With significant parts of his neck and his right arm bandaged, Paul Farrington walked through Disney World with long sleeves and his collar up. Madge and Bella were on the ride Mission to Mars, but Farrington begged off, suggesting the jostling during the ride would irritate the burns he received “when the boiler blew at work.”
As he waited stiffly by a railing, a tourist adjacent to him took photos of the famous amusement park’s immaculate grounds. “Not interested in meeting martians?”
Farrington smiled, as much as he was able. Even that slight grimace was an improvement. “Space travel? No.”
Brisbane, in outlandishly loud tourist gear, smiled behind his ever clicking camera. “Well, the diction’s improving. That is a good sign.”
Farrington hadn’t even been able to speak when Brisbane showed up at the heavily guarded hospital as part of a “specialist’s team” with paperwork to transport him to the Burn Center at New York Presbyterian Hospital for emergency treatment. The rest was smooth for the mad genius, though every bump on the gurney had been agony and Farrington was sure the ambulance ride was going to kill him. He had no idea what kind of medicines and solvents Brisbane was using, but now he could walk, talk a bit through clenched teeth, and even dress himself.
Brisbane chuckled, lowering the camera into the bag he carried on his shoulder. His hand re-emerged holding a tiny needle. A glance and he was ready. He dropped his arm nonchalantly. The needle pierced Farrington’s thigh, pain reliever flowing smoothly into his system.
Farrington sighed, comfort spreading through him like the warmth of exceptional Scotch. “Am I going to have to kick addiction when I’ve healed?”
“Not from this,” Brisbane murmured. “However, those ideas you’re addicted to are another matter altogether.”
His loyal friend disagreed with Farrington’s plan to pay back the thing that caught him with his guard down. “Not addicted, sure. You didn’t get hijacked.”
“So you keep telling me.”
Farrington had sworn the same oath through every painful moment since he regained control of himself, on fire and being rolled by that detective. He swore it again now. “Once I’m back in fighting form, there will be Hell to pay.”
“That pun never gets old. But hopes springs eternal that you will consider the possibility of trauma-induced delusion.”
“I. Told. You.—”
Brisbane knew pressing the issue would lead to trouble. He wandered away. “I will see you around six for fresh bandages and another dose, yes?”
Farrington fumed alone by the railing. He hadn’t imagined what happened to him. That demon was real. It went against every thought he ever had in his career. Against his concept of reality. It pushed him to doubt his own mind, though he’d never admit it to Brisbane. Farrington never let any opponent get the better of him, ever. Not as a Marine. Not as Black Ops. Not as a mercenary. Not as a fixer. Never.
But this thing had taken him, mind, body, and soul. Had completely subjugated the warrior. Had made Farrington its bitch. Farrington’s shame was complete.
That was then.
He was not going to allow himself to be so completely, utterly violated without dispensing some justice.
Farrinton slammed a fist against a post, nearly passed out from the pain.
Guess payback would have to wait a bit. Right now he had to put up a good front. Madge and Bella were back from Mars.
His wife rushed over to him as she had after every ride and store visit. “Are you up to this, honey?”
He nodded his chin up once, a gesture that caused him to cringe. “We promised ‘Bella. You see those grades? She’s earned this.”
Madge glanced at the bandages, “But you can hardly move.”
“Bah.”
Really, how does someone get injured like this when he’s just a consultant?”
“I just wasn’t myself this week.” Farrington let one finger rise slowly, painfully, until it touched a brand new Christ-head hanging around his bandaged neck. “But I’m coming around.”
Bella bounded up to them, beside herself. “Can we go to the fireworks at Epcot?”
Madge shook her head. “I think your father’s seen enough fireworks for awhile.”
“Ple-ease?”
Farrington hugged Madge, wincing. “Anything for my Bella.”
His wife whispered so their daughter wouldn’t hear. “Are you sure?”
“One of the few things I am sure of these days.”
She leaned closer to her husband studying him. “What is happening to you, Paul?”
“Suddenly I find myself with lots of questions.”
Madge grew alarmed. “About us?”
“Never,” he smiled, as much as he could. “But about everything else? Yeah. I’m thinking of a career change, a new path, and lots of work to do.”
“Are you up to that?”
Farrington’s eyes blazed with a new fire. “Hon, I don’t have a choice.”