The Reunion Pt. 02

And then in a split second he closed the distance between us and I realized that the package was some kind of club -- probably a baseball bat -- and he began hitting me with. A cry died in my throat; as another assailant came up from behind me and hit me in the head with something and I went down. I only vaguely remember the rest of it -- many more whacks with he bat, a few well placed kicks and finally, the first assailant grabbed me by the hair and lifted up my head.

"You'd better start being more careful about what you write stories about, Mr. Bradley. People are watching. If you think this is bad, just wait..."

He dropped my head to the sidewalk and gave me one swift kick to the head and left me there, my consciousness fading fast. The last thing I remember was Sydney beside me shouting my address into her phone.

Ch. 11

Washington

For the next couple of hours I dipped in and out of consciousness. I remember the ambulance and a really cute Metro Fire Paramedic with a worried look on her face working over me feverishly. It was such an odd sensation lying there on the way to the hospital with the world whizzing by, the siren running periodically as they approached intersections. I just about had time to register those thoughts and I faded out again.

I regained consciousness and again briefly in what must have been the ER, and I was aware of Sidney there with a worried look on her face. I tried to say I'm okay, but then I realized my mouth wasn't working right and I while I could think words, I couldn't get them to come out. I tried to move my head to look at her but there was something around my neck immobilizing me before I faded out again.

My next memory was some doc who looked about as old as the kids in the newsroom, leaning over my face shouting at me about some scan or other. I was awake for the whole scan, the sound of the sensors whizzing round and round as I slowly slid into the mouth of the machine.

The next time I came to it was daytime. I had no sense of how long I'd been out and even what had happened to me at that point, but slowly as I emerged into the light of day bits and pieces came back to me. Sydney was there again -- was she there all night? -- and she kissed me gently on the forehead and told me she loved me.

"Water?" I croaked, somewhat relieved that my brain was able again to not only summon words, but actually connect to my mouth and make them come out. Sydney reached for a cup with one of those bendy straws and I was able to take a short drink despite the pain it caused me. I may have drifted off again, but then I became aware of Sydney talking to someone also in the room. I tried to lift myself up to see who else was there, only to be rewarded with excruciating pain in my back and sides when I did.

"Mr. Bradley, I see you're waking up. I want you to know that you're at George Washington University Hospital. Your condition is stable. You have no broken bones, but you do have a significant concussion and we'd prefer if you try not to move too much today."

I remember thinking that won't be too hard to follow.

"Do you remember what happened to you, Mr. Bradley?"

"Mostly. I remember two men. They had something like baseball bats and kept hitting me with them."

The doc then went through some exercises with me telling him how many fingers he was showing and moving them around to see if I could follow them. I did, and he seemed satisfied and left Sydney and me alone.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"About 4 p.m."

"On Saturday?"

"No, Stephen. It's Tuesday. You've been out for a while. The docs gave you some meds to keep you from waking up because they didn't want you to move around and they wanted to give your brain time to heal."

"Have you been here all this time?"

"Not the whole time. Cindy has relieved me a couple of times. We wanted to be sure that someone was here when you came to."

"Jeez...I...You didn't need to do that. Don't you have to be in New York? What about your work?"

"I told them you needed me right now. They understand. Or at least they're in no position to argue.

"Did you tell them what happened to me?"

"I didn't really need to. It's all over the news. Once the Post found out what happened to you and the cops -- who are mostly useless, by the way -- determined that it wasn't just a mugging, the Post ran a huge story on you, what you're working on and called this an attempt to shut you up and interfere in the free dissemination of the news. Cindy says they've assigned a half dozen more reporters to your team."

"Ring. Did you see the Ring video?"

"What video?"

"From my doorbell. I saw it come on just before they attacked me. "

Cindy went and found my phone and gave it to me. I opened the Ring app, and played the video for her.

"Oh my God. Steven, what an awful thing to live through."

While the video was not quite good enough to make out the faces of the two assailants, you could clearly see the man come up behind me and swing his bat at my head. Sydney immediately called D.C. Metro police and told the detective about the video. She then agreed to email it to him.

"Honestly, he didn't seem too interested," she said.

There was a commotion in the hallway and a guy in a suit came in and looked around the room and then went out again. But the commotion only grew. Then the door opened again and in walked the President of the United States.

"Jesus Bradley, you look like hell."

Richardson didn't stay long, but long enough to impress the nurses and docs that I was a vip, and he was paying attention. Sydney told him how DC Metro police had seemed not very interested in the doorbell video and his ears perked up. This was something he could influence. He conferred briefly with an aide, then the aide brought in a cell phone for him.

"Muriel? Andrew Richardson here. We have a situation that I think could use your intervention.."

I started to nod off again as the president was finishing up his call. But then came alert again when he came over to my bedside.

"Listen, Bradley you get better. I'm so sorry this has happened to you, but I hope we can keep you safe enough for you to get back to work. We need you on this Bradley. Get better.

Then to Sydney, he said, "Sydney, my dear, Please let me know if you need anything from Mrs. Richardson or me. Don't hesitate to call us, please. I have a feeling the DC police will be pay more attention now to that video and to the whole case now that the mayor has intervened, but honestly, most of the time they can't find their ass with both hands. We may need to have the FBI take over the case. We'll see... Take care you two. And Sydney, if you don't mine me asking, when was the last time you took a break?"

She smiled, "Last night sir, Cindy Park is on her way here to spell me so I can go home and get some rest."

"Cindy Park, eh?" He smiled broadly. "Damn it, Bradley, you have the two best looking women in Washington taking care of you." And with that, Richardson and his entourage swept down the hallway and out of the building.

Ch. 12

Recovery was a bitch.

In addition to being agonizingly slow, it was wickedly painful as well. At first, everything hurt. And while the tasks themselves in physical therapy and occupational therapy were mostly pretty simple, completing them caused me hours of pain. Over the weeks that followed, it felt like I spent most of my time doing these simple things, and no one seemed ready to bring me my laptop so I could do some actual work. About two weeks after the attack, I went home, and then the therapists came to me. I was somewhat relieved to learn that DC police had put a car on my door 24/4 and the Post had sprung for private security as well.

Sydney, who was now going back and forth to New York on a regular basis for work finally told me that my laptop was utterly destroyed in the attack. Apparently, one of the attackers stomped on it repeatedly so recovery of any of the files was out of the question. That concerned me at first, but then I logged into the new laptop they sent me and was pleased to learn that every syllable had been backed up to the cloud and I literally lost nothing.

Paul Goodhue called me while I was still in the hospital to talk to me. His call was a little easier, perhaps, because Cindy Park was in charge of my phone at that moment and where Sydney might very well has screened the call, Cindy could very well tell our mutual boss to take a hike.

I was pleased to learn that my draft story naming Beckwith ran day after I was attacked virtually intact, and that story along with a certain amount to suasion brought to bear by Richardson did the trick, and the following day -- a Sunday -- the FBI named Jerome Beckwith as a person of interest in the death of Secretary Cameron.

"I have to say, when you were attacked, the lawyers suddenly grew a set of balls and declared that we had to run the story now. I didn't have the heart to tell them that we'd already moved a national news alert by the time they'd called."

He told me to get better, but then also offered to have my team assemble at my house to work on the project, or possibly just individual members. We agreed, finally, that a daily Zoom call would get me back into the swing of things.