Cordelia's Missing Piece

Not My Hands

There James was. Pacing and ranting and begging for the time. Insisting that he was late. That he was late and something very bad would happen because of it.

There Blair was. On her knees, hands in the air, unable to help him through his strife because something bad had already happened.

"I said to put your hands UP," the officer yelled at James, not caring that James was not able to recognize the urgency or reason behind the demand.

Blair begged him, trying to keep her voice as even as she could. "Please, officer, please let me calm him down, please don't shoot him. He doesn't understand! He needs my help!"

The cop ignored her, unable to see James as anything but a threat to public safety. If only the cops hadn't been called, Blair could have handled it. She knew James well, enough to know that he wasn't sober, that he was confused and scared. All he needed was Blair to talk him through it calmly, as she always had, and he would have been okay again. Neighbors had called the cops on James before, he often liked to use outside, but this time was different. This time a new cop that didn't know James came. This time a gun was drawn. Blair wasn't able to step in for her client in time. Even if she had, at this point, on her knees, hands up, she didn't think anything would have changed.

James let out a horrible wail as Blair saw his figure bolt out from behind her in the corner of her eye.

The safety clicked back.

Blair's heart jumped as something other than blood filled it.

Faster than she could think, Blair threw herself in front of James.

A bang.

Whatever had filled Blair's heart was poured out onto the ground.

-

It was too warm. Stifling really. Blair felt stuffy, like she was trying to breathe in a sauna that was definitely running too hot. Hospitals were always like that. It would be stranger if she hadn't been uncomfortable at all after getting shot and presumably going into surgery. She was definitely going to sue that cop.

Blair groaned, not ready to open her eyes, as she felt the blankets around her. Too thick to be a normal hospital bed sheet, she noted. Maybe someone had brought it for her? While Blair appreciated it, she desperately wanted to peel it off of her sweaty body.

"Cory?" A voice spoke tentatively.

They were probably calling for whatever other patient Blair was roomed with but the sound banged down on her skull like a jackhammer and she unwittingly let out a louder groan, squeezing her eyes tighter as she rolled onto her side.

A choked sob came next and in response a different voice said, "I told you she'd be fine."

A hand brushed the hair out of Blair's eyes but she was so tired she couldn't even flinch. Who was touching her?

Another stroke came, soothingly petting down her hair, "I know, I know it's always like this, Laurence," the first voice said softly. "I know she's always fine, but I'll always worry."

"I wonder what it'll be like this time," The second voice, Laurence, Blair assumed, questioned.

Were these people talking about her? Blair didn't know anyone named Laurence though, and the only person who would pat her head like this would be her mother who did not sound like the voice she heard. It was softer than her mothers, a bit higher in pitch.

Blair's head rang in pain as she tried to roll back over. When she finally managed it, despite how the blanket had twisted itself around her legs, she cracked her eyes open. It wasn't bright, maybe around evening, and Blair silently thanked God that there was no blinding sun to stab further at her ringing head.