Accused Criminal

Lana rested in the hospital bed while her husband finished signing her out. Out on bail, moments from being released from the hospital, Lana sighed and brushed hair from her face. The hospital room had chilled and she wore only the thin gown. Her husband had brought a bag of her clothing and it rested in the chair across the room. She only had to stand up and go get them.

A deep breath filled her lungs and she pushed up in the bed. Sheets wrinkled beneath her and the blanket around her legs folded down with a slight push.

She still wore a bulky black boot on her right leg and it itched terribly. It would be removed before she left. Lana was buying time examining herself, nerves floating in her stomach. Her body was still weak and her feet wrapped because of the lacerations on the soles, but she had to stand and walk to reach her clothing.

With another deep breath she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, a rush of cold air smacking against her skin. Goosebumps rose along her legs and she shivered.

Shaking her head, Lana looked at the tile floor and then the gauze attached to her feet. It would hurt, but she had already endured pain. Now she just wanted clothing. Wiggling further off the bed, her toes and the toe of her boot touched first, and then she dropped onto her feet with a cringe and hiss.

Her steps were wobbly and quick, pain throbbing through her entire body. It would have been smart to wait for help or to have asked her husband to leave the bag at the foot of her bed instead of on the other side of the room.

From the bag, she withdrew a skirt and a tank top. Shaking her head, Lana hobbled back to the bed, sitting on the edge. Her husband, with all that was going on and his mind focused on work, he had packed her a thin practically strapless cotton shirt and no shoes.
It was the middle of winter and snowing outside.

She wouldn’t be outside for very long, just the trip between the hospital and car and then the car and the house. Still, as she slid into the skirt, wiggling her hips until the skirt’s elastic band rested on her skin, Lana wished she had something heavier. Her body protested each movement, the slightest shift sending waves of pain through her nerves. Shirt in hand, she considered the easiest, least painful approach to putting it on. In any scenario Lana would have to lift her arms far past the point of comfort, but if she slipped it over one arm then her head followed by the other arm, she would only have to lift one arm above her head. She did so with a groan and squeezed her eyes shut. For a cotton shirt, the material felt heavy against her torso.

The door swung open to reveal the burly doctor, dark blonde facial hair covering his neck and jaw.

“Doctor,” she greeted him.

He nodded briskly and rushed over to the bed with long thudding strides. “Mrs. Andrews, your husband is almost done checking you out, but those damn detectives are out there as well.” Dr. Kale, she had found out his name a day or so previous, stood in front of her, a manila folder beneath one arm and his hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Their theories won’t stand up, or so I believe, but I wanted to bring you some of the papers from your file. It has your x-rays and a list of what medication you were on during your stay here. I don’t know what use it can be to your lawyer, but if I have to help those pestering detectives then I’d like to pass along a little help to you as well.”

A small smile turned up her lips and Lana thanked him. It had taken time but the doctor finally believed that she wasn’t a threat, or at least that what happened to her wasn’t intentional. Perhaps it was only because the detectives rubbed him the wrong way and had worn down his patience with their constant visits.

They were bothersome, those two men.

“Let me find you a hospital blanket,” he announced, a hand gripping the door partially open. “It’s rather cold outside. A new blanket of snow fell last night.”

“Oh,” Lana looked up at him, surprised. “That would… be nice.” Her arms were resting at her sides, hands in lap with her fingers picking at the bandages which wrapped the tips, protecting the fingernail-less digits.

“And you shouldn’t pick at those.” Doctor Kale stepped into the hall, white coat wrapping around his slack clad legs stepped into the hall, white coat wrapping around his slack clad legs.

Sighing, she spread her fingers as much as the pain would allow. Clean white bandages twisted around the pads of all ten of her fingers, tape holding them in place. Mild irritation caused by an itch in her mild and pointer finer cause her to scrunch her small nose. More bandages spotted her arms, creating a layer similar to a sleeve. She had thought that the boot was annoying but the longer Lana looked at the other hospital items decorating her, the more annoyed she became with them. Once out of the hospital she would have to replace the bandages and clean the wounds herself.

They’d have to make a stop at the store before going home.

The doctor returned with more than a blanket. Keeping the door open with his back, he pulled in a wheelchair; a coarse gray blanket with spots of white fuzz was tossed over the back. He maneuvered into the tiny room and placed the chair to her left.
She would have to hop down and swivel into the seat, placing as little pressure on her soles as possible. Lana frowned at the idea of it.

“There is probably no easy way to get,” he motioned to the chair. “But if you want I could, uh, lift you. The back of your legs are less injured than your feet or the front of your legs.”

“Uh,” Lana paused, looking between the wheelchair and bed. He was right, of course, about her legs having fewer injuries along the back of them. Faint heat crept into her cheeks as Lana nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind lifting me…”

He lifted her bridal style, one arm beneath her bent legs and the other around her waist. She slung and arm over his shoulders for extra support, regretting the movement as pain jarred his arm.
Careful, holding her away from his body, the doctor placed her in the wheelchair and then stepped back.

Lana tugged the blanket off of the back and spread the cloth over her lap, a wave of warmth rushing over her skin. After she had tucked it around her boot and made sure that the material did not sweep the ground, Lana looked to the doctor. The last time that she had been in a wheelchair she had been going into labor and she hadn’t been wheeling about in it herself; so, she looked to him for more help.

Silently, the doctor moved around her, making a wide arch until he stood behind the chair and took hold of the handles. The wheels squeaked as she was turned and at the door the doctor maneuvered awkwardly to get her into the hallway, get the door open and keep it open, and then get himself back behind the chair.

The movements were awkward as his large form moved around that Lana wondered why he had not gotten a nurse to aid him.

When she was pushed into the hallway, the lights were brighter than in the room and it took a moment for her to adjust. By the time she was used to the yellow lighting, she was moving towards a desk around which people hovered. On one side were average men and women unidentifiable one way or the other, and on the other side of the desk were nurses and other hospital employees in colorful scrubs. Amongst the crowd of non-employees, Howard pinched his brow. Her husband clutched papers in his left hand as well as a pair of leather gloves. A long black coat dropped from his shoulders to the back of his knees. He was dressed for work, per usual, and his graying hair was brushed back from his face.
Dropping his hand, Howard spotted Lana and the doctor and extended the papers to her. Then he started for the elevators.

Doctor Kale continued to push her, and remained silent. Her husband appeared to have a lot on his mind and she was grateful for the help in getting from her room to the car though it would not surprise her if the doctor was beginning to become irritated by her husband.

Howard pulled out his phone the moment the elevator doors closed, allowed Doctor. Kale to press the ground level button, and did not say a word. The three of them rode down three floors with nothing but the click of the elevator dropping down and the click of Howard’s fingers on the phone’s keys as noise.

She was pushed out into the parking lot and to the car door, Howard two steps ahead of them the whole way. Suppressing a groan, she stood and quickly positioned her body on the leather seat of the Cadillac. Her legs had just swung in, gently resting on the ground with minimum pressure, when the passenger’s door was closed. Howard was already behind the wheel, turning the key.