The side of the van was almost gone, and paramedics were standing by, anxiously waiting for their chance to get to Peter, to see how badly he was really injured.
Neal was itching to be over there with them. In fact, it was taking all of his self-control to stay on the curb and just watch. That little voice of logic was whispering in his ear, telling him that this was a job best left to the professionals.
But a louder voice was screaming that this was his friend, and he should be right there in the thick of things.
Peter would be impressed that, for a change, Neal was resisting the impulsive route and going with restraint.
Jen was still standing nearby; he kind of thought she might have been tasked with making sure he stayed out of the way. She had also been the one to climb inside and check on Peter a couple of times during the process of getting him out. In fact, she had just stepped out of the van again.
"How is he?" Neal asked.
"He's still holding his own. And they almost have the last piece off. We'll be able to get him out soon."
"That's good. Could you… could you see his leg?"
"No, not really." She turned to look at him. "They're good friends of yours?"
Neal nodded. "The best." He paused, staring down at his hands. "There should have been something more, something else I could do."
"There wasn't. You did everything you could. You assessed the injuries, and started to give aid to the most critically wounded. You must have had some training at some point."
"A lifetime ago," he said softly. "I was a lifeguard."
"Well, you must have paid attention." He felt her hand on his arm, demanding his attention. "You were alone, with no advanced training or equipment. You did everything you could to give your friend a chance until we could get here."
Neal just nodded slowly, not really convinced. "Which hospital are they going to?" he finally asked.
"Mount Sinai Medical Center. They have an excellent trauma care department."
"Can I… Do you think I could ride with Peter when you get him out?"
"I'll tell you what. If you let me treat that cut on your head, I'll see what I can do."
He raised a hand to his forehead, confused. "Cut?"
"That's not all someone else's blood," Jen said gently, leading him to one side. She pointed to a spot on the curb.
He sat down as indicated. "I didn't even realize."
"I'm not surprised. You were worried about your friends." She opened an antiseptic wipe and dabbed gently at his temple, pausing as he winced. "Sorry. I just want to see how deep it is, and if it looks like there's debris in the cut."
"It must have been when I got in the van," Neal decided. "The window is broken. I just needed to see how Peter was, so I probably wasn't paying much attention."
Jen nodded, pulling out a second wipe to clean the cut. "Your adrenaline kicked in. It's perfectly understandable why you didn't feel it at the time." She leaned a little closer, her fingers touching the area. "It doesn't look very deep, and I don't feel anything inside there. I'm going to flush the area and bandage it. They'll check it further at the hospital."
Neal watched as she opened a bag labeled as saline solution. He took the gauze she handed him, holding it to shield his eyes as indicated, and then he sucked in a deep breath as the cold liquid dripped down his face. The sensation only lasted a few seconds, to be replaced by a gentle dabbing motion as she dried the area. Finally, he felt a dry bandage being placed on his skin, and tape holding it down.
"That's the only cut I see," Jen said. "Do you think you might be hurt anywhere else?"
"No, I don't…" Neal stopped his answer short as the fire crew shouted and yanked the final section of the van away.
He jumped to his feet, swaying just a moment as his equilibrium protested; maybe some of that blood really had been his. But nothing was going to keep him from watching as the paramedics swarmed toward the van.
There was a lot of talking, most of it medical terms that he might have recognized under normal circumstances, but which came out as jumbled noise now. He wanted to yell at them, tell them to get Peter out NOW. But some part of his rational brain was apparently still functioning, because he managed to refrain.
Finally – after minutes? hours? days? – there was movement, and he watched as they finally pulled Peter slowly from the crumpled vehicle. The medics were still working on the injured man, assessing his injuries, as Neal pulled out his cell phone. Hands trembling, he pulled up a speed dial number.
'What is it Caffrey?'
"Diana."
'Come on, Caffrey, it's Saturday afternoon. This better be good.'
"Diana…"
There must have been something in his voice, because there was a silent pause on the other end before Diana spoke again. 'Neal, what's wrong?'
"There was a crash."
'Are you hurt?'
"No. Diana, it's Peter, and Elizabeth."
'How bad?'
"I'm not sure. They've already taken Elizabeth to the hospital. Peter… Peter was trapped. They just got him out."
'All right, where are you?'
"They're getting ready to put Peter in the ambulance. They'll be taking him to Mount Sinai."
He could hear activity in the background, like someone getting dressed. And when her voice came back on, it was tinny; probably on speaker, he guessed. 'It was a car accident?'
"It wasn't an accident," he said, his voice now very calm and sure. "I saw it. It was deliberate."
Another pause. 'Is NYPD there?'
"Yes. I already gave them a statement."
'I assume you're going to the hospital?'
"They said I could ride with Peter." He paused. "Diana, I think Mount Sinai is outside of my radius."
Her response was immediate, and her voice no longer tinny. He could hear a door being closed as she spoke. 'I'll call the Marshals as soon as we hang up, so don't worry about that. I'm going to call Jones, have him liaise with NYPD. If it was really deliberate, they'll be coming to us anyway.'
"Yeah, might be related to a case."
'Exactly.' There was the sound of Diana activating the remote for her car, and a car door opening. 'I'll meet you at the hospital, Neal.'
"Thanks, Diana."
He disconnected the call and stared at the phone, wondering who else he should be calling. But just then he heard someone calling his name, and he looked around to see Jen waving him toward the ambulance.
He had to walk past the gurney to get there. The medics were still working on Peter, applying a field splint to his right leg. They already had an IV of some sort started.
"We're almost ready to transport your friend," Jen said as he reached her. She pointed inside the ambulance to a spot at the far end. "You'll need to sit up there, so we still have room to work."
"Thanks."
"The doctors are really good at Mount Sinai."
He nodded, finding that words were failing him again. It would surprise a lot of people to hear that said about Neal Caffrey.
Of course, there was nothing normal about the current situation, so he really didn't think it mattered much that he was speechless now.
He climbed into the ambulance, taking the seat indicated. He was barely situated when Jen hopped in, helping to guide the gurney into its place. Another paramedic joined her; Neal recognized him as the man who had waited outside the van earlier, though he'd never gotten a name. The two of them locked the gurney into place as someone else closed the back doors.
Jen banged against the front wall, just to Neal's right. An unseen driver pulled the ambulance away from the park. The siren came on, and they were moving.
The two paramedics were still working on Peter, and Neal just leaned his head back against the wall, watching. They were cleaning cuts, checking blood pressure, attaching a monitor for his breathing. All of it was done with practiced precision. He'd almost admire the work…
If the reason for it wasn't so dire.
"All right, let's talk about Mr. Herman's case. You have the case notes in front of you. Based on his symptoms, who has a diagnosis?"
Before one of the medical students could answer, the group was interrupted by the intercom. 'Dr. Brooks, you're being paged to the ER, stat.'
Christie moved to the wall unit and toggled the switch. "Thank you, on my way." She turned to the cardiology intern in the group. "Mark, you can lead the discussion. I'll expect a written summary from the group in my in-box."
Leaving her student group in the empty treatment room, Christie made her way out of the cardiology unit. The nearest set of elevators that would take her to the emergency room was between cardiac care and the intensive care unit.
She stabbed at the 'down' button, passing her ID badge over the sensor to override any other stops the car might be making. As soon as the doors opened, she stepped inside, again using her badge to force the car into a direct trip to the lower level.
It was one of the perks of becoming an attending physician at Mount Sinai. You could override things like the elevator controls – but you also got the 'privilege' of covering weekend shifts so that the more senior members of the unit could have the time off. Of course, people got sick and had heart attacks on weekends too, so someone had to be there. And she did enjoy working with the students, seeing how the sharp young minds attacked diagnosis and treatment problems.
But being the on-call senior member of the cardiology team also meant that she got called to any trauma cases that might involve cardiac care. And that just reinforced what her medical student rotation in the emergency room had already taught her.
Trauma care was just not where she wanted to be.
That didn't mean she wasn't good at it, or that she couldn't remain calm and provide proper urgent care when called upon to do so. And that was her mindset when she got off of the elevator.
One of the trauma nurses recognized her, and waved her toward a treatment area. It was one of the enclosed rooms, with the most advanced equipment – usually reserved for the most serious, urgent cases.
Someone was waiting just outside the door, helping her to slip into a treatment gown over her lab coat. She pulled on latex gloves, settled a mask over her face, accepted a set of protective goggles from the aide, and then stepped inside.
There was a woman on the treatment table, with several doctors and nurses already in attendance. One of the nurses was performing chest compressions on the patient. A couple of paramedics stood off to one side; they were probably still waiting for their gurney to be free.
Christie recognized Mike Adams, one of the attendings in the trauma center, and she walked toward him. "What do we have, Mike?"
"Female, age 37. Injured in a vehicle crash. Severe head trauma." He paused, gesturing toward his patient. "She's pregnant."
Christie nodded, scanning the monitors that showed vital signs; rather, in this case, didn't show signs. "How long has she been down?" she asked, pulling out her stethoscope.
"About forty minutes," Adams replied. "But the paramedics say she received CPR almost immediately."
"Yeah, there was a bystander who started compressions within a minute or two."
Christie nodded at the paramedic in acknowledgement; she recognized him from other emergency cases, though she couldn't recall his name. She stepped up closer… and gasped. "Oh, no."
Adams had stepped up next to her. "You know her?"
Christie nodded. "Elizabeth Burke. My… ex-fiancée works for her husband." She only allowed the personal connection to slow her for a moment, placing the stethoscope against her patient's chest. "Stop compressions."
The nurse stepped back, and another handed him a towel to wipe the perspiration from his forehead.
Christie moved the diaphragm back and forth, controlling her reaction at finding no sign of heart activity. "No capture at all?"
Mike motioned for one of the nurses, who stepped forward with the notes. "Defibrillation was attempted six times in the field and the ambulance, and four times here. No reaction."
Christie turned back to Adams. "And the head injury?"
He shook his head slowly. "Serious. Dr. Dolan from Neurology is on the way, and she's been briefed." He lowered his voice before continuing. "She'll do the testing to tell us if there's even a chance. But she suggested putting the patient on a heart-lung bypass because of the baby. That's why we called you."
Christie motioned for the nurse to start compressions again, and then moved her stethoscope down to Elizabeth's belly. To her relief, the fetal heartbeat seemed strong. "All right, let's prepare to move her to the surgical floor. I'll call and get a team in there stat."
As Christie moved to the phone to make arrangements, the ER team sprang into action again. Wires and monitors were unhooked, portable units attached, IV bags were moved to hooks that were attached to the trauma bed that had been wheeled in.
With practiced efficiency, the team lifted Elizabeth, moving her to the hospital bed. The paramedics grabbed their gurney, wheeling it back out of the way as the ER staff began moving their patient toward the door.
Christie finished issuing her instructions, hung up the phone, and took just a moment for a deep breath. Cases like this were always tough, but when you knew the patient…
She wondered if Diana knew…
The ambulance trip was, quite possibly, the longest car ride of his life, Neal decided. Oh, certainly he'd traveled more miles in a car, and probably even longer periods of time.
Though his concept of time today was still not really functioning…
But never had a ride seemed so long. And a lot of it was certainly due to the fact that there was so little he could do for Peter.
The agent had been semi-conscious for most of the time. At one point he'd been lucid enough to call out for Elizabeth, getting agitated when she didn't answer. Neal had leaned forward, grabbing the other man's hand, speaking to him. He obviously didn't have any answers, but the sound of his voice seemed to calm the older man somewhat.
He spent the rest of the long ride with his hand caught in Peter's fierce grasp.
By the time the ambulance stopped and backed into the emergency bay, Neal had long since lost feeling in his hand. Not that he had complained, verbally or by trying to take his hand away.
Jen finally pried Peter's fingers loose as they prepared to move the gurney out. Neal followed right behind them as they rushed inside.
He almost made it to the treatment area before a nurse – who looked and sounded like she'd make an excellent drill sergeant for the Marines – stopped him. Under the circumstances, he didn't have it in him to even try to con his way past her.
Instead, he followed her directions to a waiting area, taking a seat well away from the other people. Elbows on his knees, he rested his head in his hands…
And finally let the tears fall.
Diana turned into the parking area nearest the emergency room. She pulled into a spot labeled "No Parking – Emergency Vehicles Only' – with the flashing lights left running, and the FBI placard dropped on the dash, no one would question it.
She hurried inside, pulling her sunglasses off. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust and then she looked around. She was almost ready to pull up what they had – in better days - laughingly dubbed the 'Find Neal' app on her phone when she finally spotted him across the room.
Diana was a believer in the idea that body language could tell you a lot – and, frankly, what Neal's body language was saying scared the hell out of her. He looked, for lack of a better word, defeated. She'd really only seen that in him a couple of times before. Once, when she'd gotten to the airfield just after Kate's plane blew up. And again when his armor cracked after nearly shooting Fowler.
Now, he looked almost broken, his head down, staring at his hands.
She walked over, getting no reaction as she sat down. "Neal?"
He finally looked up, and the combination of blood and tear tracks on his face just reinforced the broken impression. "Diana."
"Have you heard anything?"
He shook his head. "No. They took Peter in a little bit ago, but no one has come out. Elizabeth was already here."
"Jones called right before I got here. He was on scene, talking with NYPD. It didn't sound like they knew much yet."
Neal stared down at his hands again. "It all happened so fast," he said quietly. "I couldn't get the license plate."
She laid a hand on his shoulder, trying not to focus on the blood covering the lower part of his sleeves. "Neal, no one's blaming you."
He just nodded, and she was sure he wasn't convinced.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
He took a deep breath, raising his eyes to stare at something - or nothing in particular – in the distance. "We were at the Art in the Park event," he started.
"That's the one Sophie Covington is involved with?"
"Yeah. And Elizabeth helped organize part of it too. Things were starting to wind down, so Peter and Elizabeth were leaving." He sucked in another deep breath, shaking his head. "They offered me a ride home, but I was supposed to help Sophie with something. I was just walking with them. They had Elizabeth's van."
"On the phone you said you thought the crash was deliberate."
"It was, I'm sure of it."
"Tell me about it."
"Elizabeth dropped the folder she was holding. Peter was already walking around to the other side of the van, so I bent down to help gather up the papers. When I stood up…" He paused, closing his eyes for a moment. "When I stood up again, I saw the car. It was coming right at the van, accelerating."
"No attempt to swerve or stop?"
Neal shook his head, opening his eyes again and turning to look at her. "Nothing. Diana, it came right for the van. I yelled at Peter to watch out. I think he saw the car at the last minute, because he tried to dive inside the van. And then…"
His voice trailed off, and she waited a moment to see if he'd continue. He didn't, so she prompted him. "And then?"
"There was this huge crash, and the sound of metal ripping. And there was broken glass flying out of the van. Diana, I ducked, and covered my eyes. If I hadn't…"
"Neal, that's normal."
"Maybe I could have gotten the license number."
"But maybe you would have been hurt too, and then there would be three patients." She pointed at the bandage on his temple. "How bad is that?"
"The paramedic said it wasn't that deep. It must have happened when I climbed in the van. I didn't even notice at the time."
Diana accepted that, at least for now. If it turned out he was lying, and he passed out on her, she'd kill him later. "Then what?"
"I yelled to some other people there to call for help, then I checked Peter. He was breathing, and he had a pulse. He was unconscious, and bleeding. It looked like he hit his head against the gear shift; there was blood on it. And his right leg was stuck where the side of the van was crushed. And then…"
"Neal, stay with me."
He turned to look at her again, raw fear in his eyes; she knew she'd never seen that before from him. "I checked on Elizabeth," he said, his voice so soft she had to lean closer to hear him. "The van had pushed her into the truck in front. She was pinned, and she'd hit her head. I couldn't find a pulse, and she wasn't breathing. I tried to do CPR, but it's been a really long time since I learned it. Maybe I didn't do it right. Maybe…"
She dropped her hand to his forearm, trying not to notice the dried blood under her fingers. "Neal, a lot of people would have panicked. You did everything you could."
He sighed and looked down at his feet, giving a single nod; she knew he wasn't convinced. "There were some paramedics on duty at the event, and they ran up when they heard the crash. They took over with Elizabeth. And they called for help. Another ambulance came, police. The fire department came. They had to use the Jaws of Life to cut the van open and get Peter out. Then we came here, and they took Peter back to the treatment area, and no one's told me anything."
Diana tightened her grip on Neal's arm, and she wasn't sure if it was more to try and comfort him, or to get some comfort for herself. "There are all sorts of privacy laws," she started. She'd certainly heard enough about that from Christie…
It wasn't an excuse she was willing to simply accept.
She got to her feet and went to the nearby water cooler, filled a paper cup, and brought it back. "Drink this," she ordered, putting it into Neal's hands. "I left my ID out in the car. I'm going to go get it, and I'll call Jones while I'm out there, see if he has any news. Then I'll flash my badge at these guys and see if we can get at least a few answers. All right?"
Neal had been staring at the cup, but he looked up now, nodding. "Thanks, Diana."
"I'll be right back."
