Page 45 of Call Me Bunny
Since there’s nothing to do but wait, I pull the visitor’s chair across his room to his bedside and plant myself there, determined to keep watch until he wakes up. As soon as Keys is Keys again, we’re leaving this place—against medical advice, if we have to—and making a break for the nearest safehouse. We all need to regroup, need to find each other again.
We need to prepare for war with Samson Ramsey.
I have no doubt that Vipers blew up the Burrow. It can’t be a coincidence that Bunny offed almost a half dozen of them in the alley, and we had just killed one of their own, though Ramsey would have no way of knowing that yet.
To my surprising relief, Keys stirs just as the dawn light breaks through the hospital room window. He blinks slowly and looks around, taking in his surroundings.
“You okay, man?”
As I wait for his answer, my concern grows. His expression is one of blatant confusion: furrowed brow, blank stare, frustrated frown. Keys is nothing if not stupidly confident in any given situation. Confused is not one of his normal states.
“Am I in a … a medicine house?”
Fuck. It’s not so much the lack of word finding ability that bothers me, it’s the thought of what Bunny will do to me if his brain’s still scrambled when we find her again. “Hospital, Keys. You’re in a hospital.” I scrape my fingers over my scalp. “How do you feel? Is there anything you need?”
“Bun … Neil …”
Well, that’s a good sign. He remembers the important things. Kind of.
“We got separated in the explosion. Do you remember? We’ll find everyone, but we have to lie low for a few days. Wait for the smoke to clear.” I want to give him shit for not asking about Doc, but I really can’t blame him. He’s had major head trauma; he might not remember Doc, or he might not have the name handy just yet. As irritating as it is, I have to give him some leeway—and recovery time—before I go harassing him for something that’s not his fault.
Keys blinks again. “Smoke. I need a smoke.”
“Dude, you quit smoking ages ago.”
He licks his lips and pouts, rubbing his bottom lip and holding his fingers funny, staring at the empty space between them like he’s surprised to find he’s not holding anything. “I need a cigarette.”
I stand up with a sigh. “Look, I’ll check the gift shop for some lollipops, okay? Is that good enough for now?”
“Candy …?”
That’s enough of that. I wheel around and stalk off to find the gift shop. Stupid Keys is even more aggravating than smart Keys, and if I stick around for too much more of this, I’ll strangle the bastard.
On my way down the hall, I snag a youngish security guard. I can tell he’s too damn green for the job I need by his abject terror when I grab his collar, but beggars can’t be choosers. “Hey. See that room down there? Two forty-six? Until I get back, no one goes in or out except his doctor or his nurse.No one. Got it?”
The guard nods, and I go back to my mission.
I guess this hospital doesn’t have a twenty-four-hour gift shop. Good thing I swiped the guard’s keycard when I stopped him in the hall. After a quick scan of the neighboring hallways to make sure the coast is clear, I let myself in and peruse the narrow aisles in search of Keys’ precious lollies. The last thing I need is him blowing himself up trying to light a cigarette near an oxygen tank. In his current state, he might not have the wherewithal to know better.
After a few minutes, I find what I need on an endcap in the back of the store. I swipe a good five bags of lollipops, some hospital-brand sweats, and a pair of rainbow Crocs, and I make sure to relock the store on my way out. I’m not exactly proud of stealing from a hospital, but I figure it’s for a good enough cause.
When I get back to Keys’ room, the young security guard is still in place. Good. I snarl at him to get back to work and shut Keys’ door behind me as I slip back in.
“Here,” I say, shoving the bags at Keys. “I got, like, three different brands. Go to town.”
He looks at the lollipops like they’re some kind of alien beings. “Candy?” he says again. I don’t get why he’s so confused at the notion of candy. Dude loves his fucking candy. It’s, like, an integral part of his personality at this point.
This is bad.
Rather than dwell on the negative, I open one of the bags and unwrap a lolli for Keys. “You love these things. Try one.”
From the smell of it, I grabbed a pineapple-flavored pop. He takes the stick and inspects the candy end, then gives it a couple tentative licks, like he’s almost afraid it’s gonna poison him. I don’t guess I blame him, as I haven’t exactly made my disdain for his presence at the Burrow a secret. Even with his brain scrambled, he probably remembers that much.
“C’mon, man, what are you doing? You don’t lick those things. You suck them. Like, constantly.” To prove that they’re not, in fact, poisoned, I take another one out of the bag, unwrap it, and shove it in my mouth. Mm … cherry. “See? Like this.”
Keys does as I say, and after a few seconds of sucking, I almost see a light spark in his eyes. Is he back yet?
“It’s … tasty candy,” he says.