First of all can I thank all those of you who reviewed and followed chapter one, it really means more to me than you realize! I will get round to personal thanks as we go on but thought getting on with the story more important.
Yes, there will be humour but obviously that first chapter wasn't exactly the place for levity, so stick with me to see the ups and downs, the angst and the funny side of Jane's situation.
My apologies in advance to any medical professionals among you….. I have no idea if what I've written is any sense or not but I just couldn't face spending time doing research and it seemed pretty logical to me.
Telltale billowing grey smoke soon made its foreboding presence known like a dark portent of doom oozing out between the rooftops and the slight but unmistakeable smell creeping through the air vents beckoned Lisbon unerringly closer to the scene.
She could already hear the plaintive wail of sirens in the distance when she was still, she estimated, some 5 minutes out.
Cho's call came quickly.
"Boss, it looks like it's the old Robinson place out at the end of Greystoke Drive," he told her. "Been empty for years."
Lisbon interrupted him in her impatience,
"OK. I can see it from here. Nearly there. Thanks Cho. You on the way?" she rattled off thoughts automatically, eyes fixed on the road and the red glow that now began to tint the evening sky, her mind preoccupied by rolling scenarios of what might await her.
It was like watching a movie teaser. Flashes of Jane. Coming to a screen near you.
Jane lying crumpled on the ground.
Jane calling her name.
Jane covered by a blanket.
Still and …..dead.
"Boss! You still there?" came Cho's ever calm voice, "VanPelt and I'll be there in ten. A neighbour called it in to 911 so there'll be help on scene well ahead of us." he explained.
Then, after a pause. "Don't worry Boss, Jane has at least nine lives. He hasn't used half of them yet".
Cho's words were by nature spare but always well chosen, there was no one Lisbon would rather have at her back in an emergency and she was glad to hear his reassurance, whether she could allow herself to believe it could be true or not.
"Thanks Cho, but I think he just used another one," she cursed herself silently for sounding so hopeless, then said firmly, "I'll meet you there."
xx
The SUV screeched to a halt on the damp tarmac alongside several fire tenders and EMT vehicles.
The slippery buckle fastening Lisbon's seatbelt refused to yield to her frantic fingers as they panicked to release it and she practically tumbled out onto the ground, cursing again as she gathered herself.
Scrambling to her feet, leaving the car door swinging open, she raced across the lawn, once green and pristine, now unmown, patchy and uncared for. It was only a distance of about seventy metres to the building but her legs could not carry her fast enough.
Flames were already licking around the upper floor windows of the large rambling house, like the hot fiery tongues of fairytale dragons. Dense black smoke belched up into the air from the roof, which was by now well alight. Plumes of water, like streams of silver, shot from fire hoses into the windows and arched up over the top of the building mixing clouds of hissing white steam with the black of the choking smoke.
But the focus of Lisbon's attention lay, not with the raging fire, but centred in a group of people gathered in a small active huddle on the thin remains of the grass in front of the burning house.
Medics worked swiftly but efficiently on a lone figure on the ground and just as she came close she saw them carefully lift the still body onto a waiting gurney.
She could see the tubes, fluid drip bags and oxygen cylinder and she could see his legs both encased in inflatable splints and draped with a scarlet blanket. She could see the two large blocks of pvc covered foam strapped to and carefully immobilizing his head.
She couldn't see whose the body was, but she knew.
The activity around the prone figure was intense and as she rushed to approach with a mix of trepidation and foreboding, Lisbon felt strangely useless and unnecessary, superfluous even.
It was Jane ... she knew ... and she was helpless.
She slipped in alongside the uniforms as they hurriedly began to push the gurney towards the waiting ambulance and finally she got close enough to confirm her worst fears.
She could hardly see his face, blackened as it was by smoke and covered with an oxygen mask, but there was no mistaking the tufts of dirty blond hair that still poked their way out to greet her, calling ...
its me Theresa I'm here!
She wrenched her badge from her pocket and flashed it in front of the young dark haired paramedic at her side.
"Is he going to be OK?" she begged, not sounding at all like a cop, "I'm his friend."
She slipped her hand under the blanket, searching for his, at the same time trying to keep step with the gurney. When she found it his fingers felt cold and limp. She squeezed. As much for her own comfort as for his.
"Hope so Miss," the young man replied. "It's a good thing he was unconscious though. We've done what we can at the scene, but his legs are a mess."
Lisbon gave Jane's hand another gentle squeeze and whispered close to his face,
"Patrick, it's Theresa. Can you hear me?"
She thought she saw his eyelids flutter, then they opened a crack and his lips turned up ever so slightly under the mask before he drifted off again.
"Miss."
She felt someone tap her shoulder cautiously. "Sorry, we have to go now. You can follow. We're taking him to Sac Gen. I'm sure they'll let you in, what with your badge and all. Don't you worry, we'll take good care of him."
The man must have been young enough to be her son, but he wrapped a gentle arm around her shoulder for the briefest of moments and gave her a consoling smile.
"It's best for him if we go now." He repeated quietly.
xx
The second CBI vehicle slewed to a halt just as the ambulance was pulling away, blue lights flashing and sirens squealing.
Grace vanPelt leapt from the car almost before it had stopped, immediately scanning the scene to find her superior officer.
Lisbon's car was here but she couldn't spot her friend - until she walked around to the drivers side to see her sitting, head in hands, sideways on the seat with her legs swung out on the ground.
"Boss. Are you OK?" VanPelt questioned, placing a comforting arm around the older woman's shoulders and trying to look into her eyes.
Lisbon slowly lifted her head.
"Oh… yes Grace. Fine. I just needed to sit down for a bit."
She looked pale and Grace could feel her shivering from cold and shock. The remains of a few tears smudged her cheeks.
"Was it Jane in that ambulance?"
"Yes" came the only reply.
"OK, Boss. Cho's just gone to check out the situation then we'll decide what to do. You stay here for a minute and I'll be back."
She waited for a response and after a bit Lisbon straightened up but remained seated. Rubbing her face vigorously with her hands as if to snap herself back to reality she turned to her colleague, taking a steadying deep breath as she did so.
"Thanks Grace, I'm good now. You go with Cho and find out what you can. See what the fire people have to say and see if any neighbours saw anything. I'm going to head on over to the hospital now. You catch me there when you're done and we'll see where we're at."
She rose tiredly, brushed herself down and turned to go, but van Pelt called after her.
"Boss… is he alright ?
"Oh Grace, I'm so sorry. I didn't think."
Lisbon's expression said all Grace needed to see as she slowly turned back around, trying to lift her slumped shoulders, but her pale face all fear and confusion and desperate hopefulness.
"I don't really know." she said quietly. "It looks bad though. His legs are smashed and …I don't know… but he did open his eyes."
"I must go" she added, turning quickly on her heels once more.
xx
Patrick Jane didn't have to open his eyes to know exactly where he was. He didn't think he could open them anyway. And he wasn't even sure if he was thinking at all.
But the signs were unmistakeable.
A general level of quiet hubbub, voices talking earnestly, carefully, with falsely sympathetic tones and sincerely sympathetic ones. Anxious voices. Tearful voices. Technical phrases rattled off, then explained in layman's terms by world weary workers.
The rolling of rubber wheels and the irregular screech of wonky, badly maintained wheels.
The rustle and squeak of bottoms on plastic chairs.
The regular beeping of multiple machines and the occasional buzzer or detached voice echoing down the long halls from a tannoy.
The overbearing smell of disinfectant, and coffee and cleanliness … it was the clean he found most disconcerting … clinical… soulless.
He knew where he was.
Above the general hum he thought he could hear one voice, separate and familiar and sweet and the one voice he needed to hear.
xx
"We've taken some quick X-rays of the legs as a matter of urgency, so that we can address that area first … let me show you,"
The serious, rather anonymous middle aged emergency doctor held up two sheets of film to allow the light to shine through them.
Theresa Lisbon didn't really pay too much attention. She was too busy feeling angry at the man, whose name tag announced him as Dr Brownloe.
He had not even bothered to introduce himself to her and here he was referring to Jane like he was just another job.
... that's Patrick Jane and those are not 'the legs', they're his legs, Patrick's legs ...
"See … " he pointed, "bi-lateral tib and fib, clean breaks, but badly displaced. Both ankles dislocated and a nasty break in one."
Dr Brownloe looked down from his films and suddenly softened, noticing the woman's face a mixture of anxiety and rising frustration. He mentally admonished himself for being so absorbed in the technicalities of the job he loved that he often forgot to see the bigger picture.
"Would you like to see him briefly? he asked her kindly. "Then we can talk about what needs to be done."
He ushered Lisbon closer to the mass of tubes, wires and machinery surrounding the trolley and pulled up a chair for her.
"Two minutes. OK?" he told her.
She sat quietly and looked for a moment, almost scared to touch him. He looked the same as when they had left the burning house; deathly pale under the blackness of smoke, his chest rising shallowly in irregular wheezy spasms, his eyes closed.
His hand lay lifeless at his side, those long magical fingers that she loved so much, so active, always moving and now so still.
She took that hand in hers, stroking the back of it with her fingers and she spoke his name quietly, slowly, clearly, as if clarity would help him hear her.
"Patrick," she willed him to answer, "Patrick, its me."
He felt the cool softness of a gentle hand on his and instantly knew it's owner.
His next breath seemed to come a little easier now that he knew she was there.
The pain that enveloped his body subsided for a second or two.
"Lisbon."
He tried to give her a little smile but the mask covering his face disguised his feeble effort and he couldn't open his eyes because of the drums that were beating incessantly inside his head. He didn't think she could hear him so he mustered as much strength as he could and flailed his other hand around in the air, causing a flurry of wires to jostle and slip as he tried to reach the offending mask.
Gently moving the mask down from Jane's mouth and nose, Lisbon gave him the warmest smile she could.
"Hello Jane"
He still didn't open his eyes, but his mouth slid wider in reciprocation. Hearing her smile was enough.
She was silent for a moment, then the relief of hearing his voice was washed away and her worry took over.
"God Jane, what did you do?"
She supposed it was a rhetorical question since it was, in part, obvious what had happened, but shock and fear are powerful emotions, skilled at drawing inappropriate remarks from the most level headed of people. In any case she was feeling anything but level headed.
"I…jumped… Lisbon," he whispered, in between breaths.
"Jane! It was a second floor window! Did you think you were a super hero?"
It was difficult to hide her frustration.
"But I did the… roly-poly… thing …"
"The roly-poly thing?" she puzzled.
"Like…a stunt…man" his face screwed up as he began to get stressed and a cold sweat shimmered wet on his ghostly grey skin.
"Oh …" she was still no wiser.
"Didn't … work… did …it ?
She could hardly make out the words.
"No Jane, I don't think it did."
All at once overwhelming sadness for her broken friend hit her, she raised her hand to stroke the sweat matted curls from his forehead and carefully replaced the mask that helped him to breathe.
"But I do think you were very, very brave," she whispered close to his ear.
Right on cue Dr Brownloe was at her side. Maybe he'd been standing there for some time. She didn't know.
"Miss Lisbon, shall we take a seat over here", he invited, leading her to a more private area and sitting down beside her.
Placing his notes in his lap, he folded his hands over them and looked her straight in the eyes.
Lisbon felt her confidence in the man growing.
"We've done all the preliminary checks on Mr Jane. Would you like me to go through everything with you?" he began.
"Of course. I need to be involved. I'm his best friend. He has no relatives near, that we know of."
"I explained to you about the broken bones. There's also a good deal of soft tissue damage and stress injury to the joints, jarring and severe bruising and tearing. Then we move up to a couple of cracked ribs and severe bruising to the torso and right shoulder. He appears to have inhaled a great deal of smoke, something which is concerning us at the moment. His sats are very much lower than we would like. And then there is the head injury … not consistent with the fall. All his other injuries indicate that Mr. Jane fell forward, but he has a nasty contusion on the back of his head, and that's something else to be concerned about, since he's been drifting in and out of consciousness."
At last the doctor paused and examined Lisbon's face to gauge if she had understood the implications of what he was telling her.
Lisbon had listened as attentively as she could, but it was hard to drag her mind away from worrying and as each new problem was added to the list her worry increased.
"Shall I go on?" he asked.
She nodded solemnly.
"Mr Jane's case presents something of a problem because we would normally sort out breaks of this number and severity under anaesthetic, but I'm not happy to do that while his breathing is so poor, his lungs simply aren't able to absorb enough oxygen at the moment. And then there's the problem of his level of consciousness, I need to investigate that further."
"I see…"
Lisbon took a while to think about what the man had said. "So what do you propose to do? Surely the pain will be too much to bear. Without anaesthetic I mean."
...and poor Jane's such a weakling when it comes to pain…
Lisbon's alarm was written all over her face, like the open book Jane always said she was, and Dr Brownloe was an avid and perceptive reader of faces. He did his most professional best to allay her fears.
"Don't worry. I'm not going to put him through that. What we will do is this," he started to explain.
"Mr. Jane will be taken down for a scan to check for anything we've missed and to see if there's anything to concern us regarding the head injury and we'll get some better pictures while we're there. Then we'll get him settled and as comfortable as possible for a few hours. Hopefully his lungs will begin to clear and the oxygen therapy will bring his sats up enough to make anaesthesia an option… I don't want to intubate him if I can help it as it's best his lungs clear themselves."
He paused and Lisbon instinctively knew there was more to come. She simply waited and listened, staring at the name on the label of the doctor's folder.
"Miss Lisbon ," he continued, carefully observing the obviously concerned woman's reaction, "There's just one thing we need to do before your friend can go down for his scans and I'd be grateful if you'd help me with it."
He paused for a moment. "He trusts you doesn't he, I can see that."
Lisbon's heart froze. Her mind raced thinking of what horrible possibilities the man was referring to.
The experienced doctor saw the terror in her eyes and the tremble of her hands, as they fiddled nervously with her car keys, absently removing them from her pocket only to return them again and again.
"Oh, you mustn't be afraid," he assured her. "But it's going to be extremely painful, so I think it would be good if you were there to help him through. Come with me."
His tone softened from clinical to avuncular and Lisbon thought absently that he reminded her of Minelli.
Lisbon dutifully followed the doctor back to her consultant's bedside.
They stood at Jane's feet, Lisbon wondering if he was aware that she had returned.
The doctor pulled back the light cover that had been loosely draped over Jane's lower half and watched her face as she took in the sad sight before her.
Those beautiful feet, as elegant as his hands, were swollen, red, black and blue, his slender ankles bloated to twice their size and contorted into the most unnatural shapes.
Her hand sprung up to catch the gasp that escaped her mouth and she half turned away, shaking her head.
"I'm sorry. It's not as bad as it looks." Dr Brownloe told her, hoping his practiced platitudes sounded more convincing than they always felt.
"They did a very good job at the scene to straighten things out as best they could, but we can't leave these dislocations any longer, and once they're popped back in he'll be a little more comfortable," he explained, looking her straight in the eye. "I'm going to give Mr Jane something stronger for the pain, then I want you to take hold of his hand and help him through that pain, because it's still going to hurt terribly. Even though he's not altogether with us, it's going to hurt."
Lisbon nodded her assent and pulling herself straight and proud stood beside her friend.
She took his hand, hoping for some response, but getting none, and as she waited she couldn't help thinking how many times she had bellowed at him to be quiet when he was driving her insane with his constant and untimely interventions and observations.
Now she wished he was anything but quiet.
She wished he was dancing down the corridor spouting Confucius and Shakespeare.
Dr Brownloe pushed a syringe of 'something stronger for the pain' into the drip feed, quickly checked the machines monitoring his patient and flicked his tiny flashlight to and fro in Janes glassy eyes, holding each lid open to do so. Seeming satisfied he returned to the other end of the bed and gently but firmly grasped the first foot, quickly glancing in Lisbon's direction as he did so, confirming her readiness and offering much needed support.
It seemed to Lisbon that Jane was pretty much unconscious, but she thought she felt his hand wriggle just a little under her tense grip, so she lent forward and softly told him.
"Good luck Patrick. Love you."
