Free L.A. Boneyard by P.A. Brown

grasped David’s hand. “Who was she? You have to tell me, David.”
    David gently disengaged his hand. “I don’t know, hon.
    When I find out more, I’ll let you know. Now,” he said sternly.
    “You have to go to the hospital. I’ll come around later and check on you.”
    “Take care of the dog? I called, but it was a wrong number, so I couldn’t take him back like you wanted. I’m sorry—”
    “Don’t.” David put his finger on Chris’s lips, stopping his words. “I don’t care about the damned dog. I’ll take care of him, okay. We’ll both be all right. You just get better and come home to us.”
    Chris subsided back on the gurney. “Okay.” He closed his eyes. “I love you, David.”
    “Love you too,” David whispered.

    58 P.A. Brown
    Chris smiled and let his muscles go slack as the doors rumbled open and the gurney rolled into emergency.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Sunday, 5:50 PM, USC County General, North State Street, East Los Angeles
    At the hospital David wasn’t allowed to see Chris after he was checked in and the emergency team took over. He would have to wait until he was out of surgery and in ICU. Even then he could only stay ten minutes.
    Jairo took him back to the station, though he would rather have stayed at the hospital. “Come on, I’ve got a brother who’s an emergency doctor, he hates it when family won’t give him any peace.”
    “I thought your brother was a taxi driver?”
    “Big family. What can I say? Devout Catholics, and all that.”
    Back at the station David made sure he put Jairo to work on his autopsy report. At seven they called it a night. David would have just enough time to make it out to the hospital before visiting hours were over.
    He found Chris dozing in a semi-private room with an empty bed by the door. A flat screen TV hung over his bed, and a set of earphones were plugged in. A tray with a can of ginger ale and a half-empty package of digestives had been pushed to the side of the bed. An IV was taped to the back of his left hand, pumping a clear liquid into him, and an oxygen line was inserted in his nose. He started when David gently tugged the phones out of his ears.
    “Wake up, sleepy head.”
    “David.” Chris smiled, eyes still at half mast. “What time is it?”
    “Seven-twenty. How are you feeling?”

    60 P.A. Brown
    Chris reached over and picked up David’s hand with his unencumbered right, holding it in his lap. “Tired. Sore. Did I really hit that woman?” He sounded plaintive.
    “No, hon, you didn’t. And I don’t want you thinking like that.” His voice hardened and he clutched Chris’s hand when thoughts of what might have happened invaded his waking nightmare.
    “But she’s dead, isn’t she?”
    David raised Chris’s palm to his mouth and kissed it. “Yes, she’s dead. But that’s someone else’s doing. Not yours.”
    “You’ll catch him, won’t you?”
    “I’ll do everything in my power to do that. But meanwhile, I need you to concentrate on getting better.”
    “Sure.” Chris yawned, his eyes blinking as he fought sleep.
    “Can you find out how Des is? No one will talk to me. I hope Trevor was called. He’ll be worried sick if Des doesn’t come home.”
    “Shh, I’ll call Trevor and let him know, and I’ll talk to the doctor about Des. Being a cop has to have some advantages, right?”
    When Chris didn’t answer, David stooped down and kissed Chris’s forehead. Chris’s eyes fluttered open again, and this time David kissed his mouth. He ran his thumb over Chris’s lips. “I love you hon, no matter what, remember that.”
    Chris fell asleep smiling.
    And David had never felt like more of a shit heel.
    David talked to Chris’s doctor and found out that they wanted to keep him for observation. He’d broken a rib, which had punctured his lung. They wanted to monitor him for a couple of days, to be on the safe side. The doctor assured him it wasn’t life threatening, but he needed to be watched. His friend,