‘I’m sorry Regan…’ He felt the burning sting of tears behind his eyes and blinked furiously. He would not cry. He had disappointed her, practically left her for dead. That gave him no right to cry. But the tears fell anyway. The tears fell on Regan’s face, making small clean streaks down her pale face. After a few moments, he forced himself to stop his womanly ways. Lying her back down on the sad excuse for a bed pallet, he took inventory of her. Her face was dirty and bloodied on one side. It looked like old blood, but he wasn’t quite sure how old the blood was. She had bruises on her arms and he assumed she would have them on her legs as well. Anger fresh, consuming and scalding bubbled up inside him. He smiled grimly. Anger he knew all to well. Anger he could deal with. Anger at the MacPhearsons’ and his bastard cousin Alex. They had been beating her. As far as he could tell, they were trying to beat her into submission, not to death, or she would already be dead. He stood and. We were surprised to find that her hospital bill, which I had expected to eat a big chunk of my savings, had been covered largely in full (excepting the long distance bill of course). With a little digging Tammy found out that the FBI had politely asked the hospital to handle us pro bono with a vague hint of a possible fat government medical research grant. I don’t know if they ever got the grant but I added the hospital to near the top of our own grant list for our new Foundation. We arrived at my hotel suite about noon and surveyed our array of suitcases. All I had was my one bag of clothes, but Allison had her small suitcase of oldclothes, the new bag carrying our overflow, her prescriptions and the Foundation bag of ‘travel money’. Since it is patently impossible to get any decent rest or quality sleep in a hospital, especially with two of us squeezed close (alas clothed) in a hospital bed. We saw my huge king sized bed, did the only thing that popped into our minds. We jumped.
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