by John Charles
The duty nurse looked from Jason to the firefighters in the room. “I think I can now say I’ve seen it all. I’ll ask a social worker to start with the address we have for Reade and see if she can find any of Alex’s relatives.”
“You ready to head back?” asked Jason’s chief. Having over twenty years in the department, he had seen that look many times in the past. Most of their cases were routine. Sometimes a case was particularly severe. Then there were times like this, when one of the team connected, for whatever reason, with the victim. Jason had never connected before. This time was different. He gave his number to the duty nurse and asked that she keep him updated on Alex. She agreed and put his name and number on Alex’s forms.
Jason shook his head agreeing to leave with his teammates, but said nothing as they gathered equipment and headed out to the waiting fire truck. His teammates saw the look and immediately understood. Most of them had gone through it during their careers.
The Adrenalin rush of a rescue often kept them on a high for hours after they returned to the firehouse. Tonight was no different for many of the men. For Jason it was more. He didn’t understand why he connected to Alex.
Serving as a firefighter or paramedic had periods of constant activity and others with none. The remainder of the night was one of those periods where the world seemed to be at peace, no fires and no accidents. For Jason, it was torture. His mind kept going back to the scene of Alex’s broken body lying at the bottom of the ravine. He heard Harrold’s outburst until his head ached. Restless, he paced the dormitory, the fire station, the halls, but couldn’t settle down. His fellow firefighters tried, in vain, to help him relax. They knew the feelings he was experiencing.
He almost dropped the phone when it rang. The nurse identified herself, said Alex was out of surgery, was in ICU in guarded condition, and could have limited visitors. With two more hours to his 24-hour shift, Jason did his best to stay calm until he could visit Alex.
Chapter 3
Beeping sounds attacked his already hurting head. The machine hissing next to him made him wince in fear. Something hard filled his mouth throat. He wanted to take it out - it hurt. He managed to lift his hands a couple of inches and that was enough to tell him not to try. Extreme pain shot through his body causing him to shudder and quickly open his eyes.
He was in a dimly lit room filled with equipment, most of which attached to him in some way. He could tell it was a hospital room, but had no idea why, nor why he was in this bed. The beeping sound came from the monitor next to his head. A tube ran from the plastic device in his mouth to another machine, which was the source of the hissing. Several IV bottles were dripping fluids into his arms.
His movement awakened the blond haired man whose head lay on the bed next to him. “You’re awake. Oh my God, I’ve been so worried. They said you might not come out of the coma, but I knew you would,” he said as he gently caressed his face.
The tube in his throat made talking impossible. He winced in pain again as he moved his hand to the tube trying to take it out. “No, don’t do that. I’ll get the doctor,” said the blond haired man as he gently pulled the man’s hand away from the tube. “That machine and the tube in your throat have been breathing for you. Without them, you wouldn’t be here.”
Reaching across the bed, the blonde-haired man pressed the nurse call button on the device lying next to him. When the nurse answered, he shouted, “He’s awake and wants the breathing tube out. He’s awake!” The thrill in his voice let the world know his excitement.
The nurse rushed into the room followed by a resident. Both stared at the person in the bed. “Well, young man, you had all of us wondering when you would decide to join us again.” When he tried to answer her, she said, “Let the doctor check you out first. Then he can take that tube out of your throat. Be patient for a few more minutes.”
The resident performed a series of tests to see if he was well enough to breathe on his own. Once satisfied, he began removing the breathing tube.
More than fear showed in his face. He was in pain, had no idea where he was, no idea why he was in the hospital connected to all these devices, and no idea who the blond-haired man holding his hand was. Now some doctor was pulling the plastic from his body. It felt as if he were pulling his chest out of him from the inside. His lungs screamed for release. His throat burned, tears ran from his eyes.
As the last inch of tubing came out of his throat, he convulsed into a coughing fit causing more pain in his already broken body. The nurse sprayed something into his throat to ease the pain and the itch from the breathing tube. The coughing slowed, and then stopped as his body became accustomed to normal breathing again. “There you go, young man. You handled that quite well,” said the nurse in a soothing voice that she might use on a toddler. “We’ll keep you attached to the monitor and let the fluids keep you nourished. Just press that button, if you need anything, and one of us will be right in.”
She smiled at the blond-haired man, rubbed his arm and ushered the resident out of the room. As she got to the door, she turned and said, “Have a good reunion, you two.” Then she was out and the door shut behind her.
The blond-haired man turned toward the man in the bed, ran his fingers down his face, leaned in and gently kissed his lips. “I was so scared. They kept telling me that you probably wouldn’t wake up; the damage to your brain was too severe. I kept telling them, you’d be okay.”
“Where am I?” he whispered, throat still quite sore from the breathing tube.
“You’re in Central Hospital. You’ve been in a coma for three weeks. Don’t you remember what happened?”
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything," he said with fear painted on his face.
“The doctors said if you came out of the coma, you’d probably have considerable memory loss, so it’s okay that you don’t remember much. The accident was severe. You had a fractured skull, broken ribs, and some internal injuries.”
Looking around the room, he tried to remember anything. The breathing machine no longer hissed at him, but the heart monitor continued beeping. The unadorned walls painted a drab tan color, a closed curtain covered a window next to the door, and no other windows made the room feel like a jail cell. Two chairs sat next to his bed. One had books, a tablet, and cell phone. In the other sat the blond haired man who kept rubbing his fingers along his face. That felt good, but was annoying since he had no idea who this guy was and why he was in his room.
His eyes wandered to the man who sat there smiling as if it was his birthday. Then somewhere in the dark corner of his brain, he saw a flash of a car’s headlights coming toward him. The accident, yes, it was an accident, but there is more. There is more.
“Do you remember anything about the accident?”
He shook his head, “Not really. I just had a flash of headlights coming at me, but that’s it. I know there’s more, but I can’t remember.”
He felt his hand lifted to the face of the blond-haired man and held to his cheek with both hands. “You were on your way home from work. It was later than normal. When I called, you told me you had to finish a paper on your research project while the information was fresh on your mind. I waited up, knowing you would be hungry when you got home.”
The door opened allowing the nurse to peek in, “you alright there?” she asked. "I’m going on my break. Do either of you want something from the cafeteria?”
“I’m fine, how about you babe? Want anything?”
He shook his head and looked back at the man who just called him babe. He looked as scared as a lost child might when the cop found him and sat him in his patrol car.
“You really don’t remember, do you?” asked the man.
“No.” He pulled his hand away and hugged his chest. Tears ran from his eyes wetting his cheeks and the pillow beneath his head.
Neither man spoke. Keeping his eyes closed, he listened to the beeping sound of the heart monitor, continued to hug his chest and prayed this night
mare would soon end. Who am I? Why am I here? Where is here? Too much. It’s too much! His mind filled with questions as he laid there in this strange room with this man, this man he didn’t know, by his side.
As if he heard the silent cries for help, the blond-haired man started talking. “I’m going to tell you a story. It’s about you so please just listen,” he said as he pulled the chair even closer to the bed. Knowing that he was scared and didn’t seem to want his hand held, the blond-haired man put both hands on the bed.
“Your name is Lane Duwalt. You are 34 years old and are a remarkable man in many ways.”
As he spoke, he noticed that Lane had opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, still holding his chest, tears still rolling down his cheeks.
“You are a research scientist who has made some extremely important discoveries in biotechnology,” he said in a soft voice. "I won’t go into detail on those discoveries, just believe me when I say they are important.”
“Who are you?” questioned Lane is a near whisper.
“My name is Terrance Wattenberg. People call me Terry. And before you ask, yes we are more than just friends,” he said as he moved his hand to Lane’s arm. “Very much more than friends.”
Turning to see the man sitting next to him, he whispered, “Lane? My name is Lane?” His eyes met Terry’s and saw a look of longing. Longing that said, yes, that’s your name and you are something special to me Lane. No words need be said. It was all there in his eyes.
“What do you mean we are more than friends?” asked Lane, never breaking eye contact with Terry.
“We, we are partners. We’ve been together for two years now, but dated for several before we moved in together.” Terry’s eyes held Lane’s as he mouthed the words, we are partners. They were more than words. The look in his eyes, as he said them, made Lane shiver even though the room was warm.
Before Lane could say another word, the door gently opened allowing a woman to enter the room. “They told me you were awake, so I came right over.”
Seeing the questioning look in Lane’s eyes, Terry said, “This is my mother Hallie. Mom, Lane doesn’t remember much right now, so don’t be asking him all kinds of questions.”
Hallie could have been a model for a senior living magazine or for a fitness center. Standing at five foot six inches with auburn hair, a killer smile, her form fitting clothing showed off her strong, toned body. She made an entrance that let everyone know she had purpose.
Terry looked from the man he loved to his mother as he told her, “I’ve been filling in some of the missing pieces for Lane. He really doesn’t remember much as the doctors said would happen.” He could see the love his mother had for both of them in her eyes.
As she moved next to the bed and stood between the heart monitor and one of the IV poles, Hallie said, “Everything will be alright, Lane. You’ve had a difficult time and you just need to allow yourself to heal.” Gently, as only a mother could, she held Lane’s hand.
After a short visit with the two men she adored, she looked at Terry and asked, “Have you eaten today?” Terry shook his head. “I think Lane needs time to rest, so let’s go down to the cafeteria for a little while,” When she neared the door, she turned, looked at Lane and said in a strong soothing tone, “You’ll be fine Lane. It’s only the first day. You watch everything will come back soon.”
Terry leaned down and kissed his lover. “Close your eyes and get some rest, I’ll be back in a little while.” Mother and son left the room as Lane stared at the ceiling.
Chapter 4
“He did surprisingly well,” the surgeon told Harrold and Ellissa. “We set his broken bones, checked for internal injuries and did a brain scan to see if the concussion was more serious than we originally suspected.”
“And?” questioned Harrold in his normal arrogant tone. “I shouldn’t have to ask.”
“And, he’s doing well. He does have a concussion, but it’s not that serious. He will have a mean headache when he wakes up, which should be in about an hour,” said the surgeon as if immune to Harrold’s manner. “You can wait in his room if you’d like, but I cannot allow you into recovery. And before you start throwing your weight around Mr. Calan,” said the surgeon holding his hands in front of him as if defending his body, “I will not tolerate abuse from you or anyone. So just go into Reade’s room and wait. It’ll only be about an hour.” Having said his peace, he turned and walked away.
“Who does he think he is?” said Harrold to his wife. “I am a major stockholder in this hospital and I could have his job for what he just did.”
“But you won’t, dear. He is the best surgeon in his field and part of that confidence comes from knowing when to stand his ground. You make trouble for him and it will come back to haunt you Harrold,” said Ellissa as she pulled her husband toward Reade’s room. “Let’s go sit for a while.”
Looking more like a luxury studio apartment, Reade’s private room was elaborate by hospital standards. The sitting area had a couch, two swivel chairs, coffee table, beautiful lamps and fine art on the walls. The bedroom area had the feel of luxury with a night table, reading lamp, rolling computer desk, and phone. Painted in blues and grays the walls gave the appearance of subdued elegance.
Large windows flanking the couch had beige black out curtains held back with matching tiebacks. The sleeping area had one window with matching curtains, closed, keeping the sun’s glare from the bed.
Everything was totally lost on Harrold, the room felt confining. He needed his office and boardroom to feel comfortable. Even his home office had the ostentatious feel of wealth. As arrogant as he was, Harrold was quite computer savvy. Long ago, he replaced his standard cell phone with a smart one and his laptop with the best tablet on the market. He repeatedly said, “Have the best equipment at your disposal to make sure everything in your world is operating as it should.”
Harrold is a large man, six foot three inches tall, and about 240 pounds. His salt and pepper hair is meticulously styled. Even his casual clothes are expensive, tailored to fit his trim body, and give him the look of elegant success. He dominates a room and knows it. He is an intimidating man and takes advantage of that all the time.
Tablet now in his hand and phone to his ear, Harrold did what he did best – He ran his business. For him, life revolved around deals, strategy, and money. Unless he was strategizing on how to make a deal work for him, he was unhappy. It wasn’t about the money alone. It was about the game and how to play it.
Ellissa too had her tablet and smart phone. But they were not tools for money. She was the wife of one of the wealthiest men in the country. Ellissa was tall for a woman at five foot nine. She had dark hair that she kept neatly styled. Her reading glasses always hung on a silver chain from her neck. One thing Ellissa was not — was vain. She enjoyed life, loved money, and involved herself in groups and organizations with purpose.
Ellissa learned years ago that a trim, fit woman, dressed in expensive clothes, was only part of the persona she wanted to create. She was smart, not just book smart, but street smart, too. She could hold her own in a boardroom filled with executives or a cocktail party for the elite social women that ruled their husband’s fortunes. She, much to Harrold’s dismay, sat on several boards of directors for some of the country’s most influential organizations.
Her life revolved around those businesses, charities, and events for “Good Causes.” Her private secretary kept her informed and on schedule. Missing an important event would not be tolerated, even when her son lay injured in the hospital.
*****
After his shift completed, Jason drove to the hospital to check on Alex. Once he identified himself to the attendant, the door into the ICU opened. The unit had a central core nurse’s station with rooms around the perimeter of the facility. The complex system of monitors and displays, necessary to understand the status of each patient, looked like a NASA control room.
An area outside of each patient’s room had cabinets
that held paper gowns, masks, and gloves every visitor was required to wear. Alex, in critical condition, would not be able to contend with an infection brought in by a visitor.
A large window in each room allowed the ICU nurses to see their critical patients. Jason had experienced the ICU when a fellow paramedic was seriously injured during a rescue. Seeing a close friend near death was difficult. The man’s life was almost lost when the roof of a building collapsed. His efforts saved the lives of several students only to be critically injured in the rescue. He was a hero, but his life was forever changed.
Jason pushed those thoughts aside as he walked to the nurse’s station. “How is Alex doing?” he asked the duty nurse.
“Not that great at the moment. He’s in a restless coma.”
“Really, doesn’t that mean there is good brain activity?” asked Jason. “I am the paramedic that brought him in the other day. I’ve seen head trauma before.”
His credentials accepted by the duty nurse, she opened up. “Correct. That activity suggests he is in a dream state. Usually that happens when a patient is about to regain consciousness. But Alex should stay in the coma for a while longer to allow his brain to heal.”
“He was pretty bad when we brought him in. I’m surprised he held on through surgery,” responded Jason as he turned to look at Alex. “I don’t know what I would do if that were my son or husband. Hopefully his dreams are pleasant.”
“I was about to check him, so why don’t you join me,” she said guiding him to the gowning station. “We have all his vitals on our screens, but we like to check him physically at least once an hour. It gives us a better understanding of his condition.”
He looked around the small room. It was just large enough for a bed, two small chairs and the equipment attached to the man in the bed. With no exterior windows, the only light came from a fixture over the bed and the window to the nurse’s central core. Efficient.