METROCAFE

by Peter Parkin

  He reached the tee box area and yelled to his friends, "Hit the ground! Get low!" Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jim and Troy drop to the ground and curl up into tight balls. They now saw the clouds too, and probably felt the same tingling. But Gerry kept swinging, strangely oblivious to the danger overhead. Off in the distance Mike could hear the warning siren from the direction of the clubhouse. A little late.

  Mike ran towards Gerry as fast as his legs would carry him, and continued yelling. Gerry paused in mid-swing, club extended over his head, and looked back at Mike with a puzzled, almost annoyed look on his face. Mike kept going right toward him, keeping as low to the ground as he could. He knew Gerry wouldn't have time to react now, being more concerned with being disturbed by his friend than looking up to the danger in the sky.

  Mike could feel the tingling getting stronger, exactly like touching a metal doorknob in a dry house, although in this case it was his entire body that was feeling it, not just his hand. For a split second he recalled the words of warning from Cindy, and for that same split second he felt stupid. He should have been checking the sky as they finished each hole. They had been too busy drinking and clowning around. Mike launched himself in a dive toward Gerry, toward that astonished face that had no idea what was going on. He tackled him in the back, at chest height, just as his eyes were almost blinded by a flash, a flash that seemed to start at the top of Gerry's extended golf club and snaked downward. Gerry lurched backward as the bolt connected, and the back of his head smashed into Mike's forehead. Mike felt the pain in his forehead for only a millisecond, as it was quickly dwarfed by a sharp knife lacing through his body, from his head to...everywhere. He could feel his tongue chomped by his clenching teeth followed by the familiar taste of blood. His eyes felt like they were going to explode out of their sockets. He knew he was now on the ground but he couldn't stand up; not that he tried, but he just knew that he couldn't.

  Before everything went black, he felt a strange sense of relief as moisture began to spread inside the front and backside of his pants.

  *****

  Cindy was at the wheel as the BMW careened off Tamiami Trail into the Emergency entrance of Sarasota Memorial Hospital. She abandoned the car in a restricted area and threw the keys to a protesting parking monitor, as all four ladies raced into the lobby of the giant hospital. After shouting out some questions, they were directed down to the trauma waiting room, where they found Jim and Troy sitting forlornly with their heads in their hands.

  Carol and Wendy knelt down beside their husbands and hugged them. Cindy and Amanda stood in front of them, both afraid to ask the question, but knowing one of them had to. Amanda spoke softly, "Have you heard anything yet?"

  Troy looked up and shook his head slowly. "It's bad, really bad." "Where are they now?" Cindy asked, voice trembling.

  "The trauma team took them away—that's the last we saw of them," Jim replied. Cindy turned to Amanda and grabbed onto her. They squeezed each other tightly as the tears began to flow. Except for the sobbing, it was dead quiet in the waiting room; an ominous stillness that was eventually broken by official-sounding footsteps approaching along the antiseptic tile floor.

  "Mrs. Upton and Mrs. Baxter?" Cindy and Amanda turned around and bravely faced the young doctor who was now standing there, mandatory stethoscope around his neck, clipboard in hand.

  "Yes," Cindy replied, holding her head up high, bracing herself. "I'm Cindy Baxter, and this is Amanda Upton. Please, just tell us."

  "I'm Dr. Fenton, the resident cardiologist. Do you want to come to my office to talk?"

  "No, right here is fine—these are our friends." Amanda replied, as she leaned closer into Cindy.

  Fenton took a noticeably deep breath—and then a second one. "Your husband has passed away, Mrs. Upton. We did all we could but his heart just couldn't survive the trauma. It was too severe. I'm so sorry."

  Amanda went limp and collapsed in Cindy's arms, crying. The doctor reached out and helped Cindy get Amanda over to a chair. "I can give you something to help with the shock, a light sedative perhaps?"

  "No, nothing," Amanda sobbed.

  Cindy looked up at the doctor expectantly. "My husband?"

  "He's stable right now. However, he did go into cardiac arrest and his heart is the main worry we have right now. He has some burns on his head and feet—the entry and exit points of the lightning bolt—but they will heal easily. It's the internal injuries we're worried about, as well as the possibility of brain damage. We won't know for a while yet. We'll need to keep him here for a few days."

  Cindy brought both hands up to her mouth, and started to tremble. "Can I see him?"

  "Yes, but only briefly. I can't emphasize enough how 'touch and go' this is for your husband right now. Follow me, please."

  Cindy looked down at Amanda, who was being comforted now by Carol and Wendy. They both nodded reassuringly at Cindy and motioned for her to follow the doctor to her husband's side.

  Dr. Fenton led Cindy down the hallway, through double doors to another hallway, then through to the Intensive Care section. He talked as he walked. Past a central nursing desk, to the private room numbered 207. Fenton stopped in front of the door and turned around to face Cindy. "Don't be shocked when you see him. We haven't had the chance to clean him up yet, and we really have to leave him untouched until a keraunopathy specialist has a look at him."

  Cindy's scratched her head as she gazed at Fenton with a question in her eyes. "Sorry, Mrs. Baxter, I should explain. Keraunopathy is the study of the pathology of lightning, and only a few specialists in the world understand that mysterious field. We want the specialist to see how the lightning traveled down your husband's body. He'll examine the body of Mr. Upton also. You'll notice the deep burn mark on your husband's forehead, as well as the complete destruction of the soles of his shoes. He contracted the bolt through head contact with the head of Mr. Upton. It looks like they banged into each other."

  Dr. Fenton paused to see if she was absorbing what he was saying. Cindy nodded and he continued. "Normal industrial electrocutions from man-made, high-voltage devices, produce a shock of no more than 60 kilovolts. However a lightning bolt can deliver up to 300 kilovolts. Most of the bolt slides over the surface of the body—a process called 'external flashover.' That's why you'll see his clothes singed in spots all the way down to his feet. The bolt we're mainly concerned with however is the smaller segment which went through his head, internally to his feet, and out; or vice versa. Only 20% of victims die from the immediate shock of the bolt. But the remaining 80% can have strange injuries and behaviors lasting sometimes for years, or life. These injuries are sometimes difficult to understand and treat. That's why the phenomena is being studied now as a separate specialty entirely—keraunopathy. It's new science that we're just starting to understand a bit."

  Cindy looked at him with even more puzzlement now. The doctor squeezed her shoulder and said, "The good news is that your husband is in the 80% group that initially survive the bolt. So let's focus on thinking about that, okay?" She nodded. "We'll talk more later about some of the after-effects that may need treatment."

  He opened the door to 207. Cindy paused in the doorway and saw her still handsome husband, hair singed, forehead burnt, oxygen mask attached to his face and monitors attached to his head and chest. He looked so helpless.

  Dr. Fenton motioned her over to the bedside. She held Mike's hand and spoke softly to him.

  Suddenly Mike opened his eyes, and Cindy lurched backward in shock. She looked at the doctor and he smiled knowingly. "He's awake, and he hears you. This is a good sign. I think he wants to talk to you."

  Cindy looked down and could see her husband make a slight nod with his head. Dr. Fenton carefully removed the oxygen mask. "I'll take this off for just a couple of minutes. It will be good for him to interact with you, and good for me to observe how he does. His breathing isn't labored anymore so he may not even need this mask now. We'll see."

  Cindy cou
ldn't help but smile. The mask was off and she could see Mike's entire face, a face she was afraid she would never gaze at again. She leaned over and kissed his cheek, and he leaned slightly into her. He opened his mouth and started moving his lips but she could hear only a slight groaning sound. Dr. Fenton leaned over with a squirt bottle and sent a small stream of water into Mike's mouth.

  Cindy kissed him lightly on the lips. "I love you, Mikey. Please be well, we need you so much," she said with tears in her eyes. She had hoped to not show her tears, to give Mike hope, not despair, to not make him think she knew something that he didn't. But she couldn't help herself.

  Mike opened his mouth again and started to make some human sounds this time. Cindy knew he was trying to talk. She rubbed his cheek and leaned her ear close to his mouth.

  "They...have...to change...my pants."

  She looked into his eyes, thought for a second that he was trying to crack a joke like he usually did, then watched in horror as his eyeballs rolled up into his head. Dr. Fenton quickly put the mask back on, then checked the monitors and his vitals. Cindy backed up from the bed and put her hands over her eyes. She kept them there as she heard the words, "I think he's gone into coma."

  Chapter 3

  There were crucial things that needed to be done in Mike's absence. To begin with, Troy and Jim met with the head office staff as soon as they arrived back in Toronto, and then conducted videoconferences with the rest of their employees scattered across North America. They invited questions but only received a couple of tentative ones. People were stunned, pure and simple. One of the company's top executives was dead, and their CEO was in a coma.

  After dealing with their employees, press releases had to be drafted and the company's PR agency dealt with that quickly and efficiently. These had to go out to the major media outlets in both Canada and the United States, and had to be worded such that confidence would be preserved and convey the message that Baxter Development Corp. was in good hands and would survive this setback, shocking as it was.

  Troy convened an emergency meeting with the Board, which consisted of sixteen very anxious men and women from all major walks of life. They each had questions, more serious questions than the staff had, which was understandable considering the personal liabilities each of them faced as Board members. Change was always stressful but to have two executives disappear from action in one fell swoop was tough to swallow. The Board was worried.

  Next Troy and Jim met with the rest of the executive staff, which consisted of ten vice presidents. They had to consider also that one of these executives would need to be promoted fairly soon to the senior ranks to replace Gerry in the Development Division. They couldn't wait until Mike was on his feet again—if he ever was on his feet again. Gerry's division was too important and too large to leave leaderless for long.

  After all those ducks were in order, they met with senior representatives of the Ontario Securities Commission, which was the regulator that oversaw capital markets in Ontario. In essence, Baxter's presence on the Toronto Stock Exchange meant they were regulated by the OSC. This was an important meeting and it went well. The regulator seemed to sympathize with their dilemma and appreciated the speed at which the executives had responded with their communiqués and tactics to dismiss any nervousness. Disclosure was something that companies trading on the TSX had to practice like a religion, and they earned respect every time they demonstrated diligence to the regulator. In Baxter's favor, it had been a star pupil on the Exchange since being listed, and had observed every disclosure requirement in a timely fashion. It was disciplined and professional and the OSC liked that. There were too many other companies out there who required serious oversight, so Baxter looked comparatively angelic.

  In between all this corporate stuff, Troy and Jim somehow found time to grieve for their friend Gerry, and worry themselves sick over their leader, Mike, still lying in a Florida hospital bed.

  Troy spun his chair around and stared out at Lake Ontario from his fortieth floor window in the Harbor Square office complex. It was a wonderful view, but he couldn't enjoy it today. Spring had finally come to Toronto, a little late, but better late than never. It was, after all, the beginning of June and after a long punishing winter it was nice to finally feel and see the warmth again.

  Thinking of warmth made Troy reflect back to just two weeks ago when they were all in Florida together. One of the reasons why they had planned their May getaway was the dismal winter they had suffered through in Toronto. It just wouldn't let up even well into the traditional spring months. So they just got together and went. Who could have known...

  Troy had given the eulogy at Gerry's funeral, and the church was packed to standing room only. Gerry had had a lot of friends in the business community and they all showed up. Poor Amanda—she had been so upset, inconsolable. It wasn't just Gerry's death and knowing that her two boys would now miss out on their father's love, but it was the combined effect of numerous tragedies that had hit the Upton family over the last few years. Unbelievably coincidental and violent: Amanda's parents shot to death during a robbery at the store they ran, her brother killed in a hit and run, Gerry's two younger brothers gunned down as collateral damage in a drive-by shooting while on vacation in Puerto Vallarta. Now Gerry was gone. How much tragedy could happen to one family and how much could they take and stay sane?

  Troy knew that the Board would not be patient for too long, and neither would their shareholders. He wondered how long it would take for them to pull the plug and start the search for a new CEO. Mike could be in that coma for a very long time. Troy hoped that he and Jim could hold off the wolves as long as possible. Mike was the creator and the driver, and he deserved the wait. The two of them were perfectly capable of keeping the ship steady for quite some time—and neither of them wanted Mike's job anyway, so the board would have to search outside the company. Which would not be a good thing. The culture would change and no doubt the senior staff would change. An unsettling thought to say the least.

  Troy leaned over in his expensive leather chair in his plush corner office, clasped his hands together and mouthed a silent prayer. Troy hadn't prayed since he was an altar boy in the fifth grade.

  *****

  Cindy was sitting on the front porch of the Sarasota ranch house when she got the call. She had been doing nothing, the same activity she had been doing for the last two weeks. Her nails were chewed down to the fingertips, and her knuckles were swollen from excessive cracking. She hadn't been able to read or watch television, incapable of anything requiring concentration. Her only act of awareness was to call her parents in Toronto and ask them to watch their two daughters a little bit longer—maybe a lot longer.

  She lurched at the ringing of the phone. She clumsily punched a couple of buttons until she hit the right one. Dr. Fenton was on the line, and she could tell he was excited as soon as he said hello. Cindy didn't have to ask. She just said, "I'm on my way." When she arrived at the hospital she ran down to room 207, which she could have easily found blindfolded by now. A nurse motioned to her to slow down but she just rushed right by, unseeing. Cindy's feet practically slid along the polished floor in through the open door. Then it felt like her heart stopped beating as she stared in stunned silence at her husband, sitting up in bed sipping a glass of juice through a straw.

  Mike smiled at her between sips, and, picking his words carefully said, "I can see you've been sun tanning."

  Cindy ran to his bedside and gave him the biggest kiss she had ever laid on him. He kissed her back and she was pleased to notice that he hadn't forgotten how to do that. She really hadn't known what to expect—she equated 'coma' with 'memory loss,' and the doctor had quickly corrected her on that. But she still didn't know what to believe. For the last two weeks she had been actually expecting the worst; that she'd have to transport him back to Toronto comatose and that he'd be in that vegetative state for the rest of his life.

  Dr. Fenton had been standing in a corner of the room, a
nd respectfully left for a while to let the two get re-acquainted. After some more kissing and hugging and discussions about the kids, Mike finally asked the questions that Cindy had braced herself for.

  "So, how long have I been like this?" Mike looked her squarely in the eyes. "About two weeks now," Cindy said softly as she held his hand. "Gerry?"

  Cindy paused and squeezed his hand. "He didn't make it, Mike."

  Mike pulled his hand away, looked down at his blanket and started twirling his fingers in the tassels. He didn't say anything at all, but Cindy noticed that his hands were trembling ever so slightly. He looked up at her and nodded as his eyes welled up with tears. "I need to be alone right now, hon. Okay?"

  *****

  A long week followed, with Cindy spending all day, every day, at the hospital with Mike. She was overjoyed at the progress he was making. By the end of the week with the help of speech and physical therapy, his walking had returned to normal and his formation of words was now accurate and back to their regular rate of speed—fast. Mike's appetite was ravenous despite the bland hospital food and his spirits seemed good, all things considered.

  They didn't talk about the accident, not even once. Mike asked about Amanda and how she was holding up, but that was the only reference he made to the tragedy. And Cindy knew he only asked because he was well aware of the other tragedies that the Upton family had suffered over the last few years. He was probably worried that this might push Amanda over the edge.

  At the end of the week, Cindy packed Mike's bag and they went to Dr. Fenton's office for a consult before heading back to Toronto. She just wanted to get Mike home, but this meeting was important. This is when the "incident" would be discussed and what they both had to be prepared for. She didn't think it was totally necessary—Mike seemed fine now, but she didn't want to have any regrets.

  They sat in the doctor's modest office on comfortable leather chairs facing his desk. Mike seemed restless—his left leg was bouncing and he seemed anxious to go. She held onto his hand.