30 Days Too Late

The Catch

Rudy

I ring the Kinkaid doorbell twice, the sound echoing in the quiet neighborhood. Anxiety gnaws at me as I wait, my thoughts consumed with worry for Dexter. It's been four days since I last saw him, and uncertainty has plagued my mind.

The paramedics mentioned a severe concussion, which didn't surprise me given the gash on his head. Since his transfer to our local hospital here in Minnesota, his parents have been adamant about restricting visitors. Even Lily, usually a constant presence, seems to have vanished, likely absorbed in rigorous practice sessions with Ace for the national tryouts.

As I stand on the doorstep, my heart heavy with worry, I hope for some sign of improvement in Dexter's condition, and perhaps a chance to see him soon. I ring the doorbell again, waiting. While I wait, I open the bag I brought with me to ensure the burger is still intact. I also brought an assortment of fruit and other items in case he doesn't want the burger. The door opens slowly, and I almost drop the bag.

"R-Rudy?" Dexter's voice trembles as his eyes flutter open, struggling to focus. "Dexter, why are you..." My words falter. My heart skips a beat at the sight of him, bandages wrapped around his head, bloodstains marring the fabric.

His complexion is pallid, sweat beading on his forehead. "Yes, it's me," I reply softly, my voice thick with concern. He retrieves a pair of glasses from his pocket and puts them on. The round frames complement his face, although his eyes still droop. "It is you," he confirms with a sigh.

"What happened to your eyesight, and where is your family?" I ask. Dexter coughs weakly, his movements unsteady as he gestures for me to follow. "Come in," he murmurs, his voice barely audible, before turning away and shuffling inside. With a sinking feeling in my chest, I realize the gravity of his condition. But for now, all I can do is follow him, determined to offer whatever support I can.

I close the door and look around the house. "I was lying in bed, but no one got the door. The ringing was loud," he says, walking sluggishly. I grab his arm and help him up the stairs. How did he even get down without falling?

"Have you eaten today? Did you drink anything?" I ask softly, concern evident in my voice. I guide Dexter to his bed, arranging the fluffy blankets around him for comfort. "Charlie, come here," he calls out, looking toward the doorway. I glance over, puzzled, only to see Charlie lying next to him on the bed. "Dexter," I murmur, adjusting his glasses. He looks at me, his eyes meeting mine.

"Why did your family leave you here alone?" I shake my head in disbelief, frustration simmering beneath the surface. Without waiting for an answer, I retrieve my water bottle and press it against his bottom lip. He parts his lips slightly, accepting the water with a grateful expression.

He starts coughing, and I withdraw the water. "Have you taken your medication?" I ask, opening the small dresser compartment. It's not there. It must be in his bathroom. I walk into the bathroom and find the four weekly pill organizers on the counter.

I sit next to him and lay them out. "Okay, today is Tuesday, so I guess I take one out of every Tuesday slot," I say to myself. "Mhm..." he mumbles. I unfold a small cup, useful for travel. "Dexter, you'll have to sit up," I say, rubbing his arm.

"I can't..." he looks at me, his voice strained. "My chest hurts and my head," he says. I set the cup on the dresser and stand up. Pressing my ear to his chest, I hear a rattle in his breathing. "Rudy," he tugs on my shirt. "Do you have food?" he asks.

"I brought a burger," I reply. He sneezes, his hair falling over his eyes. "Bless you," I say. He sneezes twice more, and I gently move his hair out of the way. "Did you catch another c..." I hesitate to finish.