Chapter 22
Lau Ruong-Jie and Stan Zedkov were moving across the park at a dead run before the echo of the final gunshot had died.
They were halfway to their objective when they head John's agonized cry.
Zeedo was shouting orders into his hand mike even as he closed the distance to the fallen couple.
Ruong-Jie outpaced him, worry and concern propelling him forward at a quicker pace than he thought himself capable of.
John had Meg in his arms, sitting her up straight, frantically searching for the source of the blood that stained his hand. As Ruong-Jie skidded to a halt in front of him, Jian had already discovered and was applying pressure to entry and an exit wounds, at the same time attempting to rouse Meg with his voice.
She rallied for a moment, her brown eyes opening. From years of field experience, Ruong saw, identified and set about aiding John in immediate care of the woman who was fighting desperately to hold on to consciousness.
"Man down! Need R&A unit onsite MacArtthur Park. NOW!! Scoop and run! STAT!!! Approximately thirteen minutes out from USC Trauma Center." Zeedo slid in beside them, shouting into his communication device for the paramedics. He reached forward, freeing Meg's wrists from the handcuffs that had bound her with a master key.
John spared a brief look at Zedkov, then switched his panicked gaze to Ruong, who verbally confirmed what they both knew.
"Chest wound, through and through. Compromised lung function. Pulse elevated. Consciousness level deteriorating."
Zeedo was kneeling next to them. "Come on Meg, hold on! Help's coming!"
Meg, better able to breathe in the semi-sitting position John had her in, followed the sound of Zeedo's voice with her eyes.
"Uh...uh oh. Busted." she murmured semi-coherently.
"Meg, lie still. Be quiet," John urged, his voice strained and husky, yet touchingly tender for all of that.
Meg's head moved back in his direction, her brown eyes trying to focus on the face of her beloved. "Jian....want to tell you..."
John shushed her, showering kisses on her face "Mo ah...Mo men tai, mo men tai..."he murmured in Cantonese, don't....it will be all right, it will be all right...
Sirens were already sounding in the distance. None of the three men dared to move as the sounds drew closer, their attention fixed on the wounded woman at their center.
John had never been much of a pacer, but the events of the last twenty four hours had changed that. He paced now, in the corridor outside the emergency examination room. He had wanted to stay with Meg as the doctors and nurses tended to her, desperate not to be forced to leave her side. But his objections had been quickly overcome, and he'd been banished out the door. He now stood watching as a privacy curtain swirled around the gurney where they worked on her.
Ruong-Jie was with him, Zedkov having stayed at the scene to oversee the clean up and begin the investigation. John had forced his way aboard the aid car, Ruong-Jie had followed in a police cruiser.
John had watched as the paramedics, eschewing stabilizing Meg at the scene, had begun treatment even as the aid car screamed toward the trauma center.
She'd looked so pale, so fragile. He'd watched her struggle for breath, the blood frozen in his veins, his heart beating erratically, his breathing as compromised as her own.
The ministrations of the paramedics had been sure, professional. John, desperate to touch Meg, reassure her of his presence, had instead hung back and let the men do their work. He listened in horrified fascination as they relayed vital, if grim information to the hospital communication center, and received instruction and support in return.
The trip to the trauma center had seemed to take forever, every second ticking by an eternity as the unfamiliar English medical terms swam around him, crackling from the radio, spoken by the medics.....open chest wound, pneumo/hemothorax., hypotension, tachycardia,wide bore through-the-needle catheter...ringers lactate, occlusive dressing....
John closed his eyes against the memories, pausing in his pacing, bracing himself against the corridor wall.
His right shoulder ached, He rubbed it absentmindedly, his mind trying to force away the images of the last half an hour.
His hands were shaking. He was cold with stress and fear.
Ruong-Jie moved to face him, placing a hand on his unaffected shoulder with consummate care. John opened his eyes to see his old comrade studying him carefully and compassionately, looking him up and down with a practiced eye. "Were you injured, Jian?"
John looked at his compatriot, bemused, wondering at the question. Meg was the one who was hurt, who was fighting for her life at this very moment.
"I--no..." John began to protest, raising his arms instinctively away from his sides as Ruong-Jie patted him down, checking for injuries.
"You're as pale as I've ever seen you, and you look ready to collapse, old friend. Let me look you over."
John flinched as Ruong's probing fingers touched his right side, coming away damp with blood. The bullet which had hit Meg had exited her body and grazed his own. It was a superficial injury, he hardly felt it. The least of his current concerns.
"You need to have that looked at..." Ruong murmured, reaching for a handkerchief from his own back pocket and pressing it against John's side.
"It is nothing," John hissed, pulling away from Ruong's ministrations, his gaze drifting through the glass that separated him from the trauma bay.
He resumed pacing, while Ruong looked at him with concern.
John's focus was on Meg, willing her, across the short distance between them --which now felt like a thousand miles--all his love, all his strength. He closed his eyes, trying to project a healing energy to her.
A nurse burst out of the room beyond, just as John had paced a length down the corridor and turned to walk back.
"Are you her husband?" the woman asked.
Without hesitation, John replied. While not the legal truth, it was the truth of his heart.
"Yes!"
"Your wife needs emergency surgery. Do we have your permission?"
Overcome, John nodded. The nurse handed him a clipboard, instructing him to write down necessary information and indicating where he needed to sign the permission form. He was so unmanned by the news that he nearly began to write the information in Chinese characters. He forced himself to concentrate and write in English.
"How is she? Please, I need to know,Ó he asked, handing the clipboard back to the nurse.
She waved him off, her face kindly, but harried, "The doctor will be out in just a moment, she will explain everything," she vanished back into the room beyond.
John watched as the curtain was opened and the gurney bearing his Meg was pushed rapidly from view.
He realized that he was hyperventilating, and sought instinctively to calm himself by taking deep breaths. Ruong moved once again to his side, concerned no doubt, by his old comrade's
labored breathing.
John had just managed to get some small measure of composure back when the doctor emerged from the room.
"Mr...Lee?" the scrubs-clad woman glanced at the clipboard she held in her hands, then looked up at him. She had a compassionate face, he noted, his mind searching for positive signs in the face of tragedy.
"Yes," he said quietly, impatient with the formalities, yet strangely loathe to hear what was coming.
"We've stabilized your wife for the moment, but there is some internal bleeding that is going to require surgery to correct. She's fortunate in that the wound was through and through, less energy lost by a bullet within a body means in general less damage to internal structures. The bullet nicked her lung, which caused it to collapse. Right now she's holding her own, but we have to get in there to control the bleeding and repair the pleural lining. The surgery will take anywhere between two to several hours--if you have family to notify this would be a good time to do it. You don't need to stay in the hospital, just leave your number in case we need to reach you."
"She will live?" John asked, breathlessly, his lungs and heart seeming to constrict and solidify into leaden weights.
"She's a fighter, I can tell. But I won't make any promises. We've got a top thoracic surgeon preparing to operate as we speak. Percentages don't mean much at this stage."
John sagged against the wall at his back, He thanked the doctor, nodded and watched her turn and walk away.
Ruong-Jie was there, offering his support, never more than an arm's length away. The monk's look of empathy was profound and heartfelt. "She will be all right. I feel this."
John nodded, hating the feeling of helplessness that overwhelmed him now, finding further speech quite beyond his abilities.
"Come. I will pray with you." Ruong-jie said quietly.
"I'll be on the next plane, brother. Lee Ma will want to come as well."
John stood outside of the hospital, the cellphone warm in his hand, the battery was fading, he hoped it would hold up for the length of the call.
"No, sister. Not yet. Wait a few days. I will let you know how Meg is doing..."
"But Jian, who will take care of you? I know you are hurting...."
"I will be fine. I will be with Meg." John soothed with a calm he did not feel, "Do not tell Ma until morning. Let her have her rest."
"I will, Jian. I am so sorry. We love you."
John echoed the sentiment then bid his sister farewell, pocketing the now dead cell phone.
He stepped away from the hospital's entrance.
Alone, in the dark, he did something he had not done since he was a very young man.
He wept.
end of Chapter 22
Lau Ruong-Jie and Stan Zedkov were moving across the park at a dead run before the echo of the final gunshot had died.
They were halfway to their objective when they head John's agonized cry.
Zeedo was shouting orders into his hand mike even as he closed the distance to the fallen couple.
Ruong-Jie outpaced him, worry and concern propelling him forward at a quicker pace than he thought himself capable of.
John had Meg in his arms, sitting her up straight, frantically searching for the source of the blood that stained his hand. As Ruong-Jie skidded to a halt in front of him, Jian had already discovered and was applying pressure to entry and an exit wounds, at the same time attempting to rouse Meg with his voice.
She rallied for a moment, her brown eyes opening. From years of field experience, Ruong saw, identified and set about aiding John in immediate care of the woman who was fighting desperately to hold on to consciousness.
"Man down! Need R&A unit onsite MacArtthur Park. NOW!! Scoop and run! STAT!!! Approximately thirteen minutes out from USC Trauma Center." Zeedo slid in beside them, shouting into his communication device for the paramedics. He reached forward, freeing Meg's wrists from the handcuffs that had bound her with a master key.
John spared a brief look at Zedkov, then switched his panicked gaze to Ruong, who verbally confirmed what they both knew.
"Chest wound, through and through. Compromised lung function. Pulse elevated. Consciousness level deteriorating."
Zeedo was kneeling next to them. "Come on Meg, hold on! Help's coming!"
Meg, better able to breathe in the semi-sitting position John had her in, followed the sound of Zeedo's voice with her eyes.
"Uh...uh oh. Busted." she murmured semi-coherently.
"Meg, lie still. Be quiet," John urged, his voice strained and husky, yet touchingly tender for all of that.
Meg's head moved back in his direction, her brown eyes trying to focus on the face of her beloved. "Jian....want to tell you..."
John shushed her, showering kisses on her face "Mo ah...Mo men tai, mo men tai..."he murmured in Cantonese, don't....it will be all right, it will be all right...
Sirens were already sounding in the distance. None of the three men dared to move as the sounds drew closer, their attention fixed on the wounded woman at their center.
John had never been much of a pacer, but the events of the last twenty four hours had changed that. He paced now, in the corridor outside the emergency examination room. He had wanted to stay with Meg as the doctors and nurses tended to her, desperate not to be forced to leave her side. But his objections had been quickly overcome, and he'd been banished out the door. He now stood watching as a privacy curtain swirled around the gurney where they worked on her.
Ruong-Jie was with him, Zedkov having stayed at the scene to oversee the clean up and begin the investigation. John had forced his way aboard the aid car, Ruong-Jie had followed in a police cruiser.
John had watched as the paramedics, eschewing stabilizing Meg at the scene, had begun treatment even as the aid car screamed toward the trauma center.
She'd looked so pale, so fragile. He'd watched her struggle for breath, the blood frozen in his veins, his heart beating erratically, his breathing as compromised as her own.
The ministrations of the paramedics had been sure, professional. John, desperate to touch Meg, reassure her of his presence, had instead hung back and let the men do their work. He listened in horrified fascination as they relayed vital, if grim information to the hospital communication center, and received instruction and support in return.
The trip to the trauma center had seemed to take forever, every second ticking by an eternity as the unfamiliar English medical terms swam around him, crackling from the radio, spoken by the medics.....open chest wound, pneumo/hemothorax., hypotension, tachycardia,wide bore through-the-needle catheter...ringers lactate, occlusive dressing....
John closed his eyes against the memories, pausing in his pacing, bracing himself against the corridor wall.
His right shoulder ached, He rubbed it absentmindedly, his mind trying to force away the images of the last half an hour.
His hands were shaking. He was cold with stress and fear.
Ruong-Jie moved to face him, placing a hand on his unaffected shoulder with consummate care. John opened his eyes to see his old comrade studying him carefully and compassionately, looking him up and down with a practiced eye. "Were you injured, Jian?"
John looked at his compatriot, bemused, wondering at the question. Meg was the one who was hurt, who was fighting for her life at this very moment.
"I--no..." John began to protest, raising his arms instinctively away from his sides as Ruong-Jie patted him down, checking for injuries.
"You're as pale as I've ever seen you, and you look ready to collapse, old friend. Let me look you over."
John flinched as Ruong's probing fingers touched his right side, coming away damp with blood. The bullet which had hit Meg had exited her body and grazed his own. It was a superficial injury, he hardly felt it. The least of his current concerns.
"You need to have that looked at..." Ruong murmured, reaching for a handkerchief from his own back pocket and pressing it against John's side.
"It is nothing," John hissed, pulling away from Ruong's ministrations, his gaze drifting through the glass that separated him from the trauma bay.
He resumed pacing, while Ruong looked at him with concern.
John's focus was on Meg, willing her, across the short distance between them --which now felt like a thousand miles--all his love, all his strength. He closed his eyes, trying to project a healing energy to her.
A nurse burst out of the room beyond, just as John had paced a length down the corridor and turned to walk back.
"Are you her husband?" the woman asked.
Without hesitation, John replied. While not the legal truth, it was the truth of his heart.
"Yes!"
"Your wife needs emergency surgery. Do we have your permission?"
Overcome, John nodded. The nurse handed him a clipboard, instructing him to write down necessary information and indicating where he needed to sign the permission form. He was so unmanned by the news that he nearly began to write the information in Chinese characters. He forced himself to concentrate and write in English.
"How is she? Please, I need to know,Ó he asked, handing the clipboard back to the nurse.
She waved him off, her face kindly, but harried, "The doctor will be out in just a moment, she will explain everything," she vanished back into the room beyond.
John watched as the curtain was opened and the gurney bearing his Meg was pushed rapidly from view.
He realized that he was hyperventilating, and sought instinctively to calm himself by taking deep breaths. Ruong moved once again to his side, concerned no doubt, by his old comrade's
labored breathing.
John had just managed to get some small measure of composure back when the doctor emerged from the room.
"Mr...Lee?" the scrubs-clad woman glanced at the clipboard she held in her hands, then looked up at him. She had a compassionate face, he noted, his mind searching for positive signs in the face of tragedy.
"Yes," he said quietly, impatient with the formalities, yet strangely loathe to hear what was coming.
"We've stabilized your wife for the moment, but there is some internal bleeding that is going to require surgery to correct. She's fortunate in that the wound was through and through, less energy lost by a bullet within a body means in general less damage to internal structures. The bullet nicked her lung, which caused it to collapse. Right now she's holding her own, but we have to get in there to control the bleeding and repair the pleural lining. The surgery will take anywhere between two to several hours--if you have family to notify this would be a good time to do it. You don't need to stay in the hospital, just leave your number in case we need to reach you."
"She will live?" John asked, breathlessly, his lungs and heart seeming to constrict and solidify into leaden weights.
"She's a fighter, I can tell. But I won't make any promises. We've got a top thoracic surgeon preparing to operate as we speak. Percentages don't mean much at this stage."
John sagged against the wall at his back, He thanked the doctor, nodded and watched her turn and walk away.
Ruong-Jie was there, offering his support, never more than an arm's length away. The monk's look of empathy was profound and heartfelt. "She will be all right. I feel this."
John nodded, hating the feeling of helplessness that overwhelmed him now, finding further speech quite beyond his abilities.
"Come. I will pray with you." Ruong-jie said quietly.
"I'll be on the next plane, brother. Lee Ma will want to come as well."
John stood outside of the hospital, the cellphone warm in his hand, the battery was fading, he hoped it would hold up for the length of the call.
"No, sister. Not yet. Wait a few days. I will let you know how Meg is doing..."
"But Jian, who will take care of you? I know you are hurting...."
"I will be fine. I will be with Meg." John soothed with a calm he did not feel, "Do not tell Ma until morning. Let her have her rest."
"I will, Jian. I am so sorry. We love you."
John echoed the sentiment then bid his sister farewell, pocketing the now dead cell phone.
He stepped away from the hospital's entrance.
Alone, in the dark, he did something he had not done since he was a very young man.
He wept.
end of Chapter 22