Chapter Twenty-Five--
A/N: Okay, so this is my longest chapter ever. I hope you all continue to enjoy! Thank you so much for the reviews, it really helps drive me to finish! You guys are awesome!
Warning: Contains violent material.
**********
Rising panic split the deafening silence in half, the stillness of the room disturbed by hysterical cries. Faith could hear herself as she sobbed, but the grating, discordant noise sounded as if it were miles off. Her fingers were still clutching the blood-soaked scarf as she pressed it into her partner's gaping wounds, praying that the small effort would curb the spilling blood enough. The sticky, dark fluid refused to curtail to her hand, and she fleetingly wondered if she should just remove it and attempt to carry Bosco out to safety...
No, she would just have to wait for the paramedics.
Faith felt herself losing control of her emotions as she watched in terror as her partner's eyes gradually closed, rolling backward into his head. His labored breaths had slowed considerably, leaving his lips and fingers a paltry shade of blue and his body twitching sporadically as it valiantly searched for the sustaining oxygen it needed.
"Bosco?" she whispered, her voice tight and flat with alarm, silently begging her partner to reopen his eyes and stay with her.
He didn't move at all to reassure her, but gasped in another slow, wheezing, gurgling breath - giving her some comfort. "Please, Bosco... Stay with me..." she pleaded.
**********
They thundered up the remaining steps only to stop abruptly in front of the door. Just seconds ago, the loud reverberation of a gunshot had startled the hell out of Matt, and now his face was pale with a nearly green hue. The thought of being too late was almost too much to bear and he felt sick.
His veteran partner motioned for Matt to stand to his left and back him up. The young man quickly complied, rewrapping gloved fingers around his gun and slipping his index into the trigger slot. Turn the safety off, this is the real thing, he thought to himself as he felt his heart race in anticipation.
Sam held up three fingers and slowly -one by one- dropped them, indicating the number of seconds that Matt had left to panic and/or run. But he didn't. He remained, eyes riveted on the door awaiting what could possibly lie inside.
Three...two...one... It's show time.
Matt sent up a hasty prayer as he watched Sam kick the door in and point his gun into the darkness of the apartment. "Police!" he yelled, stepping deftly into the shadows.
Matt followed, half-sure that something was going to jump out at them. The stillness of the apartment was unnerving, and he was suddenly hit with a strong sense of exigency and terror. To call it panic would to be putting the feeling lightly. The gnawing dread was partly contributed by the guilt he was feeling for being late, combined with the urgency of the situation and the curiosity to find out who or what had eluded them for so long.
A soft sound coming from down the hall to their left interrupted his precautious steps. Sam turned and frowned at his partner, the look on his face exhibiting his apparent concern and mystification. A long second passed of inclusive stillness before the soft sound turned into a hoarse voice sobbing, "Help me..."
"Oh, God..." Matt breathed barely above a whisper, the compelling cry immediately tightening his chest with brutal force. "Oh, shit..."
Sam, however, managed to retain his composure and acted exactly as he should, raising his weapon and shouting out, "It's the Police! We're coming!" as they quickly made their way into the dark of a bedroom.
**********
His first inclination was to assume that he was dead. But if he could feel, could hear, and could make semi-rational thoughts... he wasn't dead, was he?
I'm not dead...yet... he realized, not entirely sure if that was a good thing or not. Were his efforts to remain alive just delaying the inevitable? Surely, the severity of his wounds and the considerable amount of blood that had seeped from his body would eventually kill him. Why even bother to fight anymore...
But he had to fight. He couldn't just give up -- wasn't right.
The severe pain still dominated his world and his body had long since taken over, not linking to his mind anymore, leaving a strange, disconnected feeling in pain's wake. In his extremely weakened state, he could do nothing more then listen, try to bear the pain, and lay still. His heart wrenched as he heard his partner sob repeatedly for him to hang on.
I'll try, Faith...I'll try...
But it was all he could do to merely stay semi-alert. His eyes had closed involuntarily a few moments ago, and he struggled to not panic as he was swept into total darkness.
A sudden, loud, unforgiving bang slammed into his subconsciousness, startling him. He felt himself jump instinctually, the consequences of the knee-jerk reaction slicing through him as a searing wave of fire. If he could have cried out, he would have, but the cruelly disjointed state of his body would not allow it.
God, please... It hurts like hell...
**********
"Central to Adam-55-3. How far are you out?"
Doc grabbed the CB microphone and pressed the talk button. "Adam-55-3. About three minutes. The snow's tyin' us up."
"10-4, Adam."
The radio beeped off, leaving the cab of the ambulance enveloped in an edgy hush, save the whining wail of the emergency sirens. Doc pressed the gas pedal down further, praying his determined action would not result in an accident. The snow was extremely slick that night, and the last thing they needed was to skid on the icy powder.
Unconsciously, he wondered just whose apartment they were calling on. The address they'd been given placed the victim in a residential area, so it would indeed be an apartment. The victim's house perhaps...
He grimaced when he fully realized the gravity of the situation, even his most professional aptitude not enough to cover his dismay. Strangely enough, he found himself wishing that the victim would not be someone that he knew. A horrible thing to be wishing on a stranger, but he couldn't help himself.
**********
She saw her partner strain to take another breath and she could have sworn the raspy, labored noise tore her heart in two. She reached out and stroked his face with a bloodied hand, smearing an angry red streak across his cheek, but she didn't care. She hoped that the small offer would at least let him know that she was there for him.
The noisy crack of the shattering door startled her, and she felt her heart stop in fear. Beneath her hands, she felt her unconscious partner jump, then cringe.
Oh, God...he isn't out... He can hear... Oh, God, he can still feel...
Faith felt her stomach heave at this realization, knowing full-well that Bosco was getting no reprieve from the excruciating pain. At least if he was unconscious he'd be comfortable, but she was reassured to find him still with her.
"Police!" came a shout from just feet away, and she felt herself break down in relief, sobbing as she struggled to let the intruders know where they were.
"Help me..." she cried, rocking back and forth slightly without thinking. Help me... Help him... God, help him...
Loud footsteps pounded against the hardwood floors, echoing around the room like a hail of gunshots. "It's the Police! We're coming!"
Two men suddenly appeared in the doorway with their guns drawn. They stopped when they saw the chaos that was strewn about on the floor, mouths hanging open in shock.
**********
The sight was disturbing. No, that wasn't strong enough of a word. Alarming. Grotesque. Unsettling. Stunning. Each word qualified in it's own way, but none could completely surmise the devastation that had stained the white tile floors with puddles of blood and left two unmoving bodies in it's wake, a third in shaking distress.
Matt willed himself to move, but pure, unadulterated shock froze his feet and numbed his mind. A small eternity passed, or maybe it was only a few seconds, but time had warped abruptly and seemed to crawl at a snail's pace, imprinting the horrible images in his mind forever. His eyes fought to take it all in, struggling to comprehend what he was seeing as his mind simultaneously begged to forget it.
Blood was everywhere. Red and thick, the room reeked with the salty, bittersweet smell of the drying fluid as it slowly encrusted the walls and floor with its stain. It looked deceptively to be inches deep, thicker and more solid than he'd ever seen. The wall directly before them was splattered with the wetness and a single bullet was imbedded dead-center. A gun, covered and coated in the sticky substance, sat a mere inches away, next to the sobbing woman.
A man lay slightly to his left, his eyes open and staring blankly at the ceiling, mouth agape and somewhat curved at the corners as if he'd been smiling. His chest looked as if it had exploded, and judging by the way it was still seeping and oozing, the fatal shot must have been the one they'd heard a few seconds ago. Dead.
Not two feet away, another man lay covered in blood and sweat, it looked like. He appeared to be breathing, or at least Matt assumed he was the producer of the breathless gasps that permeated the room. He must still be alive... Although the young detective had no idea how. The man looked as if he was at death's door.
The woman -the one who had called out- was rocking slightly, her hands pressed against the gasping man's side, and she continued to weep softly, staring Matt straight in the eye, her very soul screaming for him to move and help her. He wished that he could, but his deadened reflexes and numb mind would allow no such thing.
Finally, time regained it's rightful speed and permitted movement, but only after it had tortured the young detective with the most shockingly appalling and disturbing images he'd ever seen.
He stood still even after he could move, watching in awe as Sam quickly snapped into the competent officer that he was. His partner promptly assessed the situation, and having realized that there was indeed a gun lying on the floor beside the woman, he pointed his own weapon at her and yelled, "The gun! Slide it over NOW!"
The poor woman quickly complied, using her free hand to send the gun skidding across the floor. It stopped only when it struck Matt's shoe with a thump, and he slowly bent to pick it up, still not entirely out of shock. The metal was warm in his hand, from being fired or from the fresh blood that soaked it, he didn't know. But he composed himself enough wrap it in a handkerchief that he had pulled from his pocket. Prints. They would need it for prints.
"Put your hands up!" Sam shouted, again waving his gun at the woman. "Put 'um up!"
She didn't move, however, instead shaking her head as she sobbed, "I...can't! I'll kill...him! I'm a cop... I'm a cop... Help me!"
Matt's head snapped up at this and he squinted in the darkness, trying to make out her face. As soon as he could, he recognized her. She was Boscorelli's partner, the one they had brought in for questioning a while back... "She's a cop, Sam! It's okay, she's a cop..."
The older detective nodded and let his gun drop to his side as he bravely advanced a bit further into the room. "Who did this? Who's this? Is this the guy?" he pointed at the barely-alive man that still lay gasping, his voice sounding very confused, but authoritative.
"No..."
"Who is this? Boscorelli?" Matt chimed in as he took a tentative step forward, adding to the commotion and uncertainty that filled the room. The woman nodded her head to confirm, and turned back to her attempts to staunch the blood that was seeping around her fingers.
"Yes! He's my partner... Help me! Please..."
**********
The screaming was splitting his head in two, searing though is skull like liquid lightning and hammering around madly as the sounds fought to be recognized by his brain. First the angry footsteps that were nearly unbearable, and then the ferocious shouts, strident and shrill. The silence that followed was nearly as bad and reminded him of how dark and alone it he was, down there in the depths of death. He did, on the other hand, understand that the police were there, but it took his muddled brain a good minute to sort out the various echoes and reverberations.
The police... Was that a good thing? He didn't need the police, he needed the paramedics. And soon. He wasn't sure how long he could keep from passing out entirely.
The screaming started up again, twice as loud as before, and this time he thought for sure that his head would explode wide open. Please stop... I can't take it...
Though a pain-filled haze, he deciphered the heated shouts slowly. Something about a gun... Do they think Faith did something wrong?
Then Faith saying she was a cop... Something about the guy... Yeah, that was it. They wanted to know who the guy was. Then who he was.
He vaguely heard his own name being called out by a slightly softer voice, and he struggled to open his eyes, ready to defend his partner and tell these people just what had gone down.
But his body refused to obey, and no matter how hard he strained, he only managed to make his eyelids flutter. New tears of frustration spill down his cheeks, and the feeling of distraught panic rose in his throat. He felt his streingth ebbing once more, the darker, deeper hole of unconsciousness literally tugging on his will, inviting him to let himself drown in it.
He slowly relaxed, submerging himself in the darkness completely. The pain gradually vanished along with all sounds and feelings, but the deep, thick blackness terrified him.
Am I dead? Oh, God help me...am I dead?
This was hell.
**********
What were they suggesting? That she did this?! That she had done this to her partner? She sat, completely shocked and frightened, her heart racing and her stomach nervously threatening to heave.
The man yelled for her to raised her hands, to eradicate what little good she might be doing for Bosco just to prove her innocence. Dammit all to hell. She could care less about what the two officers thought right then, and their harsh orders only intensified her resolve to disregard their commands. She took a deep, shaky breath and found her voice, finally able to defend herself.
"I...can't! I'll kill...him! I'm a cop...I'm a cop... Help me!" she choked out in a trembling sob.
The man accusing her -or rather assuming that she was the one responsible for the mess- frowned at this, as if he couldn't decide whether to believe her or not. If she wasn't sobbing so hysterically, she might have put up a better fight, but her frightened gasps and tears overrode anything that she had to say in her justification. They would just have to believe her. But if they didn't, she sure as hell wasn't going to move from her partner's side. They would have to shoot her first.
Another voice piped up, seemingly familiar, "She's a cop, Sam! It's okay, she's a cop..."
She recognized that drawl. It was the young detective that had questioned her and Bosco. He and his partner were here. Oh, thank God... They had to know who she was...
"Who did this? Who's this? Is this the guy?" Sam barked, confused as anything. He pointed at Bosco, wondering if he was the killer. Was he crazy? This was her partner, her friend... It was Bosco.
She attempted to explain, to tell them everything, but all she could muster was another frustrated sob and a moaning, "No..."
This didn't seem to have any effect at all, and she could tell that the detectives were still just as confused and needing answers. Didn't they get it? Her partner was bleeding to death right in front of them and they thought they needed answers...
Help me, dammit! Help me!
The younger one took a measured stepped closer, staring at Bosco with wide eyes. "Who is this? Boscorelli?" he asked.
"Yes! He's my partner... Help me! Please...He's dying... I can't stop it..." she begged, despair settling in violently. Her chest was heaving for adequate breath, but the tautness of her lungs repudiated the request.
"Okay, okay... It's okay," Sam soothed, sliding down onto the floor next to her and squeezing her shoulder in a weak assurance. "Matt, call for a bus!"
"No, I... already did..." she sobbed.
Sam nodded and moved to help, removing his own scarf and gloves. "Give me yours and use these. It'll help more."
It was true. Her scarf had long ago sopped up as much blood as it could hold, and was doing little to stem the flow. She hesitated though, not wanting to inflict more pain on her already pain-racked partner.
"It's okay," he murmured gently, assertively reaching over and removing her hand and the blood-filled cloth for her. Bosco barely protested with a weak gasp and a groan, stiffening a bit, but nothing like the rigidity of earlier that night. This only made Faith feel sicker, more heartbroken and hysterical as she realized fully what was happening.
He was dying.
**********
"Hurry up!" Doc snapped, "Let's go!"
Carlos seemed to be taking forever as he grabbed the meds bag and backboard from the back of the bus, but in reality he was acting twice as fast as he normally did. The urgency and magnitude of the situation weighed heavily on Doc, and everything had slowed into an infuriatingly slow pace, testing his nerves and patience.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Carlos shot back, equally anxious but now slightly perturbed at his boss. There was no way in hell that he could "hurry up". He was going as fast as he possibly could...
He felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that he always got when they received a call this big, but also the tense apprehension that reminded him instantly of his first day on the job. It was pretty much the only other time he'd ever felt that way, and he didn't like it.
Carlos tossed the meds bag out to Doc and hopped out of the bus with the orange board and another, larger bag in tow -- the bag that held the defibrillator. He briefly hoped that they wouldn't have to use it.
"Alright, com'on," Doc ordered shortly as he nearly ran up the frozen sidewalk and steps leading into the lobby of the apartment complex.
Carlos followed his partner's rapid pace, slowing only slightly when they reached the stairwell and began their ascent.
Okay... Here we go...
**********
Matt watched his partner -calm, cool and collected as always- kneel down next to Boscorelli and help the woman... what was her name? Yokas.
Yokas was still understandably hysterical, but Sam handled the situation like a pro, talking gently and smoothly coaxing her shaking hands away so that he could better help her partner.
Matt finally managed to make his legs move and ended up falling to his knees by Boscorelli's head. The officer's gasps had slowed, quickly becoming weaker and more infrequent, and he struggled to remember what he'd been trained to do in such a situation.
He swallowed hard and placed his hands gently underneath the man's head, straightening it and tipping it back a bit to help the airflow. It seemed to help a little. The gasps weren't so choking, so raspy, and the officer appeared to be taking more breaths than he had been.
So he stayed there, holding Boscorelli's head in his hands, trying not to look at the blood that was smeared across his face, the shiny wetness of his soaked clothing, or the pool of liquid that was drying all around them.
We were too late... This is our fault. My fault.
He was aware of the rapid dampening of his pants as he kneeled, and his stomach twisted brutally when he recognized the reason why. Blood. God, help me... Don't let me get sick...not now...
"It's okay... We got him...It's okay," he heard Sam's reassuring voice attempt to calm Yokas, who seemed to be a little less panic-stricken. She nodded and moved up next to Matt, brushing Boscorelli's hair off of his forehead as she whispered her own words of consolation to her semi-conscious partner.
Suddenly, a violent shudder ripped through Boscorelli's body, a valiant last-ditch effort to regain control as his system slowly shut down. His back arched in a painful spasm and his extremities began to flail around as he gasped and coughed, spitting up a steady stream of bloody bile.
Oh, shit... Matt thought frantically, his heart racing as he watched in horror. Shit...
"It's okay, Boscorelli, we gotcha. Easy, easy! Calm down, buddy," Sam said loudly, grabbing one of the officer's arms and pinning it to the floor. But the man didn't seem to hear and jerked his arm away. "Boscorelli! Calm down, okay? We gotcha..."
Yokas was concurrently talking, doing her best to soothe her frantic partner, "Bosco, please! Please... It's okay, it's okay... Please..."
His mouth was too dry to speak, so Matt just did his best to hold Boscorelli's head in the same position, hoping to continue to aid in the officer's breathing. God, I did this... I was too late... He couldn't stop the intense feelings of guilt and remorse that tore at him sadistically, and he struggled not to vomit. I was too late.
Boscorelli finally stopped thrashing around, but only after Sam and Yokas had literally pinned down everything that could move. Matt's partner was practically kneeling on the seizing officer, straining to keep the man's body from injuring itself further.
"It's okay, we gotcha," Sam continued murmuring as the violent paroxysm subsided and the room was once again still, bar the gasps that remained a constant reminder of the officer's plight and intrepid fight to remain alive. "It's okay, buddy..."
"His name is Bosco..." Yokas whispered, her voice perceptibly hoarse from crying.
"Bosco?" Sam reiterated, and then he turned once again to Yokas' fading partner. "Hey, Bosco, you're goin' to be okay, alright? You just hold on. Medics are almost here..."
As if Fate had heard him, footsteps could be heard from the stairwell, swelling in sound as they rapidly grew closer. "Oh, thank God..." Yokas breathed.
"Paramedics!" a voice loudly sounded out, but almost hesitantly, as if the life-saving medics were wondering if they should enter the darkness of the apartment.
"Back here!" Sam shouted. "Hurry!"
**********
Doc stopped suddenly and Carlos slammed right into him, nearly knocking the man over.
"What?" he asked cautiously, trying to peer around his partner to see what had caused him to halt so abruptly. What he saw didn't shock him, but definitely instilled the uneasiness that was making his heart race.
The door to the apartment in question had been kicked in and just about shattered, the force of the entry evident by the splinters of wood that littered the floor. But the door was nothing -- they'd seen the same thing a thousand times before. No, it was the dark, baleful, hole of an apartment that they were expected to enter. Menacing and ominous shadows skirted along the walls, and they couldn't see more than three feet inside the door. Shit... What if that serial killer guy is in there? Oh, shit...
"Should we just go in?" Carlos hissed softly, nudging Doc in the back. Please say no. Say we need to wait for the police...
Doc promptly snapped back into business-mode and hollered out, "Paramedics!" as loud as possible.
Yeah, Doc, that'll scare the serial killer away... Carlos thought cynically.
Immediately following the noisy bellow, someone called out from inside the black hole-like residence, "Back here! Hurry!"
Doc grabbed his flashlight and flipped it on, "Okay! We're comin'..."
Young Carlos, thoroughly scared now, hesitantly followed as his partner rushed into the darkness, searching for where the voice had pervaded. Shit... this isso not good. What if he's back there waiting to off us?
He didn't have much time to ponder this before Doc had lead him through a back room to stand in the doorway to a bathroom. Carlos felt his heart drop and his nerves jump as the bright beam of Doc's flashlight surveyed the damage.
It was like something he'd seen in a horror movie once. Blood and guts everywhere... Well, not the guts, but there was enough blood for two horror movies spattered every which way. Whoa...
He felt sick when he heard Doc shockingly utter, "Bosco?"
**********
Faith felt herself sigh in relief as a familiar voice announced the arrival of the paramedics. It was Doc. Doc could save Bosco...
"Oh, thank God..." she whispered.
Sam's head snapped up and a grateful smile played on his lips, displaying the intensity of his own relief. "Back here! Hurry!" he called out, nodding at her reassuringly. He needn't have said anything more, because the kind and understanding look in his glance was exactly what she needed.
The medics appeared in the doorway in no time, shining a flashlight this way and that, as if appraising the destruction that filled the room with the sickening smell of blood and the pained gasps of attempted breaths.
Momentarily blinded by the flashlight, Faith blinked at the still, stunned forms, waiting for them to move, to save her partner.
"Bosco?" Doc articulated softly, looking right at Faith with a horrified look of disbelief on his face.
Carlos had something as equally pertinent to say. "God..." he hissed, frowning at the three that were currently doing all of the life-saving. "Holy shit..."
Fortunately, they didn't waste any more precious time with dumb remarks and rhetorical questions that were no doubt produced from shock and revulsion. Doc slid to the floor, ripping open the Velcro straps that held the meds bag together with one hand, and pressing his fingers to Bosco's neck with the other. "Okay, we got a pulse... weak and thready!"
Carlos started to move towards the murderer's corpse, but Matt's soft drawl stopped him, "Dead." He nodded at the body, "He's the killer."
The small fact was enough to make Carlos jump back and stare at the stiff in shock. 'Damn..." he whispered as he changed his attention to Bosco.
"Help him, please..." Faith begged them, still crying.
Doc ripped her partner's shirt down the middle, skillfully disregarding the fabric as he counted the feeble beats of the officer's heart. "Pulse 40, BP 50 palp... He's havin' trouble breathin'! Let's get him bagged."
Carlos had thought ahead and was already fixing the blue cup of the ambu-bag over Bosco's nose and mouth. "Gotcha."
Faith then backed off a bit, her hand slipping into Bosco's limp one and squeezing it as she struggled to make sense of the medical terminology that Doc and Carlos were rapidly relaying back and forth. It didn't sound good at all, but she was certain that they knew what they were doing, and she let them work.
She glanced down at her partner and noticed that he had begun to sweat again, but he showed no other signs of being alert. She placed her hand protectively on his forehead and winced when she felt the warmth emanating from his body. Fever. His body was putting up all the shots; using every measure that it possibly could to rid itself of infection. God, help him pull through this...
"Okay, we need 'ta get him on the board and get him outta here," Doc's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "Ready? On my count. One, two, three."
The four men each had a hand in lifting Bosco's lifeless body onto the backboard, and as soon as he was placed atop the board, Carlos and Doc strapped him in, fastening him down tightly.
"Alright, let's go."
**********
Matt slid his hands under Boscorelli's shoulder, trying to help in any way. This was, after all, mostly his fault. Guilt had been replaced by a sinking feeling of despair, racking his body with weighty responsibility. I'm so sorry, he mentally apologized to Boscorelli as he eased his limp body onto the board. So sorry...
From the looks on both of the medic's faces, he wasn't sure if the officer would even make it to the waiting bus, and the thought made him want to shoot himself for not figuring out the killer earlier.
"Alright, let's go," said the one called Doc as he grabbed one of the handles that were evenly spaced along the plastic stretcher and continued to squeeze away at the air pump with his other hand. Matt, Sam, and the younger paramedic who's name Matt hadn't caught yet, all picked up the backboard and hurriedly made their way out the door, making a rush for the ambulance that waited below.
Yokas followed closely behind and her soft sobs were heard the entire way down to the bus. Somehow her crying was comforting, as if someone needed to be emotional to make things not feel so...mechanical.
Sam and Matt stayed behind as the ambulance was loaded and screamed off, knowing that their job had just begun and the horrific crime scene four floors above was in need of immediate attention.
It was only when they had gotten back to the lonely, devastated apartment that the gravity of what had just happened fully hit the young man. He stood in the hall outside the apartment, the sickening smell of blood that had seeped all the way into the cold corridor chilling him to the bone. He felt his breaths becoming sharp and short, and his stomach turned ferociously. He leaned over and vomited; guilt-ridden, retching spasms tearing though his body as he heaved over and over.
After his stomach had calmed, he gave in, sliding against the wall to the floor as he pushed his fingers through his thick hair and cried. His sobs of grief combined with the stressful shock of the evening felt right, and he let himself go, knowing full-well that he was making a fool of himself. Crying over guilt -- in front of his partner, no less.
But then he felt a comforting arm slip around his shoulders supportively, and heard Sam's own remorse-ridden voice choke out, "It's okay, kid..."
**********
The back of the ambulance was a flurry of activity and Faith's tear-filled, blurry eyes didn't even attempt to understand what was going on. She kept her gaze riveted on either her partner's face, the EKG monitor, or the road ahead, mentally calculating how much longer the insufferable ride from hell would continue. The roads stretched on forever, but truthfully they had to only travel a mere three miles to reach the security of the hospital.
If Bosco made it through this, he would have to move closer to the hospital.
Carlos drove, leaving the more skilled and experienced Doc to keep her partner alive. The veteran paramedic's hands literally flew from the machines that littered the bus to the IV drip to Bosco's body, and everywhere in between as he put out his best efforts to save him.
His calls to Mercy were disturbing at best, and Faith struggled not to listen to the frantic medical jargon that spewed form his lips like a death warrant. Instead, she focused on keeping her hand within her partner's and sending the occasional prayer to the Almighty.
God, I swear, if you get him though this... He doesn't deserve this... Please. I'm begging you. I'll do anything. Anything...
But the only answer she received was the extremely slow, but steady, beeping of the heart monitor.
It was good enough for now...
**********
Carlos listened absorbedly as he heard Doc call in to Mercy with the critical details of the officer that he was attempting to keep alive. As he drove, Doc's earlier words echoed though his head, and he instantly felt ashamed for the fit he'd throw that night over working a double. Hell, Bosco was dying in the back and he'd complained about having to work a few more hours...
"Maybe we do something good tonight for someone - save someone's life maybe. Isn't that worth a few hours of sleep?"
Apparently it was.
**********
The quiet normalcy of the midnight hour was shattered by the loud shouts from the herd of scrub-clad doctors and nurses as they escorted the gurney into a trauma room. Bright red blood had dripped along the route they had traveled, leaving a sinister trail from the doors of the ER to the glassed-in area that they now occupied. The feverish amount of activity was dizzying to even an accustomed eye, and the amount of noise generated by the people inside was nearly intolerable.
"Airway looks clear, but breath sounds aren't good! Pulmonary edema, no response to command..."
"GCS, seven."
Dr. Bradford, the attending physician, shook his head at this and quickly barked, "Let's turn him over, I need to get a look at those wounds."
"One, two, three!" somebody shouted quickly as hands reached and positioned themselves under the officer's side. In a second, his lifeless body was skillfully lifted and turned, exposing the two knife wounds to the elder doctor's trained eye.
"Two stab wounds to the left flank. First one is at L-2, four centimeters off the midline... and the second one is L-5 in the midscapular line. Okay, turn him back."
"Did he hit the spinal cord?" another doctor asked.
"Depends on the angle," he answered distractedly as his patient was lowered once again. He noted the amount of blood that had already pooled on the gurney and grimaced.
"BP's 40 palp, pulse ox 70!" Proctor, the head RN, announced as she anxiously fiddled with several large pieces of equipment, hooking up this and that.
"Yep, that's why we're tubing him. Squeeze in two liters of saline and set me up for a Subclavian..."
His order was immediately filled as nurses and a few residents scrambled to fix the correct machinery and devices to the officer's bloodied body.
"Hang two on the rapid infuser and send a trauma panel, CBC, type and cross for six. Get X-ray in here for a chest, and one shot of I.V.P!" Bradford yelled to an older nurse as she exited the room in search of more tubing. He turned back to the officer, and focused on intubating him before his blood pressure dropped even further.
"Subclavian's in - run in two units!"
"He's hypotensive," warned Procter, noting their patient's dangerously low blood pressure.
"I know, I know! Let me get this damn tube in..."
He struggled for a moment with the metal tool that he'd inserted in the officer's mouth to guide the ventilator tube in, and sighed in relief when it finally slid into place. "Start him on oxygen."
"First crit's 31. Pressure's up, 60 palp."
"Run a foley NOW!" the doctor instantly thundered, obviously alarmed at the relay.
"Okay, his toes are down-going -- that means no spinal injury. Hang those two units on the infuser," the younger doctor ordered when he'd checked reflexes and was satisfied that no damage had been done to the spinal cord.
"Where the HELL is that foley?"
"I'm working on it!" a nurse shouted, clearly frustrated.
"Second unit is in."
"Give a gram of Cefotetan."
"BP's 80 palp," Proctor called out, encouraging the frenzied doctors and nurses with the moderately good news.
"Okay, foley's in!"
"Doctor Bradford...?" a nurse asked hesitantly, holding up the foley bag. It was rapidly filling with blood.
"Get the surgeon - he needs to go up now! He's got a bad renal lac. Possibly one of the stomach as well."
"His crit's falling! You want F.F.P?"
"Yeah, two units."
A surgeon plowed though the crowd, took a long look at the man that lies motionless on the gurney, and turned to the senior doctor, "What do we have?"
"He's hypotensive with a renal laceration - we're redlining him to the OR."
"Good, good. I'll scrub up. I want him ready to go in five minutes," he said as he hastily exited the room on his way to the OR.
"Right. I'll do my best," replied Bradford.
"Doctor," one of the residents called out, "belly's full of blood - probably got the spleen. He's bradying down!"
"Dammit," he hissed. "Let's get him up and out of here!"
Machines suddenly rang out, shrieking as the heart they'd so carefully monitored finally gave out.
"V-fib!"
"Dammit! Get a crash cart in here and charge to 250!"
In seconds, large metal paddles were placed into the doctor's waiting hands, and the defibrillator charged. A nurse grabbed a four-by-four and quickly mopped up the blood that covered the man's chest.
"Clear!"
The crowd took a collective step back, each person raising their hands in the air so as to not be shocked as well. The officer's body jumped a few inches off the gurney as his heart was forcefully assaulted with electricity, then slammed back onto the table, motionless once more.
"V-fib."
"Give me 300 and push an amp of Epi."
Adrenaline was shot into the officer's IV and the room full of people quickly made use of the added help, stepping back even before Bradford's voice rang out again. "Clear!"
The body jolted voilently once more, but this time his extremities were seemingly limper then before -- if that was at all possible. The EKG monitor shrieked loudly as he flat-lined again, ringing in the horrible sound of death.
"Com'on..." the doctor murmured harshly, obviously frustrated at how their measures were failing miserably. "Charge to 350..." he said flatly as he rearranged his grip on the life-saving devise.
A young resident shot him a worried frown. "Are you sure? 'Cause he's not a big guy..."
"Just do it!"
"Right, okay, okay..."
The defibrillator beeped its readiness, and the doctor didn't hesitate, "Clear!"
The room fell silent as the crowd held a collective breath, waiting for the results.
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TBC... Hit me up with a review and make my day! :)
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