Disclaimer: I didn't invent most of these characters or situations: the people at ER did.
I don't love this first chapter, for a number of reasons, but I've been sitting on this and a few other fics for a few months now, and I thought to myself this morning, "better out than in." As they say. So here goes. If you do read it and like it, or even if you don't like it, LET ME KNOW. Its not easy reading and, as I say, not very cheery, but there will, in future chapters, be moments of non-depressingness, so give it a chance. I don't know what to say... I think I'd been reading that very, very dark fic 'Lost' by Starryjen (Correction: xander1girl) before I wrote it (which is underrated by the way), and this chapter's also a bit Heroes-y (I'm a big Mohinder fan). Just to give you some useless background there. Enjoy and REVIEW.
A suburb of Chicago, Sunday Morning.
Mr. Chandha folded the paper, so that just the main picture and headline faced up. He stared for a minute at the counter. He wasn't usually interested in local news but today this one particular story had caught his eye. The picture showed a beautiful dark-haired woman, Western-style dress but Indian through and through: a sparkle in her eyes, a baby of a few months cradled in one arm, a pretty raven-haired little child of around two or three gazing down at the baby happily, her mother's other arm drawing her into the huddle.
He read that headline again and felt an involuntary shudder run down his spine.
"MOTHER AND TWO CHILDREN PERISH IN SUSPECTED ARSON.
Police are today expected to announce a press conference following incidents in the early hours of yesterday morning in which a family home in the Naperville area was razed to the ground. The three fatalities, whose names will be verified at the conference this afternoon were confirmed by authorities, as a 35 year old female health professional and her two children, a two year old male and a six year old female. The woman is thought to have been a British national, and is said to have no other relatives in this country. Representatives from the United Kingdom' s embassy have been notified. The local community have reacted with shock and sadness to the events. Twenty-eight year old Tanya Bates was a neighbour of the family: "I didn't know them too well, they kept themselves to themselves, but to imagine something like this...they seemed such a sweet little family. We all feel very sad." Evidence gathered from the scene, including traces of lighter fuel, have led to a definitive verdict of deliberate arson. Police have reportedly no substantial leads on this case, but are currently seeking to get into contact with the father of the children, believed to be recently seperated from their mother. There are also reports of another male having been seen in the area at an earlier hour but police have currently very little evidence that his presence has anything to do with the case. Any witnesses to the events should make themselves known to authorities. FOR MORE LOCAL NEWS AND DETAILS OF THIS YEAR'S EASTER SWEEPSTAKES TURN TO PAGE 5.
The old man shook his head and absent-mindedly took hold of the mop that rested against the wall, sweeping the area around the entrance to his cafe bar.
He noticed a customer trying to get his attention.
"I'll have another coffee and some of that cake, if its not too much trouble," called a man in his late twenties who was sat at one of the tables, a note of sarcasm in his voice.
"All right, all right, young man," called Mr. Chandha. "Although," he muttered in Punjabi, not really bothering to keep his voice down, and turning away from the seating area to head back into the kitchen, "I don't really see the rush, you've obviously got plenty of time on your hands to be sat around drinking coffee all day".
It was not polite, he knew, to talk badly of others in their presence. But really, some of these younger men these days had no respect for their elders. Besides, it wasn't like they understood what he was saying most of the time. You didn't get too many speakers of Punjabi around these parts, so most of the time he was quite free to make the odd shrewd comment under his breath from time to time at the expense of some of his more irksome clientele.
So when, on turning back to the kitchen, he heard a distinct chuckle at his remark emanating from somewhere behind him he was somewhat caught off guard.
Mr. Chandha stopped still, perturbed. Slowly he turned around and narrowed his eyes. In the corner was sat a youngish man of Indian appearance. He had not noticed him enter the cafe. He had a striking look about him that had nothing to do with his physicality: his eyes were hard and tired-looking. There was wisdom there but also something a little frightening. The hang of his jacket, the grubby appearance of his white robe and the beginnings of a black beard suggested that he hadn't had a change of clothes or a decent sleep in a long time. But the young man somehow seemed unnervingly alert.
"You are right of course to demand a little more respect..." he said in an accent that he placed somewhere between London and North Indian. "But I would be careful. Who are we to judge how others pass their time?"
There was something about this man which Mr. Chandha didn't like.
"Are you going to order something?" Barked the old man. "This is a restaurant."
The younger man held his gaze unnervingly. Mr. Chandha grabbed a menu from the side and slapped it down, bad-temperedly, on the table in front of the man, before making his way back to the counter to read the sports section without any more interruptions from irritating customers. He sat on a stool and held the paper out in front of him, blocking himself from the view of the restaurant. His eye caught sight of the picture of the woman again. There was something about her face. Something...Lowering his newspaper slightly he looked out towards the man at the table, and then looked down again at the picture. His blood went a little cold.
He couldn't believe it. The man had a distinct likeness to the girl in the picture. He shifted slightly and fingered the phone on the counter. It could very well be coincidence...but then hadn't the article said the woman had had no relatives here in America...Chandha stopped himself. You've been watching too much 'Murder She Wrote', Roshan! He chided himself and shook his head again. Why had this article got to him so badly?
"Hey bubba, have you seen my maths book? I think its in the drawer out there," his grand-daughter called from the kitchen.
He looked nervously across the cafe at the man, and then turned around slightly to call to his grand-daughter.
"Just one second my love," he yelped in what he hoped was a normal tone. He ducked under the counter to retrieve the book she was looking for, biding his time. He looked up and found the man looking at him straight in the eye. Slowly he smiled lopsidedly, chillingly. "What's the matter, old man? Seen a ghost?"
When he came back he couldn't believe his eyes. The man was gone.
The same morning, Cook County General, Chicago
Ray walked through the streets on his way to work, rubbing his eyes irritably as he did so. He had barely slept in days, his neck cricked through sleeping on the too short sofas of a series of ex-bandmates. His stomach rumbled: he hadn't been able to stomach any food for days. He thought longingly of the cupboards full of food waiting for him at home: a home-cooked meal was the order of the day, he didn't care what: alphabet spaghetti washed down with some Sunny Delight...and then perhaps a game of 'Operation' with Loveen and Sammy before settling down for the night in front of the television with his beautiful Neela. Perfection, he thought, with a little smile.
Then, mentally, he slapped himself. He was getting ahead of himself. He and Neela still had alot of ground to make up before everything went back to normal, he had to accept that. Just five days ago they had had the fight to end all fights. His stomach tensed with shame as he remembered painfully the tears she had shed as he had, in a moment of madness, accused her of not spending enough time with him, of forgetting that he had needs as well as the children.
Of course he had been out of line. He had known that the second the words had come out of his mouth. He had spent the last week ringing her and ringing her...leaving messages to express how sorry he truly was. He rubbed his eye again and sighed. He would never forget the look in his children's eyes as they pressed their heads against the window of the top room to look at him, their father stood in the freezing cold of the driveway, hoping their mother would relent and let him in so he could read them a story before bedtime. She was a long way off forgiving him, he knew that. Last night though...last night had been a breakthrough. She had actually allowed him through the door for the first time since Saturday. And she had finally made a concession...later on today they were going to meet up for ice-cream, on neutral ground at their favourite family restaurant uptown. He knew he shouldn't be too hopeful but things were starting to look up, he could feel it.
He made his way through the ambulance bay and through the doors into triage.
It didn't hit him for a few moments that something was up.
The lounge was quiet but that was normal for mid-morning on a Sunday. Ray made his way towards the desk and registered the sight before him.
There, leaning against the counter was his attending, Luka, his head pressed down against the surface, his back towards Ray. He slowed down and slowly approached his senior doctor, not sure how to interpret this body language.
Could it possibly be that Luka was crying?
He stepped forward and touched the older man's back slightly, before speaking tentatively: "Dr. Kovac?"
The dark-haired croatian man turned to look at the person speaking to him. Ray, for the first time got a good look at his face.
"Ray?" he began, a look of bewilderment clouding his dark features. "Ray...why are you...? What are you doing here?"
Ray didn't have the first clue of how to interpret this surreal behaviour on the part of the usually surly doctor. He had a strange feeling in his stomach as he felt a hand slip around his waist softly and he turned to look into the face of his co-worker Sam Taggart.
What he found written there confused him further. Why was she looking at him so pitifully? Why were her eyes so red? He looked around and noticed that several others of his co-workers were standing still looking at him.
Inez broke the silence. "Sam..." she began in a quiet, vaguely conspiratorial voice. "I don't think he knows..." she muttered to her fellow nurse urgently.
But Sam didn't appear to have heard. Her eyes were examining his face with the strangest mixture of sadness, anger and intense puzzlement that he had ever had directed towards him. Then slowly, as if coming to a decision, some of that anger left her face. Her voice however was nonetheless urgent.
"Ray," she choked, looking at him with more seriousness than anyone had done in his life. "I don't know what happened... I..." She looked down her voice almost a whisper now. "I don't want to believe that you did this, but whether you did or you didn't", and she looked around again, her voice now a low hiss, "you probably shouldn't be here." And with that she looked at him one last time and spun around, off down the hallway.
Ray stared after her. He felt like bursting into laughter, but something told him that this was serious.
There was silence again.
He looked around half-grinning at the others to gauge a reaction. "What the hell was that?"
Ray began to feel not a little frustrated. "Would someone please tell me what has gotten into everyone?" He noticed Abby approaching him. "Abby, you'll tell me? What's happened here?" he stuttered hopefully but she too was wearing a greenish, sickly expression, an odd openness about her eyes.
She gripped him by both shoulders and looked at him, terrified. "Ray I don't know how else to do this. You...you really have no idea?" She asked softly.
"No, Abby, what?" he shot, aggressive now.
"Frank give him the newspaper," she ordered, and it was then that Ray noticed the police officers at a few hundred paces behind Abby. The heavily-set man did as she said, refusing, like Abby, to look the younger man in the eye as he placed the folded paper into his hands.
Ray looked around the crowd of faces that had gathered and felt a lump rising in his throat. Straightening his shoulders he stared at the front page. His mind raced dizzily as he registered the familiar face in the picture staring up at him. He looked up at the expectant faces again and fear gripped his whole body. They looked real enough. So why did this feel like a bad dream?
As he looked down and began to read the words printed on the page he felt a wash of red creep over the periphery of his vision, and blood rose to his face. The last thing he remembered was a chorus of panicked shouts as he gripped Abby's arm fleetingly before, mercy of all mercies, the world slipped from under him and he felt himself fall, knees crumbling to the floor.
