Chapter 11

                                    

                                          
Tracy didn't wake up again until the next day, and when she did, bright sunlight was streaming through the window. She groaned in pain as the sunlight hit her eyes. She felt like she had a terrible hangover, and she didn't even drink. She slowly sat up, her back protesting as she did so. But considering the number that had been done on her, she was amazed she was moving at all. She was surprised that she wasn't hooked up to any equipment, but then, who would have been able to do so? Harv she supposed could, but everyone must have thought she would be okay without an I.V.  She put her feet to the floor and noticed she was still in the same clothes she had been in the day before. She probably smelled to high heaven, considering how long she had been in the hospital,  so getting to her feet, which took some effort without falling, she made it to the closet, grabbed some clothes, and headed to the bathroom. The shower felt wonderful on her bruised body, she was amazed that nothing had been broken. But her whole body felt like a giant bruise. She was sore from head to toe. After she showered, she gingerly dressed, and not being able to put on shoes or socks, she walked gingerly out her door and down the hall to the kitchen. She didn't know when the last time was that she had eaten. It had to have been days ago. She didn't even know what day it was. 
                          
          In the kitchen, she found some cereal and milk and sat down to eat. It hurt to sit, and she knew that she couldn't sit for long. She obviously had bruised ribs, along with everything else.
                          
She heard a noise behind her then, but she didn't turn.
                          
"Good morning uncle," she said. 
                          
He walked around the counter so he could see her face.
                          
"How did you know it was me? I wasn't even making a sound."
                          
"Your shoes squeak," she informed him.
                          
He grinned, "They do, don't they."
                          
She nodded, very gently, so as not to hurt her head any worse.
                          
"How are you feeling?" he asked her, eyeing her bruised face.
                          
"Like I had been run over. I can hardly walk, and my head is killing me."
                          
"The doctor gave you some painkillers. They are on your bedside table," he told her.
                          
"I think I need one. I feel pretty lousy right now."
                          
"You don't look to swell," he admitted. "But then you had the crap beaten out of you, so what do you expect?"
                          
"Did you just say crap?" she grinned at him.
                          
He grinned back. "Yes, I did. I'm not an old fuddy-duddy," he told her.
                          
"I didn't say you were, I am just surprised you said it, that's all."
                          
"That's mild compared to what I have said," he admitted.
                          
"I don't even want to know," she told him.
                          
"No, you don't."
                          
He frowned then. "What would your parents say about the way you are? They would be appalled at me for letting you get hurt."
                          
"No, they would say it was my fault, I chose this profession."
                          
"That sounds like something my brother would say," her uncle nodded, "and I am sorry."
                          
"Don't apologize Uncle Scott. It wasn't your fault. If it's anyone's fault, we can blame Val."
                          
Her uncle nodded. "Yes, that man, I want to kill him."
                          
"I know, but what good would it do? If you want to kill someone, wait, I already did," she said cheekily, making her uncle chuckle. 
                          
"I am glad that guy is gone," her uncle said. "At least we don't have to worry about him anymore."