didn’t do this often, but… “Do you know who I am?”
“No, sir.”
Just then, the other receptionist hung up the phone, looked at him, and gasped. “Oh my God, you’re Dante Deity!”
The first receptionist frowned. “Who’s Dante Deedy?”
The second rolled her eyes. “Only the king of metal. He was on the cover of Rolling Stone last month. We can’t keep his friend waiting. Do you have any idea how much money he donated to this hospital last year?”
The first receptionist shrugged. “Don’t know him. I just listen to pop.”
“Oh. Well, he’s the guy who married Coll—”
Dante sighed. “Forget about what I said. It’s not important. Shouldn’t you be attending to this young woman, regardless of whether her insurance is valid?”
“Exactly. It’s our jobs,” the second receptionist said, nodding while the first paged a nurse. Then she looked up at him. “Can I have your autograph?”
As Shayna was wheeled off to be treated, Dante signed autographs for both receptionists—and for a few of the other waiting patients who knew him. He should have left then, but something compelled him to stay and make sure she was well taken care of. To talk to her and maybe hear in her own words what had happened. And to find out who she was. For some reason, that seemed imperative.
For the next few hours he flipped through magazines and even managed to doze in the uncomfortable ER seat. A nurse awoke him with a gentle tap to the shoulder.
“She’s awake, and she wants to thank you.”
“How is she?” Dante asked.
The nurse frowned at him over her clipboard. “I’m afraid I cannot disclose medical information without the patient’s consent, but you can ask Shayna.”
Dante rose and followed the nurse. He stopped her just outside of the hospital room. “What are you going to do with her now?”
The nurse shook her head. “If she’s homeless, as you suspect, we’ll have to direct her to a shelter, but what she really needs is at least a week of rest and plenty of food and fluids. And that is all I’m allowed to say unless she gives me permission to tell you more.”
“I’ll take her home with me.”
The words were out of Dante’s mouth before he thought. But, once he spoke, conviction filled his pores.
A person to rescue, something broken to fix, a mystery to solve.
“That is beyond kind of you,” the nurse replied with wide eyes. “But it will have to be up to the patient.”
Dante nodded. “I guess I’ll just have to convince her.”
The nurse nodded and headed off down the hall, her shoes whispering along the sanitized floor. Dante waited, lingering at the door to Shayna’s room and finally hearing the nurse’s hushed voice as she spoke to the doctor.
“The blisters on her feet were so severe, I’d almost think she walked here from Portland.”
Chapter Two
Shayna continued walking, focusing every cell of her being into placing one foot in front of the other. Her feet had been numb for the last few miles, but now the pain returned with unbearable virulence. When it rained, her hair slapped against her cheeks like soaked whips, and the remains of her socks squelched in her shoes. Then the sun would come out and the asphalt would scorch her feet through the holes in her soles.
She didn’t know how many miles she’d covered, or how long she’d been walking. Had it been two weeks, or three? Time had blurred since she set out on that first day, when the last thread of her life had been lopped off.
As her shambling steps carried her forward, her torn shoes resembled toothless mouths. They made dull fwapping sounds as she walked. People moved out of her way on the sidewalk, the streetlights reflecting their hostile stares. Shayna knew she looked like hell, but she didn’t care. Her only focus was finding a place to lie down before she fell. Every blister pierced her feet like hot irons. Even walking on the sides of her arches no longer helped.
The blisters broke. A weak
“No, sir.”
Just then, the other receptionist hung up the phone, looked at him, and gasped. “Oh my God, you’re Dante Deity!”
The first receptionist frowned. “Who’s Dante Deedy?”
The second rolled her eyes. “Only the king of metal. He was on the cover of Rolling Stone last month. We can’t keep his friend waiting. Do you have any idea how much money he donated to this hospital last year?”
The first receptionist shrugged. “Don’t know him. I just listen to pop.”
“Oh. Well, he’s the guy who married Coll—”
Dante sighed. “Forget about what I said. It’s not important. Shouldn’t you be attending to this young woman, regardless of whether her insurance is valid?”
“Exactly. It’s our jobs,” the second receptionist said, nodding while the first paged a nurse. Then she looked up at him. “Can I have your autograph?”
As Shayna was wheeled off to be treated, Dante signed autographs for both receptionists—and for a few of the other waiting patients who knew him. He should have left then, but something compelled him to stay and make sure she was well taken care of. To talk to her and maybe hear in her own words what had happened. And to find out who she was. For some reason, that seemed imperative.
For the next few hours he flipped through magazines and even managed to doze in the uncomfortable ER seat. A nurse awoke him with a gentle tap to the shoulder.
“She’s awake, and she wants to thank you.”
“How is she?” Dante asked.
The nurse frowned at him over her clipboard. “I’m afraid I cannot disclose medical information without the patient’s consent, but you can ask Shayna.”
Dante rose and followed the nurse. He stopped her just outside of the hospital room. “What are you going to do with her now?”
The nurse shook her head. “If she’s homeless, as you suspect, we’ll have to direct her to a shelter, but what she really needs is at least a week of rest and plenty of food and fluids. And that is all I’m allowed to say unless she gives me permission to tell you more.”
“I’ll take her home with me.”
The words were out of Dante’s mouth before he thought. But, once he spoke, conviction filled his pores.
A person to rescue, something broken to fix, a mystery to solve.
“That is beyond kind of you,” the nurse replied with wide eyes. “But it will have to be up to the patient.”
Dante nodded. “I guess I’ll just have to convince her.”
The nurse nodded and headed off down the hall, her shoes whispering along the sanitized floor. Dante waited, lingering at the door to Shayna’s room and finally hearing the nurse’s hushed voice as she spoke to the doctor.
“The blisters on her feet were so severe, I’d almost think she walked here from Portland.”
Chapter Two
Shayna continued walking, focusing every cell of her being into placing one foot in front of the other. Her feet had been numb for the last few miles, but now the pain returned with unbearable virulence. When it rained, her hair slapped against her cheeks like soaked whips, and the remains of her socks squelched in her shoes. Then the sun would come out and the asphalt would scorch her feet through the holes in her soles.
She didn’t know how many miles she’d covered, or how long she’d been walking. Had it been two weeks, or three? Time had blurred since she set out on that first day, when the last thread of her life had been lopped off.
As her shambling steps carried her forward, her torn shoes resembled toothless mouths. They made dull fwapping sounds as she walked. People moved out of her way on the sidewalk, the streetlights reflecting their hostile stares. Shayna knew she looked like hell, but she didn’t care. Her only focus was finding a place to lie down before she fell. Every blister pierced her feet like hot irons. Even walking on the sides of her arches no longer helped.
The blisters broke. A weak
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