His Mafia Queen

Dreams and Doubts

Riley

Everything happens all at once, it seems. I'm wheeled into one room for a CT scan, and then to another for an ultrasound. Gabriel can't come with me, and I feel cold and small in this bed as I'm wheeled around the hospital, into elevators and down sterile hallways. It's all slightly confusing, but somehow, I don't feel anything.

I should be scared. I've never been in a hospital before, and I also know I should call my parents. Mom would want to know that I'm ill. But I don't have my phone and they're gliding me into this circular tube and the air feels like cold molasses, thick and strange.

At least I'm not in pain. The morphine squashed that, thank God. With this painkiller I could totally go to work...if I could just go home and get some sleep.

I try to speak with the orderly, but my words come out jumbled.

"Someone got their morphine," the guy grins as he pushes me down a hallway, past rooms with motionless people attached to machines.

The orderly wheels me and the bed back into the room and a nurse comes in to hook me back up to the IV machine. Gabriel's sitting in a tan leather chair — I'm not sure when or how that got here — staring at his phone. I suspect he's dealing with the shooting.

The fact that I covered a mass shooting for the paper only a few hours ago blows my mind.

Gabriel stands up the minute he sees me, his face pinched with worry. "Is everything okay?"

I shrug, dimly aware that every movement I make feels like I'm underwater. Whatever they gave me sure is strong.

Gabriel adjusts and arranges the sheet and blanket on my bed, making sure it has no wrinkles or lumps.

"Thanks," I say, but it comes out sounding like "tanksssss."

Gabriel grins. "The doctor will be in soon to talk about the test results."

How does he know that? Why does it seem like he has more information about what's going on here than I do? I'm the patient. It doesn't make me angry. Instead, I'm confused and fuzzy about all the details.

Gabriel's making sharp folds in the sheets at the end of the bed, tucking them in. I'm about to ask him where he learned his bed-making skills and trying to think of an inappropriate joke when the doctor walks in with a clipboard.

Gabriel stands to his full height. I slur the word, "Heyyyy," but end up drooling on myself. I wipe my chin. I don't think anyone noticed, which is a plus.

"The results of the CT scan and ultrasound are in, and you, Miss Murphy, have a serious kidney infection, as I suspected."

My knowledge of the human body is pretty sketchy. All I know is that I have two kidneys, and my mind wanders, wondering which kidney is infected. I'm guessing it's the side with the pain, but who knows? Now that I feel nothing, the infection could be anywhere, I guess.

Gabriel's face turns scowly and dark. "What does that mean? Will there be surgery involved?"

The doctor shakes his head. "No, nothing that serious. She'll stay here and we'll administer antibiotics for three or four days. We'll monitor her during that time, and obviously give her the best care. These kinds of infections can be difficult to treat, so that's why we're keeping her."

Three or four days? What about the shooting story? My editor's going to kill me.

Gabriel puts his hands on his hips and glares at the doctor. "How did this happen? Is there a cause for this, something she can eat, a supplement, to prevent this from happening again?"