single day.
Today, however, the only revelation I had was that in my dream I heard Ford calling out for me, his voice panicked and thin. I tried to reply, but I had no voice.
Finally, the mist evaporated, and there was my Ford again. He ran to me, crouching down. That’s when I realized I was lying on the ground, only it was made up of clouds. There I was, floating on a cloud, and Ford was there. He took me in his arms, swaying and rocking me gently, like a baby. I felt his love as though it were a tangible touch.
He crooned sweet nothings into my ear, and I felt at peace.
But then pain shot through me. All of a sudden I was blinking hard. Ford wasn’t there.
Luther Lovell was. He was gripping my shoulder hard and shaking me.
“Mr. Garrett? Mr. Garrett! You must wake up.”
Had I been asleep? Guess so.
It was then that my surroundings began to bleed into my awareness.
I sure as hell wasn’t floating on any clouds like an angel.
I was in the side alley, next to Lovell’s business building. I was lying in a puddle of what I prayed was filthy water instead of something more disgusting. Lovell picked me up with his massively strong arms and placed me to lean on a foul-smelling dumpster. I was sitting, and I felt moisture in my pants, but I was pretty sure it was from the condensation from the pool on the asphalt, not my bladder.
“Lovell?” My voice was nothing but a croak.
“Garrett.” Lovell sounded relieved to hear me speak. “Don’t move. You’ve been hit on the head. You could have a concussion. I need to get you to a hospital.”
If I shouldn’t move, why had he moved me? But I didn’t care about the answer. This wasn’t my first ambush and/or knockout. “I’m fine. I don’t need to see a doctor.”
“Oh, this human manliness nonsense just drives me up the wall sometimes,” Lovell huffed under his breath, clearly not expecting me to hear him. “I will send for my driver. He will take you home if—”
“No, thanks.” I started to get up, but my rubbery knees gave out on me, and back down I plopped. “I have a car.”
“How nice for you, Mr. Garrett,” Lovell said sarcastically, obviously quite miffed still. “But it would be completely irresponsible and reprehensible for me to let you leave unchecked by a doctor.”
“I’ve been banged up before, on and off the force. No biggie.” I was downplaying more than a bit, and my head hurt like a son of a bitch.
But then I recalled my vision of Ford while I was unconscious, and the same sense of peace overwhelmed me, dulling the pain and refocusing my senses. Was this more a psychological placebo effect than actual restoration? I had to conclude so, because surely no images of loved ones could spontaneously and magically heal real wounds, right?
Yet the sharp pain behind my eyes was gone, and the throbbing ache at the back of my head had faded into a buzz. I had recovered fast, and was able to get up with ease. I saw Lovell clear as day, too, and his expression was startlingly shocked.
“You have amazing recuperative powers, Mr. Garrett.” His tone suggested it was less something to compliment, and more something to be suspicious of.
“Good genes,” I deflected, thanked him wholeheartedly for his assistance, and made my way toward my car. Since he had helped me and been truly worried for me, I doubted it was his goons that had taken a crack at my poor skull.
“What about contacting the police?” Lovell called out behind me, his voice distressed.
“I am the police,” I shouted back, and then added with a whisper, “Or I used to be one, anyway.”
Back in the car, I texted Ford, asking him where he was and if we could see each other right away. He texted back immediately, telling me he was at the mall, and that of course we could hook up. I started the car and drove off, away from Lovell’s establishment.
At first I was alone with my thoughts in midafternoon traffic. I had been attacked on purpose, and the message still
Today, however, the only revelation I had was that in my dream I heard Ford calling out for me, his voice panicked and thin. I tried to reply, but I had no voice.
Finally, the mist evaporated, and there was my Ford again. He ran to me, crouching down. That’s when I realized I was lying on the ground, only it was made up of clouds. There I was, floating on a cloud, and Ford was there. He took me in his arms, swaying and rocking me gently, like a baby. I felt his love as though it were a tangible touch.
He crooned sweet nothings into my ear, and I felt at peace.
But then pain shot through me. All of a sudden I was blinking hard. Ford wasn’t there.
Luther Lovell was. He was gripping my shoulder hard and shaking me.
“Mr. Garrett? Mr. Garrett! You must wake up.”
Had I been asleep? Guess so.
It was then that my surroundings began to bleed into my awareness.
I sure as hell wasn’t floating on any clouds like an angel.
I was in the side alley, next to Lovell’s business building. I was lying in a puddle of what I prayed was filthy water instead of something more disgusting. Lovell picked me up with his massively strong arms and placed me to lean on a foul-smelling dumpster. I was sitting, and I felt moisture in my pants, but I was pretty sure it was from the condensation from the pool on the asphalt, not my bladder.
“Lovell?” My voice was nothing but a croak.
“Garrett.” Lovell sounded relieved to hear me speak. “Don’t move. You’ve been hit on the head. You could have a concussion. I need to get you to a hospital.”
If I shouldn’t move, why had he moved me? But I didn’t care about the answer. This wasn’t my first ambush and/or knockout. “I’m fine. I don’t need to see a doctor.”
“Oh, this human manliness nonsense just drives me up the wall sometimes,” Lovell huffed under his breath, clearly not expecting me to hear him. “I will send for my driver. He will take you home if—”
“No, thanks.” I started to get up, but my rubbery knees gave out on me, and back down I plopped. “I have a car.”
“How nice for you, Mr. Garrett,” Lovell said sarcastically, obviously quite miffed still. “But it would be completely irresponsible and reprehensible for me to let you leave unchecked by a doctor.”
“I’ve been banged up before, on and off the force. No biggie.” I was downplaying more than a bit, and my head hurt like a son of a bitch.
But then I recalled my vision of Ford while I was unconscious, and the same sense of peace overwhelmed me, dulling the pain and refocusing my senses. Was this more a psychological placebo effect than actual restoration? I had to conclude so, because surely no images of loved ones could spontaneously and magically heal real wounds, right?
Yet the sharp pain behind my eyes was gone, and the throbbing ache at the back of my head had faded into a buzz. I had recovered fast, and was able to get up with ease. I saw Lovell clear as day, too, and his expression was startlingly shocked.
“You have amazing recuperative powers, Mr. Garrett.” His tone suggested it was less something to compliment, and more something to be suspicious of.
“Good genes,” I deflected, thanked him wholeheartedly for his assistance, and made my way toward my car. Since he had helped me and been truly worried for me, I doubted it was his goons that had taken a crack at my poor skull.
“What about contacting the police?” Lovell called out behind me, his voice distressed.
“I am the police,” I shouted back, and then added with a whisper, “Or I used to be one, anyway.”
Back in the car, I texted Ford, asking him where he was and if we could see each other right away. He texted back immediately, telling me he was at the mall, and that of course we could hook up. I started the car and drove off, away from Lovell’s establishment.
At first I was alone with my thoughts in midafternoon traffic. I had been attacked on purpose, and the message still
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