In and out of mental hospitals, some time in there she developed an inguinal hernia.
Then, something went right. She got the right mix of meds. Maybe she met a fellow, but things were on the upswing-she decided to fix the hernia so she could get back to the gym, lose some weight and feel better about herself. Maybe grow a new dream.
But something went wrong at the Shomberg Clinic. Her antidepressant mixed with shame and painkillers, and she took a guilt trip that almost killed Borland.
When she shot herself, Borland started calling to the SWAT team. They rammed the lock off the door and entered, guns on Borland and Mr. Cumberland.
The old bugger finally woke up when they knocked.
He asked for a drink of water. Cumberland had his operation while Borland was waiting for his turn downstairs. The old man's pain meds had kept him asleep through Judy's assault on reality.
That said a lot for Borland. His doctors were impressed, said it was remarkable that he'd been able to stay conscious through all that pain, medication and blood loss.
He was weeping like a little girl when they did come in, but the SWAT guys cut him some slack because he looked like something that had escaped from a slaughterhouse.
Borland was given transfusions and stabilized, and at his request; they completed the hernia procedures over the next couple of days. Another request he made was to Brass who pulled those strings again and managed to have an armed guard of baggies stay on site to accompany Borland through the operations.
The hernias ruled his life for the next three weeks. During their reign he managed to stay drunk from late morning until midnight. He knew he'd put most of the weight back on, but his experience with Judy had reminded him that he wasn't going to be around forever.
And he'd been a really good boy.
Well, except for what he'd said to Judy. What he'd made her do…
Probably the best way to resolve the situation. It was the only justice she was going to get from herself. Society wouldn't give a damn about it.
Good excuse.
He pondered again whether he would have waited for the situation to resolve itself if he were the leader of the SWAT team. The doctors must have told them there was time, that Borland's condition; his wound wasn't going to be instantly fatal. He would suffer like hell, but…
They were willing to wait, to make a wager that Borland would have to pay.
He was never like that in the squads, and he tried to instill the attitude in new recruits: Gamble with your own life if you want.
But don't gamble with mine!
The television remote controller rang, snapping Borland from his reverie. He slashed and slapped out at the coffee table, finally managed to catch the multi-function device. He picked it up, pressed the 'talk' button and held it to his ear.
"Yeah," he said, in a voice that was thick with emotion.
"Captain Borland?" A woman's voice chirped.
"Who's asking?" Borland set his glass down and refilled it.
"I am Natasha Drummond, secretary to David White, president of GreenMourning Environmental," she said. "Are you familiar with our work?"
"Who isn't?" Borland grunted.
"Mr. White would like to talk to you," she said and went quiet.
"No," Borland grumbled. "Mr. White knows that's a conflict of interest for me or anyone in my place of employment. GreenMourning and the Variant Squads don't exactly see eye to eye."
"It doesn't have to be that way," she said.
Borland scowled at the blue screen.
"Mr. White appreciates the sensitivity of the situation and that is why he wants to meet with you in his car." The secretary went quiet again. "Discreetly. Downstairs. We're parked out front."
"What's this about?" Borland felt a surge of anger. More mysteries . He kicked his legs, stormed up onto his feet. He moved to the window, glared out…and started zipping up his jumper.
Three stories down, a woman's hand waved to him from the rear window of a long black sedan.
"You come highly recommended by a friend of Mr. White's." There was silence before: "The late Robert Spiko sent him your palm-com." Borland imagined her smiling, and then… "Mr. Spiko recorded a message on it for you."
"I'll be right down," Borland growled, staring blankly at the glass, catching his own vague reflection there.