Late Night with Andres (8 page)

T
HE
S
CREEN
E
XPLODED
, and Milla cried out. Ann rushed to turn off the TV set.

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” The nurse tried to keep her patient in the bed.

“What just happened? What? Did we just watch them die?” Milla fumbled for the remote. “Turn it back on!”

Ann looked reluctant, but clicked the set back to life. Instead of a room, a nervous-looking newscaster appeared. “Obviously we’ve lost the feed,” he explained. “That was a terrible, terrible thing to witness.” He spoke to someone off screen: “Can we get it on constant loop behind me?”

Milla watched the same explosion over and over. The three men clearly tried to run, but the screen filled with fire and ash before it went black Her parents rushed into the room and hugged Milla hard.

“Honey, honey. You’re okay. I love you. Your father’s here.” Her mother slapped her father’s face a few times and pushed him closer to her. Father and daughter embraced.

“Dad, did you see? Do you think they made it?” Milla pointed at the TV. Both parents watched the screen in horror as the room that had so recently held their beloved child disintegrated.

“I’m going to have diarrhea.” Milla’s mom took off for the bathroom, leaving wet farts behind her.

Her dad sat down hard, but never let go of Milla’s hand. “Baby girl, thank Jesus you were out.” He burped over and over. Both Milla’s parents suffered from IBS and had instant reactions to stress.

Ann left Milla to her loved ones, and Milla waited for any news about the men in the room, except for the Devil’s Fart—it had been way obvious he was roasted. The newscasters filled the airtime with pontificating about the actions of the bomb squad. They wondered aloud as to the types of lawsuits that would be filed as a result of the video surveillance of the whole situation. In between hugs from her parents, Milla surfed channels, trying to find something, anything, about Gage.

Finally she swiped her dad’s phone and called Karen. Hearing her reserved friend’s gleeful voice, Milla teared up a bit. Then she got down to business. “Can you tell me what it says on Twitter?” Milla could feel her toe throbbing again.
Fuck. I bet my toe was on the floor that blew up.

“Ahhh…ummmm…maybe not. You should get some rest.” Karen was a horrible secret keeper.

“Spill it.” Milla finally settled on a channel and just left it.

“I’m sorry, Milla. RIP Daxson is trending. But that kind of stuff’s not always right.”

She could hear Karen’s keyboard clicking.

“I’ll check Facebook. Oh. Whoa.”

“What?” The suspense coupled with pain was killing her.

Ann appeared with a handful of pills and a little cup.

“Your boobs are everywhere. Wow. There’s even a meme with your boobs wearing two of Princess Eugenie’s hats. That’s just tasteless. Yup, here people are posting videos and pictures of him and saying
Rest in Pieces
. Society’s a classless whore. I’m so sorry. Doesn’t mean it’s true…” Karen’s voice drifted off.

Milla put her fist to her mouth and bit. There was just something about the guy. They’d spent such an intense time together. She liked him a lot. She didn’t realize she was crying until hot tears spilled over her knuckles.

Her mother returned from the bathroom and crawled into Milla’s hospital bed, smoothing her daughter’s hair. Cuddled in her mother’s arms with her father steadfastly holding her hand, Milla listened as the newscaster urgently interrupted a roundtable discussion about the procedural choices of the police.

“This just in! I’m getting right now in my earpiece that Gage Daxson, singer and young idol has died from injuries sustained in the blast. The two bomb squad men in the room have sustained injuries and are being transported. I repeat, Gage Daxson has died tonight, with the whole world watching.”

The cameraman panned out to the crowd that had formed outside the studio. He zoomed in on one teenage girl as her face crumbled. She was too far away for audio, but she was clearly screaming the word
no
.

Brett insisted on limping out next to the body bag. Larson stood on the other side, cradling an obviously injured arm. They refused to part with the man they were supposed to protect. There was no emotion on either of their faces. They didn’t blink nor hide when faced with the storm of flashbulbs. They stood close by as the body was loaded into the ambulance, then crawled into the rig, shutting the prying world out by slamming the doors closed.

Milla felt hollow. She had stopped crying, afraid she would send her parents into full-fledged panic attacks. Her toe was lost, though she didn’t think about it much. The physical therapist had been by to see her a few times. Although she was perky and friendly, Julie was a huge ball buster and wanted Milla to do whatever hurt her foot the most. She had shown Milla pictures of various prosthetic toes and claimed that all would look awesome in a pair of sandals. Milla was fitted with a cute little toe that oddly, after put in place, did help her balance. Milla decided right then and there to name her fake toe Gage. In his honor.

The hospital should have discharged her weeks ago, but the chief of staff kept finding reasons to keep Milla. Her mild concussion was listed on all the paperwork, but the neurologist had only visited once. He was not the least bit impressed with Milla’s head injury. There wasn’t much anyone could do about the cut in her mouth. She was instructed not to eat salty stuff. Her bruises would fade. She knew the hospital was keeping her because the world was losing its mind.

Gage Daxson’s death had shaken the very fabric of the entertainment business. He was being compared to Elvis and James Dean with the inevitable addition of, “But he died as a hero!” It was a slow news month, so every news or entertainment program filled their airtime with Daxson. There were interviews with childhood classmates, groupies, and his manager. All had glowing things to say. No less than ten women claimed to be carrying his child. And that was just what Milla was allowed to see. She knew there was also an aspect of it that related to her. Their last kiss was apparently a big deal. There were whole articles devoted to the love that would’ve been. The media were great at creating stories—big, hairy stories that suited whatever clip art they had on hand.

She was allowed to visit Sydney the bodyguard in a wheelchair pushed by her mom. He was in and out, and mostly slept, but every once in a while they spoke. He didn’t seem to know about Gage, and Milla didn’t want to be the one to tell him. After a few days, she tapered off her visits, afraid she would have to lie to him. There must have been plans for a funeral, but Milla had avoided any coverage of that. Maybe she’d visit his grave someday.

Milla hated night at the hospital most of all. Her parents got to know the staff well enough to feel comfortable leaving her there. They slept in a nearby hotel. And she told them that was fine. Night was a better time to cry anyway. Only nurses making rounds interrupted her throughout the night. The situation had been traumatic; she knew that. It would take time. She just wished she could stop wanting to feel Gage’s kiss again.

It was night, and the TV flickered in the room like a technotronic fireplace. Milla wondered if she could have a seizure if she stared at it too long. Out of the corner of her eye she saw light slice into the room as the door released the hallway’s brightness on her. She wiped her eyes and sat up. She knew the drill: blood pressure and temperature. There’d been talk of her going home tomorrow. She wondered if she would cry herself dry once she had no night nurse to interrupt her.

But the silhouette was wrong. Very wrong. The nurse now in the room was tall, the hair way too long. It didn’t fit any of the nighttime nurses’ descriptions. Fear choked her. Her mind reeled, completely paralyzed by the thought of having a stranger lock her in a room again. The giant nurse rushed her, and Milla gasped. A hand pressed over her mouth. She could only see flickers of what appeared to be the ugliest woman in the world. Milla began shaking like a runt Chihuahua getting electrocuted.

“No, don’t scream. It’s me. Shit. I’m sorry.”

She recognized the voice. How could she not? The TV did nothing but air clips from past interviews. She shook her head violently to free her mouth.

“Daxson. You fucker.” Milla began slapping him. Now that she had a context for the ugly nurse, she could tell it was him—with a horrible wig and pink scrubs.

He took her blows while he shushed her. “No. Seriously. You’re safe. It’s me. It’s me.”

Her slaps tapered off. “You’re alive? I thought you were…” She reached up and pulled the wig off his head.

In the bluish light he smiled, his face scruffy with the new growth of a beard. “Yeah, sorry about that.” He glanced over his shoulder.

“You’re lucky I don’t have a loaded gun right now. You scared me.” She’d wanted to make some sort of joke, but her comment ended with her voice cracking.

“I’m an asshole. Why did I sneak up on you?” He pulled her gently into a hug.

It should have been weirder, hugging this guy she barely knew, but he smelled good, and his arms were comforting.

“I’m so glad you’re alive. I just didn’t know how to feel. No one understood. I felt…” She patted his back and felt for his heartbeat with her other hand—just to be sure he wasn’t a dream or a freaky side effect of the pain killers. “Everyone thinks you died.”

“I know. It might’ve been a shitty choice—to pretend. All the people close to me know, though.” He pulled the armchair over to her bed and retrieved his wig.

“Don’t wear it.” Milla watched as he pulled the fake hair back on.

“Have to. I promised Larson and Brett I would, though I think they’re just messing with me.” He glanced at the TV, which as usual had his face surrounded by a black frame.

“It’s sad.” Milla pointed to the TV.

“I’m here to check on you and to apologize.” Gage leaned forward, and his blond wig tickled her wrist.

Milla fisted the fake hair and yanked, quickly freeing it and putting it under her butt so he couldn’t wear it. “For what? Lying? Dying? Not dying?” she asked.

“All of that. I’m just sorry we had to go through that. And that when you get out of here they’ll be all over you.” Gage ran a hand through his real hair, making it stick straight up. “That’s my fault.”

“Who’ll be all over me?” Milla folded her arms, realizing she wasn’t wearing a bra and her thin hospital gown and his nearness were making her perky.