by Linnea Hall
Love
Immortal
by
Linnea Hall
*
PUBLISHED BY:
KTJ Publishing
Copyright © 2009 by Linnea Hall
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the site where you purchased this copy and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
KTJ Publishing
8928 Swinnea Road
Southaven, MS 38671
Copyright © 2009 by Linnea Hall
ISBN: 978-0-98325351-8
ISBN-10: 0-98325351-X
www.KTJPublishing.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information contact KTJ Publishing.
First KTJ paperback printing: January 2010
Printed in the U.S.A.
Cover art by Tom Konrath
maninthewood.com
To my Jewell, my inspiration and to the man that put up with me for the months, that stretched into years while I wrote this. And to all of the people that helped me edit and rewrite this book to help me get it “write.”
Love
Immortal
CHAPTER 1
The man had been in full cardiac arrest for over a minute, but he was still screaming. His screams filled the emergency room with blood curdling intensity and reverberated throughout the rest of the hospital. Jewell McKean looked at the monitors. He was dead; his heart had stopped beating. She leaned against the door to the room where they worked on him and watched as the doctors and more experienced nurses worked to save the man’s life. While they worked, she tried to imagine how his screams could be described to someone who wasn’t here to witness his pain; blood curdling, certainly. Anguished? Tortured? Otherworldly? She contemplated the eerie sounds emanating from the body that lay in the room. His screams sounded inhuman, like a banshee’s wail echoing across the Irish countryside heralding death. The hollow scream foretelling of the man’s imminent demise: terrifying in their torment, frightening in their volume.
She felt a connection to this man; something other than pity, other than sorrow. She was drawn to him, belonged with him. Maybe because he looked so young; it was tragic that his life had taken this turn. He should still have his whole life ahead of him. She thought about his family; how would his parents cope with the loss of their son; no parent expects to outlive their children. She wondered if he had brothers and sisters that would miss him; whether he had a girlfriend.
Working in triage, Jewell was one of the first to see the man. He was the victim of a drunk driver, just like her mother. Seeing him, brought back all of the memories of her mother’s death so many years before. The blood, the broken bones, the pain so apparent on his face reminded her of the last time she saw her mother’s broken body.
It had been nearly two minutes since the last futile beat of the man’s heart when his screaming abruptly stopped.
Jewell watched as the doctors tried desperately to bring life back to the man’s empty, now soulless body. They worked feverishly for another several minutes before finally calling the time of death: 11:26 p.m. She stared as the doctors and nurses slowly filed out of the room, covered in blood and gore evidencing their ineffectual attempt to save the man’s life. Their faces drawn with their efforts, their lips pressed tight together against the unspoken question that was on everyone’s mind: Why?
Jewell stepped silently into the room. The machines that only moments ago were beeping and moving, indication of hope, were now woefully silent. The flat green line split the EKG monitor in half, evidencing the absence of life.
The man’s lifeless body lay silent on the gurney that had carried him into this room; the room where he would take his last breath. His body was covered with a plain white sheet; a shroud covering the remains of what had once been his life. Jewell didn’t know why she entered the room to take one last look at the man: why it seemed so important to her. And yet, at the same time, she knew unquestionably that she had to look upon him one last time.
She carefully pulled the sheet away from his face, her eyes averted, perhaps fearing what she might see. After folding the sheet back to reveal his face and upper chest, she returned her eyes to his body. His right collarbone was crushed, his shoulder twisted at an awkward angle. His torso, what she could see of it, was covered with bruises. An incision had been made on his right side, evidencing the doctors’ efforts to drain his lungs of blood that was seeping into them maliciously working to take him into the cold embrace of death.
There were red marks on either side of his chest where the paddles of the defibrillator had been placed in an effort to start his silent heart beating, to carry precious blood throughout his body, to keep his body alive if only for a short while longer, until his family had the chance to say goodbye. On his right side, just above the sternum, there was an unnatural depression, suggesting that some of his ribs must be broken, crushed beyond repair.
The man’s screams echoed in her mind again – he shouldn’t have been able to draw enough breath to produce the deafening scream that resonated through her head. With his injuries, he shouldn’t have been able to manage a whisper. Then she reminded herself that he was screaming even after his heart had stopped.
Jewell finally braced herself and forced her eyes up the line of his sternum and into the small hollow at the base of his neck. Her eyes moved further up, to trace the line of his jaw. It was strong, angular. It reminded her of carved marble, chiseled to perfection by the artist’s tools and vision. And yet, the hard line was softened ever so slightly by his youth. He had a small dimple in the center of his chin, not a flaw, but character in an otherwise perfect face.
The man’s mouth was peaceful; beautiful when it wasn’t stretched wide in a dying, agonized scream. His lips were full, conveying just the hint of a pout. They were nearly white in death, but she imagined in life they would be the deep red of garnets caught in sunlight. His nose had been broken in the crash, and now curved on his face at an eerie angle. Somehow, even distorted as it was, she could see that his nose was in perfect proportion to the rest of his features. His right cheek was crushed, flattened by the force of whatever had damaged the rest of his right side. His right eye was swollen, bruised.
His left side had suffered little damage in the crash. Jewell reached across his body to grab a four by four gauze pad from the tray of instruments on the other side of the bed. She saturated the pad with alcohol and gently wiped the dried, caked blood from the left side of his face and forehead. Despite the pallor of his skin, she still had a sense of how his rosy cheeks would glow through his sun-kissed skin when he smiled. His cheekbones were pronounced, high on his face and well-proportioned but, like his chin, the strong line softened by youth.
She tried to imagine the color of his eyes. His heredity seemed to be Anglo, with sandy colored hair and light skin. His eyes would probably be blue, the color of sapphires, or a clear winter sky. She longed to look into those eyes, to see life reflected back in them. His sandy hair was matted with dr
ied blood, an ugly gash cut through his hair, from the crown of his skull to the middle of his forehead. At certain angles, the wound sparkled as if it was filled with diamonds. She leaned closer, noticing glass embedded in the injury, not attended to because death took him before the wound could be cleaned and sutured.
She stared down at his peaceful, beautiful face, which such a short time before had been drawn tight with pain. She consoled herself with the thought that at least he was no longer suffering. At least he would never again feel pain: or love, or joy, she appended sadly to her thought.
She was surprised when a small drop of water splashed onto his face. Her eyes turned to the ceiling where she searched for the source of the leak. There was no sign of any water on the ceiling. She lowered her head, once again gazing into his battered and broken face. She tasted the salt of tears on her lips, and only then realized that she was crying.
Beep. The sound pulled Jewell from her reverie, reminding her that she had responsibilities. She glanced at her watch and realized that she had been sitting with the man for over ten minutes. She was certain that people were wondering where she had wandered off to. Though, they may have thought that she needed some time to recover from the shock of seeing someone die. It was expected of the new nurses, that they wouldn’t be able to handle death easily. They were not yet jaded to the realities of the ER. She was assured, each time she saw someone die, that it would get easier. While the pain would still linger, the ability to handle it would improve with time.
Jewell slowly pulled the sheet back over the man’s peaceful face, trying to imagine that he was only sleeping, though his injuries betrayed the truth. She stood for a minute looking over his shrouded corpse feeling as if she should have known him. That somehow, he was a part of her, their lives meant to be a part of one another’s. She felt that somehow, losing him was like losing a part of herself.
Beep. It was the same sound that she had heard before. She turned, looking for the source of the sound and heard only silence. After standing completely motionless straining to hear that sound again, and hearing nothing but the beating of her own heart, she decided it must have come from the hallway, or her imagination. As she turned to leave the room, she heard the sound again: beep. But this time, she saw the flat, thin green line on the EKG monitor spike.
*
It took a few seconds for Jewell’s brain to register what her eyes were seeing. Could it be possible? Could he still be alive? “Code blue!” She screamed into the hallway, yanking the sheet from his shrouded body. Beep. Her training kicked in and she immediately started checking for other signs of life. Her hand wrapped around his wrist, her finger on his pulse while her other hand rested lightly on his crushed chest. She leaned her ear close to his mouth to see if he was breathing; she felt a gentle exhale of air, and felt his chest rise, perhaps a fraction of an inch. It was impossible, but he was alive.
As she leaned over his broken body, a single nurse sauntered in to see what the commotion was. When she saw the strong, if somewhat irregular heartbeat on the EKG monitor, she ran out of the room for a crash cart, screaming code blue as she ran.
Seconds later, doctors and nurses poured into the room. As doctors ran to the man’s side, nurses frantically tore open sterile packs, readying instruments for the doctors’ use. Instead of stepping back as she had done in most critical situations since she had started working here, Jewell stayed close to the man’s side, ensuring that the doctors were doing everything they could to save his life…again. Refusing to release his hand, Jewell continued to monitor his pulse despite what she could see on the heart monitor.
It had only been about fifteen minutes when the doctors pronounced him stable enough to move upstairs for surgery. It was critical that certain injuries be stabilized to improve his chances, amazingly he seemed stable enough to endure it.
CHAPTER 2
These late night calls were brutal. Sheriff Hugh Payne was annoyed that he had to cut his date short for a call. What a mess he thought, stepping from his cruiser. Hummer versus…well the car was barely recognizable. The force of the impact had ripped two of the tires from the car and propelled them across the road where they came to rest next to the curb of a convenience store. The top of the car which had once been a convertible, flapped lazily in the light southern breeze blowing in from the gulf. The only undamaged piece of the car that attested to the former identity of this twisted horror was the small cobra snake emblem lying on the ground next to the car’s shapeless mound. The miserable remains of a Shelby GT 500 Mustang.
Sheriff Payne wandered from the mangled car to the ambulance that held one of the victims, probably the Mustang’s driver considering his condition. The young man in the ambulance did not look like he was going to make it. He listened as the EMT worked to communicate the young man’s vital signs to University Hospital.
As he suspected, one of the drivers was drunk. In another ambulance the paramedics were attempting to administer to the driver of the Hummer while the police restrained him. The driver’s outbursts signaled to Sheriff Payne that the driver was drunk; drunk drivers tended to be combative. Well, maybe he could get a few statements from the driver while the memories were still fresh. Sheriff Payne inhaled deeply as he approached; but within ten feet of the driver, he could smell the stale alcohol on the driver’s breath. It was clear that the driver was in no condition to respond to questions, or to give any coherent answers as to the sequence of the night’s events. He would deal with it tomorrow.
Early the next morning, Sheriff Payne laid the MVA file in his “In” box to work on later rubbing his eyes to clear his head. The hospital had called just after midnight to let him know that the Mustang’s driver had died. That would mean there would be a charge of vehicular manslaughter, which would mean the District Attorney’s office would be contacting him. The message light on his phone was blinking an angry red, probably the DA, but he wasn’t ready to speak with anyone. He still needed to speak to the witnesses, and he wanted to speak to the Hummer’s driver first, now that he was sober.
*
At the hospital, Sheriff Payne leaned on the receptionist’s desk. “Morning ma’am.” Sheriff Payne smiled a tired smile at the hospital’s receptionist. “Where is he?”
She turned to the computer, ready to pull up the information he was seeking, smiling sweetly as she asked “Which one did you want to see first Sheriff?”
This brought him up short. He was tired, and in no mood for games. “The one that’s still alive – I would assume that the dead one is rotting in the morgue.” He answered tersely.
She glanced up from the computer with a questioning look on her face, “Didn’t anyone call you? The Mustang’s driver survived. He’s in intensive care. The driver of the Hummer is in room 387.”
Sheriff Payne blinked, trying to assimilate the information he had just heard. In an MVA, the hospital never calls until after a victim is pronounced dead. Sheriff Payne stared at the receptionist with his jaw hanging open. When he finally had the sense to close it again, he was at a loss for words.
CHAPTER 3
Jewell arrived at the hospital at about 5:30 that evening, almost twelve hours since she had left the hospital early this morning at the end of last night’s shift. As she pulled into the parking garage, she saw the police cars. The gate, which was usually up, was down blocking the entrance to the garage. She stopped at the attendant’s booth and waved at Tom, who worked in the parking garage during the day. “What’s going on?” She asked.
“Seems that guy they brought in last night is a bit of a celebrity.”
“What, you mean he’s someone famous?” She asked, incredulous. She hadn’t recognized him, but then, his injuries had been pretty severe, and it wasn’t unusual to see famous people in New Orleans.
“No.” Tom waved his hand to indicate that she had misunderstood. “Somehow it got out that this guy died and came back to life. The local news wants to get the story.”
“Poor guy. What�
��s with the police?”
“Patient privacy mostly. Doc Babineaux is up there giving a press conference, explaining how this sometimes happens and it’s not that unusual. Sheriff Payne is up there with him, making sure that the press leaves this guy alone.”
“That’s good. I’d hate to wake up after an accident like that just to have a bunch of reporters in my face. I won’t see you until this weekend; this is my last night this week.”
Tom smiled and waved as he closed the gate behind Jewell’s car. At the doors to the hospital, a small stage had been set up with a podium set in the middle. Jewell could hear Doc Babineaux’s explanation making the incidents of last night sound as if this was as common as humidity in New Orleans; not rain in Death Valley.
Edgar Durand was among the reporters clamoring for information, even though he wasn’t a reporter. His interest had a far more important purpose. He was only half listening to the doctor’s explanation as his mind wandered to the possibilities of this event. If this particular patient was what Edgar thought he was, the patient would not only wake up, but walk out of the hospital within weeks, to live a long, long life unless he was punished for his crimes.
Edgar Durand was not an ugly man, but he was not remarkable either. Edgar was the type of man that a person could meet, and then forget within minutes after leaving his presence. It was seldom that someone remembered meeting him if he happened upon him a second or even third time.
Edgar was born twenty-eight years ago in an unremarkable house, in an unremarkable town, to unremarkable parents. He was however, a devoutly religious man.
It wasn’t until college that his life became interesting. As a requirement, he had to take a class on early European history. Edgar enjoyed this class. His professor spoke of fascinating events, but what Edgar enjoyed the most, the lecture that changed his life, was the passionate lecture given on the subject of the Crusades and the Templar knights. Edgar remembered that lecture well. But what he remembered most were the stories claiming that the Templar Knights were allowed to meet on the Temple Mount. It was here, on the Temple Mount, that it was rumored that the Templar Knights unearthed the Holy Grail and its secrets of immortality. This was how the lecture ended.