Chenford: One Shot to the Heart

Hi, Tim. Oh, High Tim.

He could hear the beeping of the monitor. It smelled like antiseptic and his head was pounding. He shifted, his muscles groaning from disuse. How long had he been there? Wait. Why the hell was he in the hospital? What had happened? His adrenaline began to pump. He could hear the monitor's pace begin to increase. Then two cool hands landed on his arm. 

"Tim? Tim?" It was Lucy. But of course, it was. He fought to open his eyes, which felt like they were glued shut. The white of the hospital was blinding. He blinked rapidly, focusing on her. He was acutely aware. Her dark, frazzled hair, her wrinkled clothes, her trembling hands. The dark circles under her eyes, the dried blood stuck underneath her nails. Was it his? " What happened," he asked. His speech felt sluggish and everything was just too much. "What kind of drugs do they have me on here?" She sighed, "The good, good stuff, Tim." He found himself smiling and feeling goofy. "Oh no, what did I do?" 

"You got shot, Tim. Again." Even high-on-the-good-good-stuff-Tim could tell that she was upset. He reached out for her hand and missed. Puzzled and frustrated he tried again. After a third attempt, he was pissed. But then she was giggling. "What's so funny?" He scowled menacingly. Or at least he thought he did but she kept laughing. 

"What do you mean I got shot? How bad was it, and why does my head hurt?" She choked, trying to stifle her laughter. "Um, I'll tell you later." He pouted. "Fine." "Glad to see you're up," came a voice from the doorway. His eyes darted about rapidly before they managed to focus on... Angela? She was a little fuzzy. He squinted. "Hey, I think you're my best friend." Angela shot Lucy a smirk. "It's the good, good stuff, isn't it?" Lucy nodded. Tim was puzzled. "Why did I need the good, good stuff you keep talking about?" Angela looked him up and down. "You didn't tell him." It was a statement, not a question. "No," Lucy sighed, "He's too out of it. If I tell him, he'll forget, and I don't want to have to explain more than once." "Understood," was Angela's reply. 

By this time, she was sitting in a chair on the opposite side of Tim. He leaned forward and whispered, "Angela. Angela!" "What," she whispered back, shooting Lucy a playful grin. "Break me out of here. Like now. I have tequila above my fridge." "Trying to bribe an officer of the law Bradford? That's worth... remind me, I'm a little rusty. "Two, to four, years in state prison, according to Code Section 67," was his prompt reply. Angela gently punched him after seeing the smug expression on his face. "Okay, smartass." "But," he started whispering again, "I'm not bribing an officer right now. I'm bribing my friend." "Hmmm... it's tempting. But, no. This is the one time I can't let you talk me into this. You got really messed up this time. Also, I'm pretty sure Lucy would kill me if I aided and abetted you." Lucy began to protest but Angela shushed her. A look passed over Tim's face. "Fine." 

Something occurred to Angela. "Why do you have tequila above your fridge anyway? You're a whiskey guy." He mumbled something under his breath. "What was that? You gotta speak up," Angela said. "She likes it." The man looked sheepish. "Oh... oh! Oh... you mean Lucy likes it. Crimson color crept up into Lucy's cheeks. But there were questions in her eyes. She hadn't known. "Tim, why do you have Lucy's favorite liquor above your fridge." He shrugged. "I don't know." "I think you do." It was quiet for a little bit. But the monitor, which had beeped off at a moderate pace since Tim had gotten a grasp of the situation, had begun to increase in tempo. 

"Yeah, I do know."

"Care to share with the class?"

"No..."

"Why?"

He sighed. They could see the old Tim Bradford come into play. "Because, it doesn't matter, and it never can. It's too many lines, too much red tape, too much of those emotions she talks about at risk."