, bringing with it the soft, familiar scent of roses and vanilla. Everett's breath caught in his throat when her fingers trailed gently up his cast, over his exposed shoulder to his neck, until finally resting lightly on his forehead.

"Too warm..." she muttered.

"Parched, too," Everett croaked.

"Goodness," She jumped in surprise and held utterly motionless. "Did I wake you?"

He shook his head and instantly regretted the movement when it caused sharp stabbing pains accompanied by bursts of light before his bandaged, closed eyes. "No."

Pouring a glass of water, she cradled the back of his head in one hand and tipped the cool glass to his cracked, parched lips.

After draining the cup dry, he sighed and relaxed against his mattress. "If I didn't know any better, Pegleg, I'd think you were blind."

Her hand behind his neck trembled slightly before she removed the empty glass from his lips and set it aside. "Why is that?"

"The way you were fumbling around."

She hesitated briefly before replying, "I didn't want to wake you with a light."

He let out a derisive grunt. "Don't worry. Between these bandages and the damage from the gas, there's not much danger of that ever happening."

"Nurse Winters said you've got a good chance it isn't permanent."

Her voice sounded funny compared to yesterday, but he didn't know what had changed. Having only known her a single day made it a little tricky to tell with any certainty if he'd said something that had upset her.

He ran their brief conversation over in his tired mind, trying to figure out if he was at fault, but found nothing that stood out. But then why did he feel like he ought to apologize?

The need to hear her laugh suddenly became more important to him than that of his own comfort. And he had just the thing to do it. "Why did the baby strawberry cry?"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"It's a joke," he murmured before repeating, "why'd the baby strawberry cry?"

"I don't know," she said quietly. "Why?"

Metal clicked and then scraped against metal, ushering in a cool breeze that danced across his skin and brought with it the fragrant floral smell of apple blossoms.

Everett breathed deeply, forcing his battered lungs to expand to their limit. He held it until the first faint stirrings of panic began to set in. Then, letting it out in a slow exhale, he answered, "Because he found out his mom and dad were in a jam."

A soft laugh, but a laugh nonetheless, escaped her and brought a smile to his lips.

"Did you come up with that one yourself?"

He scoffed and groaned when a muscle spasm in his thigh took his breath away, and the burning sensation all along his right side intensified. Adjusting his position, he said through clenched teeth, "No, my cousin. It used to be one of his favorites."

"What's his name?"

"Timothy...he was seven at the time."

She pressed a gentle hand to his brow briefly once more, "Why did you call me Pegleg?"

Everett held his breath until the pain began to ease. Pursing his lips, he wondered if it would be better to make something up or be honest with her?

In the end, he decided to throw caution to the wind and see how he fared. "Do you have a wooden leg?"

"What?" She laughed, "Why would you think that?"

It had been a genuine laugh that time and the sound sent a delicious, intoxicating warmth straight to his heart. It ricocheted around his chest before settling low in his stomach, sending a flurry of butterflies into flight.

Everett cleared his throat, tried to ignore the chaos inside, and used it to divert his pain-fogged mind. "When you walk, there's a tap tap tap... I thought you might have a wooden leg."

"It's a walking stick," she said, tapping it lightly against the floor, "my brother made it for me."

He lifted his left shoulder in a half-hearted attempt at a shrug. "Well, in that case, I apologize for calling you Pegleg."

She laughed. "Considering I called you Captain Rattlesnake, I believe we're even."

"You did?" He said with an incredulous laugh that ended with a hiss of pain.

"Not aloud, mind you," she murmured with a wry chuckle. "But can you blame me? Yelling and cussing before you struck out and got the better of two grown men."

"And Nurse Winters," he murmured slowly, finding it difficult to speak. A sharp, tinny ring filled his ears. And uncomfortable prickles raced from his toes to his head, the combination a tale-tell sign he was moments away from passing out.

She choked back another laugh. "Oh my, yes. You had her angrier than a hornet."

He tried to talk—to tell her he didn't feel right, but only slurred gibberish escaped him.

Pegleg muttered a curse and then touched his brow and repeated it louder.

He would have added a few of his own if he'd been able to. But, instead, he drifted helplessly into unconsciousness, wondering if death would finally take him.