Page 13 of Playing with Fire

I got the dress uniform model instead. Score. He was talking to another cop, one in a regular uniform, and judging from the tone of Chief Quinn’s voice, the blurry figure had done something to deserve a scolding. I knew all about needing a scolding—or a spanking. Yes, I definitely needed a spanking from Chief Quinn. Then again, if push came to shove, I’d be happy to be the one doing the spanking.

Imaginary Chief Quinn provided me with a spectacular view of his back, but he ruined it by leaving with the other cop. Far too late, I realized I hadn’t tried to apologize.

Damn it.

The next time I woke up, I was free of the ventilator. My subconscious decided fake Chief Quinn needed to be dressed in a… actually, I had no idea what he was wearing, except it resembled a gym uniform of some sort. I didn’t approve of it, not one bit, and after a fierce battle with my own tongue, I told him so.

Crap. Why did I keep forgetting to apologize?

It could wait until he came back in better clothes. I promptly returned to my nap so I wouldn’t have to subject myself to his wretched attire for another instant.

My stupid subconscious decided I needed to be punished for my rudeness, so she inflicted an endless stream of gym model Chief Quinns on me. At least I recognized one of the jerseys as supporting the Lakers.

Wait a second. The Lakers? Why the hell was a proud member of the NYPD, a chief of police, wearing a Lakers jersey? Unacceptable. “What the hell? Los Angeles? Gym model Chief Quinn sucks. Knicks or bust.” Every last one of my words was slurred, and gym model Chief Quinn stopped tormenting the other cop in my room. “Want suit model.”

I was whining. I decided I didn’t care. Hallucinations couldn’t tattle on me anyway.

Gym model Chief Quinn stepped to my bedside and looked down his pretty nose at me. “Do I want to ask?”

Yay! The gym model could talk, and he didn’t sound too pissed at me for once. “Ooooh. Never mind. Lakers gym model can talk, and he doesn’t hate me.”

I thought the occasion was worthy of a happy squeal. The Lakers fan version of Chief Quinn didn’t seem quite so enthused. Unsurprising, really. “What are you talking about, Gardener?”

Not only was he talking to me in a civil fashion with a curious tone of voice, he had asked me a question I could answer. “Jeans model Chief Quinn brooded and didn’t talk. Angry as usual, because let’s face it, you hate me because I’m a terrible person. God help me, the dress uniform model might have lit my panties on fire. Dear God, that view.” I giggled, then a thought struck me. “Wait. Am I even wearing panties? Did the dress uniform model really light them on fire? Oh, bother. Bad dress uniform model.” I giggled again and tried to focus on the second hallucination my subconscious had so kindly provided. “Right, second hallucination person?”

“You’re so high right now, Gardener,” the second hallucination replied.

Oh. I knew the second hallucination. “Perky? Yay, it’s Perky. Hey, Perky! Perky?”

“This is going to be so, so good. What is it, you crazy woman?”

Confessing embarrassing things couldn’t hurt when I was talking to the hallucinations my subconscious provided, right? “I want the suit model or the dress uniform model for Christmas.”

“I’ll have a talk with Santa about that for you. How does that sound?”

“Huh. Santa’s never visited me before. It’s probably his fault I turned out so bad. He never gave me any coal. He should’ve. It’s not fair. If you tell Santa, he’ll agree I don’t deserve the suit model or the dress uniform model,” I wailed.

“Good job, Perkins,” the Lakers fan version of Chief Quinn muttered. “She was happy for all of ten seconds, and you just had to go and ruin it.”

Perky shoved his way to my bedside, pushing the complaining gym model out of his way. “I’ll make sure the suit model shows up in time for Christmas, okay? Just please don’t cry. Please? I’ll beg. If Santa tries to tell me you don’t deserve it, I’ll kick his sack.”

I sniffled. “Promise?”

“I’m going to hell for this, aren’t I?” Perky sighed. “Yes, Gardener. I promise. You’ll get a suit model Chief Quinn in time for Christmas.”

“You’re so going to hell,” the gym model muttered.

“I should tell you to shut up, but you’re the only model who talks to me.” It was a stupid thing to cry over, but I did it anyway.

Stupid, inconsiderate subconscious, providing me with equally stupid hallucinations determined to make me cry. Damn them all.

While I was fairly certain the satyr nurse and my doctor were real, they interacted with my hallucinations to screw with me. The oversized pixie doctor with a dust complex and a general inability to cope with my immunity was the worst offender, but I understood why. Happy patients healed faster, and most of the Chief Quinn models made me cry within ten minutes. I wanted to blame the drugs Dr. Valleychime kept insisting on dosing me with, but it was my fault.

Every time I had tried to apologize to Chief Quinn, it came out wrong. The last time, I had told him he’d look better naked, and he got so mad at me he left. I had thought he’d blushed, too, but then I had decided I was just seeing things.

To my disappointment, the dress uniform and suit models didn’t make an appearance.

The Lakers model showed up with Perky in tow, and I sighed. “Aren’t you supposed to be one of New York’s finest?”