The night had passed slowly, sleeplessly; a long-suffocating darkness filled with dizziness, nausea and unimaginable pain. He sat on the edge of the mattress, waiting for the worst to pass. He was still sitting there, bent over, when his phone rang. “Are you all right?” Molly said. “I’m fine. Stop worrying,” he replied, wishing desperately that she’d never left, that she was with him now, helping him stave off the grim reaper. “Did you call your sister?” “Yes,” he lied. “I don’t believe you’re fine, and I don’t believe you called your sister,” Molly said. He could picture her scowling with disapproval as she spoke. “I just phoned the hospital. The sheriff’s kidneys were bruised so badly the doctors were afraid they might shut down, and he has some fractured ribs and a broken nose. They thought his spleen might have been ruptured and they prepped him for surgery, but his condition has stabilized. They’re monitoring him in intensive care, which, incidentally, is where you should be right now.”
