“You talked about a desk job,” Will quickly interposed. “Why not? We have wounded officers who are technically disabled, but the department finds a place for them. I can still do internal affairs, white-collar crime. I’m good at what I do.”
“You weren’t wounded,” he said. “Those guys, they have a story to tell, the public loves them and we benefit from their continued service. You know the way of the world. Why are you so fired up to keep mucking out this sewer anyway? Had a deal down in Walnut Hills last night. You see the paper? Dispatch lost contact with two uniforms on a domestic. One of them ends up shot dead. Young guy, twenty-three, one kid. Jeez. Now the hospital killing is yesterday’s news. There’s going to be hell to pay at communications. Chief is already all over my ass for a report. Why would you miss that? Hey, today is the first day of the rest of your life.”
Will said nothing. His life now was lived in front of his face, in the next moment. Get his meds. Follow the rehab group down to the gym. Keep from shitting on himself. The painful process of pulling on socks. Trying to find the humor in the way that the human foot was such a stubborn hook that he fought to get his underwear off it. He didn’t want to think beyond that, yet this killing wouldn’t let him alone. He sipped and put the coffee down again. His hands were shaking. He hadn’t touched caffeine since before surgery. He concealed the shaking by wheeling himself.
“Hey,” Mueller said, following. “Want to go up to the solarium? That would be nice. See downtown probably, all the leaves are off the trees.”
They crowded into an elevator with people in green and purple scrub clothes. They looked comfortable. They could stand. Will was now looking at the world from most people’s belly buttons, something new to a man who stood-stood!-six feet, two inches. They rode up two floors and the car emptied out. But when Mueller started to step out, Will stopped him.
“Let’s go to the basement.”
Mueller looked at him oddly and they rode down in silence.
Will led the way when the doors opened.
“What are we doing down here?”
Will ignored the question, hearing Mueller’s shoes click behind him. The hallway was dim and deserted. Only one overhead lighting fixture was illuminated. Taking his bearings, he tried to remember how far the doctor’s office was from the elevator. Every few feet, dark corridors intersected the hallway. The beds and equipment parked against the wall looked ancient.
