Detective Abby Watson had been sitting in the lounge outside of the Intensive Care Unit for hours. Though there were two armed police officers at a time working shifts directly in front of Gibbon’s door, she was not about to leave until she had a chance to talk to him. Since his surgery earlier in the day, he still hadn’t come to, and so she continued to wait, a plethora of coffee and frequent trips to the bathroom her new weekend routine.
She hadn’t slept in longer than she could remember. Not that she ever rested when she did sleep. Still, sitting in the uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room, trying to keep up with the media coverage the best she could from her phone while The Weather Channel droned on in the background, was causing her to nod off. It was getting late, and she was doing her best to keep her eye open. Dixon was due back soon to bring her a bite to eat and let her know what was happening at the precinct. She hoped she could stay awake until then.
The whole scenario at the gym that morning keep replaying in her thoughts. What made him decide to put the weapon down and then change his mind and run anyway? And why did the officers outside open fire so readily? Clearly, they had him surrounded. It would have been pretty easy to take him into custody.
As she continued to ponder these questions, her eyelids grew heavy again, and if she hadn’t heard someone calling her name, she may have finally given in and fallen asleep. She looked up to see her partner, with a brown bag and a soda, standing a few feet away. “Someone order a cheesesteak?” he asked.
“Hey, Dixon. Thanks,” she said, taking the offerings. “Sorry--I’m….”
“Exhausted?” he offered. “Why don’t you scarf that down and go see if the nurses have a bed you can borrow for a little while? I’ll keep watch.”
Despite her exhaustion, Watson was also starving. She dug into the sandwich, a full mouth preventing her from arguing right away. Once she swallowed, she said, “I’m fine. I want to stay up, just in case he comes to.”
Dixon sat down in the chair across from her. “Abby,” he said quietly, “he got shot three times and was in surgery for six hours. It’s going to be a while before he comes out of the anesthesia, and even then, we can’t waltz in and start interrogating him right away. I understand why you want to be here, but you’re not going to be any good to anyone if you don’t get some sleep.”
Taking a drink of her Diet Coke, Watson considered his statement. She knew he was right. She wasn’t going to be able to question this perp without some sleep first. She was just too exhausted. She sat her drink down on the floor next to her chair and took another bite, formulating a response. Dixon knew her well enough to let her think without interruption. If he let her mull it over, he knew she might see things his way; otherwise, she would be prone to argue. Eventually, she said, “Fine. I’ll go rest for a little while. But I’m not leaving this hospital without talking to Gibbon. And if he so much as blinks, I want to know about it, hear?”
“You got it, partner,” he said smiling. It wasn’t too often that he actually won an argument with Watson, so when he did, he had to relish in it a bit, even if this particular time she had been too tired to come up with anything too disagreeable.
After a few more bites and another drink to wash it down, Watson put her trash back in the bag, and crossed to the nearby trash can, tossing it all in. “All right,” she said as she walked back over to her chair to grab her bag. “I’ll go see if I can find some place to crash. You text me the second you hear anything, okay? And don’t you fall asleep.”
Dixon stood and patted her on the arm. “Go take care of yourself, Abby,” he urged. “I’ll let you know if anything happens. You can trust me. Get some rest.”
Watson smiled at him fondly. He really was a great partner. She leaned in and gave him a quick hug. “Thanks, Pete,” she said. “You’re the best.”
He just chuckled as she stumbled her way toward the nurses’ station, her exhausted body no longer willing to cooperate. There was a short brunette working behind the counter when she got there. She looked up from her computer screen and smiled at Watson. “Hi, honey. Can I help you with something?” she asked with a bit of a southern accent, unusual for these parts.
“Do you happen to have a bed where I could rest for a little while as I wait for Gibbon to come around?” Watson asked quietly.
“Oh, you’re the detective, aren’t you?” was the reply. “Sure, sweetie. I can take you to one of the other rooms down the hall. We’ve been trying to keep patients out of the area since--well, you know.”
She really didn’t need to finish. There weren’t too many people who would want to be in a room near the Jogging Path Killer if they could help it.
The nurse was short, but she was fast, and in her current condition, Abby had a little bit of trouble keeping up with her. She hurried down to the end of the adjacent hallway and threw open the door to a small, private room. “This work for you, honey?” she asked.
The room was only about eight by six, but it had a bed in it and it was dark. “Perfect,” Watson replied. “Thanks a lot...Sally,” she said, glancing down at the nurse’s badge.
“No problem,” the nurse responded, smiling. “Have a nice nap!” She watched Watson cross over to the bed and pulled the door shut behind her.
Abby sat her bag on the floor and her phone on the little table next to the bed before she collapsed onto the hard mattress. She considered slipping her shoes off, but she wanted to be ready to jump up at a moment’s notice. Besides, she was definitely going to be able to fall asleep fully clothed, with her shoes on. Absently, she double-checked her holster was empty. Her gun was in her bag; her bag was on the floor right next to her bed. Not that she would need it. Within a few minutes, Abby Watson was sound asleep.
