Chapter 8
Blood seeps from the fatal wound on Andre's chest, staining my lower half dark red. The sticky substance clings to the skin of my legs, running down to my toes. I frantically search for the key to unlock my shackles, digging my fingers into Andre's clothes pockets. The key is not with him.
I push off of Andre's corpse and somehow manage to raise myself up into a standing position. "Talk to me Jane! I'm here! I'm coming!" I cry out to her limp and bleeding body. Please don't be too late. I glance in the direction of Jane and the infant. Both woman and child are rounding on the ugly side of death.
Tears threaten to spill over my red, swollen eyelids. Find the key damn it! I stumble to the metal table in the center of the deathly silent room. Jane moans unintelligibly in response to my hurried demands. I almost collapse with relief at the sound of her voice. A large Victorian key sits unharmed on the surface of the table.
Stabbing the key into each lock, I free myself and hobble over to the frail heap of human that is Jane. Not wasting any time, I clumsily throw myself onto my blood stained knees, kneeling beside my dying friend. I place my hands over Jane's wound, applying generous pressure. She screams in agony and I gasp in terrified response. "I'm so sorry, Jane...I'm so sorry!" I repeat multiple times. Even on the edge of death, Jane is still absolutely beautiful.
Medically speaking, however, Jane does not look good. Her cheeks are pale and her normally pink lips are a deep purple. Her purple lips are quivering from a drop in her core temperature. Jane is going into shock. She needs to release a hefty amount of adrenaline or else...no. No or else.
The infant wrapped in Jane's arms has regained minimal coloring, taking on a healthier peach shade. I take a quick moment to check her pulse and conclude that Jane takes precedence over the sleeping infant. Jane's curly black hair is matted to her forehead, drenched in sweat. I run a hand through the ringlets, guiding stray strands off of her face.
Jane's eyes flutter open and roll around disoriented and frightened. "Maura..." With her free hand, she reaches toward me. I remove my hand from her curly locks and grasp her palm tightly. A shock of emotion pulses under my calm exterior. Jane and I lock eyes. There is so much I want to say to you, Jane.
"Jane! You're doing a fantastic job...I'm so sorry...Jane...I'm so, so sorry…" I interlock our fingers and rest my hand on top of hers. Her lips turn up into a half smile. My heart beats wildly in my chest. Jane's breathing is shallow and labored. Unadulterated fear pulls at the back of my mind, but I am able to evade the horrifying thoughts. For now.
"Maura, I'm dying." Jane wheezes in a low voice, exhausted. I cannot lie to her. She is bleeding out onto the rough wooden floor. I hang my head guiltily and defeated sobs violently shake my body. Just then, I hear a crackle of static and a muffled voice.
I look in the direction of the noise hoping for a miracle. A dim red light flashes against the cold metal of the table in the center of the room. "Jane, I will be right back. I want you to continue talking to me. How are you feeling? Can you describe the room to me?" I hate leaving her…
Jane nods her head weakly, pinching her eyebrows together and I reluctantly unclasp our hands. I notice multiple lacerations carved into my palm. Defensive wounds. Once again, I stumble into a hunched orthostatic stance. I make my way back to the table to find Jane's walkie-talkie battered, but still operating. With no time to spare, I grab the device and limp back to Jane.
"...and I see a lot of blood. Maura, I need you to come back over here." Jane had been answering my question in a quiet mumble. I kneel down beside her once more, and resume putting pressure on her wound. Too much blood…
"I'm here Jane. I found your walkie-talkie...they will find us. Just stay with me! Talk to me." The plea in my voice is evident and I don't try to camouflage my fear. With my free hand, I press the button on the side of the device. I take a deep breath and focus on the task at hand.
"This is Maura Isles, medical examiner for the-" I enunciate every word clearly, stifling sniffles and audible sobbing. Jane places her hand over mine, over the deep laceration above her hip. I wrap my thumb up and over her hand, stroking it absentmindedly. I am interrupted by a man's voice.
"Back up is on the way, Doctor! 3 minutes away...hang in there!" A voice I faintly recognize at the moment floats through the speaker. Relief and gratitude overwhelm me. We did it, Jane, we made it! A smile plays on my lips as I notice my cortisol level depleting.
"Maura, listen to me. I can't hold on much longer..." Jane's raspy voice snaps me back to reality. I gaze into her chocolate eyes, swimming in their warmth. Please, keep talking to me, Jane. "Can you do something for me?" Her voice, little above a whisper now, is nervous.
"Of course, Jane, anything…what is it?" I reply honestly, tracing the curve of her lips with my eyes. I would do anything for her. Jane pauses for a brief moment and inhales a small breath before continuing. Her grip on my hand tightens slightly. This must be very serious.
"I just…I can't die knowing that I never kissed you, Maur." Jane's eyes fill up with tears. I am momentarily taken aback. I question our relationship, our friendship, everything. I cannot deny Jane her final wish. Also, medically speaking, kissing releases adrenaline and dopamine. If her feelings are strong enough, Jane will release an adequate amount of adrenaline. Enough to keep her heart beating long enough for us to reach medical attention.
I validate my decision by arguing that I'm doing this for the medical benefits. I won't let my best and only friend die. I lean my head down, inches above Jane's pale face. Her eyes close briefly and our fingers interlock. The sleeping infant's bald head, resting under Jane's jaw, coos. Her own little stamp of approval.
I smile down at Jane, responding to the coincidental coo from the slumbering infant. She lightly bites her lip, anxious. Closing my eyes, I descend my lips toward Jane's mouth. Sultry sensation causes my heartbeat to accelerate. My stomach feels like it's caught in my throat and chills run over my scalp. Slightly parting my lips, I place them on Jane's. I feel like a school girl on the playground falling in love for the first time. Jane is intoxicating my mind, body and soul.
This is something I have yet to feel. I feel sick and excited at the same time, which is very confusing. Our lips are still for a moment and then a wave of intensity crashes into me. My lips long for Jane. This is more than platonic friendship. I have to will myself to pull my lips from hers. It takes every ounce of my self-control. My eyes flutter open to meet the warm glow of Jane's.
I hear commotion outside of the dimly lit room, the sound reverberating off of the wooden floor. Jane raises a shaky and weak hand to my face. She cups my cheek and gently strokes my skin with the pad of her thumb. "I think help is here, Jane. You are not going to die…I will not let that happen! I promise." I press my tear-sodden cheek deeper into her palm.
"Boston PD! Open up!" A loud, gruff voice pulls my attention from Jane and to the door at the other end of the room. The wooden door splinters as it is forced open with a strong kick. Policemen rush in, guns loaded and held at attention. Once they clear the room, a team of paramedics rush in garnishing a gurney. I try to stay calm, but my nervous system has had enough. I completely shut down.
Wrapping the infant in a NASA certified heating blanket, a woman paramedic rushes her out of the room. The other two paramedics place a board under Jane and lift her up to the gurney. A neck restraint is placed around her neck and the male places his gloved hands over Jane's bloody hip. Voices and people prance about the room, trying to engage me in conversation. I hear the voices but cannot discern what they are saying. I sit on the hard wooden floor, shaking and bawling.
"I want to go with her! I want to go with her!" I scream at them desperately. All I want is Jane. I am exhausted, I am bloody and beaten, and I am in love with my best friend. My mind is racing with incoherent thoughts. My vision goes fuzzy around the edges and my head throbs.
Strong arms pick me up off the floor. They cradle me like I'm a helpless child. I want desperately to fight the person, but fatigue pulls at my limbs. "I'll take you to Jane, Maura; I'll take you to Jane!" I recognize the man's soft voice. I concentrate on his masculine, but boyish face. Frankie. I nuzzle my head into his chest as an inaudible "thank you".
Sunlight hits my face, warm and blinding. Sirens are blaring and people circle around the police tape to gawk at the scene. "Don't worry, Maur, they're taking good care of her!" Frankie tightens his grip around me, as if affirming his statement. Jane. Jane. Jane.
The ambulance doors close, sirens screaming, rushing Jane and the infant to the nearest hospital. Suddenly the ambulance stops and the doors swing open. Frankie hurriedly strides to the back of the vehicle. He exchanges a few phrases with one of the Paramedics, raising his voice at the elder man. Jane. Jane. Jane.
Ducking his head, he climbs into the Ambulance with me in his arms. I locate Jane on the gurney. Still so beautiful. The doors swing together once again, closing us in. The little space is crowded and busy with movement. Frankie takes a seat next to Jane's head on a built in bench in the Ambulance, still cradling me. I reach out for Jane's hand and she meets my fingers with hers. That is the last thing I remember. Jane. Jane. Jane.
