CHAPTER FOURTY-SEVEN ~ OPERATION: COOKIE CUTTER ~ by B.A. Linhares

I open my eyes and lift my head thinking I am in my own bed. I am so not.  White curtains are around all sides of my bed. I must be dreaming. I lift my arm. There’s a clear plastic bracelet with my name on it on my wrist. The wall behind me is painted half pale green and dark green and there are beeping machines… I’m in a hospital. I almost drowned. I hear voices.

“Ivan?”  

The curtains part. “Cookie,” Ivan gasps and sprints over to the side of the bed. He’s wearing a sweaty gray FBI tee-shirt and navy running shorts. My throat is on fire. My eyes swim around the bright room, my stomach feels queasy. Weak and shaken, I lie back down on the soft pillow.  

“Thank God you’re awake.” His blue eyes search my face.

My hand goes to my throat. I want to ask what are you doing here, I thought you were in Russia?

“Let me find a nurse.” His tennis shoes squeak on the floor. A few minuets later, Ivan comes back with a competent looking nurse pushing a cart loaded with medical stuff.  Ivan remains just inside the curtain his hands on his hips, looking worried out of his mind.

“Hi Cookie Blakely, my name is Carol.”

I rotate my head and watch Nurse Carol park the cart near a shelf full of machines, and then check a chart hanging at the foot of my bed. I force a little smile to convey the message that I’m fine. Just a little shaky after almost drowning. “Ivan, I’m fine. Right?”

“Sure. My friend Pete and I were running on the beach and found you floating, unconscious in the ocean so we brought you here to make sure.”

I watch the nurse step across the hall.

Ivan leans closer and squeezes my hand. “Cookie, I have to know something. We tracked Fredrik Koshechka to Cocoa Beach.”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. The side of my head hurts where the scar is. I want to touch it but Ivan is holding my hand. I like it. It feels safe like a life line.

“Cookie, did Fredrik Koshechka attack you?”

I force my voice into a whisper. “No. I don’t think so.”

“What do you remember?”

“I remember floating on my surfboard then nothing. I must’ve fallen asleep and slid off my surfboard...no valid waves.”

“You should never go out in the ocean surfing by yourself Cookie, you could’ve drowned.” Ivan lets go of my hand and pushes my hair back from my face, his eyes go to the scar on my temple. “Good thing Pete spotted you.”

“Who’s Pete?” I ask even though it’s painful to speak.

“Pete is an old friend of mine. I’ll introduce you two later.”

Nurse Carol comes back and skirts around the tight space pulling the curtains, enclosing the three of us. She raises a thin eyebrow at Ivan. “Sir, if you would stand out side the curtain.” She clicks her pen. “You and your friend can go to the waiting room. I will let you know when I’m done here.”

“Give me a second, please,” Ivan pleads. “I have to make sure Cookie isn’t afraid.” She smiles at him, and then turns her back to fill out some forms. What woman can say no to Ivan? I look at Ivan with pleading eyes and he places his hand over mine. “Don’t worry Cookie. You are in good hands.”

 “Ah-hem.” Nurse Carol taps her foot impatiently and tugs on a pair of surgical gloves. “I need to take your vitals, but first you need some fluids,” she tells me, “you are extremely dehydrated.”

“Okay.” That somewhat explains it. I just need some fluids after yacking. But, why does my head hurt so badly?

Stepping back through the curtain’s opening, Ivan says, “You need to rest your voice and listen to the nice nurse here and your doctors.” He pulls the curtains closed and I look up at the nurse, taking my blood pressure. Nurse Carol is quiet during the procedures. She jots stuff on the forms, puts the chart down on the bed, and then rips open a sealed bag that contains an intravenous needle. Needles don’t scare me. Not knowing scares me. I lift my head, watch her insert an IV into the top of my hand and tape it to my skin. The clear tube, connected to the needle, runs to an upside down bottle full of clear liquid on a stainless steel hook next to the head of my bed. Okay liquids, do your thing so I can get the heck out of here. I can’t help but wonder if there is more going on though.

 “All set,” Nurse Carol, tells me. “Technicians will be in to take some tests.” Nurse Carol looks down at me one last time, and then leaves me alone hooked up to machines…like Frankenstein. What? Wait! I scream in my head, please tell me what’s really wrong with me…I mean other than my throat hurting like hell. She saw my questioning look, I could tell. Uh! To make the room stop spinning, I close my eyes and try to remember how I got here. I can’t get past my dream. A few minuets pass and I feel someone take my hand. I open my eyes a little bit and try to focus. Ivan’s tense face is hovering over mine. I try to sit up, but Ivan puts his hands on my shoulders and gently pushing me back on the pillow. I feel very weak and it takes enormous effort to speak. “Please,” I manage, “Tell me what’s happening?”

Before Ivan can speak a different nurse and a man, wearing green jammies wheels more machines next to my bed. I think they call them scrubs. Anyway. He and Ivan share a look. They both check my chart. This nurse is young and very pretty. Her blue eyes go to Ivan, and then back to my chart. Ivan has that affect on women. At any rate, Ivan takes the hint stepping back, he waves goodbye and the dude pulls the curtains closed enclosing the three of us.

“How are you Cookie Blakely?” The likable nurse asks. She raises the head of my bed, and then gently places my hand with the IV on top of the sheet her blue eyes dart around checking this and that.

I clutch my throat with my free hand, and swallow hard. “Fine.”

“Juan, hand me the Nuprep gel.” Juan searches around in the lower shelf of the cart. She goes over and writes stuff on my chart.

“Um, my throat really hurts. Could I have a Pepsi?”

“Sorry,” she tells me, over her shoulder, “nothing to eat or drink just yet, Miss Blakely.”

The guy in green scrubs gives me sympathetic smile and fiddles with knobs on the machines. I fight back the tears. I just want to feel normal. I roll my head on the pillow and look around. I find myself squinting from the pain. “Where am I exactly and what are you guys doing?”

 “Well, you are at Brevard Memorial Hospital and the doctor wants to run a few tests to make sure you are okay.” Pretty Nurse reaches under my hospital gown and gently pressing two sticky circles on my chest.

“What kind of tests?”

“An EKG, x-rays, CAT scan…the usual.”

Juan flips on the monitor sitting on a shelf attached to the back wall. The three of us are silent during the EKG test. Then Juan smiles down at me. “Your heart is fine.”

“An x-ray tech will take you upstairs.” Pretty Nurse tells me.

Juan tugs opens the front curtain and leaves it open. He smiles at me. “I am sure you are going to be just fine.” It suddenly occurs to me that Pop isn’t here. He has to be out of his mind with worry. “Where’s my dad?”

Juan frowns. “Uh, is you dad the big Irish fellow with curly red hair?” His tone and expression reveal the fact that he’s already had an encounter with Pop. I nod, relieved that Pop is nearby, and scared stiff at the same time. Juan gestures with his head and backs out with the cart. “He’s in admittance filling out forms. I’m sure he’ll be back in here shortly.” Ivan, lingering just beyond curtain, hears the distress in my voice. He crosses his arms trying to keep out of the way, but it’s apparent he want to talk to me. “It’s okay to come back in,” the Juan says, pushing past Ivan.

I surmise that I must’ve been unconscious when he and this Pete guy brought me here in an ambulance. I squeak out, “It’s so weird. Why can’t I remember?”

 “Don’t worry. Your dad seems to be holding up pretty good, considering.”

“Considering what?” I gasp and tears well up in my eyes. Juan pauses and looks back at me.

“Um, I think you should ask the doctor.”

Ivan rushes to my bedside. “Ivan, please get Pop.” I bite my lower lip and give Ivan a questioning look.

“He’s coming,” Ivan tells me as he wipes tears from the sides of my face. I gaze into Ivan’s crystal blue eyes trying to wrap my mind around the whole thing, but my head feels as if a freight train is running through it at full speed. “It’s all good,” he says softly. “I had my people locate Christopher and bring him right here.” Ivan just happened to be on the beach. Ivan laughs softly. “It wasn’t difficult. He was running up and down the beach behind the Comfort Inn searching for you, asking people if they’d see you by showing them snap shot of you and him posing with Mickey Mouse.”

I roll my eyes and recall posing with Mickey in front of Cinderella’s castle. “We had to push little kids out of the photograph.”

 “As a matter of fact,” Ivan tells me, “my buddy Pete’s father runs this hospital.”

Nurse Carol is back. “Actually, Doctor Kalita heads the neurological department.”

Pop bursts through the curtains and I jump. Ivan steps aside to keep from being plowed over. I managed a weak smile.

“Cookie! Thank the Lord you’re awake!” Pop kisses my cheek and I get a whiff of my aloe lotion. He searches my face. “How are you feeling love?”

I shrug giving my larynx a rest. I want to tell him my throat hurts and the side of my head is throbbing like a taunt drum.

He sees the IV and leans close to my face, sliding his bulky fingers around the same hand Ivan was just holding. “Cookie, oh my lord darlin’ you scared the bejusus of me.”

Pop’s breath smells like coffee, not bad not great, hair and cloths are disheveled and his unshaven face makes him look as if he didn’t sleep well. Ops he missed the button over his tummy. At least his “barn door” is closed. I wiggle my fingers he’s cutting off the circulation. Letting go, he straightens up and looks over at the IV taped on the top of my hand again, and then his eyes trail the tube going up to the silver hook then over to the monitoring machines. I swallow the salty spit accumulating in the back of my throat and manage, “Can we just go?”

Nurse Carol sticks a thermometer in my mouth, apparently giving up on clearing the place so she can work. Pop raises my hand and kisses my fingers.

Ivan and another man in running clothes appear just outside the curtain. Has to be Pete. Pete waves and looks on uncomfortable. He’s really built and handsome like Ivan. I wonder briefly if he’s also with the defense department or a Special Forces soldier. He certainly looks like he could kick some butt. Nurse Carol removes the thermometer and I turn my head. Nurse Carol switches places with Pop and starts ripping open more packs. I turn away and ponder who Pete is and how he fits into Ivan’s life so I don’t think about the sharp pointy items she’s laying on a sterile cloth. He catches me looking at him and crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest, gripping a cell phone in his hand. I wave my hand, straining to say, “Pete?”

 “Yep,” Pop says, refusing to leave my side. He looks down at me and takes my hand again. “Cookie, Ivan said you almost drown. How? You’re a champion swimmer. He and Pete saved your life.”

“Now that I have all of the forms,” Nurse Carol says, and takes my free hand, “I need to take some fluids.” She swabs my middle finger with alcohol then––without warning—pricks the tip of my finger. I jerk. “Sorry,” she says, forcing my bright red blood into a container then sticks it in a sealed plastic tube. She gives me a cotton ball to hold on my finger, and then writes my name on the tube and places it in a tray with others.

Pop moves outside the curtains to give Nurse Carol some room. She turns her back and jots down stuff on a stack of forms Pop (I assume) already helped her fill them out. I keep my focus on Pop. Looking mystified and worried, he approaches Ivan and Peter.

“I’m Cookie’s father, Christopher Blakely.”

They shake hands. Pete flexes his hand after Pop lets go.

“I’m Pete Kalita, very nice to meet you sir.”

Raising an eyebrow Pop says, “Likewise I’m sure.” Pop moves in front of Ivan and puts his hand on his hips. “What to tell me what in the name of Saint Killian happened to my daughter?” His controlled tone is firm and surprisingly calm. My guess he already blew his top and is on the backside of wanting to kill somebody. Be civil, because it’s my fault that I almost drowned…idiot that I am. I mentally slap my forehead for screwing up our perfect vacation.

Pete stands by quietly while Ivan briefly explains (as best he can) what they saw and did until a tall man wearing a white doctor’s coat approaches my stall. The four men give each other the once over. “Captain Kalita, good to see you’re back safe and sound in the states.”

“Thank you sir, it’s good to be back on friendly soil. This is my buddy Ivan Brody.”

Dr. Anderson shakes hands with Pete and Ivan. “Your father and I had lunch last week.”

Pop introduces him self as my father and shakes the doctor’s hand.

“I’m Dr. Anderson, the head of the emergency room.” He unhooks my chart. “Well, if you’ll excuse me.” Dr. Anderson looks down at my chart and then directly at me with kind gray eyes. “Hi Cookie, how are you feeling?” he asks, reading over the information on my growing file.

“Not great,” I whisper feebly though gritted teeth. Did I mention that my throat feels like sandpaper? I blink and try not to swallow. I’m starting to think that with all the saltwater I swallowed I might have gulped down a few seashells as well. I would donate a kidney for some water.

Dr. Anderson moves to the left side of the bed, checking the tube leading from my hand, and then the heart monitor. A red wave rolls across the screen. That’s a good thing right? Nurse Carol shows the doctor the papers she’s been writing on and they confer for a few minuets. After that Dr. Anderson calls Pop over, “Mr. Blakely. May I speak with you?”

“Yes,” Pop says, stepping forward, pausing for Carol to wheel the cart out of the way. “How is she doctor? Is my Cookie going to be okay to fly home?” He rakes his hands run through his hair and takes my hand. Tears shine in his eyes. He looks on the verge of losing it big time.

I squeeze his hand and try to smile. Inside I’m shaking like a leaf. I shove my fear aside and focus on what the doctor wants to tell Pop.

Dr. Anderson says, “Um. First I’d help if I know what exactly happened to Cookie.”

“Uh. I don’t know exactly.” Pop glances at Ivan.

“Excuse me Dr. Anderson,” Ivan says, stepping to the end of the bed. “Pete and I found Miss. Blakely floating in the ocean this morning, apparently unconscious, and administered CPR.” He offers his hand. “I’m Special Agent Ivan Brody.”

Dr. Anderson frowns. “Special Agent?”

I suppose out of habit, out comes Ivan’s FBI creds from the waist of his running shorts, no less. Dr. Anderson eyes them briefly, and then Ivan tucks them away.

Dr. Anderson asks, “What time was that?”

Ivan and Peter share a look.

Ivan says, “Um, had to be eight-eight-o-five’”

My eyes go to a clock on the far wall with a big black and white face says it’s almost noon. Four hours ago? I thought I just got here. I find this impossible to grasp. Geez, how long was I unconscious? I left our hotel room as the sun was just peeking over the horizon, like seven or there abouts to watch the sunrise yada-yada. Last thing I remember is floating on my surfboard. I envision Valentine treading the water, sneaking up on me while I languish on my surfboard, his black coat floating on the surface. Did Valentine try to drown me? If he did, I don’t remember. Did he hit me in the head and knock me out cold? Could be why my head hurts so much. I’ve never even come close to drowning so I don’t know what to expect. At least I’m alive.

“Yeah,” Peter confers, consulting his wristwatch, “We ran for thirty minuets––I set my timer––”

Ivan interrupts, “We’d just stopped then Pete spotted Cookie in the water and my heart stopped.” His voice breaks with emotion. He recovers quickly and says, “Ah-hem, sorry, um…go ahead Pete.”

Pete shrugs. “Anyway Ivan and I were out early this morning running on the beach. We stopped on the shore and I saw a surfboard floating out in the water a little further out was a body. Fearing the worse, we swam out. Ivan recognized Cookie here. She was floating face down in the water. I found a weak pulse and Ivan immediately administered CPR as we carried her back to the shore. She came to for a few minuets, expelled the water, coughed, and then she just blacked out cold. That is when we brought her straight here.”

“Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?”

“We could’ve called an ambulance but Pete’s Porsche seemed to be the faster option. Cookie was breathing; however she was unconsciousness during the trip to the hospital.”

Dr. Anderson looks at Pop. “Actually I need to go back a few years concerning Cookie.”

Pete’s cell goes off and everyone goes silent. Pete tells Ivan the call is for him. Ivan snatches the cell phone out of Pete’s hand and bows his head, excusing himself. Ivan steps away, and is on the call mere seconds then he tells us he has some last minuet details concerning a pressing matter. Before he steps out of sight, he and Pete have a little chat. Pete looks somewhat annoyed. I overhear Pete say, “yoh, easy on the gas bud.”

Once the spotlight is back on moi, Pop asks, “So, what is it that you need to know Doctor?”

 “You know what, right now,” Dr. Anderson says, consulting his watch. “I think it best we wait for Cookie’s tests results. As soon as they’re back from the lab we’ll know better how to proceed. It shouldn’t be long.”

Nurse Carol asks the men to step out into the waiting room for a few minuets. Pop kisses me on the forehead. I frown at him. “You’ll be fine. I promise”

Nodding slightly, I bite my lip and look Pop in the eyes. Even though I’m scared stiff, I’m pretty sure that this will turn out to be nothing serious. Nevertheless, I don’t want Pop to sit out there in agony while he waits for my test results. Still, I don’t want him to go very far.

Dr. Anderson is used to seeing people in distress. He says, “Mr. Blakely I understand your concerns and I assure you that I’ll speak to you as soon as possible.”

I say softly, “I love you Pop.”

“Ditto. I’ll be right outside sweetheart.”

“How is a hospital gown like insurance?” Dr. Anderson asks, over his shoulder as he washes his hands.

Nurse Carol frowns at him. “Is this another one of your jokes?”

“You’re never covered as much as you think you are.” He smiles sheepishly, and dawns surgical gloves Nurse Carol pulled from a dispenser.

Pop laughs and blows me a kiss. He goes through the curtain just as Ivan slips back in. “I’ll turn my back,” Ivan says dogmatically, “I’m not leaving her alone with anybody.”

Ivan has his back to us.

Nurse Carol barks, “At least pull the curtain closed.”

Because I am a girl, Nurse Carol stays and stands off to the side while Dr. Anderson examine me further. I’m silent as he presses on my head and checks my glands then see if my pupils are dilated. His bedside manner is top notch and his cool fingers feel soothing on my skin. I stare at the back of Ivan’s blonde head. Hum. Ivan knows something. Fredrik Koshechka is here. I can feel him. So is Mom. Her voice rings in my ears, “Cookie go to your happy place.” What she always said that when was upset or scared? I tell myself this too shall pass.

Doc Anderson is touching the skin lightly around the scar. “On a scale of one to ten how bad is the pain?”

 “Seven,” I say, wincing. I just want him to stop messing with my head. He and Nurse Carol share a deliberate look.

Nurse Carol mumbles, “Neuralgia.”

“So, we should have the Neurologist come take a look,” the doctor declares and wraps up quickly. Without another word, he leaves (my guess) to see other ER patients. The hum of other patients talking and moaning is escalating. As he exits, I peer through the opening. Pop, Peter, and Ivan are on the other side of the curtain talking softly. Pop and my eyes meet then he takes off after Doc Anderson. I hope he finds out something. Nurse Carol tosses the wrappers and checks things once more. On her way out, Nurse Carol pauses to lower the head of my bed.

Just to make sure I can still speak, I say, “Sounds like there lots of people in the Emergency Room.”

 “Oh yes. During a holiday weekend, the Brevard Memorial Hospital is always bustling with accident prone people and DUI victims. How’s your throat?” She scoffs at Ivan. I think she’s flirting with him. He is a fox.

I touch my neck. “I hurts, but not as bad.”

Pete sticks his head in. “Ivan, may I have a word with you?”

Without turning around, Ivan lifts his hand and says, “I’ll be right on the other side of this curtain.” He slips through the opening and tugs the curtains closed.

I grip the bars on the side of the bed, pull up and see Pop’s sandals and two pairs of running shoes below the privacy curtain. I plop my head down on the soft pillow and let my mind wander. I’m glad to be left alone for a while. I need to think. No. I don’t want to think about this. I raise my right arm and look at the thingie stuck in my hand. I close my eyes. I’m so stupid for going in to the big wide ocean alone. What was I thinking? My surfboard! Did they just leave it on the beach or worse in the ocean? What if someone stole it? I lie there for what feels like forever. Then I hear voices and raise my head again. “Psssst! Ivan! Pop?”

The curtain parts and Dr. Anderson appears with a stack of papers. Pop is right behind him. Ivan and Pete stay put. I really want to ask Ivan about my surfboard, but first I need to find out if my life is at stake. 

“Cookie’s tests have come back?” Pop asks anxiously. He grips the bed railing. His white knuckles are at my eye level.

 “Yes.” Doctor Anderson says, looking down at the results. “The good news is you didn’t suffer any brain damage while you were unconscious under water. And you will be able to play the violin.”

Pop blows out a breath. “That’s a relief.”

I don’t play the violin. Oh right, that another joke.

“However, I have just conferred with top Neurologists because we found a small clot in the middle cerebral artery, located on your head about an inch forward and up from the right temple, about five centimeters below the skin.”

“Blood clot?” is all I mange to whisper. He gently touches the spot he’s referring to and I feel nothing. Did Nurse Carol shoot the side of my head with Novocain?

Dr. Anderson looks at me. “I know it hurts to speak Cookie, but could you give me some history regarding the scar on your temple? It’s very important that we know how this trauma occurred.”

I purse my lip in a thin line, swallow. I can’t speak. I look over at Pop for help. Pop’s eye brows shoot up and he starts swaying side to side I guess to stay calm or something. I tug on his fingers and Pop blinks. He studies my face while gathering his thoughts.

Dr. Anderson’s gaze travels to Pop. “Mr. Blakely?”

“Um, sure.” Pop looks up at the ceiling. “So, because of her mum’s ordeal, we were recently discussing our snow skiing vacation in Austria. Cookie was eight years old. We were snow skiing and she fell down and hit her head on a tree stump buried in the snow.”

“I see.” The doctor holds a scan of my head up to the light. “As you can see, the brain scan shows the wound was rather severe. Was there brain trauma? Which hospital did you take her to afterwards? Perhaps we could have them fax us her records.”

My ears are ringing and my heart starts beating really fast. I feel like I can’t breathe. Pop looks startled too. “Wow, records you say. The doctor on staff at the Alpine resort where we stayed checked her out thoroughly and said she was fine.”

“We can call the doctor there.”

 “What are you saying? The wound didn’t even require stitches.” Pop’s face is beet red and sweat rings have formed under his arms.

“Surely your daughter had an x-ray after her fall.” The doc’s hands disappear into his coat pockets. I grab a fist full of sheet and brace myself for the bad news. Is it tumor, cancer? If the blood clot burst, am I going to be paralyzed, a brain dead vegetable or worse?

Pop says, “Not to my knowledge...but it was so long ago, I can’t be sure.” He pauses and the furrows in his brow deepen. “Why? Is my daughter ill? Please, tell me exactly how serious this is.”

I look over at the doctor and scream in my head “YES” just tell us what's wrong! Just give it to me strait doc! I can handle it!

“The thing is, some minor injures to the head can cause potential complications—maybe not right away. Though in the future, as the body matures scar tissue can form under a head wound, putting pressure on delicate veins. After her accident, it would have been better to admit her into a hospital for observation. At any rate, we’d like to run another brain scan and a MRI.” Dr. Anderson moves to the end of my bed takes the clipboard and writes on my (ever growing) medical file. “It may be turn out to be nothing, but I want to make certain.” He lays his ink pen and the papers on a rolling tray. “I need your signature please.” As a minor, I get it that Pop has to sign all medical forms.

Pop holds the forms at arms length trying to read them. In the chaos he must’ve left his reading glasses in the hotel room. When I snuck out this morning, my surfboard was leaning in the corner next the bed stand. I recall seeing his glasses next to the paperback he’s reading. That I remember, but nothing after lying on my surfboard until I woke up in here.

Nurse Carol comes in and checks the fluid in the bottle. She hears the doctor say, “The scar tissue is quite thick under the old wound and it may be what is causing her discomfort.”

Bending at the waist, Dr. Anderson carefully pushes back the hair on the side of my head, examining the scar. Meanwhile, Pop rubs his unshaven chin, and takes into careful consideration each question on the form, reading them out loud. He keeps glancing at me. “Has she complained of headaches, blurry vision, dizziness, and any maladies like shortness of breath loss of appetite? Yes,” he says, “I’d have to check all of those, but I thought it was because her mum passed away last Christmas.”

Dr. Anderson looks thoughtful then says, “I’m sorry for your loss.

“Cookie and I have come to grips that we may never completely get over the loss.”

“The stress certainly would add to Cookie’s discomfort,” says Nurse Carol, eyeing Pop who is leaning heavily on the rolling beside table, then leaves. I suppose she thinks it might break under his weight.

Pushing off the table, Pop’s gaze travels to my face, recalling, thinking back. He looks at me with troubled eyes. “Well, Cookie remember your grief counselor said stress and chronic depression, associated with grief, were causing the psychological problems.”

I blink a couple of time.

 “Which makes sense,” the doctor says, “along with––”

Everyone grows silent as a pretty blonde nurse skirts by the doctor carrying a cup of ice water and an orange plastic chair, which she sets down next to the bed. Turning she gives the cup to Pop then nods at the doctor and leaves. “Thank you,” Pop murmurs and downs the water, and he scratches off his signature, hands the forms back to the doctor and sinks into the orange chair. The person in the next bed starts moaning loudly. Smiling, her blue eyes travel from face to fan then she smiles down at me like an angel as she leaves.

“So, I was about to say that even a minor head injury unchecked, may over time slowly develop a blood clot that can press on the brain and cause various neurological and physical symptoms such as the ones you’ve experienced Cookie.”

The doctor continues explaining the procedure and I think this must be what it feels like during an out of body experience. My eyes dart from him to the Doctor, as if watching a tennis match. Pop just blinks in wonderment. I surmise that Dr. Anderson looks profession and seems to know what he’s talking about. Not to worry.

Doctor Anderson asks me, “Cookie, do your recall having intense dreams or nightmares?”

I nod “yes” enthusiastically and without hesitation. I’m done hiding the fact that I have wild dreams about Mom being alive. I whisper, “I’ve been sleepwalking too.”

Doctor Anderson frowns deeply. “Well. Like I said we’ll know more after the brain scans.” He moves to the curtain and stops. “Mr. Blakely, we’ll be moving Cookie to the neurosurgical unit to prep her for the tests. The best neurosurgeon team in the south is on staff here, Doctors Abraham and Anton Kalita. Peter’s father Dr. Kalita heads up the department however, he’s performing surgery right now. We have contacted Doctor Barry Abraham. He’s in route to the hospital to look at Cookie. If the scan does confirm that a clot exist, I will ask your permission to perform a craniotomy.”

Pop’s mouth forms an “o”. “Oh Mother Mary and our Lord in Heaven.” There is fear in Pop’s voice. “This is really serious,” he says, and clasps a hand over his mouth.

Craniotomy. Scary word. I feel tears welling in my eyes. I squeeze my eyes shut. Do not cry, do not cry. I bite my lip so hard I taste blood. I begin to pray for my life as hot tears run down the sides of my face and puddle in my ears. This can’t be happening to moi. I’m sure they won’t find anything bad. I feel fine. Well...not really. I feel like I’m going to puke. So far I’ve mange to hold down any fluid in my stomach since I haven’t eaten anything today.

“If left untreated, it could become very serious,” Dr. Anderson says in all seriousness. “Once a blood clot is removed a patient can make a full recovery. Pressure on the brain can cause severe––perhaps even fatal––damage. Try not to worry too much Mr. Blakely.” He winks at me. “Before I go confer with the other doctors, are there any questions?”

Pop hunches his shoulders and puts his head in his hands as if praying. Then he sits back and looks up into the doctor’s eyes, “No Doctor, I only need my Cookie to be okay.” He rises up out of the chair. “Please assure me that she will come out of this alright.”

Dr. Anderson chuckles, “They haven’t lost one yet. Plus Cookie has youth on her side. Not to worry. This is a fairly common procedure.”

 “May I stay with her until they take her for the scans?”

“Certainly,” Dr. Anderson tells Pop, and rests his hand on the end of my bed. Pop scoots the chair closer and sits back down. “Cookie, an orderly will come in a little while to take you up to the neurosurgical unit. Also, Dr. Abraham will be by to speak with you as soon as he arrives.”

I can’t look at either of them. I don’t want to hear any of this. I’m so scared. Mommy. Zone out…to your happy place. Unblinking, I focus my eyes on the wide gold wedding band on the doctor’s ring finger and wonder what his wife looks like. The doctor turns and I feel his eye looking down at me. I hope he can’t see my knees shaking under the sheet.

He smiles at me. “You’ll be fine. I promise.”

Please God let him be right.

“Tough Cookie?”

I raise my chin, nod silently and study his face. He looks Norwegian to me. Maybe Canadian he has a twinge of an accent when he said ‘about’. Of course he’d only marry someone smart and beautiful. I bet they have beautiful children too…anything to take my mind off this.

Pop sits up straighter and smiles at me. I stare at the little shelf of medical supplies over his left shoulder and say, “I promise never to go surfing alone again.”

 

CHAPTER FOURTY-SIX ~ OPERATION: COOKIE CUTTER ~ by B.A. Linhares

I dwell in my window seat and write in my journal until my hand aches. I stretch out my legs and read over what I’ve written and wrote since leaving Georgetown.

Four days ago, we boarded the 747 and settled in our seats. My first thought is I’m a different person. The girl that came to Florida changed. For the better? I think so. Bear with me while I explain. While talking to Josh last night, I sat on the balcony. And unbeknownst to me, I was attacked by a zillion invisible biting bugs. I found out later they’re called no-see-ums...perfect. They should send the little buggers to Iran. And by the way—person at the front desk—a hot shower does NOT stop the itching. But let’s focus on the positive.

Monday, September 3, 2005:

It’s our last day in Florida and I have to see the sunrise. I get up at first light, quietly slip into the bathroom and slither into my (still damp) bikini without turning on a light. Pop is dead to the world and I don’t want to wake him. Beach bag on my shoulder, and surfboard in hand, I shut the door silently, and head down to the beach. An orange sun is rising above the horizon, just like in Endless Summer and the vast ocean is flat as a lake. Perfect. I set my bag on the first white beach chair. Gathering my nerve, I stand breathing deeply and watch seagulls swoop down on the beach squawking at each other like old married people. There’s no wind either therefore the surf is completely flat, not even a ripple. Maybe it’ll pick up as time passes and the airstream picks up—seems logical. I feel something nipping at me and look at my skin with horror. Holly cow! I look like I have the chicken pox! On second thought, maybe I won’t move to Florida. I stomp my feet in the soft sand to scare off whatever is biting me, but they are relentless. Maybe the salt water will heal the red dots. I balance my surfboard on top of my head and cross the sand disturbing a dozen or so seagulls and sandpipers searching for breakfast on the shoreline. The water is slightly chilly, but I get used to it as I wade out until the water is waste high. I straddle my surfboard and glance around. To my left is the pier where we at dinner of in the distance. Off to the right and about a mile down the beach, a pair of die-hard runners trot along the edge of the water where the sand is more packed. I stretch out on my tummy, rest my on one hand and drop the other in the water. I close my eyes and focusing on the sounds of the ocean. This must be what it’s like hovering in outer space. I daydream, drifting lazily. Not really worrying about anything. At some point, I must’ve fallen asleep because I remember dreaming that I’m cold. I’m lying in the snow and my head hurts really badly. I can feel something warm and wet running down my face. I tell myself it is just melting snow and bite my lip trying not to think about what it really is —my blood. I shiver as a freezing wind blows over my face. Poppy’s voice trembles as he helps me up and gently wipes the snow off my face. He takes my hand, holding it tightly. I use my other hand to tug down my wool cap and lower my eyes to the snow. I want to cry and howl…I’m so scared. Poppy looks me over with his worried face. “You fell down pretty hard honey, are you sure you’re okay?” I nod my head and hot tears escape my eyes and roll down my frozen cheeks. I don’t like the way strangers are looking at me with their alarmed expressions. After gathering our snow skis, he asks, “Did you hit that hidden tree stump?”

Terrified, I nod my head again and mumble, “I think so.”

He tries to lift me up with his free arm, but I resist and insist on walking. He forces a concerned smile. “Are you sure?

I mutter, “I’m not a baby.”

“That’s my tough Cookie.”

When we get inside the Alpine’s lobby, a sharp pain makes me squeeze his hand. We pause by the big fireplace and Poppy stares down at me with worried eyes. He lets go of my hand, kneels down, and removes my red mittens and my sky blue ski jacket. He checks me over and then lifts off my cap. I watch his green eyes grow dark with alarm—like when his best friend in Ireland died in a really bad car crash. I feel funny like my legs are going to give way. Poppy says, “Let’s get you upstairs and have your mum take a look at that.”

I slide off my surfboard and drop to the ocean floor.

The two runners stop on the shore. Agent Ivan Brody explains to his pilot friend Peter why he needs to borrow his new aircraft. “We tracked Fredrik Koshechka via his cell phone and saw that he was here in Cocoa Beach, Florida.”

Peter raises his arm and points at something in the water. “What the hell? Is that’s a body floating?”

Without waiting for an answer, they both rush out and gently flip the girl in a red bikini over, checking for a pulse. “It’s Cookie Blakely!”

Fingers press the side of my neck and my eyes flutter open. There’s a familiar face close to mine. “Ivan? Wa…what happened?”

“You almost drowned.” Ivan Brody says, and carries me to the shore and lays me on the wet sand. He looks mad. “What are you doing out here by your self?” Ivan gasps. “Cookie!” Alarmed, he checks her breathing. “Shit! She’s stopped breathing!”

Peter crouches on the other side of Cookie. “Give her mouth to mouth man!”

I hear my name and try to speak, except my nose is pinched close and Ivan’s face comes close to mine. His mouth cuts off my words. I gasp as moist hot air is forced into my lungs. I turn on my side as a fit of dry-heaves racks my entire body. Bile and disgusting salt water burn my throat …it hurts, but I can’t stop coughing. I lay back down in the wet sand and everything goes black.

 

CHAPTER FOURTY-FIVE ~ OPERATION: COOKIE CUTTER ~ by B.A. Linhares

Pop and I clean up and dresses casually for the evening. I wear a matching yellow cotton short set. Pop puts on his top siders. He looks spiffy in his white linen shirt and navy blue Dockers. With the bad sunburn, he actually seems to be glowing in the dark. At least I got him to use my aloe after sun lotion after his shower. I strap on my sandals and stand next to him, running a brush through my hair. Pop dabs a little lotion on his face, and then hands me the bottle. “Thanks love, this stuff really takes the sting out.” He slides his wallet, a fresh handkerchief, and keys.

I smile at his reflection.

“Ready?”

“Yepper.” I grab my purse.

Pop glances around the room, and then opens the door. “Want to take your camera?”

“Oh, yeah.” I slide my camera’s strap over my wrist and go outside. “Thanks.”

“I forgot to tell you that I took some pictures of you surfing,” Pop says, as we tromp down the stairwell.

“You did? I’ll just be a dot in the big ocean.”

“Yes, but at least your surfing première is documented.” Pop gestures at the set of glass doors leading to the lobby. “Let’s stop at the front desk and ask the clerk where to get a good seafood dinner.”

The man working suggests we drive down to the Cocoa Beach Pier and eat at Oh Shucks, a popular seafood restaurant with open-air seating. We drive the short distance to a fairly wide wooden pier that juts out into the Atlantic Ocean lined with shops and restaurants. It’s packed with people, there are surfers next to the pier, people swimming in the surf, and walking the beach. We devour a gigantic surf and turf dinner and key lime pie for dessert. We’re so full we have to walk around or go into a food comma. After checking out every shop on the pier, we drop off our purchases in the car, and stroll on the beach next to the pier for a little while.  After that, we drove back to our hotel and even played a round of putt-putt golf. At ten o’clock, we’re ready to call it a night. We take turns in the bathroom. Pop helps me pull out the sofa bed. I peck him on the cheek and frown. “Ivan never called.”

“No news is…” Pop says, crawling between the sheets.

I’m wide awake. I plop down with the remote and watch a rerun of Friends with the volume down low. When it’s over, I glance over to check on Pop. He’s snoring softly on his bed. I tip toe around the room, turn off the lights, fetch my cell phone, and then slowly open the sliding glass door and step out on the balcony. Sliding the door shut, but leaving a crack so I don’t lock myself out. The sea breeze whips my hair around as I sit down on one of the strappy chairs and prop my bare feet on the railing. I wrap my locks in a scrunchy and hear a ruckus. I stand up and glace around. The swimming pool behind the hotel is still packed with screaming kids.

“Jeez, don’t these people ever sleep?”

I sit for a spell and check my cell for any messages from back home. Nada. All of a sudden, it’s very quiet. Pool must’ve closed. I take a deep breath and listen to the waves crashing on the shore in the distance. The stars above the purple haze on the horizon glimmer like diamond chips. A full moon hanging in the dark blue almost navy sky illuminates the ship lights flickering out on the horizon. As my eyes adjust, I notice dim figures strolling on the beach. I glance over my shoulder wishing I’d brought Mom’s binoculars out here with me. Oh well, I don’t want people to think I’m spying on them. I speed-dial Josh’s number and put the phone to my ear. It rings and my heart goes thumpity-thump. Come on answer the phone! I take another breath.

Why am I so nervous?

It startles me when Josh picks up after the third ring. “Hello?”

“Josh, hey, it’s Cookie. I hope I didn’t wake you...”

“Hey, it’s you! No, it’s only eleven,” he says sounding wide awake. “I was starting to worry.” I smile. Awe, he misses me. “Why haven’t you called sooner?”

“I did. I mean, I tried to call you...um on…”

Josh laughs. “I understand. I forget what day it is while I’m on vacation too. I must’ve accidently deleted your message.”

I make a face and say in a little voice, “Sorry. I didn’t leave one.”

“Oh.”

“Long story.” My answer to everything I don’t have an answer to.

There’s a pregnant pause then Josh asks, “So…how’s the vaca?”

“Perfect, but going way too fast. Disney was amazing. We’re in Cocoa Beach now.” I glance around at my surroundings. “I’ve wanted to come here for like, my whole life…and plan to return!”

“Cocoa Beach is nice. I’ve been to there and the Space Center too. How’s the surfing? Catch any good rides?”

I laugh and lift my left leg, checking the gash on my knee. “I think I did pretty well. I have major strawberries on my knees to prove it.” I sit back in the chair. “Oh my gosh Josh, surfing is incredible! Get this! Pop surprised me with a new surfboard from Ron Jon’s surf shop––it’s within walking distance from our hotel! And yes, wave action today was killer!”

“Okay, now I’m green with envy.”

“So, what’s the haps with you? Any new developments?”

“I’ll bet you’re glad you’re there.”

“Why? What’s going on?” I swat my thigh and find myself twitching in the lawn chair. What the heck is biting me? I look down at my legs. There’s nothing.

“Wait. You haven’t been watching the news?”

“Um, no. Tonight’s the first time I’ve turned on a television set since we got here. I watched a rerun of Friends. Did you ever see the episode where Jen—”

Josh yells, “Sorry, I’ll be right there. Er Cookie? I don’t mean to cut you off but I’m on my way out the door. Karren Longfellow and I are going to catch a movie at the All Night Cinema.”

“Oh. Okay. Sounds like fun,” I say, wishing I was there going to the movies with him. The wind shifts and I swipe a loose lock of hair from my face. Karren Longfellow and Josh are going out? She's a little old for him I think fighting off a twinge of jealousy. No...On second thought, I’ll be back in D.C. soon enough. I want to go surfing again tomorrow.

“With everything going on, there’s no way I can sleep. Sorry Cookie, can you hang on a second?”

“Um, sure.” Something bites me on the foot and jump up. I scratch my foot, and then lean over the cold metal railing around our balcony and look around the hotel grounds. I observe a woman out on the strip of grass behind the hotel pulling a little white ball of fur by a leash. She says, “Hurry up Trixie!” The dog wants to sniff every few inches. “Just go already!” Trixie sniffs a few more spots then squats delicately and does a dump right in front of me. Trixie’s owner uses a plastic bag to pick up the deposit. I turn my back in disgust then recall seeing a sign that said, “If Your Dog Poops Please Scoop” or something to that effect.

“Sorry, you there? Josh says sounding rushed.

“I’m here,” I mumble, disappointed that Josh has to go so quickly. Trixie’s owner carries her across the way and enters the room below ours, slamming their door hard enough to make me jump and yelp. In reality, all I can think about is Josh and Karren sitting in a dark theatre. Why am I spazing over a movie?

“Cookie?” I hear other people talking in the room with him and wonder where he is.

“Where are you?”

“Home. Sorry, it’s crazy over here.” Josh sounds really syked. “My mom was having a fund-raiser for the church. It’s turned into a prayer session for your mom’s safe return.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll understand when I finish telling you what’s happening. It’s breaking news on every channel.”

“Okay. So, fill me in.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t see it––hold on…I need to find a quiet place.”

“See what?” I shout. Exasperated, I stomp my foot then cringe hoping I didn’t make too much noise. I sit down, peering over my shoulder at Pop. He’s sleeping like a baby. I prop my feet on the railing, press my cell phone into my ear, and whisper, “Josh, just tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m trying to! Uh, I’m in the hall closet and there’s no room.”

“Why are you in the closet?”

“It’s the only place to get away from all of these people in our house.  Listen, somebody leaked to the media that Ivan and his task force were in Schladming. They’re reporting that confidential informants came forward with information about Mrs. B’s so called mysterious departure. These unnamed informants said they overheard a man in a café say that she’s alive and being held for treason. Now every news station is reporting this and Ivan is pissed!”

I’ve never heard Josh say pissed. I whisper, “She’s alive?”

“That what they’re reporting. Apparently, Ivan located several townspeople who apparently knew things but were afraid for their lives if they spoke out to the police. They probably owe back taxes or have criminal pasts. They said Ivan assured them immunity and convinced them to come forward using his special tactics.” Josh laughs. “He roughed them up. And––like I said—it’s all over the news. They’re just not saying where she is being held and how they plan to rescue her. So, we’re all here sitting on the edge of their seats waiting to hear more and praying for her safe return.”

I glance over my shoulder at Pop wondering if I should wake him and tell him. I slap at my calves. Something is seriously chewing on my body. I put my feet on the ground and sit forward. “So will we hear from Ivan soon?”

“Uh, probably not. He’s pretty busy.”

“But I thought he was here in Cocoa Beach.”

“He might be. This is huge news Cookie. During the six o’clock news tonight President Yeltsin even held a special live press conference. He was on every station redacting what was said years ago, that he wasn’t aware that there weren’t any America or foreign prisoners being held in Russia. The whole world listened to him say admit he misspoke. More like a bold face lie. When the president of Russia admits to the world that he totally stepped in it the implications send almost every country into a tailspin wondering if their citizens are imprisoned.”

“Whoa. How soon will they have Mom back here?”

“Good question. President Parks is putting together a team to travel to Russia to negotiate with their government for the release any Americans being held. They’re fairly sure Agent Werthoust is responsible. Dad thinks Ivan might be planning to travel there tomorrow with the Head of State Department people. These sort of things take time; Dad said it’s a delicate situation. If your mom is alive and being held hostage, what’s the ransom and are we willing to bow down to the Russian. Thing is, politically, neither country wants to admit that your Mom’s case is stirring up a lot of old diplomatic wounds that could put United States and Russia at odds.”

“Right,” I mutter, trying to wrap my brain around all this.

“Whew, man, I have to get out of this closet and find Karren. She’s probably wondering where I am.” Josh is talking to someone.

I swat all over my body. It feels like something is biting me all over my legs and arm. Jeez, what are these bugs out here eating me alive?

“Karren just said Ivan called here and simply said he’s enroot and couldn’t say to where. She’s going to drive while I talk to you.” I hear car doors slamming shut and Josh rusting with his seatbelt. “Man, Ivan has to be cooking up some covert operation to find Mrs. B in Russia.”

I find my voice and say, “Um, wow…really? So, Karren knows?”

“Yes. We don’t have to worry who we talk to about this anymore. Hey, Cookie, are you sitting down?”

“Why?”

Josh says, “Um, well, they exhumed the body and identified it as an Austrian homeless woman. Er, that got leaked too. I figured you guys would want to know ASAP.”

“It’s all over the freaking news?” I gasp and I look through the glass at Pop again.

“Yeah. The Washington Post broke the story after one of their reporters saw the backhoes at Oak Hill Cemetery. Oh, and the New York Times is thrilled to be the first to use the Cookie Cutter handle in their reports.”

“What do you mean?”

“Check out the online newspapers, they’re all using Operation Cookie Cutter in all their headlines and stories. By the time we get back to school, we’ll be famous. The media circus is already circling their wagons.”

I tuck the phone in the crook of my neck. “This is unbelievable…” I say digging at my ankles with my fingernails hoping I don’t draw blood.

“I know,” Josh says breathlessly. “We’re at the theatre.” Again, I hear car doors slamming. “Hey, you should ask your bodyguards for protection from the press at the airport. Just a thought.” He shouts, “Watch out! Sorry, a car started backing out of a parking space and almost ran over us. I better go.”

I nod my head and pace the short balcony, hoping to ward of the army of whatever is masticating my flesh. “I know…wait! Josh…Josh what can we, I do?”

“Nothing except sit tight and stay out of sight…Man, I’m sorry, but I really need to go. Listen don’t worry about anything. Enjoy your last day on the beach. You’ll be home by tomorrow night. Bye Cookie, be safe my friend.”

Josh clicks off before I can say anything else.

Needless to say, I don’t sleep much. The itching is maddening and my thoughts run wild with images of Mom in that cage. We’re coming Mom!