“Mr. Wheeler.”
I snapped my head up and jumped to my feet as a doctor around my age stopped a couple of feet away from me.
“Yes, that’s me. How’s he doing?”
“I’m Dr. Abrams.” He offered me his hand, and I shook it.
“Pleased to meet you.”
“I just wanted to give you an update on young Aristotle.”
“Please tell me he’s going to be okay.”
“Physically, he will be. Don’t get me wrong. He suffered many lacerations to his body, particularly his back, but for the most part, they are superficial wounds. A few needed stitches, but he’s young and should bounce back all right. Now for the psychological aspects. He’s in shock and still hasn’t spoken or responded to our attempts to stimulate him. It’s not uncommon for this type of thing to happen where the brain’s incapable of handling the trauma someone goes through.”
“How long will he be like this?”
“That we can’t say. We may need to bring in a professional to handle that side of his recovery, but I assure you he’s in good hands. Do you have any questions?”
“Can I see him?”
“Yes, of course, but I must warn you he’s sedated right now. He had a panic attack when they brought him in. We encourage you to speak to him and spend as much time with him as you can. Remind him he has people who care about him.”
I thanked the doctor for his advice, then hurried to Ari’s room. I took a deep breath and slipped inside, closing the door behind me with a louder thud than I’d meant to. Ari didn’t even flinch.
It was as if he was somewhere deep inside his mind.
I tiptoed to his bed. Now that he was all cleaned up, he looked much better. Both hands were bandaged, as was his neck.
“Ari,” I said softly.
He didn’t acknowledge me.
“Ari, please talk to me, baby. You’re scaring me.”
He continued staring out the window without any indication of having heard me.