Tested by Fire

by Pat Patterson

  “I don’t remember much else. It was like one of those dreams where you feel like your legs are stuck in the mud and you want to run but you can’t.” Helga nodded as if it all made perfect sense. “Then I woke up here.”

  Jim glanced around the tiny room. The cardiac monitor still beeped. His arm hurt more than ever, and his back burned. He suddenly felt a strong desire for a drink, something with alcohol, anything to dull his senses and restore his strength. He licked his lips. Helga seemed to read his mind. She smiled and injected something into his IV. He felt a rush. Relief came within seconds.

  “Helga?” Jim had a hard time even thinking what he was about to say, much less saying it, but he knew the subject had to be breached sooner or later. “I have to know. Am I…paralyzed?”

  “Hon, you’re on anti-inflammatory agents, hon. It’s too early to tell.”

  “How long has it been since my surgery?”

  “Three days.”

  “Three days?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then they know.”

  Jim tried to will his legs to move. He strained and pushed. Sweat popped from his forehead, his injured tissues burned within, but his legs and feet wouldn’t budge.

  “Stop, Helga!”

  “Jim,” Helga said.

  “Don’t make this worse than it—”

  “Shut up!” Jim grimaced as a wave of excruciating pain shot through his guts. Huffing and puffing he lay back in the bed until the pain passed, until he was able to catch his breath. “You and I both know—” Another sharp pain. Another grimace. “We both know three days is long enough to know. There’s nothing they can do for me now, Helga. I’m paralyzed!”

  “Jim…honey…”

  “Don’t try to soften it. You can’t. Just get out.”

  “Hon, you need to—”

  “Get out. Now. Leave! I want to be alone!”

  Helga slipped through the curtains. Jim knew he’d been wrong, dead wrong, but at the moment he didn’t care. His greatest fear in life had come true. He lay back and counted his losses—Sid. Valerie. Zee. The need for a drink returned with vengeance. He had never felt so lost and confused, so utterly helpless and weak.

  “No!” he cried. “Why? Oh, my. Why?”

  Jim wanted to cry, to close his eyes and drift off into a world of self-pity and pain, but his mind just wouldn’t allow it. It pushed him back into the shadows of the revival tent to a young man with his face in the dirt, blood trickling from the side of his head, and farther back still to the eyes of his best friend staring lifelessly at the graffiti covered wall of a dark alley.

  “J-Rock,” he murmured through clinched teeth, his mind gripped by the sharp talons of hate. “It’s your turn. And this time you die.”

  Chapter 37

  Rico could easily imagine Nurse Helga Baird with a battle-axe in one hand and a spiked mace in the other. Even her name scared him, conjured up frightening images of icebergs and polar bears and Icelandic women in horned helmets. The first time they’d met she’d thrown him out of the SICU faster than a bouncer might a rowdy patron from a bar, but Rico had reappeared so many times that keeping him out had turned into a game of cat and mouse. And Rico wasn’t accustomed to being the mouse.

  He peeked around the nurses’ station and tiptoed quietly toward bed number-five. He was almost there when a familiar voice called out. “Good morning, Officer Rivetti.”

  I can’t believe it, she’s everywhere.

  “Where are you?”

  “Watching you,” Helga responded. Rico zeroed in on her voice. It came from somewhere in the vicinity of bed number-two. “Have I not asked you to stay out of here, Officer Rivetti?”

  “Have I not told you to take a flying leap?”

  “Heard that.”

  “Good.”

  Helga stepped from behind a partially closed curtain and pointed a finger at Rico. One eyebrow shot up, the other lowered into an angry blue eye filled with distrust.

  “If I have to tell you to leave one more time I’m calling Security.”

  “I am security.”

  “No—” Helga waddled past him with a tray full of medical supplies. “You’re an East Beach police officer, and in here, sir, that means you’re just another visitor.”

  “Tell you what, Viking lady, any time you think you’re man enough to throw me out of here, give it a shot!”

  Rico ignored Helga’s angry stare and marched up to Jim’s bed. Helga hurried over and jabbed a finger in front of his face.

  “That’s it, you! I’m calling—”

  “It’s all right, Helga,” Jim said, interrupting her. “If it weren’t for this man, I’d be nothing more than a bloodstain on the grass right now.”

  Helga gave Rico the evil eye and stomped off.

  “Thanks, warden. Jeez,” Rico said, turning to Jim. “Where’d they find her?” Jim didn’t respond. Rico thought he looked tired. Drugged. “It’s been three days, pal. How’re you doing?”

  “I’m paralyzed, Rico. How are you?”

  “Feeling sorry for yourself today?”

  “Absolutely.” Jim sighed and rubbed his eyes. “How many times was I shot, Rico?”

  “Just once. Nine-millimeter. ”

  “Who was it? J-Rock?”

  “No, his gunman. Punk named Thomas Hall.”

  “Trigger? I thought I sent him to the hospital.”

  “You did.”

  “I should have killed him.”

  “One of my officers took care of that for you.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I’ve always got your back, bud. You know that.”

  “Rico, what about Sharon, Rico? Was she, I mean...did they rape her?”

  “No, I fired a load of buckshot over their heads. They scattered like scared rabbits. She was pretty shaken up, but that’s about it.”

  “Tank God. Where’s J-Rock now?”

  “Got away. But he left behind some nice evidence. Found a cell phone at the scene with a text message in the memory that was sent to your phone at exactly 12:24 am, Tuesday morning.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “It was your boy Zee’s phone. J-Rock’s prints were all over it. I believe he’s the one who sent you that text message, not Zee.”

  “Then it was a trap.”

  “J-Rock used him to lure you to the tent.”

  “But why?”

  “Revenge.”

  “Excuse me,” a soft male voice cut in. “Mr. Stockbridge?” Rico turned around and saw a baldheaded, middle-aged man dressed in light blue hospital scrubs. He pushed a small stainless-steel cart full of small glass tubes. A blue tourniquet dangled from his hand as he approached the side of the bed. “I’m sorry to interrupt but it’s time to draw another set of labs.”

  Jim held out his uninjured arm. “Good luck finding a vein.”

  Rico watched the technician wrap the tourniquet around Jim’s bicep and tap up a vein that looked as if it had already been stuck about a hundred times. Blue bruises were beginning to form. Tiny red dots tracked up and down his arm.

  Jim looked at Rico and rolled his eyes. “Hospitals.”

  “Look, bud,” Rico said. “Just wanted to check on you. Gonna head out now.”

  “Wait, Rico.” Jim reached out to him as if grabbing for a lifeline. “Before you go…”

  “What?”

  “Did I…miss it? Sid’s funeral. I mean? Was it…”

  “It was nice, bud. Very nice.” Rico took a deep breath to control the choking sensation he felt growing in his throat. “Lots of people from EMS came. Fire. Even Bagwell. Everybody asked about you.”

  Jim looked hesitant when he asked, “What about Val? Was she there?”

  “Nah. I’ve tried calling her, several times. Apparently she’s not checking her messages. Don’t even think she knows about Sid’s accident yet, much less yours. You know she’d be here if she did.”

  Jim’s expression soured. “I don’t know what to believe anymo
re.”

  Jim didn’t even flinch when the technician pierced his flesh with a large, beveled needle. The first tube filled with blood. The technician popped the tourniquet as the second filled, removed the tube, and then pulled the needle from Jim’s flesh. Rico felt lightheaded. Jim stared straight ahead without blinking.

  “I should have been there, Rico. I’ll never be able to forgive myself.”

  “Sometimes we can’t.” Rico backed away from the bed, glanced at the unmoving sheets that covered Jim’s legs, pictured him swimming and fighting and laughing and running and suddenly realized he would probably never be able to do those things again. It made him feel sick. “Look, bud, I’ll check with you later, okay? Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need?”

  “Yeah.” Jim’s face turned to granite. “Find out where they are, Rico. Find those animals and trap them. They don’t deserve to live.”

  Helga Baird was standing behind the nurses’ station when Rico pulled the curtains and left Jim’s tiny room. Rico ignored her glare and walked up to the counter. “Give it to me straight,” he said. “How is he?”

  Helga shook her head and leaned against the other side of the counter. “Officer Rivetti, are you a praying man?”

  Rico shook his head.

  “Then I think this would be an excellent time for you to start.”

  Chapter 38

  A stabbing pain tortured him, a piercing pain deep within the muscles between his shoulder blades. It radiated into the small of his back, exploded with fury, and then dropped off to nothing like the senseless edge of a deep abyss. Beyond that all feeling ceased. Jim’s legs felt as numb as boards, and just as useless. He tried his best to wiggle his toes, but he couldn’t make them obey. He felt defeated, a man trapped in his body, on the verge of deep depression laden with anger and guilt.

  Oh, God, I’ve had enough of this.

  “Helga!” he shouted, jabbing the call button and banging the rail with his fist. “Get in here! Where are you?”

  “My Lord.” Helga Baird stuck her head through the curtains and cast Jim a sarcastic look. “You rang?”

  “Where have you been?”

  Helga chuckled, apparently unmoved by his theatrics. “I do have other patients, you know.”

  “I need morphine.”

  “It’s not time yet.”

  “How long?”

  “Thirty minutes.”

  “Thirty minutes! It’s been three hours already, what’s the hold up?”

  “Would you let me do my job please? The doctor doesn’t want you getting too much medicine and developing a tolerance.”

  “Tolerance? You’ve already given me enough of that stuff to make me an addict.”

  “Would you prefer the pain?”

  “Then can I at least have a drink?”

  “That I give you. Water or juice?”

  “I’m not talking about apple juice, Helga, I’m talking about a drink! Jack Daniels. A good rum. At this point I’d even settle for a gin and tonic.”

  Helga chuckled and donned a pair of latex gloves. “Sure thing, sailor. Soon as I finish this I’ll walk down the block to the liquor store and buy you a couple of bottles. Anything else you want while I’m out?”

  “I’m serious, Helga. Please.”

  “Nothing doin’, sport.” Helga knelt beside his bed. A few seconds later Jim heard a tinkling sound. “You’re not getting any of that junk in here. Not while I’m on duty.”

  “So, now you’re a rehab nurse too?”

  Helga didn’t respond.

  “Lady, you give a new meaning to the word cruel.”

  Jim immediately regretted saying it. A deep frown formed on Helga’s cherubic face. She looked hurt, and for the first time Jim realized she wasn’t a hardened drill-sergeant after all, she was a kind woman doing a nasty job. And, she was right...he didn’t need that junk. Alcohol. God knew he’d been drinking too much for too long. His life was out of control. Valerie had told him, Sonny had told him too, but it wasn’t until that moment he really believed them. He had a problem. It was time to quit. Helga stood up, set the specimen container on the bed stand, and started toward the door.

  “Helga, wait...”

  Helga stopped and turned.

  “I didn’t mean...I mean, I’m not really like this.”

  Helga sighed and rolled her eyes. Jim continued.

  “The way that I’ve been treating you, I’m sorry. I’m not really like this. I’m not a mean person.”

  “Hon, I’ve treated a lot of patients in my career, but I’ve never had one angrier than you.”

  “It’s all just hit me so fast. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

  “But I know what a shock all of this must have been.”

  “I’m losing control, Helga. I have been for some time now.”

  Helga frowned. A curious expression crossed her face. “Hon, what in the world happened to you?”

  “It all started with 9/11. That day changed my life.”

  Jim glanced at the ceiling and closed his eyes, hoping the haunting memories would disappear, but they would not go away. He could still see the smoke. Taste the dust cloud. The terrible heap of steel and concrete and human remains and horror and death emerged in vivid color. He opened his eyes and stared at Helga. There was no stopping the pain.

  “I wasn’t even scheduled to work that day. I was asleep when the first plane hit. A friend called to tell me what had happened me. I didn’t know what to make of it at first. I assumed someone had crashed a small plane into one of the towers. I figured, big deal, stupid Cessna pilot, right? But then my station pager sounded, and the phone rang again, so I turned on the TV and realized what was happening. I grabbed my gear bag and headed out the door. I could see the tower smoking in the distance as I drove. I knew it was going to be bad. I had a bad feeling in my—”

  “Hold on a second,” Helga said. “I’m confused. What were you doing in New York City?”

  “Oh, sorry, I guess I better go back. Let’s see, um, well, I grew up right here in East Beach. In Lakeland actually. We had a small place on the water. There wasn’t much up there, just a few fishing families and boatyards, and the old cannery on Reservoir, but certainly no gangs or drugs. Everybody got along.”

  “Was your dad a fisherman?”

  “Sure was. He had his own shrimp boat. Used to take me along and let me steer. He taught me to read a chart and follow the channels a long time before GPS made it so easy. And I remember he bought me a small boat when I was about eight. I used that thing too, sailed all over the place, up and down the Morehead waterway, Cape Lookout and Harker’s Island, in and around the Beaufort channel. I lived on the water. And I remember this like it was yesterday, Helga—I can still see that Coast Guard cutter tied to its dock at the Ft. Macon station. I used to sail by it whenever I could. It held some kind of strange magic over me—its white hull, the slate gray decks. And the power that thing had. I remember one day watching them pull away from the dock and head out to sea on a mission. They powered up and took off through the channel, and within minutes they were over the horizon, out of sight, on their way to rescue somebody. I was so jealous. I knew then that one day I’d join up. And so I started swimming. And I got good. I got real good. I won the state title for 400 meters my senior year of high school. And then, the day after graduation, I enlisted.”

  “In the Coast Guard?”

  “Believe it or not, I became a rescue swimmer.”

  “Oh, I believe that. You’re a physical specimen. How long were you in?”

  “Six years. We flew a lot of missions. I suppose we saved of lot of people too. And along the way I developed a real knack for the medical side of the job.”

  “And that’s when you decided to become a paramedic?”

  “Yep. I stayed a swimmer until ’96, but my first year out I enrolled in the paramedic curriculum at the community college. I got a degree in emergency medical science and followed one of my classmates to New York. He
had connections in Brooklyn, so he helped me work my way into the system there. It took about a year, but I finally got my foot in the door with a unit on Coney Island. Anyway, I’d been there a couple of years when 9/11 happened.”

  “So back to your story…you could see the tower smoking?”

  “Yeah, um, I met my partner, Danny, at the station. He was supposed to be off that day too. We jumped on a spare truck and headed toward Manhattan. We were on the Staten Island Expressway when PD closed the VZ bridge to the public.”

  “VZ?”

  “Verrazano Narrows. It connects Brooklyn with Staten Island. It was the fastest route into the city from our station. And I remember this, the only other vehicle on the bridge when we went over was a carload of firefighters in a private SUV who may have come out of the Rescue 5 station nearby. To this day I don’t know if any of them survived. Many from that company died.”

  “Oh my.”

  “But it was really weird, you know? We had a bird’s eye view of the lower harbor. Smoke was pouring from the tower. It was surreal. I knew something bad was going to happen. I just felt it in my guts, you know?”

  “Jim,” Helga said her voice almost a whisper, “you don’t have to—”

  “Danny and I were the first paramedic unit from Brooklyn to arrive. And as we pulled up, the streets were littered with bodies, and I’m just like, what’s going on here? I mean, stuffs raining down out of the building, and it was just chaos. And there was a bunch of ambulances and we just started taking care of people. Some people were cut to ribbons, others were burned, it was just unbelievable. And there were things falling out of the building that were hitting us, and they were like, well, like tar balls. It wasn’t until later that I found out they were actually charred pieces of people.”

  Helga gasped.

  “At that point I just started going numb. I had to start working. I said, there’s too much stuff raining down, we’re going to get killed. So I grabbed this lady, right? I was carrying her across the street and she was tugging at my arm, and she was saying, ‘plane, plane.’ And I said, yeah, I know, a plane hit the tower, but what I didn’t realize was she was looking south down Church Street, and she saw the second plane coming. The vision is still somewhat in my head, but people ask me, what did you hear? I never heard anything. I remember looking up and seeing the building just explode. And I remember my first thought was, why did the second building explode? And I dropped to my knees and threw myself over the lady, and you could feel the heat coming out of that building. And that plane hit like the 70th floor and you felt the fireball at ground level.”