The Rescuer

by Dee Henderson

  Stephen nodded and headed toward the crumpled Honda.

  The fireman helping the driver made room for him. Thick black rubber mats had been draped over the jagged metal edges to make it possible to reach inside without being cut. As Stephen assessed the unconscious driver’s condition, he tried to mentally re-create what would have happened to her during the accident.

  Her car had been hit hard from the side. That impact would have caused her to hit the window and then would have flung her to her left. While she was in motion to her left, her car hit the Toyota head-on. He winced. That meant the lady’s left side and rib cage would have been exposed when the steering column came back. He felt carefully where he predicted the worst impact. Broken ribs, internal bleeding, and from the sound of her breathing a partially collapsed lung. She was bleeding from a deep gash on her lower abdomen. She didn’t respond to his touch—the most dangerous sign of all.

  He looked over at the lady’s daughter. She was maybe ten, terrified, and because of the way she was pinned, unable to turn her head away from her mom. He smiled, hoping to reassure the child. “My name is Stephen, and my partner Ryan is behind you. We’re going to get you out of this car very soon.”

  “Mom’s really hurt.”

  “And I’m a really good paramedic.” He took a few precious seconds to reach across and touch her cheek. “Promise.”

  The first car accident victim arrived in the ER at 8:12 P.M., the stretcher pushed in by a paramedic wearing a rain slicker, her partner jogging alongside holding an IV bag up with one hand and steadying their small patient with his other. The sounds and smells from outside rushed in with them: An ambulance pulled out with sirens whooping like a huge bird to warn traffic, rain pounded, and a sweet oily smell hung in the air from the asphalt getting washed for the first time in weeks.

  Meghan reached them first, taking the IV bag and scanning the ten-year-old girl’s face. They had been warned she was coming in. She smiled at the child who didn’t have much left of her hair because a rescue worker had been forced to cut it to extract her from the wreck. The remains of the braid rested like a crushed cord an inch above her left shoulder, the sliced golden strands working their way apart in a frayed mat. The girl had been crying, but she was silent now, her eyes wide, her fear growing.

  Meghan leaned in close in order to be heard as they rushed toward exam area two. “Tracy, your mom is coming in the next ambulance. Relax and just listen to the doctor; he’s nice. You’re going to be fine.” There was no time for anything more as the trauma team surrounded the girl.

  By the time the lead paramedic was done giving his report, the little one was on oxygen, a warm blanket lay across her chest, and two doctors worked on the right leg splint placed at the scene, a portable X-ray machine moved in to capture an image of the shattered bone.

  Another doctor worked on the child’s facial lacerations and bruises, talking with her as he did so, the only man in the medley of people who seemed unhurried. The child wasn’t dying on him, and Jim had a refined sense of when to expend extra energy. Meghan watched the doctor work and wished she understood how to duplicate that stillness. Her ER shifts felt like twelve hours on adrenaline.

  She turned away from the group and shoved back the curtain on exam area four. From the early radioed warnings Tracy’s mom had been driving without a seat belt, and it had cost her dearly. Ryan’s voice on the call had been shaken. Paramedics saw everything in their job. It wouldn’t be good. She doubled the amount of gauze set out.

  Her shift had ended two hours ago but with the heavy rain she’d stayed where she could do some good. Now she was glad that she had. She heard the sound of the arriving ambulance moments before the doors crashed open. Ryan was pushing the gurney and Stephen was at its side. The water dripping from their jackets trailed back to the door, tinged red with blood. The resident took one look and hollered for Jim to join them.

  Meghan pulled on fresh gloves and took up position a step behind Jim’s right shoulder as Ryan swiftly gave details. Jim moved the packing to see what Ryan was describing. “Push that blood.” His lead trauma nurse was a step ahead of him, already hanging another unit. He looked over at the chief resident. “How’s her oxygen?”

  “Horrible. Her lungs are collapsed on the left. I’m opening it up.” The resident readied a deep needle to pull out the misplaced air. Meghan accepted handfuls of bloody pressure bandages from Jim as he worked, and fed him back clean packing.

  A movement of blue caught her attention and Meghan glanced up. Stephen was leaning against the back wall watching them. The front of his shirt was covered with blood and he was still breathing hard. His hands were the only thing clean, for he’d stripped off his gloves. The man looked exhausted. Blue eyes met hers and held a moment, and she saw the depths of what he had seen at the scene.

  The wall looked as though it was holding him up; he’d given everything he had. At times Stephen cared too much for his own good. She wished she had a free moment to give him a hug just to ease that look of hurt darkening his eyes.

  She turned back to what Jim was doing, focusing on staying a step ahead of him. The odds that Tracy’s mom would make it were already improving. Her heartbeat had steadied, her blood pressure was low but stable, and the oxygen in her blood was rising. Stabilize her, get her to surgery, and the specialists in ICU would keep her alive and give her a good chance to heal.

  “Let’s get her upstairs.”

  The nurse disconnected cardiac leads and transferred the IV to the hanging stand at the head of the stretcher. Stephen pushed away from the wall and touched a hand to the woman’s bare foot as she was pushed by. “Where’s her daughter?”

  “Exam area two.” Meghan bent to pick up one of the many bloody gauze squares that had fallen to the floor. Stephen nodded and walked down to see the child.

  Meghan watched him go and hoped he remembered the blood on his shirt before he got there. He paused by a biohazard bag and the blue shirt came off, leaving a gray T-shirt that was wet with rainwater, sweat, or both. He tossed the bloody shirt into the bag and then turned into exam area two.

  “He was the one who cut Tracy’s hair,” she murmured to Ryan.

  “Yes. She was pinned looking at her mom. It was the only fast solution we had.”

  Most paramedics she had figured out pretty early on. They were white knights riding to the rescue, who enjoyed the adrenaline rush of a crisis. Stephen O’Malley was still a mystery. He was emotionally invested in rescuing people yet he was one of the best at the job she had ever met. But for all their history together, his past was at best opaque to her. Sometimes she thought he didn’t want to do the job as much as he felt he had to do the job.

  She tossed another bloody towel into a laundry hamper. Get this cleanup finished, get early word on how the woman’s surgery was going, then she could head out. Right now more than anything she wanted to be sharing coffee at the kitchen table with her parents and be back in a world that was normal.

  At least there she had the illusion of being safe.

  A tap on the dressing room door interrupted his music. “Five minutes, Mr. Peters.”

  Jonathan didn’t bother to answer. The music he would perform tonight was already playing in his mind, and in a brief time he would stride onto the stage and sit at the grand piano and let it spill out before the intimate audience of hundreds. He would prefer thousands but not every orchestra hall was perfect.

  He smoothed his tux. The Chicago music critics were out there. He played like a genius and everyone knew it. They would write rave reviews. And tonight after the concert he would put on a world-class performance that no one would see.

  He tucked a red rose into his lapel. The lady who had sent the huge bouquet would understand the message. She’d slip away to join him at his suite tonight. And he would do his best to ensure it was a night of romance worthy of good memories. It was the least he could do for one of his admirers.

  He couldn’t live on love alone and genius wasn�
�t yet paying the bills. Before he left for Europe in the morning, he would acquire the jewels Marie wore. Neil had been pressing lately for a major theft and Jonathan would accommodate him. His cut for the stolen diamonds and emeralds would pay his expenses for the upcoming year. He stole a few gems each year to keep himself in the lifestyle he was accustomed to, and if he had to have a partner, Neil was the right choice. One didn’t become an old thief without being smart about details.

  If Marie realized the gems she put on tomorrow morning were exquisite fakes, she’d never admit the jewels had been taken at the hotel and by him. Her husband was an angry man and he most certainly would not approve.

  “Two minutes, Mr. Peters.”

  He smiled at himself in the mirror. Yes, tonight would be a golden performance. He could hear the music clearly, and the anticipation of and adrenaline for a night of crime was rising. It was time. He strode down the hall for the stage and toward the welcoming applause.

  The surgical waiting room was a quiet place on a Friday night. Stephen nudged a sliver of wood from the disk he was whittling, adding ridges to the outside of the piece.

  “You are going to be late for your date,” Ryan commented, joining him.

  Stephen glanced up from his work. “We’re going to meet for a late coffee instead.”

  Ryan set the folder on the bench. “I handed the keys off to the next shift and the paperwork is filed.”

  Stephen nodded his thanks. “No need for you to stick around. Say hi to your wife for me.”

  Ryan settled on the bench. “It’s Friday. I’ll wait a bit.”

  Stephen looked at the clock. Tracy’s mom wasn’t going to make it, not if the surgery lasted much longer. She hadn’t been that strong going in.

  “Meghan is pacing the ER waiting room watching the clock too. You could wander down that way.”

  “Meghan once told me she paces and prays—the harder she’s pacing, the harder she prays. There’s no need to interrupt. At this point I’d even rub a rabbit’s foot if I thought it might help.” He wasn’t one to place much faith in a God who supposedly controlled things. From what he could see, life was hardly being controlled. But he wasn’t going to tell Meghan her faith wasn’t important. To her it was.

  “Accidents happen.”

  “Yes.” Stephen flipped the checker and caught it on the way down. Eagle she gets better. He looked at the image. An eagle. He turned over the disk. He’d carved two eagles in this one. He slipped it in his pocket and got to his feet. “I’m going to go say hi to Tracy for a minute.” He’d carved the piece for her.

  Three

  Meghan walked out of the hospital shortly before eleven, shivering at the wind gusts. She slipped on her lavender windbreaker as she hurried across the parking lot to her white jeep. She didn’t carry a purse and her cash and keys were in her jeans pockets. Tracy’s mom was finally in the recovery room.

  She saw Stephen’s car still in the lot—she shouldn’t have wished his date with Paula would fall through. He needed the distraction of a date tonight. She hesitated. Should she go find him? No. He knew where she was all evening if he wanted to talk.

  She unlocked her jeep and used the towel from the passenger seat to dry her face. The rain was easing up, but it would still be an interesting trip. She headed to the highway.

  She had the drive perfected so that she could listen to two audio books, stop at the truck stop on Route 39 for her midpoint fill-up, and in four hours be pulling into her parents’ driveway.

  Meghan drummed her hand on the wheel as she crept along at twenty miles per hour. What construction was snarling traffic this time? Getting out of Chicago was the longest part of the drive. She finally spotted an exit ramp and got off the highway. Even if the back roads added thirty miles to her trip, at least she would be going somewhere rather than sitting. She could cut through the forest preserve and over to the old two-lane county road that followed the railroad tracks across the state. It would eventually take her directly into Silverton.

  The tall oak trees in the forest preserve were casting strange shadows across the hood of Craig’s car as he sat in the public parking lot. It was posted as closed after six o’clock but had no gate or security to enforce the curfew. Craig studied the clock on the dashboard and listened to the rain on the roof. He had a little cocaine left, just enough for one more lift. He calculated the time and forced himself to seal up the drugs. He couldn’t get too high before his meeting, or Jonathan would notice and not go through with the exchange.

  Helping steal jewelry was the easiest money he’d ever made, and he didn’t want Jonathan to know what he was spending his extra income on. He was the courier, that was all, but it was steady income and someday… He had plans. Someday he would walk away with a few stones from what he transported and make himself a fortune.

  Craig reached over and opened his briefcase then lifted the lid on the box inside. The jewels glittered even in the dim interior light. He ran his fingers across the stones. They were the fake ones, but he would have the real ones soon. And when he delivered them to Neil tonight, he would have enough money to party for a full month.

  He closed the briefcase and looked up at the flash of lightning. He jolted as eyes looked back at him from outside. A deer. Craig giggled. He raised his hand to cover his mouth. It wouldn’t do to show that giggle tonight; no, it really wouldn’t do to show that. Getting high was his secret.

  Oh, life is good.

  He worked at his old man’s general store and pharmacy during the week, and while his father inventoried the pharmacy drugs each week, suspecting something but never able to prove it, Craig borrowed the car on weekends and drove to Chicago to get away from the small town suffocating blanket of people who thought they had a right to know what he did every minute. Someday he would have enough cash to walk away from that “productive” and “honorable” job, and he didn’t plan to give notice.

  Craig started his car and gunned the engine, backing up and turning toward the exit. He loved the quiet solitude of this place. He could hear traffic but not see it, hear the sounds of the community around him but not have to show himself. His wheels spun on the wet pavement as he nearly plowed into the entrance sign and overcorrected back to the road. He thought hard. Go left to cross the bridge and head downtown? Jonathan would be annoyed if he was late.

  Red lights flashed at him, but there wasn’t a railroad crossing here. More construction? It would slow him down. The road began a rising incline and he relaxed, remembering the bridge. Cross the bridge and half a mile down the road he’d be back at the freeway.

  White lights blinded him.

  His foot slammed down on the accelerator as he tried to get out of the way. The white jeep already on the bridge nearly clipped him as it careened over the south side of the bridge and plunged into the gully below. The sound of the crash sobered him and Craig stopped his car, heart pounding. He looked back but didn’t see anything.

  It hadn’t been real. No, it hadn’t been real—he’d inhaled too much powder. His hand shook as he turned up the music. Lights in front of his eyes—the highs always made lights dance in front of his eyes. He drove on.

  Jonathan was waiting for the soft knock on the hotel room door that came precisely at midnight. He opened it and stepped back to let Craig slip into the suite, frowning at the nervous way his friend rocked on his feet and looked behind him. “Something wrong?”

  “I just heard the elevator.”

  “It’s a hotel, Craig.” Jonathan led the way into the sitting room. “Keep your voice down; she’s asleep.” He turned on a dim light. The jewelry was lined up on the side table: emerald earrings, a square-cut diamond ring, a bracelet and necklace with diamonds and emeralds set in gold. He had taken instant photographs of where Marie left the pieces around the suite so the replacements could be positioned where she remembered them. “Give me the stones.”

  Craig opened the briefcase and removed a box.

  Jonathan laid the fakes beside the o
riginals, comparing the pieces. Neil had made them in the last three months from photos Jonathan had sent him. Neil had a great cover owning and running a profitable jewelry shop. He could do all kinds of custom work quietly on the side. “These will work. I couldn’t find her brooch, so you’ll have to take that piece back.” He returned the fake brooch to the case, then put the real gems into velvet pouches. “Tell Neil that taking all the pieces from a lady like this isn’t worth the risk. She might not notice, but someone else bought them for her and he will eventually notice.” If it had been his decision, he would have replaced only half the pieces with good quality fakes and left the others to help cover the theft.

  “Neil wants to move to bigger but more infrequent thefts.”

  Jonathan looked at his friend. How could he be so naïve? “Neil will have me staking out marks in Europe and you flying over with replacement pieces, figuring if he steals in one country he can sell them sooner in another.” The idea wasn’t entirely unappealing. He’d like the income, but they just needed to take more care in what they stole. Jonathan closed the box. “Where’s my first payment?”

  Craig handed over an envelope. “Ten thousand.”

  “Stay here.” Jonathan took the fake pieces and picked up the pictures. He left the earrings on the end table next to Marie’s glass with its still-melting ice and carried the other pieces to the bedroom. He placed the ring on the bathroom counter next to the soap dish, the bracelet went on the bedside table, and the necklace inside the still-open hotel room safe.

  He had ensured that she was too occupied to spin the dial on the safe last night. Jonathan walked back into the living room with the pictures and gave them to Craig. “Burn them.”

  “I know the drill.” Craig stored the photographs in the briefcase.

  “Don’t even think about disappearing with those stones and reselling them.” Craig’s gaze shot up to his. Jonathan had gone to high school with Craig and he knew just how sticky his friend’s fingers were.