Victoria and Howard walked back inside Heath’s room as Audra was finishing cleaning the shoulder wound.

Victoria took Audra’s place by Heath’s side. He slowly reached for her hand. She interlocked her fingers with his.

“Mother, I don’t feel so good.”

“I know, Sweetheart,” she sympathized, gently stroking his blond hair with her free hand. “ But we’re going to make it all better.”

“Heath, I’m going to put you under anesthetic in order to extract the bullets.

“Bullets? How many are there?”

“Two. One in your left shoulder and the second in your lower back. They’re the main source of the infection. Your mother and brother, here,” he motioned Nick, ”are going to assist me. So they’ll be close by.”

“Okay,” Heath acquiesced, wetting his lips with his tongue. “Thirsty,” he requested of Nick.

“Sure.” Nick reached for the glass of water and helped Heath take a few sips. The blond man began retching at the excess mucus caught down his throat. He successfully managed to cough out a large amount of the viscous substance, which cleared his air passage and allowed him to breathe easier.

“Try to relax, now. We’ll start in a few minutes.”

Flanked by his brother and mother perched on either side of his bed, Heath allowed his tense body to go flaccid. He shut his eyes as they lulled him into a sense of security. He surrendered to their soft murmurs while Dr. Merar began prepping him for surgery.

Sponging the doctor’s forehead became a rigorous task for Victoria as the medical man painstakingly explored the gashing area in search of the pellet barely discernable amidst the enflamed muscle tissues. He finally located the bullet deeply embedded within the shoulder and with surgical precision, proceeded to tweeze it out.

After suturing the incision and applying a clean dressing over it, they rolled the insentient patient over in a prone position, slanting his head sideways. Nick readjusted the ether mask over Heath’s nose and mouth.

Victoria stood by with a square of gauze and a lamp as the doctor began making an incision near the back entry wound. Heath’s body momentarily stiffened as though a transient electric surge had coursed through his body. Dr. Merar increased the size of the incision and a second twitch accompanied by an audible groan inferred that the anesthetic was wearing off.

"Give him two more drops, Nick,” instructed Dr. Merar.

Nick doled either out in driblets onto the cottony mask. Dr. Merar waited for the substance to take effect before resuming his work.

Nick’s breathing rate paced in rhythm with his brother’s. Eyes riveted on the still form, his heart fluttered when the sucking rasping sounds suddenly ceased.

“Doc, he’s not breathing.”

“Give him a few more seconds.”

They all held their breath. Their mental anguish escalated with each passing seconds.

The deathly silence was mercifully broken when Heath drew in a lengthy gasp and his breathing resumed.

“Oh, thank God!” Nick suspired, gulping back his tears and rousing to contain his grief.

“Nick, are you alright?” Dr. Merar asked the aching man.

“I’m okay. Just that those close calls are wearing me out.”

“Want to take a break? I can ask Jarrod to substitute.”

“No, I can hold out. I don’t want to leave him.”

“Okay. Let’s proceed.”

Dr. Merar cleft his way through the swollen tissue to the projectile bordering the paravertebral sympathetic chain where a heap of nerve endings overlapped.

“I was afraid of this.”

“What is it?” asked Victoria.

“The bullet is lodged inches away from the spinal cord. To many nerves in that area. I can’t risk it.”

“What do you mean? You can’t remove the bullet?”

“If I brush so ever lightly against the wrong nerve, your brother might end up paralyzed or worse.”

“But if you don’t pull out the slug, the infection will kill him, right?” Nick stared at Dr. Merar wishing for a third alternative.

Howard paused then turned to Victoria.

“Victoria, you know your son. Do you honestly believe he’ll be able to cope without the use of his legs?”

“It’s better than the alternative, Doc,” Nick huffed.

“If it happens, we’ll deal with it together. We’ll help him muddle through. But at least...he’ll be alive,” she reassured the doctor with a faint smile.

“Okay.”

“You’d better hurry, Doc. His breathing’s not too good.”

“Unfortunately this is an extremely delicate procedure that cannot be hastened.”

As the doctor proceeded with the operation, Heath’s body jerked once, then twice. Each spasm stabbing Nick’s own body as it throbbed simultaneously with his brother’s. The sympathy pangs reached a peak where Nick started to retch. He quickly grabbed the chamber pot on the nightstand and vomited.

“Nick.”

“I’m alright, Mother,” he coughed, wiping his mouth dry with a washcloth.

“No you’re not, Nick. You’re in a state of shock,” observed Dr. Merar. “You’re liable to collapse if you don’t get some fresh air.”

“I’ll be fine, Doc,” he panted, sponging the sweat beading down his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Victoria, get him outside and ask Jarrod to come up.”

“Come on, Nick,” Victoria walked over to her wretched son and helped him stand on his wobbly legs.

“No, I can handle it, Mother,” argued Nick.

“Listen to me, Nick. Once this is over, your brother will need your strength to pull through. You won’t be of any help to him if you make yourself sick. Now, come on.”

She grabbed a firm hold of Nick’s arm and wrapped the other around his waist as they both teetered out of the room.

Jarrod and Audra were wearing a hole in the living room carpet when they saw Victoria And Nick lumbering down the grand staircase.

“Mother.”

“Is he alright?” a concerned Jarrod asked, noticing his brother’s pitiful bearing.

“Yes, he’s fine, just a bit flushed. We’ll step outside for a moment. Jarrod be a dear and go assist Dr. Merar.”

“Sure, Mother.”

Jarrod bolted upstairs. Audra remained rooted to the spot.

“Audra, dear, go boil some more water.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Audra watched her mother support a traumatized Nick outside the house. Never before had she observed such a woeful expression on her brother’s face. She’s always known him to be a stalwart man who concealed his emotions behind a formidably impregnable stonewall he had erected to forefend himself against any distressing situations. His temper flared occasionally but his emotions remained well deadened until today. His growing concern for his brother’s well-being proved to be the crack that made the wall come tumbling down. Her eyes suffused with tears as she now saw him at the mercy of his afflictions.

Outside, Victoria gestured Nick to sit on the porch bench. She sat next to him and began rubbing a soothing hand against his back.

“Breathe deeply,” she instructed.

The cleansing breaths he inhaled were futile. They could not appease his mental anguish. The vision of his brother’s twitching body was branded on his mind. Tears clouded his eyes.

“I don’t want him to die,” he whimpered helplessly, reposing his head on Victoria’s shoulder.”

“He’s not going to,” she calmed, gently dabbing his hair. “You said it yourself: they don’t come any sturdier than Brother Heath.” She kissed the top of his head. “He’ll be fine.”

It was Saturday night. Forty-eight hours had elapsed since the ordeal began. Jarrod had taken the night shift at Heath’s bedside.

In her night robe, Victoria slouched into the room.

“Where’s Dr. Merar?” she asked, somewhat troubled.

“He went downstairs to get a cup of coffee. How’s Nick?”

“I finally managed to get him to sleep. The poor boy was dead on his feet.”

“You also look the worse for wear, Mother. Go rest for awhile. I’ll stay with him a little longer.”

Victoria gave Jarrod’s shoulder a light squeeze. “You wake me if there’s any change.”

“You know I will.” Jarrod reached for her hand and taped it gently.

Victoria glanced at Heath. His rasping gasps had given way to shallow pants. He laid lethargic and crimson with fever. A brief sob escaped him followed by a stir.

Worried, Victoria laid a hand on his forehead. “ He’s burning up with fever.”

“I’ll get the doctor.” Jarrod sprang to his feet just as Heath’s body engaged in uncontrollable convulsions.

Thankfully, Dr. Merar was returning, a cup of coffee in hand that he swiftly put on the dresser to rush to the family’s aid.

The blond man’s body was violently jolting. His torso bucked, his back arched. His legs and arms throbbed, his head thrown back. He was experiencing a powerful spasmodic episode generated by the scalding fever.

“He’s convulsing. We need to hold him down or he’ll hurt himself. Victoria, grab his legs. Jarrod, hold his head still and try to pin him down to the bed. I’ll hold his arm.”

Victoria took a stern handgrip on Heath’s wriggling legs, careful not to touch the injured part. Jarrod was busy applying his body weight onto Heath’s heaving chest, wrestling with his combative sibling to rivet him to the mattress. Heath was kicking and twisting. Jarrod clamped his brother’s head firmly in both hands.

After several horrendous minutes, Heath’s convulsing body began to slacken, allowing the three to loosen their grips on his limbs. Weak stirs lingered but with no immediate consequences.

“We need to cool him down in an ice bath. We’ll do it here with blankets. I don’t want to risk moving him in his condition.”

“What do you want us to do?”

“Ice. Get me plenty of ice, enough to immerse his entire body in.”

“I’ll get Nick to help me.”

“No, let him sleep,” Victoria insisted. “I’ll help you.”

“I’ll need more blankets.”

“I’ll get them for you.”

Jarrod rushed downstairs and out to the ice house while Victoria reached for three wool blankets and a quilt inside the linen closet.

She walked back into Heath’s room and handed the blankets and quilt to Dr. Merar. They both encased Heath’s pyrexic body in them, exposing the seams outward as to form a tub.

Shortly after, Jarrod arrived carrying two buckets full of ice that he had chipped into tiny blocks. Each one seized a handful and strewed ice over Heath’s body until he was completely immersed, save the head. Dr. Merar covered the ice with the edges of the blankets and quilt and reached for his medical bag for a thermometer. After shaking it three times, he slid it under Heath’s tongue.

Victoria was on the verge of collapse. The maelstrom of emotions had taken its toll on her effete body. She stared listlessly at her anemic son, lost in a deep slumber under a heap of ice. She agonized over the paroxysms her darling boy had been subjected to. She was racked by doubts as to his survival and therefore, felt ready to invoke God to end his suffering and bear him away to eternal peace.

The next morning was greeted by pouring rain. Ill-omened gray skies loomed above unleashing their fury. Jarrod was slumped into a chair by Heath’s bed, trying to catch some shuteyes.

Dr. Merar approached the bed, careful not to rouse the weary man. Victoria remained by the doorway. Heath’s fever had slightly subsided early in the morning enough to remove him from his ice bath.

He felt Heath’s pulse and checked his eyes. He sat on the bed and removed the dressing on his shoulder to peer at the wound. The infection had spread as revealed by the cankered flesh. His legs were also mortified. Heath’s wheezing had grown alarmingly louder, his chest muscle straining with each intake of air. His abdomen was swollen and rigid, indicative of internal bleeding, no doubt resulting from his wrestling match with Jarrod the night before. His life was ebbing away.

Howard stood from the bed and walked up to Victoria.

“He’s dying...isn’t he?” she stolidly asked, her weighing eyes fastened on her moribund son.

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“An hour, perhaps two.” The doctor rested a consoling hand upon Victoria’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. We did everything we could. But when God claims a soul, we doctors are rendered powerless.”

“Please, don’t say anything to my children.”

Howard nodded.

Heath began to whine. His fever-glazed eyes flicked as he slowly opened them. He pondered, wondering where he was.

“Mother,” he snivelled in a muffled voice.

Jarrod roused. Victoria walked over to the bed.

“Mother, where are you?” he wailed, his wavering hand questing hers.

“I’m here, Sweetie. Mother’s here.” She sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand.

“I’m...I’m scared,” he whimpered.

“Don’t be. Were right here beside you.”

Heath was having trouble establishing her presence by his side despite the grip he had on her hand. His eyes darted around the room. “Nick...where is Nick?”

“Jarrod, go wake your brother. He needs to be here.”

“Nick,” the delirious man yowled.

“He’s coming, Heath. He’ll be right here.”

Jarrod made his way to Nick’s room. He entered to find his bushed sibling sprawled on his bed half stripped on his clothes. His steps faltered as he neared the bed, dithering over whether to wake his brother seeing how he was finally finding a restful sleep. Heath was dying. Minutes were counting down to the fateful moment. He knew that Nick would curse him forever had he deprived him of a last farewell to his baby brother.

Jarrod sat on the edge of the bed and tugged at Nick’s shoulder.

“Nick. Nick, wake up.”

Nick stirred, letting out a grunt.

“Nick, come on. Wake up, “ he urged.

Nick blinked open his eyes. He shot to a sitting position at the sight of Jarrod leaning over him.

“Jarrod, what is it?”

“It’s Heath,” he said taking Nick’s arm. “He’s asking for you.”

“He’s awake?” Nick’s face alighted with joy until he read Jarrod’s gloomy expression plastered over his face.

Nick leaped out of bed and dashed down to Heath’s room.

“Mother?”

Victoria beckoned Nick to take her place. Nick sat next to his dying brother. He glanced at his mother in dismay. The both knew the obvious was upon them.

“Get Audra too,” Victoria asked Jarrod.

Nick cradled Heath’s feverish hand in his, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. He felt the light squeeze acknowledging his presence.

“Nick.”

“Hey, Brother Heath!” Nick forced a faint smile. “Long time so see.”

“I’m sorry, Nick,” the blond man mumbled. “ Looks like I won’t be able to help round the ranch for awhile.”

“Don’t worry about that, Little Brother.”

Heath started to cough. Nick posted himself on the bed and propped Heath up against his chest, his head resting on his shoulder. Horror struck him upon seeing the phlegm mixed with frothy blood emerging from his mouth.

Nick hugged his brother closer to his chest, wringing his hand in his and stroking his damp hair with the other.

Jarrod and Audra entered the room. Both huddled with Victoria standing by the door.

“I’m not hurting anymore,” Heath murmured in a serene voice.

“That’s good.” Nick endeavored to convince himself that this was an encouraging sign. “You know that stallion we’ve been butting heads over? Well, it’s yours, Heath.”

“That’s okay, Nick. You can have him.”

“No. He belongs to you. You broke him.”

Heath’s glazed stare began to sway towards nirvana. His strength was flagging. His life was slowly seeping out as his soul gradually surrendered to eternal bliss.

“So peaceful,” Heath meandered, eyelids drooping.

“What?”

“The meadow. The meadow mantled by tiny blue flowers. Their scent wafted by the breeze. Can you see it?” Heath was slipping away further into a world of his own.

“Yeah, I see it.” Permeated with fear, Nick clasped Heath tightly with both arms, hoping to encase the glimpse of life inside his brother’s mangled shell.

“I want to go there.”

“No you don’t,” Nick protested adamantly.

Victoria walked closer to the bed and in an imploring tone, she said,” Nick, let him go.”

“No!” he snapped at Victoria.

“Death will be a release from his suffering.”

“He said he’s not hurting anymore.”

“That’s because he’s leaving us.”

“No.” Tears gushed in Nick’s eyes, clouding them completely. “I’m not ready to let him go.”

“Dad...no...I...I can’t go yet,” Heath argued with his late father coming to take him away. “Nick needs me.”

“You bet I do, little brother.”

“Nick...please, “ beseeched Victoria with her mulish son. “ Release him. If he stays, his suffering will return and you wouldn’t want that?”

“Dad, not now,” Heath continued to repel the angelic presence in the room.

Nick gulped back the lump in his throat. Tears pearled down his cheeks and onto his brother’s head. He leaned closer to Heath’s ear and whispered,” Go on, Brother Heath. Go to that peaceful place, but you must promise me that you’ll always be there when I need you. That you’ll watch over all of us, you hear?”

“Promise.” Heath sighed out in a last breath before closing his eyes and slumping his head sideways against Nick’s shoulder.

Nick felt the remaining life streaming out of his brother’s body. Heath was now at peace.

Nick tightened his grip on his brother’s limp body. He slanted his head on top of Heath’s.

Victoria beckoned Jarrod and Audra to leave the room in order to leave the two brothers alone.

Nick’s emotions could no longer be contained and he burst into a torrent of tears. “Damn you!” he bawled heavenwards. “You had to take him away from me. I hate you Father...I hate you!” he vociferated, eyes streaming. He looked down at his brother. “He was so young, so full of life. It isn’t fair.” He began rocking Heath. Please, take care of him,” he appealed to God and his deceased father. “I love him...so much,” he shuddered.