by Scott Cook
We laughed. Wayne waved a hand dismissively.
“However,” I continued, going into the kitchen to stir the potatoes, “I suspect that there’s more behind it and more to come. I don’t know why… but I don’t like the sense I get from his letter, or his notes.”
The conversation moved on to other things. Sheila talked about work and her recent trip. Lisa reported nothing new on the Franco front and we eventually moved out onto the porch.
It was around seven-thirty and with the sun well in front of the house and the two ceiling fans going, it was comfortably warm on the porch. I lit the grill and slid Sheila’s veggies in the oven and gave my taters a final stir. They were getting nice and crispy.
Sheila’s asparagus were delicious, with a fragrant blend of seasonings and just the right blend of cooked and still crunchy. My potatoes were a tantalizing blend of a crispy exterior and almost melt in your mouth inside. It was a trick I’d learned from a visiting UK neighbor some years back. The chicken was juicy and we left little of anything when it was all done.
Sheila stood and reached for the empty plates. I held out a hand, “Don’t bother, sweetie. I’ll get that.”
“But you cooked,” Sheila insisted with a smile. “Camp rules, right?”
“It’s okay, you two ladies relax,” I said and then sighed heavily, “The truth is… I’m just not comfortable having black folks working in my kitchen… come on, Wayne.”
Wayne looked confused, “What? I’m black too!”
“I don’t even notice anymore, man,” I teased. “All that asshole makes me color blind.”
The women’s laughter followed us into the house.
“So do you coppers have anything to go on?” I asked Wayne as he and I loaded the dish washer and started the dishes.
“Not really,” He admitted. “You already know about Tommy Thumbs, I’m told. Other than that, there hasn’t been a shred of evidence. This guy knows how to cover his tracks, which is no easy feat with today’s forensic technology.”
That made me pause in the middle of washing the baking pan, “Hmm… that’s true… you’d have to be a professional to beat the CSI people more than once, I’d think.”
“Yeah, but a professional what?” Wayne asked.
I shrugged, “No idea. Professional crook, maybe a government agent or even a former cop? Hell, maybe a crime scene investigator. But for this guy to have avoided any kind of detection on five separate occasions… five as far as we know… makes me think he’s not some Joe Six-pack vigilante. But that’s just a guess, of course.”
“I trust your hunches, brother,” Wayne stated.
“I do too…” I admitted, “But we need more than that. A lot more.”
“We had an idea, boys,” Lisa said as she and Sheila came inside followed by Morgan and Rocky, who were very patiently waiting for their leftovers. I’d set two plates aside with some chicken, potatoes and some rice that I kept in the fridge and the lads went to town without even a by your leave.
“Bout time,” Wayne poked.
“I’ll kick your chocolate hiny, Wayne,” Lisa threatened with a grin.
“Promise?” Wayne asked.
“There won’t be anything left to kick by the time I get through witcha,” Sheila added, punching Wayne in the arm and then pinching his butt.
I chuckled, “See, Wayne? This is why you should try to be nice more often. What’re you thinking, ladies?”
“Let’s forget the pie and go for ice cream,” Sheila said. “There’s a Cold Stone up on Semoran.”
I looked at Lisa who grinned.
“Sounds like we’re going for ice cream,” I told Wayne.
“They’re not the boss of us,” Wayne replied. “Maybe I don’t want ice cream.”
“You want sex?” Sheila asked.
“Let’s go get ice cream,” Wayne said enthusiastically.
I guffawed and made a whip crack sound behind his back.
“Don’t get cute, Jarvis,” Lisa said in mock severity. “You’re buying me an ice cream, too.”
I hung my head and in a meek voice said, “Yes sir…”
It was decided that since it was closing in on ten, we’d take two vehicles. Lisa and I would follow Wayne and Sheila in the Jeep. They said that if and only if we had sufficient fun at the ice cream joint, they might consider hanging out with us further… otherwise, Wayne would be instructed to take Sheila home and do her bidding.
Wayne turned left onto Chickasaw Trail and headed for Lee Vista. At this time of night, there was almost nobody on the road. That was one reason I’d chosen the Lee Vista area to live. It had a lot of supporting businesses around the residential neighborhoods but unlike some other areas of Orlando, you couldn’t drive through it to get anywhere. At that time on a Friday night, Dr. Philips, Hunter’s Creek, Avalon Park and other major zones of town would be jammed with cars.
It was quiet and peaceful on Chickasaw near my house.
That’s why when I saw a sudden flash accompanied by a loud crack that was easily audible over my Jeep’s stereo, I was surprised. In the next instant, my heart seemed to leap out of my throat as Wayne’s white mustang went up on its driver’s side tires, swerved across the road, jumped the curb and rocketed straight for the quarter-mile long retention pond that bordered that section of the street.
“Oh my God!” Lisa screamed.
The car had covered the fifty feet from the road to the lake and plunged into the water in the middle of rolling completely over.
The whole thing had taken no more than three-seconds. One moment, we were driving down the street at thirty-five miles per hour and the next, nothing remained of Wayne’s car but a foaming ripple in the moonlight.
Chapter 8
A double-wide sidewalk ran along Chickasaw from my neighborhood all the way to Lee Vista Boulevard. That included the section next to the large lake between the road and the Newport subdivision. Just after the sidewalk stood a row of oaks planted onto the land that sloped steadily downward into the lake.
As I’d heard it, the rectangular lake, which had to be five or six hundred yards long and half as wide, had been dug for fill dirt for Newport and several other neighborhoods built starting around 2000 or so. The lake was forty feet deep at its center and was rumored to have the heavy machinery that had dug it resting on the bottom.
I slowed, yanked my wheel to the left and jumped the curb, skidding to a stop between two of the trees with my headlights pointing at the area where Wayne’s Mustang had carved a groove in the grass and plunged into the dark water. I slammed the Jeep in park and set the emergency break and barreled out my door. “Call 911!” I shouted to Lisa as I ran and dove into the water.
If she replied, I didn’t hear. The water closed over my head and I was plunged into blackness. I risked opening my eyes and saw the faintest of glows from the jeep’s headlights illuminating the first foot or so of the tea colored water. Within inches of the surface, though, the light was swallowed up in water that was not only dark but growing colder as I descended.
How far had the car gone down? The Lake was essentially a forty-foot deep bowl with sides sloping down at a twenty-five or thirty degree angle. I could only hope that the vehicle had stopped just below the surface and hadn’t slid all the way to the murky bottom.
I swam down, keeping close to the bottom to try and maintain something of a straight line that followed the car’s course. I had to clear my ears more than once and that was a bad sign.
My lungs started to burn. I ignored it for a few more seconds but finally turned and shoved off the angled bottom to the surface. When I looked back to the shore, I saw that I’d actually descended a little to the left of where the Jeep was pointing. I cursed aloud, swam a few yards the other way and dove straight down again, painfully aware of the precious minutes that were passing and prayed that I’d get lucky.
Again I had to clear my ears and again I strained my eyes and groped through the inky blackness. What if I couldn’t find th
e car? How long did I have to revive them in case…
Suddenly, a dull glow appeared just below me. I moved toward it and saw to my amazement that the car’s tail lights were still glowing in water that was far clearer than the surface. Clearer, but still only had visibility of maybe two feet.
I don’t like lakes. Especially in warm southern climates. They were stagnant bodies of water for the most part. Unlike the ocean or even rivers, which are cleaned by a constant flow of runoff or tides, lakes seemed dirty to me. All manner of organisms, large and small, could dwell within. Everything from hungry gators to writhing water moccasins to flesh eating bacteria flittered across my terrified mind as I groped my way along the car.
The mustang lay on its side, nose down maybe two-thirds of the way to the bottom, maybe more. There was no way to tell except that I’d had to clear my ears three times, which meant we could be thirty feet down or more.
Even worse was that the car had come to rest on the passenger side and meant I could only get one of them out at a time. This was bad news, as I was already starting to feel the burn of oxygen deprivation.
I banged on the driver’s side window and got no response. That set my already pounding heart racing even further. I gripped the driver’s door handle and yanked, hauling the door upward to its widest aperture. I groped around inside and found Wayne and felt the strap of the seatbelt still attached.
He wasn’t moving!
I was almost paralyzed with fear. Not for myself, but for my friends. They’d already been in the water maybe three or four minutes, but if they weren’t moving, then they had probably been knocked unconscious. If that were the case, then they’d aspirated water and were already drowned. Technically drowned, at any rate.
I wiggled in and fumbled in the darkness to find the belt buckle. After three or four maddening attempts, I found the release button and the strap came loose. I backed out, grabbed Wayne’s right arm and hauled him bodily out of the driver’s seat, thankful that the water turned his two hundred and five pounds into a far lighter and more manageable weight.
One interesting thing that you learn when you scuba as well as free dive are methods for extending the time you can hold your breath. When you begin to feel that overpowering urge to breathe, it’s in fact more a signal to expel carbon dioxide than it is a lack of oxygen. It’s therefore possible, by letting out a little air every few seconds, to stay down longer. You simply have to train yourself to ignore that urge… at least for a while.
My lungs were screaming for air by now. I’d only been underwater for a minute or so, but I hadn’t really done a proper dive. I’d simply ran and dove in, come up for a breath and dove back down. I hadn’t prepared my body for the extended underwater time and it was complaining in a very loud voice.
I grabbed Wayne from behind, put my arms under his and pushed off the car, kicking like mad for the surface. It seemed to take forever. Just when I thought I too might black out, my head broke the surface and I gasped and spluttered, taking in huge greedy gulps of air.
“Scott!” Lisa shouted from the shore.
“I got Wayne!” I shouted, kicking toward her. “You know CPR, right?”
Lisa was up to her waist and met me, helping me to pull Wayne out of the water and onto the grass.
“Kind of… but I’m not sure about reviving a drowning victim!” Lisa said excitedly but not in a panic. I felt a surge of admiration for her and it was hardly the first time.
“You’ve got to pump the water out of him before starting compressions,” I gasped. “Get him on his side and pump his legs to push his diaphragm up and force water from his lungs! I’ve got to go back for Sheila!”
I looked into her eyes and although they were wide and full of tears, she nodded and began to work.
I took three huge breaths, holding the third and plunged back into the water. I kicked hard for the bottom, occasionally opening my eyes to try and find the glow of the taillights and hoping that the water hadn’t invaded the electrical system enough to short them out yet.
It seemed to take longer than the first time and I was starting to fear that I’d gone off course when I saw the glow. It was a little to my right. I found the car and swam inside the cab head first and started to release Sheila’s belt. It took a little extra effort, as her body had shifted into an odd position. I finally got the strap loose, though and quickly but gently hauled her small form from the vehicle as well.
Again my chest was burning and again I wondered how much time had passed. Had it been as much as five minutes? Maybe six? Had it been even more than that…?
I couldn’t worry about that now and kicked for the surface, breaking out into the air fifty feet from the water’s edge.
I dragged Sheila’s body up onto the grass next to where Lisa was working on Wayne. She was already doing compressions as I started to pump Sheila’s legs and saw and heard the water gurgling out of her open mouth.
“Trade with me!” I said to Lisa. “She’ll be easier for you!”
We quickly exchanged positions, me straddling Wayne’s prone form and Lisa Sheila’s. I had far more lung capacity than Lisa, as did Wayne. I knew that I could blow more air into him and that Lisa’s smaller lungs would work as well on Sheila’s smaller lungs.
We began to work, counting out compressions with our hands just above the point of their sternums and then blowing as much air into their mouths as we could.
“C, A, B…” I huffed to Lisa as I compressed, “Compressions, airway and rescue breaths… thirty compressions, deliver two rescue breaths and if her chest doesn’t rise, check her airway and repeat… you got all that?”
“Yeah… Got them both free of water,” Lisa gasped. “Clean airways, good breaths and pumping…”
We worked… and we worked. It seemed to take a long time, but I couldn’t be sure if we performed CPR for thirty-seconds or thirty minutes. The whole thing was surreal.
“Is that… a siren?” Lisa gasped.
I thought I heard it too. Distant but rapidly approaching. I blew two enormous breaths into Wayne and had just finished my ninth compression when his body gave a jerk and he coughed heavily, spitting out water and then gasping.
I stopped for a moment and saw that he took another breath on his own. His eyes were closed but he was breathing stertorously.
“She’s not responding!” Lisa shouted in fear. “Scott… she’s not responding!”
“Okay…” I breathed heavily. “I think Wayne’s okay. Monitor him, I’ll take over for you.”
Once again we switched and I grabbed Sheila’s legs and pumped her a few times. I even got my left arm under her and picked her up by her waist, suspending her head downward to try and get any extra water out of her lungs. I then laid her down and blew as much air as I could into her lungs. It was so much that it blew back at me before I started to compress again.
The sirens were close now, an ambulance and at least one police car. Thank God… Sheila was still not responding even to my greater air capacity. I was breathing and circulating for her, but she would probably need adrenaline, oxygen and maybe defibrillation.
“Sheila…” I heard Wayne’s semi-conscious voice mutter. “Scott…”
“it’s okay, Wayne,” Lisa said, hugging him. “We got you…”
Several vehicles pulled up and stopped on Chickasaw and several EMTs ran toward us. I didn’t stop.
“What’s the situation here?” One man asked.
“Their car went into the lake,” Lisa said. “My boyfriend pulled them out but they were unconscious and had inhaled water. We got it clear and have been doing CPR… but she’s not responding.”
“I’ll take over, sir,” A woman’s voice said.
I looked up and realized I was sweating and gasping. I hardly had enough breath in me to do anything, not having stopped since I first dove into the lake.
I moved aside as the sturdily built woman and a man picked Sheila up and placed her on a stretcher. Two other men did the same to Wayne
and started to carry them back toward two ambulances, their flashing lights casting demoniac patterns of crimson on the trees, grass and the people.
Lisa was at my side, clutching me and crying into my chest, “Scott… what the hell happened…?”
I took a moment to regain my breath and held her tight, almost desperately so, “Don’t know… that flash… something forced the Mustang off the road…”
“A bomb?” Lisa asked in disbelief.
“Something,” I said a little more calmly, getting to my feet and trudging toward the three vehicles. “It was no accident.”
The cop, Stu Davage again, ran up to us, “Holy Shit, Jarvis! What the hell happened?”
“Don’t’ know yet, Stu,” I said, pushing past him for the nearest emergency vehicle.
I looked into the open rear doors to see two medics attending to Wayne. His eyes were closed and an oxygen mask had been fitted over his face. The medics were taking his vitals and starting an I.V. bag.
“He’s stable,” one said to me without looking up. “But he’s slipping into a coma, I think… we’ll let you know.”
I felt my stomach lurch as I turned away and rushed to the other vehicle where they’d taken Sheila. She was in the same state as Wayne, an oxygen mask over her face and an I.V. in her wrist. However, the female medic was attaching something to her now bare chest and side.
Paddles…
There was a whine that built to a higher and higher pitch and then the medic called: “Clear!”
Thumpa!
The heart monitor on the panel near the gurney bleeped once, then twice and then flat lined again.
“Going up to eight-hundred!” The woman shouted as the whine began again.
“How long was she under?” The other EMT asked me.
“Not sure…” I stammered, feeling sluggish and stupid as I watched. “Maybe five minutes… could’ve even been six…”
He frowned and turned back as the woman yelled clear again. This time, the thump of the voltage was even louder. Sheila’s body actually jumped a little. Again, the EKG recorded several heartbeats. Yet just as before, they flattened into an ominous straight green line on the little screen.