Stanton- The Trilogy

by Alex MacLean

  26

  Halifax, June 12

  10:17 a.m.

  Audra continued CPR until the paramedics arrived. There were two of them. One, a stout brunette, dropped to her knees beside Daphne and began checking her vital signs. The second paramedic was a smooth-faced black man who looked like he had just gotten out of high school. He laid a long-spine board on the floor.

  Audra stepped back a few feet, shaking, trying to hold it together. Fear, uncertainty, and loss of control ate away at her mind and body. She felt like an outsider, powerless to do anything.

  The female looked up at her. “What’s her name, ma’am?”

  “Daphne.”

  “Daphne,” she called loudly, “Daphne, can you open your eyes for me?”

  No response.

  The female rubbed her knuckles down Daphne’s sternum, squeezed the nail bed of her middle finger. Watching, Audra suddenly felt cold.

  “Do you know how long she was suspended?” the female asked her.

  “I don’t know. A few minutes. Maybe longer. She was convulsing when I found her.”

  The female held her gaze for a moment, and Audra saw it in her dark eyes—Daphne was in trouble. She could feel pressure building in her chest.

  The male reached into a trauma bag, brought out a portable oxygen tank, a mask, and a J-shaped device used to open a person’s airway. Audra swallowed as he deftly inserted it into Daphne’s mouth, sliding it down into her throat. He placed the mask over her face, hooked a line to the tank, and cranked the valve.

  Helpless, Audra stared at the ligature mark, deepening in color, becoming more prominent around Daphne’s neck, and Audra tipped her head back and sucked in a deep breath.

  “Ma’am,” the female said, “are you okay? Ma’am?”

  Audra raised her eyebrows and looked at her. What kind of stupid question was that? How could she be okay? How could anyone? But deep down, she knew the paramedic was only worried about a grieving parent losing it right in front of them. Then they would have another problem to deal with.

  Audra had witnessed it herself—parents, mothers especially, going off the deep end, arms batting, throwing themselves on top of a loved one, unable to calm down or be consoled. Nothing she’d ever heard in her entire life compared to the anguished scream of a mother, one so primal and heart wrenching it could scare birds from the trees.

  “I’m holding it together,” she said. “Don’t worry.”

  The female gave her a rueful smile. “You did great, ma’am. How old is your daughter?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “Does she have a history of suicidal behavior?”

  “What?” Audra frowned. “No.”

  “Was she being treated for depression? Anxiety?”

  “No.”

  “Does she take any medication at all?”

  “No.”

  “Allergies?”

  Audra clenched her jaw. She wanted to crawl into a hole. Slam the door on the whole goddamned world and make it go away.

  “Ma’am?”

  “No,” she said. “My daughter has no allergies.”

  “What’s her medical history?”

  “Tonsillitis when she was seven. That’s all. She doesn’t have any serious conditions.”

  “Okay.”

  They were placing a foam collar around Daphne’s neck when a sudden rush of footsteps erupted on the stairs, and Audra turned to see Daniel in the hallway. He came to the doorway, out of breath, his face confused and terrified. He glanced at Audra. Then his gaze settled on Daphne, and his features crumpled.

  “Oh, Jesus,” he said. “Oh, my Jesus.”

  He fell against the doorjamb, like an invisible hand had shoved him out of the way. A tide of panic washed through his eyes.

  “She’s not going to—”

  “We need to get her to the hospital,” the female said.

  “How bad?” Daniel choked. “How bad is she?”

  Both paramedics looked up at him. Neither one offered an answer.

  The pressure in Audra’s chest became painful. This had to be a dream. A nightmare. No way this could be real. No goddamned way. Someone pinch her and wake her up.

  She held out her hand to Daniel.

  “Come here, hon,” she said, “Please.”

  Daniel paused, then went to her. When their fingertips touched, Audra felt the tremor in his body transfer into her like a current.

  The paramedics transferred Daphne to the board and strapped her in. The female squatted down by the foot of the board and grabbed a handle in each hand; the male gripped the two handles at the head.

  “On three,” he said. “One...two...three.”

  In unison, they hoisted Daphne up and rushed her out to the hallway and down the stairs with Audra and Daniel following close behind.

  Outside, they placed her on a cot stretcher then loaded her into the ambulance. The female jumped in back with her and shut the doors. The male got in the front. With a shriek of sirens, the ambulance tore off.

  “We’ll take my car,” Audra called to Daniel.

  They hopped in and ripped out of the driveway. Audra hit the emergency lights and sirens, punched the gas to the floor. Ahead of them, the ambulance turned left onto Young Avenue, and Audra kept pace with it, blowing through the stop sign at the intersection.

  It felt like chaos, madness unleashed. The speed. The shrilling cry of sirens. The sense of lurching side to side as they hurtled around other cars.

  The ambulance straddled the centerline, blasting its air horn at motorists taking their sweet time moving out of the way. It continued up South Park Street, through a set of lights, and turned onto South Street, where it raced toward the trauma bay of the Izaak Walton Killam Health Center.

  Audra watched it disappear into the building, the garage door closing down after it. She killed the lights and siren in the car and whipped into the emergency parking area. Daniel leapt out before she shut off the engine.

  “Wait, Dan,” she called. “Wait for me.”

  He stopped several yards away, a slim figure in shirtsleeves, staring down at the concrete. He did not turn to her.

  When Audra caught up to him, she saw the tears on his face.

  “What if...” His voice broke. “What if we lose her?”

  The words hit Audra like a punch to the gut.

  “Don’t,” she said, taking his face in her hands and making him look her in the eyes. “Please, don’t ever say that.”

  He wiped the tears away with the back of his hand.

  He said, “Sorry. I just—”

  “Ssshh,” she whispered. “Come. Our daughter needs us.”

  A nurse directed them to a room outside the trauma unit the ER doctors had Daphne in. Daniel paced the floor. Audra sat in a chair, wringing her hands, as she imagined the trauma team on the other side of the wall working on Daphne.

  Please, she prayed. Let her be okay.

  Thirty minutes passed. Then forty-five. The wait felt like an eternity.

  Just past the hour mark, the ER doctor came in, a lean, bespectacled man wearing green scrubs. He introduced himself as Dr. Salinsky.

  “How is she?” Audra asked, walking over to him.

  Salinsky blew out a breath. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your daughter is in a coma.”

  Audra shut her eyes, felt her legs become weak, uncertain. Beside her, she heard Daniel gasp.

  “She’s not brain dead, is she?” he asked, a tremor running through his words.

  “No, no. She still has brain stem reflexes. Her pupils reacted to light. Her corneas reacted to touch. We ran blood work, x-rays, and a CT scan. Her heart and lungs look good. There’s no serious damage to her neck structures. Some tissue bruising, that’s all. She’s very lucky you got to her when you did.”

  “How long can she stay like that?” Audra asked.

  “Indefinitely,” Salinsky said. “Every case is different.”

  “But she will come out? Right?”

&nb
sp; Salinsky’s eyes became sad. “No one can say. Some people do. And they recover completely. It’ll depend largely on how long her brain was starved for oxygen. Cells begin to die after four to six minutes.”

  Audra swallowed.

  Daniel said, “I heard people can slip into a vegetative state and remain that way for the rest of their lives. Even die.”

  Salinsky hesitated. “Yes. That’s true.”

  “Do you know what her chances of recovery are?” Audra asked.

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t. Your daughter is in serious condition. I’m not going to lie about that. She does have age in her favor. Typically, younger people have a better recovery rate.

  “The less time she spends in a coma, the better her prognosis when she comes out of it.”

  Daniel asked, “So you’re telling us she could be brain damaged, even if she wakes up?”

  “I’m telling you it’s possible. But we won’t know the extent until she comes out. After twelve hours in a coma, a good prognosis becomes less likely. Sorry.”

  Audra felt sick. “When can we see her?”

  “You can probably get in to see her now,” Salinsky said. “We sent her up to the PICU. Third floor.” He paused. “Just a fair warning, she’ll be hooked up to a lot of machines, so prepare yourselves for that. Some people find it hard to see at first.

  “One will be a ventilator. That’s just for supportive measures. She is breathing on her own. We just want to help get more oxygen into her.”

  Audra and Daniel thanked him then rushed off for the elevators. Before they were allowed in to see Daphne, the nursing staff explained the types of machines that were monitoring her and what to expect. Like Salinsky had explained, it might be hard to see the first time.

  To Audra, that was an understatement. As she stood in the doorway of Daphne’s room, she found it startling, heartbreaking. Her daughter didn’t look like the same person. She seemed smaller somehow, deflated.

  Audra stared at the tube clamped to her mouth. Another one fed down through her nose. There were several small patches stuck all over her head, and they had wires coming out of them and led to a machine with soft, rolling waves on its display. The ventilator made a hiss, thump, thump noise. Other machines beeped and blipped.

  Composing herself, Audra approached the bed. She took Daphne’s hand in hers, felt the warmth of her skin. Daniel took her other hand.

  Audra opened her mouth, closed it up again. She didn’t trust her voice enough to speak. Talk to her in a calm, relaxed tone, the PICU staff had told her. Even though Daphne was unable to respond, she might hear them.

  “Daphne, honey,” she said softly. “It’s me. Your mom. Daddy is here too.”

  Daniel leaned in close to her face, so peaceful in sleep. “Hey, kiddo. I’m here. Daddy’s here.”

  Perhaps the sound of Daniel’s voice became the tipping point, the hope and worry she heard in it. Perhaps it was just the buildup of everything. But Audra suddenly felt that emotional levee break inside her. And it hurt. It hurt so goddamned bad. She laid Daphne’s hand on the sheets and backed away from the bed.

  Daniel straightened, throwing her a look of concern and inquiry. Audra held up a hand to stop him, then she hurried from the room. She didn’t want Daphne to hear—if she even could—her mother breaking down and crying worse than she ever had in her life.

  27

  Toronto, June 12

  11:30 a.m.

  Brian pointed through the viewing window at Nassir, a nine-month-old Western gorilla, hanging upside down from the end of a thick rope.

  “Isn’t he small, Dad?”

  Allan nodded. “Strong too.”

  They watched Nassir climb up the rope toward a hammock slung between four bamboo poles. Around them came awws and oohs from parents and rambunctious kids of all ages pressing tighter for a look.

  Someone said, “He’s so adorable. Look at him go.”

  They were inside the African Rainforest Pavilion at the Toronto Zoo. The gorilla exhibit was built to look and feel like a natural rainforest habitat. It had grass, logs, green tropical plants, and trees with wall-like buttress roots extending from their trunks. An interactive log, one half stuck inside the habitat and the other half out into the spectators’ area, allowed visitors and primates to get a little closer.

  Nassir’s mother, which had been sitting under the hammock, reared on her hind legs and picked him up. He scooted over her shoulder and onto her back, clinging there as she began knuckle-walking away. She carried him to the right side of the exhibit, sat down, and began nursing him.

  Brian looked up at his father. “They’re kind of like us, aren’t they?”

  “A lot like us,” Allan said. “Some believe they’re our cousins.”

  “Are they?”

  Allan looked at the big silverback sitting in the background, munching a handful of silage. Behind him hung a scramble net. Every couple of seconds, the gorilla would give the faces in the windows a casual glance. When he came to Allan, he locked eyes with him a brief moment, and Allan could sense intelligence lurking there, a recognizing or a registering of someone new.

  “I think so,” he said at last.

  The exhibit was getting crowded, so he and Brian decided to move on. The animals they saw next were colorful African birds, a dwarf crocodile lounging at the edge of a pond, and Lake Malawi cichlids swimming inside an aquarium that filled an entire wall. Above it read: Darwin’s Dreampond.

  “How do you like the zoo?” Allan asked, heading for the doors with Brian.

  “I love it. It’s huge.”

  “Yup. Much bigger than the one we went to in Aylesford.”

  Brian tilted his face up at him. “Where’s that?”

  “Don’t you remember it?”

  “No.”

  “Your mother and I took you when you were four. They had monkeys and tigers. You fed the baby goats.”

  Brian snapped his fingers. “Ahh, now I know. The farm?”

  Allan looked down at him, smiled. “That’s it.”

  “I remember.” Brian chuckled. “The goats ate right out of my hands.”

  They walked outside the pavilion. The morning was gray, mild, and breezy. The air had the damp feel of rain, but for now it held off.

  The paths and walkways were full of people. Couples walking hand in hand. Tourists taking pictures. Parents either pushing strollers or having their kids cavorting beside them, some screaming, some quiet.

  Brian suddenly perked up. “Elephants,” he said, pointing. “This way.”

  Just up ahead, three of them were shuffling around a paddock. One had its trunk curled around a pile of timothy hay, feeding herself. Another tossed dirt over her body. The third picked up pieces of apple off the ground.

  The exhibit was packed. A zookeeper stood off to the side with a microphone in his hand, telling everyone the names of the elephants—Iringa, Toka, and Thika. All females, ranging in ages from twenty-nine to forty.

  Brian turned to his father with an excited smile on his face. “They’re some big, Dad.”

  Allan smirked, gave a curt nod. “They sure are.”

  He had mixed feelings about seeing intelligent, social animals like that confined in such a small enclosure. They deserved to roam free in their own natural habitat without man’s interference. But because of poaching and deforestation, many animals were probably better off at a zoo, the elephants more so at a nature reserve.

  Allan and Brian spent two hours exploring Kesho Park. The rolling grassland, scattered with trees and shrubs, was a picturesque recreation of the African savanna. Allan captured it all on his camera phone.

  He watched Brian enjoying himself. The zoo appeared to pique his curiosity, his delight at discovering animals he’d only seen in books. Allan let him lead the way to the different exhibits. At each one, Allan would read him the interpretive sign, explaining the animals and their habitat. But Brian seemed more interested in moving and looking.

  They saw two
warthogs snorting and playing chase around a circular stand of trees, tranquil hippos wallowing in a pond. Farther on, zebras and antelopes grazed on hillsides, and a caretaker fed apples and carrots to a white rhino.

  Before reaching the big cats, Allan stopped at a snack bar and bought himself and Brian a sundae. They sat down on a bench and watched for a while as the people strolled past.

  “It’s nice here,” Allan said.

  Brian scooped ice cream into his mouth, swinging his legs over the asphalt. “Mhm.”

  When Allan got up and dumped his spoon and empty container into a trash can nearby, his cell phone rang. He became still as he stared at the number on the display. Captain Thorne. What did he want? What the hell did he want?

  Allan looked at Brian, and he could feel it in his blood, a sudden, awful certainty of things falling apart. He gritted his teeth, felt that familiar weight of anxiety begin to press down on his bones like a ton.

  The phone stopped ringing. Moments later, a voice-mail alert beeped. Allan ignored it.

  Jesus, he almost said aloud. Just leave me alone.

  Brian finished his sundae, and the two of them ventured on. They came upon a cheetah relaxing in the grass next to a hollow log, a troop of olive baboons grooming each other. Two infant baboons entertained the crowd gathered at the viewing window by wrestling in the grass, chasing each other up a rock face with the one on the bottom pulling the other’s tail.

  Watching them, Brian laughed. Allan folded his arms and dropped his gaze to the concrete floor of the exhibit. Thorne lingered there on the edge of his thoughts, drawing his focus. Allan stepped away from the people, took out his cell phone again, and listened to the message left on his voice mail.

  “Sorry to bother you, Al,” Thorne said. “Please give me a call. It’s very important. If I’m not at the office, call my cell.” He read off the number. “Thanks. Bye.”

  Something was wrong. Allan could hear it in Thorne’s voice. Quiet. Laced with melancholy.

  A stir came from the crowd nearby, and Allan glanced over to see a juvenile baboon sitting on a rock on the other side of the viewing glass, holding its hand against the pane where Brian held his.