Return of the Supporting Actor

"Talking" is a bit of an exaggeration. It isn't something one does well with a broken jaw. I had done more than enough talking with a broken jaw as it was. I can grunt if I have to, but I prefer not to. Thankfully someone had brought me a laptop. Really not up to my usual standards, I have to say, but better than nothing. Better than the pen and paper they handed me in the first place. I am pretty sure the look of scorn I had on my face when I looked from my broken hand to the pen and paper was pretty clear.

I'm still not quite sure how I ended up in the hospital. Needless to say things were a little fuzzy over the past little while. I have no idea what day it is. Not really an important detail, and to be honest everyone has been so busy asking me questions that I haven't really had time to ask any of my own. Hard to interrupt when all you can do is type. I have to find some obnoxious sound to program in and play to get attention. Maybe something from Star Wars. "Imperial March" perhaps. I think that should get their attention.

The pillows are really not that comfortable, and I am finding that hospital gowns are chilly. I got green jello earlier. Green is really the low end of the barrel as jello goes.

I'm rambling. I find I like doing that much more than thinking about all those things everyone keeps asking me about. Everyone wants to know about Wilkerson. What do I know? What did he do? What happened?

I just want to know what happened on the last episode of Heroes.

Here comes Emma again. Mack. It is so weird seeing her like this. I hate that it means it was all real. Of course, I know it was real. Every time I'm nearing my next dose of drugs I'm all too aware it is real. But I like those times when I can just zone out and pretend that a hot nurse is going to come in and look after me and everything is fine.

Right. Emma. They just gave me another dose of codeine and I'm feeling a bit off.

I've only met Emma once before. Just for a few minutes. It's pretty clear that she didn't come as herself then. Sure, she's been a bit battered and bruised, but she's way more impressive than I'd thought. It is pretty clear she knows way more about this sort of intrigue than I do. Or at least than I did. Now I know more than I ever wanted.

She's got a great rack. I find my eyes drawn to it as I'm sitting here and I wonder just what kind of bra she has on.

"Q. I mean... Jim." It sounds so weird hearing her say my name. Luckily it's enough to jolt me back to paying attention. It's pretty clear she's feeling uncomfortable.

Good. She should. It's all her fault this happened to me. She got me into it but she didn't say I could end up kidnapped and tortured. I mean, who does that happen to? It happens in movies, but in real life? This doesn't happen in real life.

Except it did.

Right. I grunt to let Mac-... Emma... know that I'm paying attention now. Then I turn the laptop so she can see the screen. My fingers are stiff and it is awkward typing with just one hand. I'm used to my fingers flying over the keys and having no issues doing what I want with the computer. Suddenly I am typing with a couple fingers and it all feels wrong.

How's Red?

That's right. The first thing I ask is about Red. I remember someone said he was hurt too. Ok, so this is kinda his fault too, but he's been doing his thing and I think he got sucked into this as much as I did. Somehow I doubt he really knew it was going to go like this.

I still think Emma had some ideas.

"Red's awake. Sort of. He'll make it though." Something about the way Emma talks about him makes me look at her a bit more closely. She looks worried. Sure, she looks uncomfortable when she asks me how I am, guilty, but she's worried about Red. Really worried. Like she cares about him.

Jealousy fizzes through my veins. Yeah, I know she isn't the kind of woman who looks at me. But still. Red? Didn't think he was any more her type than I am. Only happens in the movies that a woman like her looks at guys like us.

But apparently my life became the movies at some point, just not in the fun way. Not with me as the hero. I'm that supporting actor guy who gets beat all to heck and still doesn't get the girl and at the end of the movie you never really wonder what happens to him.

I'll be wondering what will happen to me, that's for sure.

That's good. What's up?

I'm not really into talking about Red now. I'm sure she wants to hear all about everything that has happened. Ask me again about who I saw there, what they asked. She wanted me to type it all out but I've been so out of it I've had some problems focusing. I feel a little guilty over it for about a nanosecond, then I rethink that. I shouldn't feel guilty. I'm the one who got a screwdriver shoved into my leg.

She settles in the chair beside my bed, the uncomfortable one guaranteed to give you back pain. She looks to the door, like she is waiting for someone to come rescue her, or maybe like she is worried someone will come in. I can't tell. No good at that sort of thing.

"We can't stay here." She looks so serious, and I wonder why she has to leave. I guess she's worried about who will come looking for her. I'm a bit frustrated that she seems to have come out unscathed, or at least relatively. In comparison.

Ok. So how do I contact you?

She reads the screen and starts shaking her head immediately, looking at me with pity. "No, Jim. We have to leave. You too. We can't stay here, none of us."

I'm not sure how much my expression changes, but I give her my best "are you crazy?" look. Ow. Bad idea. I keep forgetting how many muscles are connected to my jaw.

"Really. We have to go. I know, it's crazy, and I don't know how we'll manage it, but... we have to do this. We have to get out of here. We're in trouble. I'll explain later." Yeah, it's always later. I'd really like to object and I start typing but I'm too slow. She just keeps going.

"So we have to figure out a way to get you out of here. It's going to suck, but once we're out you can tell us everything. And we'll find something to help us, I'm sure." I think that was supposed to make me feel important. Right now all I can think is that I am not leaving my codeine and all the other drugs. I can't. I spent too much time without them. No way. They can find some other way. I'm sure it shows on my face, but Emma isn't paying attention to me. She's planning, I'm sure.

I see a face at the door and try to get Emma's attention. It's a girl, looks kinda young. She's pretty I guess, maybe the kind of girl you call "striking." But she looks a bit off. Something in the way she's looking at me I guess. I dunno. Never seen her before, but Emma looks at her and smiles encouragingly, although maybe a bit wistfully. There's something there, but I suck with people. Never been good at reading what people actually mean or what they feel.

"Laika, this is.. Jim." She still can't remember my name easily. It grates a little. Shouldn't we be long past code names? I wonder if she ever stopped to worry about me.

"Jim, this is Laika. She's... helped us." I can tell Emma changed what she said. It was easy enough to read, even for me. Whatever. Don't care. Right now I'm just glad my pain meds are still working. My jaw hurts though. I guess maybe I've been clenching it. That would do it. I'm supposed to stay calm, but who can when Emma walks in and starts talking about leaving the hospital?

 

The End

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