"Mr. Vaughn, your wife had a car accident. She's in critical condition at
St. Joseph's Hospital, and will be in surgery in a few minutes." Dial tone.
You clutch your head between your fingers to still the blood pounding there. Shock is coursing through you, threatening to take over, but you fight it and reach blindly for your keys. Eric shoots you a concerned look but you ignore him and prepare to leave the Ops Center. A voice in the back of your head tells you that Jack should know, know his daughter is dancing with death, but you can't see him and won't waste time.
Eric catches you before you exit, however, so you are forced to turn around and look him in the eye. Which is a mistake because the tears finally spill over and torrent down your face. He waits for you, knowing he doesn't have to ask but that you will tell him when you find your voice. A hoarse whisper leaves your throat, "St. Joseph's Hospital. Tell Jack."
Eric nods and then races off, leaving you to drown in your tears and the misery that caused them. You stand still for mere seconds before you feel her calling to you, and your legs take motion. It's a miracle you make it to the hospital in one piece, especially in the heavy rain that is falling steadily.
You tell the nurse who you are, ask where your wife is, is she still alive, are they operating yet. She tells you nothing besides to go take a seat; it might be a while before anyone knows anything.
The waiting room is worse than any torture chamber or holding cell you've ever been in, the walls creeping towards you with their gleaming white paint until you think you're going to suffocate. A hand on your shoulder gives you air, and you look up into the grave eyes of your father-in-law.
His eyes search yours for any traces of sanity, and you wonder briefly if he'll find any. Two words leave his lips and send you into a moments panic. "The girls?" You forgot about your children, the twins, your angels, the lives Sydney brought to the world only three years ago, and that alone fills you with an emptiness that aches. You then remember that they are spending the weekend with your mother, that you gave up your babies last night to the willing arms of their grandmother.
"With Maman," is all you can say, and your hands reach up to cradle your head once again. You slouch over to stop the world from spinning out of control, but you can't because you're thinking of all the things she loves. Your children, you, the house with the white picket fence with the blood red tulips...
Blood red sticks in your mind and you are sent images of red stained asphalt, blood dripping from an overturned government issue car. The pictures make your stomach heave and its all you can do to keep the waffle you had for breakfast down. You've seen her bloody, beaten, tortured, and you handled it. But there was never that much blood.
"Mr. Vaughn?" A voice snaps you back to the present and you see a nurse standing in front of you. You've lost all track of time, and realize that hours have passed by without your notice. Unable to speak to the woman in white, you can only nod.
"Your wife has a severe head trauma and her abdomen was split, but we were able to operate in time to save her. The surgery went amazingly well, although she's not out of the woods yet. Would you like to see her?"
Again, all you can do is nod and the nurse leads you down endless corridors to stop in front of a small room. She looks at you with a curious eye, and then says rather nonchalantly, "She kept repeating something over and over during the surgery until she was unconscious. My guardian angel." Without warning a small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, but quickly disappears as you survey the damage.
Her head is so covered in gauze you can't see her face, and the rest of her body is covered as well. Your heartbreaks as you feel her pain but you are revived by the steady sound of her heartbeat and you sit near her to try to give her strength, send your love and will her to hold on. She does.
You clutch your head between your fingers to still the blood pounding there. Shock is coursing through you, threatening to take over, but you fight it and reach blindly for your keys. Eric shoots you a concerned look but you ignore him and prepare to leave the Ops Center. A voice in the back of your head tells you that Jack should know, know his daughter is dancing with death, but you can't see him and won't waste time.
Eric catches you before you exit, however, so you are forced to turn around and look him in the eye. Which is a mistake because the tears finally spill over and torrent down your face. He waits for you, knowing he doesn't have to ask but that you will tell him when you find your voice. A hoarse whisper leaves your throat, "St. Joseph's Hospital. Tell Jack."
Eric nods and then races off, leaving you to drown in your tears and the misery that caused them. You stand still for mere seconds before you feel her calling to you, and your legs take motion. It's a miracle you make it to the hospital in one piece, especially in the heavy rain that is falling steadily.
You tell the nurse who you are, ask where your wife is, is she still alive, are they operating yet. She tells you nothing besides to go take a seat; it might be a while before anyone knows anything.
The waiting room is worse than any torture chamber or holding cell you've ever been in, the walls creeping towards you with their gleaming white paint until you think you're going to suffocate. A hand on your shoulder gives you air, and you look up into the grave eyes of your father-in-law.
His eyes search yours for any traces of sanity, and you wonder briefly if he'll find any. Two words leave his lips and send you into a moments panic. "The girls?" You forgot about your children, the twins, your angels, the lives Sydney brought to the world only three years ago, and that alone fills you with an emptiness that aches. You then remember that they are spending the weekend with your mother, that you gave up your babies last night to the willing arms of their grandmother.
"With Maman," is all you can say, and your hands reach up to cradle your head once again. You slouch over to stop the world from spinning out of control, but you can't because you're thinking of all the things she loves. Your children, you, the house with the white picket fence with the blood red tulips...
Blood red sticks in your mind and you are sent images of red stained asphalt, blood dripping from an overturned government issue car. The pictures make your stomach heave and its all you can do to keep the waffle you had for breakfast down. You've seen her bloody, beaten, tortured, and you handled it. But there was never that much blood.
"Mr. Vaughn?" A voice snaps you back to the present and you see a nurse standing in front of you. You've lost all track of time, and realize that hours have passed by without your notice. Unable to speak to the woman in white, you can only nod.
"Your wife has a severe head trauma and her abdomen was split, but we were able to operate in time to save her. The surgery went amazingly well, although she's not out of the woods yet. Would you like to see her?"
Again, all you can do is nod and the nurse leads you down endless corridors to stop in front of a small room. She looks at you with a curious eye, and then says rather nonchalantly, "She kept repeating something over and over during the surgery until she was unconscious. My guardian angel." Without warning a small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, but quickly disappears as you survey the damage.
Her head is so covered in gauze you can't see her face, and the rest of her body is covered as well. Your heartbreaks as you feel her pain but you are revived by the steady sound of her heartbeat and you sit near her to try to give her strength, send your love and will her to hold on. She does.
