Chapter 14: Hard to Get it Right

When we went back to work on Monday, I returned to the retail company's distribution warehouse. Lee was working in the front office while I was in the warehouse, posing as an employee doing inventory. I had a clipboard, wore safety shoes, a safety vest, and a hard hat, as per the regulations. My role was to see if I could find anything out of the ordinary in my rounds through the big building.

I had already noticed one employee who was watching me carefully, although he was trying not to let on that he was. He was a forklift driver and his job was to move product from the racks to the shipping dock. He was not responsible for moving stock from arriving containers to the racks. On more than one occasion, I noticed him moving product from one rack to another. When I checked later on, the product was no longer in the rack he had transported the stock to. It seemed odd that he would move it from one place to another before moving it out to the shipping dock.

During lunch, I checked with Lee and mentioned the odd procedure. He said he'd check it out for me. I gave him the product and shipping numbers that I had noted on the scan code attached to the pallet. In the meantime, I sat with a number of other men in the lunchroom and carefully tried to draw them out about what they knew about the losses. None of them were willing to admit they knew who was responsible, but I got the impression they knew more than they were willing to tell.

I went back to the warehouse after the lunch hour and resumed my random inventory checks. I had just finished one section and was moving across the main aisle to the next area when a forklift with a large pallet of boxes wheeled around the corner and ran down the aisle toward me. It was in between the yellow safety lines, so I paid it little attention. Quickly, however, out of the corner of my eye, I could see it move to my side, leaving me no room between the racks and the oncoming vehicle.

I had no time to consider my alternatives, and my diving into a partially filled rack was pure reaction. I almost made it. I felt the forklift load hit me and that was the last thing I remembered.

My first recollection was sound, noise really. Beeps and clatter and footsteps and voices, but none of it made any sense. My head felt like someone had been banging on it for hours. It hurt like hell. Then, as I started to take stock of the rest of my body, I realized my head wasn't the only thing that was hurting. My chest felt like a two hundred pound weight was sitting on it. My legs were numb, or so I thought. I couldn't feel my feet.

What the hell had happened and where the hell was I? The memories came back gradually. The warehouse, the clipboard, the forklift. I had been hit by the forklift ... or at least by the load of boxes on the forklift. As my brain began to function, I guessed I was in a hospital. I couldn't move my arms or my legs, and there was something covering my eyes. I could open my eyes, but I couldn't see. It didn't matter anyway. It was painful just to move my eyeballs.

I started to lose my grip once more and the noises stopped. I was having strange dreams. That beautiful blonde was back again. I was sure I knew her. I could almost hear her voice, but ... not quite. It took too much effort to fight the feeling, so I surrendered. I was at peace, I thought. If it weren't for the pain, it wouldn't be too bad.

I came back into that nasty world once more, but this time, the pain wasn't as harsh and the noise wasn't as loud. I could smell something, though. Something familiar. I let myself concentrate on that smell. Nothing else seemed very important. I knew I'd figure it out sooner or later. I discovered that I could move one of my arms. That was good, wasn't it? I touched my face. I wanted to know if I still had one. Stupid! Of course I did. But there was something soft wrapped around my head, covering my eyes. I wanted to take it off. I could see light coming through the bandage, so I wasn't blind.

I started to push the gauze up so that I could see when I felt a hand stop me. It was a soft hand. It had that scent I recognized. I tried to talk, but couldn't. Something was stopping me. Something in my mouth and throat. I heard a voice.

"Colin? Can you hear me?"

It was a soft voice. A woman's voice. I knew that voice. I knew that scent. I wanted to tell her that I heard her, but I couldn't talk. I tried to wave my hand, but she was holding it. I felt something press against my cheek. Something soft, and warm, and damp. It felt wonderful, but it didn't last very long. I was slipping away again. Back into that dream I had been having. That was okay. It wasn't a bad dream.

I woke up again. Was it daytime? I could see light coming through the bandage. I knew I was in a hospital now. I could hear the pages and the soft voices and the beeps of the monitors. My thinking was clearer now. My pain was clearer too. My head didn't hurt as much, but my ribs and hip and thigh hurt like hell. Not screaming pain, but a dull, continuous, throbbing pain.

I lay there, trying to assess my situation. In a hospital? Definitely. Concussion? Likely. Broken ribs? Likely. Fractured hip and maybe femur? Possibly. Tube in my throat? Definitely. Punctured lung? Possibly. If only half this was fact, I was one fucked up cowboy. Who was I? Colin Stewart. Where was I? Vancouver. Okay, relax. Most of your marbles are rolling in the right places.

"Colin?"

It was the lovely soft voice once again. Kayla! I tried to say her name, but it came out something like "Kaaaackkkk." I raised my hand so that at least she knew I could hear her. I felt her soft hand embrace mine and grip it lightly. The warmth of her touch flooded through me and I relaxed. I couldn't see her, but I could feel her and I could smell her. That was enough for now. I fell back asleep.

I was awake and then asleep several times. I wasn't counting. Sometimes I knew Kayla was there, other times she wasn't. Somewhere along the way, they took the covering off my eyes and I could see. It was blurry, but I could see. I don't know when it happened, but they removed the tube from my throat. Thank God for that. My first reward was a glass of water. I had an almost unquenchable thirst, but it hurt to swallow for a while.

Nurses and a doctor would stop in to see me now and then. I was staying awake much longer now. My thinking was clearer now. I knew what I was waiting for. I wanted Kayla. Someone could explain what happened to me at any time, but I wanted Kayla. She must have been at my side almost from the beginning. I wanted her to know how important she was to me.

She came in that morning, dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans. She looked a bit drawn and I saw dark circles under her eyes. It didn't matter a bit to me. I was just happy to see her.

"Hi," I croaked.

I saw tears forming in her eyes as she leaned in and kissed me softly, but for a nice long time. "Hi. You're getting better. You look better. I was scared, Colin. I was worried I might lose you."

I tried to lighten the mood. "Not me. Too miserable. Too stubborn. Did I do much damage to the forklift?"

She couldn't resist. She laughed. "No ... I don't think so. Oh, Colin, I'm so glad you're going to be all right. The doctor told me you're out of danger. You'll just have to be patient while you mend."

"Hah! That's not me. The 'patient patient?' Ask my mother," I said before remembering. "Well, if she was around, that is."

"Well this time you've got a very understanding nurse. Firm, but fair."

"Very fair. Lovely fair hair. Just seeing you will help me get better all by itself."

She smiled, then bent and kissed me again. "I hope you'll still feel that way when you've recovered."

I learned it was Friday and I'd been in the ICU ward since Monday afternoon. I had a concussion, cuts on my face and eyelids, four cracked ribs, one of which had poked into my lung, deep bruises on my hip and thigh, but luckily, no broken bones. I was going to be very sore for a while, but I would make a full recovery.

They had wrapped the ribs and drained the partially collapsed lung. The bandage on my eyes was to allow the cuts from broken glass to heal on my eyelids. Luckily, there was no damage to my eyes. I must have had them closed when I crashed into a large mirror standing upright in the rack.

I had assorted other bruises on my shoulders, arms and hands from becoming a human projectile. I had no recollection of any of this after seeing the oncoming forklift and its load heading inevitably toward me. Shit! I survive eight years in a maximum security prison without so much as a hangnail. I survive an all out attempt by a hit man. I survive being run down by a lunatic pickup truck driver, only to get taken out by a warehouse forklift driver. Go figure!

They didn't let Kayla stay very long. She told me she'd be back that afternoon. She was on her way to work. I told her to be careful and watch out for runaway forklifts. She didn't think it was funny.

They started feeding me that noon. A tuna salad sandwich, some kind of green, creamy soup, and milk. It was a feast as far as I was concerned. I was surprised I had an appetite. There was still pain, but as long as I didn't squirm or try to breathe deeply, I could remain reasonably comfortable. I was terrified of the idea of coughing or sneezing. I'd cracked a rib early on in my teens and I remembered the pain. Four broken ribs would, I assumed, be four times the pain. No thanks!

I got a nice surprise that afternoon. Both Kayla and Harold came in. He looked relieved to see me conscious and fairly alert. I got another lovely kiss from Kayla and a careful handshake from Harold. I was anxious to know what had happened and he was obliging.