His Savior, Her Hero (A Tim Gutterson Story)

Death's Door

"Hey, Tim. I'm sorry that I never got to tell you, but...do know that I love you. God, over a voicemail. Well, I've got to go. I'll see you when the fight is over. I love you, Tim."

Tim sat in the crowded ICU waiting room, broken and suffering. A nurse had visited three times. Every time he saw her, it was bad news. The fourth time was no different.

"They're doing everything they can to bring her back."

He had friends die. Friends that had been riddled with bullets or even blown apart. That pain had been unimaginable. Harper was a new level of pain. His chest was tight making it hard to breathe. He felt woozy and hot from anxiety and lack of food. Not that he didn't want to eat. He was aware how hungry he was. His knotted stomach kept food from staying down. It was much the same with his friends, only this time, his heart was breaking and that pain would never stop.

Any other situation, he would have pulled a gun on the man that boldly took the seat next to him. "I can see why Bonnie-Mae loves you. You've got the eyes of a man with nothing to gain and everything to lose." Neil sighed, "It goes against everything I stand for to be here, but Bonnie-Mae was the only child I had that was worth a damn. The others turned into brainwashed puppets for me to use." He was quiet, looking around the room at the other worried visitors and sympathetic looks going their way. "She'll survive. She died a few times after their first fight. If that machete couldn't kill her, I doubt a few bullets will." He stood, "You'll never see me again, Mr. Gutterson, but I'll always be around. Bonnie-Mae's free from this life, but she'll always have a target on her back. You'll both be protected from our enemies."

Tim watched him leave just as the nurse returned, "Mr. Gutterson, she's out of surgery and in recovery."

That meant another few hours before he could see her.

"How is she?" He asked, barely able to find his voice. He swallowed, "What are her chances?"

"It's hard to say. The doctor doesn't want to give you false hope," the nurse replied sadly and left.

Tim was in desperate need of a drink. He wanted more than just one, but something to take the edge off would be nice. Taking a breath, he stood and left the ICU to get some fresh air.

He found himself wandering to his SUV, opening the glove box and pulling out a pack of cigarettes he promised to never touch. It took him a moment to find a lighter, but the familiar sensation and smell of tobacco and smoke filling his lungs did take the edge off. He had quit before, he could do it again. Harper would understand.

"I thought you quit," Art said as he walked up to the deputy.

"I did. I don't think they'll let me in if I smell like I just stepped out of a bar."

"Harper's not a fan of cigarettes."

Tim exhaled, "I'm not either, but I couldn't be in there." He took a small drag, "Neil stopped by. He seemed confident Harper's going to live through it."

"She's had close calls before," Art agreed.

"You don't seem worried. Especially since she's flatlined so many times," Tim almost spat. He was stressed and no one else seemed to be worried that the woman he loved, that the woman they claimed to care about, was dying.

Art wasn't bothered by the man's tone. "If Neil said she'll pull through, she'll pull through. He is her father, after all. Not a good one, but he put Harper through enough shit for her to be able to survive a few bullet wounds. It's not like this isn't the first time she's been shot."

Tim knew that. Harper had a scar on her arm and one on her thigh. The one on her thigh was to stop her from killing someone. The one on her arm had been someone shooting at her.