Come What May (Heartbeat)

by Sullivan, Faith

  A crowd has gathered and they start applauding when they realize that Wesley is going to be okay. A store manager presses through the throng and rushes up to Jada’s side. “Miss, do you need me to call an ambulance?”

  “No, I work on an ambulance. I’ve got it under control. You may want to get his mother though. She’s at the bake sale outside. Her name is Yvette.” Jada takes a ragged breath and runs the back of her hand across her brow.

  Employees stationed in the department start to disperse the onlookers. I hover in the background, terrified to face Wesley’s mother. Her son nearly died because I wasn’t watching him. A techno geek wearing a Wal-Mart badge comes up to me. “Sir, move along, please.”

  “Oh…I’m with them…the Cub Scouts.” I stutter.

  He looks at me, his disdain evident. “That’s right. I thought I saw you with them earlier.” What he’s thinking is implied, but not said. What kind of asshole leaves a bunch of seven-year-old boys unsupervised?

  I duck my head and hurry over to Wesley. Jada is monitoring his pulse. He gives me a weak smile as his wheezing subsides. Jada acts like I don’t even exist. She doesn’t acknowledge me. I guess I deserve it. She remained cool and collected. She saved Wesley’s life while I panicked and did nothing.

  “Wesley!” His mom steamrolls her way through the shoppers and embraces her son. “Are you okay? Oh my God! What happened?”

  His voice is raspy as he tries to answer her. “I ate a gummy worm I found in my pocket. I stuck the whole thing in my mouth. But Jada got it out. She pushed on my chest and made me puke it up. See? It’s over there on the floor under the Lorax poster.”

  That remark gets his friends going.

  “Where?”

  “I wanna see it!” “Pick it up!” “No, you pick it up!”

  Wesley’s mom gives Jada a hug before zipping up her son’s coat and fastening his hood. Reaching for his hand, she guides him toward the exit, ready to call it a day. The other mothers collect their children as they say goodbye to Jada and shoot disgusted looks in my direction. They all know I’m to blame. I was supposed to be taking their kids to the restroom. And look what happened. What makes it even worse is that they’re all aware that I’m one of Stacy’s fellow paramedics. I really botched this one up, big time.

  I lower my gaze as Jada strides toward me. I feel bad enough without her barraging me with insults. I screwed up and she covered for me. I’ll take whatever she dishes out and then I’ll tell her how grateful I am that she followed us into the store.

  She pauses in front of me and takes a deep breath. “Adam, follow me. We gotta talk.”

  Chapter Eight

  Jada

  We walk beside each other without saying a word. I’m not going to come down on him. He froze. I don’t know why, but I intend to get to the bottom of it. There’s no way the two of us can function in the field if he’s going through something and I don’t have the skills necessary to do the job. No one is going to die on my watch. Not if I can help it.

  I march up to the snack bar with Adam lagging behind. I call over my shoulder, “What flavor Icee do you want? My treat.”

  “Nah, I don’t want one.” He’s back to his old self.

  “What kind?” I’m not taking no for an answer.

  “Cherry, I guess.” He’s really bowling me over with his enthusiasm.

  I stand in line at the counter. Adam is sitting at a booth in the corner, attempting to shield himself from the world. What’s he trying to hide? What’s he so afraid of?

  Minutes later, I hand him his cup, taking a seat across from him. He puts in his straw and takes a giant slurp. Like hell he didn’t want one. He ain’t foolin’ me.

  “Our tongues are gonna be all red.” He sticks his out at me and it has a cherry stripe down the middle.

  “Fine by me.” I swirl my straw around before taking a sip.

  “Almost as red as your hair.” He laughs, but not to be mean. He’s teasing me in the way that grade school kids tell each other they have cooties.

  “What, don’t you like my new look?” Honestly, I’m a little sensitive about it. It’s not what I wanted, but I’m stuck with it now. Thanks, Simone.

  “Actually, I kind of do, but I don’t want to give you a big head about it. You already know you look good.” Wow, he just paid me a compliment. I need to record the date and time for posterity.

  I’m usually not comfortable talking to guys like Adam who are all into themselves and only date girls worthy of being deemed eye candy. They make me feel insecure. I guess it all stems from my ugly duckling phase when I had an underbite that rivaled Bubba’s in Forrest Gump and an overextended stomach that wasn’t exactly a cute little pouch. It took a lot of dental work and dieting to get me to where I am today. But inside I’m still that girl devoid of confidence. I’ve just learned to hide it better. And facing Adam with this hair doesn’t help matters.

  “Okay, enough with the chit chat. I wanna know what’s going on with you—the truth and not some bullshit excuse. Even if we have to sit here all night, I’m not leaving until you level with me.” I cross my arms and place them on the table. He’s going to be honest with me even if I have to drag it out of him.

  He watches the shoppers walking by with their carts, his eyes darting back and forth like he’s wrestling with himself whether or not to trust me. Placing his cup down, he fidgets in the booth, rolling up his sleeves and bumping the bottom of the table with his leg. I’m just about to yell at him when I notice his hands are shaking. I give him a minute and he finally speaks.

  “Did you hear about the accident in the movie theater parking lot?” His gaze is troubled as he rakes it over me.

  “Yeah, people around school were talking about it. A girl got killed or something, right?” I sit perfectly still willing him to keep going.

  “Well I was on that call and the girl did die…in my arms.” His tortured expression is hard to witness but I don’t look away. “She was the first person I lost on the job.”

  “Adam, I’m so sorry.” So that’s what’s affecting him.

  “And I know it’s a part of what we do and we’re supposed to deal with it, but there’s more to it than that.” He’s hesitant, unsure whether or not to divulge any more details.

  “What do you mean?” I nod to encourage him.

  “The girl…Katie Turner?” The anguish is just rolling off him in waves. “She looked at me and said my name before she died.”

  “But how…?”

  “How did she know my name? But wait, it gets better. Since the accident, I’ve been having these nightmares—like these recreations of the accident—where she keeps coming to me saying my name.” He messes with his hair as his leg nervously starts to hit the table again. “I haven’t slept in weeks. I…”

  “Have you gone for counseling?” I step in, hoping to calm him down.

  “A lot of good that did.” He smirks. “They think it’s all in my head. That I’m just imagining what I heard and the residual guilt over her death is playing tricks with my mind. But I don’t buy it.”

  “Why not? It sounds like a reasonable explanation to me.”

  He shakes his head, issuing a drawn out sigh. “I knew you wouldn’t get it.” Sliding out of the booth, he stands up.

  “Where are you going? We’re not done talking.” He can’t leave now. I have to stop him.

  “I’m out of here. Thanks for the Icee. It’s been real.” He grabs his empty cup, tossing it into the trashcan. “See you at work.”

  “Adam, wait. You didn’t let me finish…” I’m flustered. He thinks I don’t care.

  “It’s all right, Jada. Maybe I am crazy.” He looks at me with disappointment in his eyes. He turns and walks away leaving me feeling like I’m the world’s biggest jerk. Just when I think I’m getting through to him, we’re right back at square one.

  Chapter Nine

  Adam

  The snow is falling rapidly. I cradle her in my arms, trying to keep her warm, pr
otecting her from the wind. Her touch is like ice, yet she’s not even shivering. As I’m holding her against my chest, she runs her fingertips along my arm. There is no one else in the parking lot. No bystanders. No vehicles. No flashing lights. We’re alone.

  She breaks free of my embrace and reclines in my lap. Covered in blood, she trails a streak of it down my cheek, marking me as her own. I kiss her knuckles as her hand travels over my face. She’s not strong enough to support the weight of her mangled body as she leans into me like a broken marionette whose strings were cut before the performance ended.

  Still, she needs to deliver her line. The show isn’t over yet.

  Her head sags at an awkward angle as her purple lips begin to move. But I can’t make out what she is saying. She’s mouthing the same word over and over, but her voice betrays her, issuing no sound. I rest my ear above her lips, willing her to speak. She teases me with featherweight kisses before resuming her silent mantra.

  Then I hear it. But the shrieking is coming from inside my head, not from the lips pressed against me. The volume is unbearable. That same word thunders through my mind. Of course it’s the same. Why would it be anything else?

  “ADAM. ADAM. ADAM.”

  I raise my head and I’m floating, trapped in the filminess of her eyes. Her lips are still moving as they break into a smile. A smile aimed at me. A dagger meant to pierce my heart.

  The chanting inside my head ceases.

  I hear nothing. The atmosphere is draped in utter silence.

  Until she raises her head, and whispers—

  “Adam.”

  ***

  Pulse racing, I reach for Larissa but she’s already gone. I’m alone in my bed. This love ’em and leave ’em approach isn’t working out the way I expected. Drawing the covers away from my bare chest, I try to catch my breath. There’s no escaping these dreams, and now they’re taking on a sinister vibe. I don’t like it. It’s to the point where I’m afraid to close my eyes and drift back to sleep.

  I stretch my limbs and lie flat on my back. Staring at the ceiling, I yearn for comfort, understanding…something. But there’s no one to turn to. If only Jada gave me the benefit of the doubt and listened to me, but she didn’t. She only believes in the rational. She plays by the book and judges everything according to that rigid standard. Nothing outside the box exists as far as she is concerned. And what’s funny is that I used to think so too—until a dead girl claimed my nights as her own.

  Exhaling, I try to alleviate the tension in my body, but it’s no use. My muscles clench as adrenaline courses through me. It’s like I’m under siege, anticipating some kind of attack. But how do you fight someone who no longer exists? How can I reclaim what she’s stolen from me?

  Maybe I need to meet her on a level playing field. Welcome her nocturnal visits instead of resisting them. I need to open a line of communication with her, not flee when she calls my name. It’s imperative that I find out what she wants from me. She’s intent on giving me some kind of message. I have to hear her out. Then maybe she’ll back off and leave me alone.

  I was the last person she had contact with in this life. Is it possible she latched onto me because I was the last face she saw? There’s some sort of unfinished business between us that needs to be sorted out. Wherever she is, it’s obvious she’s not at rest. There’s something troubling her, and I’m determined to find out what it is.

  It’s time to have a conversation that’s long overdue.

  ***

  It’s Monday afternoon and Jada and I are on a lunch break at a fast food place off the highway. I thought things were going to be awkward between us, but she’s playing it cool, not overly effusive but not hostile either. Her demeanor radiates stability. It makes me feel secure when I’m around her. Like everything’s going to turn out all right in the end. Man, do I need to believe that.

  She steps up to place her order, and I skim the menu as I stand behind her. The options, as usual, aren’t for the calorie conscious. Maybe I’ll hit the gym for a late night session instead of calling someone to come over. These spontaneous hook-ups are doing little to ease my mind.

  “I’ll have a small chocolate shake,” Jada says, opening her wallet.

  “Chocolate or vanilla?” the girl behind the counter asks robotically.

  “Chocolate.”

  “Small, medium, or large?”

  “Small.” Jada looks back at me and shakes her head. She doesn’t suffer fools easily, and I can’t help but snicker at the ridiculousness of the exchange.

  We find a seat and start shoveling down our food. A call can come in at any time, and we have to be prepared to take off at a moment’s notice. So we don’t talk much between mouthfuls. She pushes her leftover fries toward me, and I dump them onto my hamburger wrapper. She doesn’t even have to ask if I want them or not. As a team, we’re starting to click.

  “You look like shit, Adam. Rough night?” She sips her shake, giving me the once-over.

  She sounds concerned. I don’t know if I should try opening up to her again or if she’ll just shoot me down. Hell, why not?

  “I had another nightmare.” I shovel a bunch of fries into my mouth and look out the window. “They’re getting worse.” If she doesn’t believe me, I think I’ll go out of my mind.

  “How so?” She pushes her chair closer to the table. Yet, she remains noncommittal, still feeling me out.

  “It’s like she’s mad at me or something.” I maintain eye contact with Jada and she doesn’t look away.

  “Did she say anything to you in the dream?” The wheels are turning in Jada’s brain. She wants to solve this for me.

  “She always says my name, but this time she was screaming it inside my mind.” I shake my head, hoping to dispel the image of her broken body draped across my arms.

  “Have you ever tried to communicate with her? Find out what she wants?”

  “Exactly.” I slam my fist on the table and Jada sits back.

  “I’m glad you agree.” Despite her restraint, a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

  “You don’t get it, Jada. You’re the only one I’ve talked to about this. I didn’t mean to freak you out on Saturday. It’s just…” She holds up her hand to stop me.

  “I needed some time to process what you told me. That’s all. I don’t think you’re crazy.” She reaches across the table and pats my arm. “I believe something’s going on with you. But I’m no expert on the ins and outs of the afterlife. Maybe this girl is attempting to send you some kind of message. I just wish she’d let you sleep through the night.”

  “You and me both.” I bump my knees against the table, and Jada awkwardly removes her hand. I meant to stretch my legs, not rebuff her advance. But she averts her gaze and there’s a slight flush in her cheeks.

  The walkie-talkie on my hip crackles to life. “Unit 365, respond.”

  “I got this,” Jada says, clearing the table. “Go take the call. I’ll meet you outside.”

  Damn, our conversation is ending on a weird note. But there’s nothing I can do about it. I rush out the double doors and speak into the walkie. I have all of the details by the time Jada joins me in the ambulance. I hit the lights and siren before we’re even out of the parking lot.

  “Must be serious.” Jada has her game face on, ready for anything.

  “It’s a domestic dispute. Multiple injuries. I guess a guy went off on his wife and kid.” These calls are hard. It’s like walking into someone’s personal business and witnessing the stuff that’s usually kept hidden behind closed doors. Uncomfortable doesn’t even begin to describe it.

  “Shit.” I note the tension in her voice as I barrel through traffic thirty miles above the speed limit.

  “You ever respond to one of these before?” I keep my tone casual so as not to alarm her, but I need to know.

  “No.” She gives me another one word answer. Great.

  With a rookie at my side, I’ll be going in at a disadvantage. Charlie
was great at diffusing volatility like this, allowing me to keep my head down and dive into the task at hand. But I might have to run some interference if the cops aren’t there yet. And I’m going to need Jada to back me up.

  “We’ll try to go in, but if the situation is too hot we’ll wait for the police.” I start going through a checklist of what has to be done when we arrive on scene. If things escalate, I plan on following protocol. I don’t intend to put Jada or myself in danger.

  “Is he armed?” I’m not surprised by the question. I’m beginning to anticipate that she’s usually a step ahead of me. She’s my partner. She deserves full disclosure.

  “Yes. The wife apparently suffered a blunt force trauma to the head, and according to the kid who called 911, the husband is wielding a gun.”

  “So we’re looking at a possible hostage situation?” She’s gripping the strap of her seatbelt as tight as she can.

  “I’m afraid so.” Nothing gets to me more than not being able to reach a victim. On calls like this, seconds count.

  We’re in a fairly affluent section of town. It’s a development filled with newly constructed homes, many with three car garages and in-ground swimming pools. When it comes to domestic disputes, this isn’t the typical neighborhood we respond to. Jada’s eyes roam across the well-manicured lawns, taking it all in. She remains stoic even though a multitude of thoughts are undoubtedly zigzagging through her mind. I wish I could give her a moment to collect herself, but we’re already here. And unfortunately, we’re first on scene.