Sorry it's been so long! I never intended to take a hiatus but so much has been going on. If anyone still cares, here's the update…
Mark had lost count of the number of times he had stood on this roof recently. There was something about it that numbed him: the muffled street noises below, the infinite stars so distant that they probably no longer existed, a kind of vastness that nullified his presence in the universe. To feel insignificant was to feel like nothing, and nothingness was something he would gladly welcome if it replaced his current pain.
Over the past few days he had often looked out at the array of twinkling lights, wondering if Susan was somewhere amongst them, watching over him. Now he knew that one of those lights was Susan, in a much more literal sense: her battered body being flown to the hospital, the helicopter camouflaged amongst the twinkles of the night sky.
Then he saw it: it was them. As the minutes passed, the light became a blurry shape, then an outline. Then he could hear it, faint, almost unperceivable, all the while becoming more and more distinguishable from the sounds of the traffic.
It was unbearable. The waiting, the second guessing of his own senses – constantly asking himself if he could really see what he thought he could, hear what he so desperately want it to be.
And then it was. The moment of calm and quiet was lost as Mark's colleagues joined him, at first wordlessly, then in hushed tones checking that they had all the necessary equipment: that it was working properly, checking and re-checking. Everyone there could sense the tension: it was palpable. Nobody wanted to screw this up. Everyone had been here a thousand times before, yet nobody quite knew what to expect – not knowing if they were ready, if they'd ever be ready, to deal with a trauma so close to home.
Nobody said a word to Mark. They wouldn't have known what to say even if they wanted to. Everyone there – Carter, Carol, Weaver, some resident from the burns unit Mark had never seen before – they all knew that there was nothing anyone could say to make this nightmare any better.
And then, he could feel it. The rotor-blade breeze gave Mark goosebumps, sending a chill down his spine. The assembled team put on their goggles, glancing at him apologetically – as if to say 'hey Mark, I'm terribly sorry but I don't want your wife's blood in my eyes.' They were clearly expecting blood. Lots of blood.
And then the time to think was over – suddenly, it was the time to do. Adrenaline kicked in as the chopper bumped down onto the roof, and Mark started running with the gurney before the door was even opened. Instinctively, he put his head down and forwards, as he'd been trained to do, almost charging towards the paramedic as he jumped out. Above the deafening noise of the engine, the rotor blades, and his own heart thumping in his ears, he shouted: 'What d'ya got?'
Bleep.
Everything and everyone around Mark seemed to be moving in slow-motion as he sat by Susan, clasping her hand with both of his and willing her, with ever fibre of his being, to be ok.
Bleep.
'I'm sorry' he whispered, sure that she'd hear him over the din of the trauma room. He hadn't been able to establish an airway, had been forced to step back and let Weaver run the trauma.
Bleep.
He stared at her face. Badly bruised and blackened by smoke, motionless, she was unrecognisable. But he couldn't look away: she would open her eyes soon, he knew it – and he'd be there.
Bleep.
He kept looking, even as Carol leaned over him to carefully cut off her clothes – there was a police officer in the room, saying something about bagging evidence – he didn't move his eyes from hers.
Bleep.
'Mark' he could vaguely here someone saying, 'Mark, put this on!' He didn't respond, he wasn't interested, and barely noticed as Carter held a vest in front of him whilst they shot x-rays.
Bleep.
'Come on' he muttered under his breath. He knew that any second she would come back to him, that she'd greet him with those beautiful, vibrant green eyes any moment. She had to.
Bleep.
'Come on' he said louder, 'Come on Susan, open your eyes.' He was oblivious to his colleagues, barking out orders, tests, levels…all he needed was for her to open her eyes.
Bleep.
And then a surge of joy pulsed through him as her eyelids twitched, her lashes fluttered and slowly, groggily, and she opened her eyes. And Mark's joy was met there with pure agony, and terror.