by M E Whiter
Sebastian
AS CEO OF Knight Enterprises, I have worked hard to build a solid reputation for being reliable and punctual, when it comes to business. So, when I received an urgent call this morning from Damon Fox, my head of security, forcing me to cancel a scheduled appointment, that took weeks to set up, I was less than impressed.
According to Damon, there is an urgent problem at the construction site of the new nightclub, we are currently building. He’s the project manager, but for some, yet to be explained reason, isn’t able to manage the situation on his own. So, he's insisted on me getting involved. For that, he has set up a breakfast meeting with the building contractors, at the sports centre, in half an hour.
Bad timing on his part! The peak hour traffic through the inner city streets, is slow this morning, leading me to doubt we will make it, in time. I'm already pissed off with Damon for disrupting my morning schedule, now with this traffic delay, it only throws fuel on my already foul mood. I had to call Gloria, my secretary, to reschedule all my appointments for today. Now, it seems like I will be spending another long day in the office. Fucking great!
Damon and I have known each other since I was fourteen, when I moved to Montreal to live with my mother's sister. He was the first person to befriend me, on my first day at the new high-school. From then on, we became best friends, managing to get ourselves into heaps of trouble, but nothing too serious. By the time we moved to Vancouver to start university, we were like brothers, doing almost everything together.
We lost touch for awhile, when Damon dropped out the last year and moved back to Montreal. We renewed our friendship a few years later, but it didn't end up lasting, after we had a major disagreement.
I ran into him again last year at a squash tournament, he was working for a security firm, but told me he wasn't happy there, as it was a dead-end job. So, when the opportunity came up, I offered him a position as head of my security team, managing the security on all my real estate holdings.
When he approached me a few months back, with a proposal to go into partnership to build an exclusive nightclub, I agreed after deciding it was a solid investment, but I had one requisite. I wasn't willing to assign him co-partnership status, without some assurances, he could handle the responsibilities. Part of that requisite, involved taking on the responsibility as project manager during the construction of the nightclub. If he proved her could handle the job, then that would be a step in the right direction. But, after his phone call this morning, I’m beginning to have my doubts in his ability to manage the project.
“James, I swear, if we are late, you are fired,” I growl, glancing up to look in the rear vision mirror, at my personal assistant and driver when the need arises. Much to my irritation, he chooses to ignore the threat, without comment, squaring his shoulders, as he continues to maintain our present speed. He knows too well, my threat is a bluff, and it’s not like he has much choice to do otherwise, while we are stuck in the midst of peak hour traffic.
I push my impatience to the back, choosing to make better use of my time, by opening up the report on my lap, and reading through the latest financial figures for the nightclub project. When the traffic finally starts to clear, James manages to speed up a little, but not for long.
“Fuck!” I hear him curse, as he slams on the brake. A split second later, I hear the stomach-churning sound of a dull thump, sending alarm bells, ringing loudly in my ears
In the same instant, my seatbelt cuts painfully into the side of my neck, as I'm thrown forward in my seat. The papers on my lap, scatter to the floor, in the same instant, as the car comes to a sudden halt.
Once I straighten myself up, I glance out the window, anxious to find out what just happened. My harsh intake of breath, echoes in my eardrums, as I stare in horror at the slumped form, lying sprawled on the bitumen, not far from the car.
Seconds die a slow death, until panic sets in, all the blood draining from my face, when I realise the form on the road isn’t moving. In a flash, James jumps out of the car and runs towards the body, before I can even think to react.
“Fuck!” I swear out loud, jumping out of the car, to chase after him, as I grab my phone out of my breast pocket and dial emergency. By the time the operator comes online, I'm pushing my way through the crowd of bystanders, forming a barrier around the rigid body. Fuck! It's a woman.
My face blanches at the sight of her unconscious form, and blood everywhere. I cannot see her face, it’s covered by clumps of long red hair, matted with fresh red blood. Her clothing is torn in several places and covered in more blood, I can only guess, it’s from where her body impacted with the road’s surface.
I watch James take charge of the situation, feeling utterly helpless, as he orders people to stand back, while he checks the woman’s vital signs and assesses her injuries. I have total confidence in his ability to manage the task, knowing he has had prior experience with this kind of situation, when he was in the armed forces.
“She’s alive. I can feel a pulse,” he calls out suddenly, a collective sigh, echoing around the ring of onlookers.
I stay in contact with the emergency operator, relaying information on the woman's condition, while we wait for the ambulance to arrive. Thankfully, it only takes a few minutes for the paramedics to show up and take over from James. I quickly make a few phone calls, while I watch them work on the woman, getting her ready for transport to hospital. Once she’s stabilised, and her head is immobilised, they transfer her to the ambulance.
At this point, I step in, requesting that they take her to a private hospital. I’ve already phoned ahead for them to expect her. I then hail the next available taxi, to take me to the hospital, leaving James behind with the car, while he waits to give his statement to the police.
Sitting in the back of the taxi, I stare blankly out the window, feeling a headache coming on, resulting from the horror of what just happened and the disturbing thoughts clouding my headspace. I cannot believe this has happened . . . again! My phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s Damon. I answer it. He wants to know why I haven’t arrived at the meeting? I explain what has happened, then order him to carry on without me.
By the time I arrive at the emergency department, the injured woman has already been admitted to the intensive care unit. For now, all I can do is wait, until I have the chance to talk to Doctor Peter Logan. I fucking hate this waiting game. Not knowing if she’s going to live or die. Pacing the hallway, is the only way I can prevent, the nausea in my gut, from making me puke. After seeing all that blood covering her face, I’m preparing myself for the worst. God, I hope she doesn't die!
Chapter Four
THURSDAY, 7th August
Sebastian
I’M WALKING THROUGH the door to the emergency ward, when I hear someone calling my name from behind. I turn around, to find Doctor Peter Logan, walking towards me, carrying a clipboard under his arm. His passive expression giving nothing away.
“Good to see you again Sebastian. It’s been what, nearly two years now?” he asks, shaking my hand. Grief flares in my memory, when the faint scent of his aftershave hits my nostrils. Pushing through the feeling, I correct his error.
“Actually two years yesterday." I tell him, moving away from the door to let other people through. "So Peter, give it to me straight, is she going to live?"
“I can't give you a guarantee, but yes, I think her chances are looking good. At the moment, our main concern is the injury to her head. There doesn't seem to be any internal bleeding, but there is some bruising on the side, where her head impacted with the road."
It doesn't sound good. “So, what are you doing about it?”
“She did regain consciousness for a few seconds, which is a good sign. But we've put her in a medically induced coma to reduce the risk of brain damage. Her brain needs time to rest, until the pressure eases and the swelling goes down."
“How long will you keep her like that?"
“The next few hours will determine tha
t. We will be closely monitoring her vital signs, to see if the swelling goes down. But, it could take a day or two, depending on her brain's ability to heal itself. I'm afraid you'll just have to be patient."
“Easy for you to say, Peter. I'm dying here. What other injuries does she have that I should know about?"
“Thankfully, the rest of her injuries seem relatively minor," he says, referring to the notes on his clipboard, as he gives me a brief inventory of each one. "Her right knee and hip, where the car struck her, are badly bruised and swollen, but luckily, there are no broken bones. There’s some minor displacement in her right kneecap, which after some rest and physiotherapy, should mend quickly. There’s also some nasty abrasions and bruising along her left arm and leg, where she hit the road."
"I guess it could have been worse." I try convincing myself.
Giving me a reassuring pat on the arm. “I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you, especially after what you went through, last time.”
“No need to be concerned, I’m fine.” Liar!
“I haven't been told how it happened, as yet, perhaps you can fill me in?”
“The police asked me the same question just now, when they came and took my statement. And like I told them, I didn't see the accident happen. James, my driver, was behind the wheel at the time. I was in the back seat reading, when the car hit her. I couldn't even tell you, what she looks like, with all that blood covering her face.” I blink slowly, trying to blot that nightmarish image from my mind.
“The blood on her face was mainly superficial, likely from her nose bleeding. I promise you, it looked much worse that it was. Sebastian, don't worry. As I already said, barring any other complications, her chances of pulling through, are very good."
For some reason, his words of encouragement fail to alleviate any of the guilt, that weighs heavily on my conscience. I cannot deny the fact, the woman is in a critical condition, and there is still the possibility that she could have permanent brain damage. An outcome that fills me with bitter dread.
“Peter, I have arranged with hospital management, to charge all her medical expenses to me personally. I'm want to make sure, she receives the best medical treatment available, regardless of the cost.”
“Well, that’s very generous of you, Sebastian.”
“It is the least I can do, considering. The last thing she needs, when she wakes up, is the added worry of having to pay for private hospital bills."
“I see. Sebastian, this accident wasn’t your fault. Just like I tried to convince you the last time. Stop being so hard on yourself.”
“Peter, it doesn't matter, who is at fault. It was my car that knocked her over, and therefore, I’m responsible for her being injured.”
“Yes, but as your friend, Sebastian, I would be failing in my duty, if I didn't remind you, that there's a limit, to how much responsibility you can carry, before it has a detrimental effect on your mental health."
“Peter, as my friend, I appreciate your concern, but the subject is not open for discussion. I have made my decision."
“All right, I get the hint.”
“Please keep me informed of her condition. At all times. Until she wakes up and is able to make decisions for herself, you are to consult with me, regarding whatever medical treatments you deem necessary. Is that clear?”
“Yes, And as soon as we get the test results back, I’ll give you a call.”
“Thanks Peter.”
“In the meantime, Sebastian, I suggest you go home and get some rest. You look like hell.” He snickers, holding the clipboard up against his chest.
Raising my eyebrows, “Is that your professional opinion? Listen Peter, I really appreciate you doing me a favour, by handling this personally. I feel a lot better, knowing that she is in your capable hands.”
"That's what friends are for, right? I'll be in touch, soon." We shake hands, before parting ways.
Peter's words are still ringing in my ears, when James drives me home. That, I'd have to wait at least two days, to find out the extent of the damage to her brain. How the hell I am supposed to wait that long?
Fuck! I mutter under my breath, smashing my fist on the armrest of the car door. James flashes me a look of concern, in the rear vision mirror. I wave him off, to show I'm fine. He hasn't said a word about the accident, but I know, it has shaken him, badly enough. He doesn't need to share in my misery. My wretched bad luck, at finding myself in this situation, once again.
Leaning my elbow on the armrest, I rub my fingers across the creases on my forehead, hoping to ease out some of the tension. But, it does little to stop the memories from flooding back, before I can stop them. Once again, the bitter cocktail of pain, guilt and anger seeps through my system like poison. It almost destroyed me two years ago, when I had to sit by and watch my beautiful wife, Crystal, die in the intensive care unit, just days after her car accident. I felt utterly helpless then as well, at not being able to save her. The nemesis of my life.
Suddenly feeling exhausted, I slump back in the seat, laying my head against the soft leather headrest. I slowly surrender in defeat, to the emotional exhaustion, weighing heavily on my shoulders, until the lure of sleep, finally overtakes me.
SUNDAY, 10th August
THE BRIGHT HEADLIGHTS are burning straight through my eyes. What the hell? They're coming right at us. Shit! Dad . . . Dad . . . car.
Mum's screams slice through the darkness, as Dad slams on the brakes. Too late. The screeching of rubber on bitumen piercing my eardrums, drowning out every other sound. Pain slices across my neck, the seatbelt cutting into me. My head slams against the front seat, and then whips back again.
Everything speeds up all at once. The lights keeping coming, closer and closer blinding me. Fuck! We're dead. BANG! Suddenly, the world starts spinning out of control, all that exists, is metal screeching against metal, the windscreen imploding, raining jagged beads of glass, like tiny daggers, stabbing into my face. Just as suddenly, the car stops spinning, followed by dark silence, but only for a moment.
And then, the torturous soul-wrenching sound of a horrifying death, breaks the silence! The bloodied garbled sounds of my dad's dying breaths, as blood oozes out between his slackened lips, like molten candy, the metallic stench, filling the crumpled interior of what’s remains of our car. I frantically peer into the darkness, but I cannot see him clearly. I reach my hands out, but I'm trapped by my seatbelt, unable to reach him. No! No! No!
Mum? Where is she? I cannot hear her breathing. Is she dead? Cold dread, shivers through me. No, she cannot be dead. Tearing at my seatbelt, I scream out to her, over and over, until my lungs are burning, but no reply. Only heartbeats of silence. Then a faint groan, followed by another. Mum. She's still alive, thank God!
"Sebastian, are you hurt?" her soft voice whispers to me.
"No, I do not think so. Are . . . are you?"
"Yes sweetheart. I'm afraid, I'm not going to make it."
"Mum. Do not say that. You cannot die. I won't let you."
"I'm sorry. I don't think you have a choice."
"No. I'm sorry. This is all my fault."
"Sebastian, don't be so hard on yourself. Ahh!”
"Mum?"
"It's alright. You're my . . . my good boy, I . . . I love you . . .but I think . . . I have to go now . . ."
"MUM! MUM! Don't leave me . . ."
Ahh . . . Fucking dreams! Wiping the beads of sweat from my brow, I untangle the sheets, twisting around my legs, and crawl out of bed. Leaving my room, I head for the kitchen, needing something to drink, to clear my head.