Hello, friends! Thank-you so much for reading and taking the time to review. I won't drabble on today, so here's CHAPTER 9!
Enjoy,
JOEY
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
-The Hours After-
Chapter 9
Several sharp bolts of lightning radiate through my limp body. The sensation of the electricity vibrating from one end of my corpse to the other is ultimately surreal.
I can literally see the vibrant colors as every shock hits a little harder - a little deeper into my bones and flesh. With each consecutive jolt, I'm brought a little closer to the world of the living, but pushed a little further from consciousness. I can't feel the separate entities of my body, but instead, I feel alternating waves of cold and heat. The rotation gets stronger, each wave of coolness feels more like ice, and each rush of heat burns more like fire. The extremes become unbearable, ice meets fire, arising into some form of absolute zero, until I can no longer distinguish a difference between the two sensations - blending into one definitive crescendo.
"Got a rhythm!"
Lights out.
******************
I never thought I would have to experience what I have experienced in my life. Maybe I should have become a salesman, carpenter, or something a little more practical with less risk. Hell, I doubt even an electrician would ever experience a shock as strong as I did earlier. But no, I chose to do what my Mother insisted I stay away from. Rebellion? Hardly. Just a choice that made me feel in control for once. I make the decisions, I choose the outcomes, I pull the trigger.
Never once in my glory-filled daydreams of cops and robbers, did I imagine it could end like this. Here I lie, in some sort of vegetative state, thinking of what could have been. I never thought it would turn out this way. I never wanted to be this person.
Faith helped make my disappointing life interesting. She challenged me. I never knew what she wanted, and it was a game of whether or not I could guess before she got pissed off or hit me. It made the days fly and my boredom turned into comfort. I found my comfort zone with Faith - then I threw it all away. I have no one to blame for my problems but myself. I could have lead the comfortable life, kept my friends and my sanity, but I needed more. I needed to be in charge, I needed to be better, I needed the excitement of being scared. At the time, it always seemed like a good idea. I never considered the risks or consequences of my choices. I assumed it was the right thing. But now, I'm not in charge, I'm certainly not better, but I'm definitely scared.
I guess I struck out.
Now what? I wait? What am I waiting for? I don't think I'm going to get any better and if memory serves me correctly, I've continually gotten worse. The options aren't presenting themselves. I don't see any way out of this horrifying predicament. Maybe it's time I wrack my brain - examine the options that aren't clear, because if there's one thing that Cruz taught me, it's that there are shortcuts in life - you just have to find them.
So, I begin my journey, my search for another solution. It's time I used my brain instead of my fists or my mouth. It's time for me take control. I'm the only one that can make this better. Not Faith, not any of the thousands of doctors and nurse that have been fussing around, not Swersky or Davis, but me. Who knows, maybe I am in charge after all…
I'm beginning to resurface into the world of the living. As much as I dread the certain uneasiness and frustration that accompany what lies ahead of me, I take comfort in knowing my mission - my one sole purpose. I will find my short-cut, I'll do what I have to do to save-face. Not for myself, of course, but for Faith. She doesn't deserve to be engulfed in that labyrinth of uncertainty and guilt.
It's time to buckle down and get results. This is my one last shot. It's go big or go home.
Here goes nothing.
******************
"Officer? Can you hear me? I want you to try to open you eyes."
"Pulse/ox 70, BP's 90/60, temp's 103."
"Okay, start him on another 20 of ribavirin and increase his Claforan antibiotic drip."
"Officer Boscorelli, I need you to open your eyes. Com'on…" he sounds frustrated and disappointed. I think he's really taking this personally. Trust me buddy, I'm doing my best here.
I focus hard on giving the little doc what he wants. Hell, he's been pretty good to me.
Without warning, the doc digs his knuckles into the middle of my chest, causing a violent pain to surge up through my chest and head. My eyes shoot open in response. Can't say that's how I'd want to wake up every morning, but it's a hell of a lot more effective than my method, so I can't complain.
"He's awake!" the nurse sounds like she's a little too excited about it - like she wasn't expecting it… ever.
"Good. Officer Boscorelli, I need you to really try to stay awake, okay?"
I blink my answer. Whatever you say, Doc.
Dr. Grander and three other nurses continue to rush around me, but everything seems like it's playing out in slow motion. I feel so dizzy and nauseous. I didn't know being shocked would have that result. I always thought it would leave you feeling… well, burnt.
Uneasiness consumes me and I'm beginning to think having this tube in my mouth is not such a good idea. It's been a while; I might be able to breathe on my own. I'm willing to take my chances because right now, I feel smothered, and with every second that goes by, the uneasiness and nausea keep building. Unfortunately, it isn't my decision.
I am brought back to reality when I realize I am staring at Faith. She looks paler than before and her shocked expression gives me the impression that she may be a little overwhelmed by the whole situation.
She takes a shaky breath and breaks the contact, shifting her glance from the doctors to the nurses, in a silent plea for answers.
A nurse must have noticed her dilemma because she places a hand on her shoulder and whispers, "We got him back. It's okay now."
The words obviously hit close to home as Faith nods and a tear streams down her cheek.
I hate seeing her cry. Especially over me. Such a waste of emotion and pointless distress. I shift my gaze straight ahead and notice the crowd that's formed outside the door. Fred and Faith's mother are accompanied by Ma, Davis, Swersky and one of the FBI agents.
I realize that I have nowhere left to look, so I close my eyes to relieve the pressure emitted by their stares.
I guess the perky nurse assumes that closing my eyes means I am falling asleep against her wishes, so she violently jabs her knuckles into my chest again. The pain that results is so incredible that I nearly shoot upright.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dr. Grander shoves the little nurse to the side while he attempts to hold me down by my shoulder.
I can't breathe again. The nausea has turned into convulsions, surging from my stomach up into my chest. The heaving is so intense that I find my eyes are squeezed shut and my hands are tightly balled into fists.
"Calm down, Officer, stop fighting the vent."
Don't they understand that this is involuntary? I can't help it that my stomach has decided to turn inside-out. I can't control the convulsions that have me violently thrashing under the their grasp.
"We'll have to extubate again," he spins to grab his equipment, "I don't know how many more times we can do this…"
Wait! I see it! I see my short cut.
Dr. Grander has again, climbed on top of me and swiftly pulls the tube out from throat. The gagging and coughing rip through my throat like a knife. Despite the agony, I know it's time. I need to focus. The door is open, they can hear me. Faith can hear me. This is my chance; it may be my only shot.
"Get a mask on him and give him 10 of valium."
NO! No valium. I see the nurse preparing the sedative.
With my last resources of energy, I throw myself on my side, making it nearly impossible for her to inject the substance through my IV.
You know what people? I have something to say and damn it, even if it kills me, I'm going to say it!
I'm coughing less violently now and though breathing is nearly impossible, I find that if I don't try to take large, gasping breaths, but settle for more shallow intakes of oxygen, I'm able to sustain my own breathing for at least long enough to make my point. The next challenge… talking.
"Wait!" I even surprise myself. It wasn't loud at all, in fact, it was a near whisper, but the urgency was evident.
Everyone has stopped. The only sound in the room is me coughing, as I try to regain my composure so I can speak at least a couple more words.
I have clear view of my audience, and though the door is open, the crowd remains behind the invisible barrier. Their looks vary from concern to fear. I can relate to the fear.
I take shallow, shaky breath and whisper, "FBI agent."
Dr. Grander tilts his head in an effort to comprehend exactly what I meant by that. "You want the agent?"
I subtly nod and he turns his attention to the doorway, "You! The FBI guy. Come here."
The agent points to himself as if so say, "Who? Me?"
Dr. Grander nods.
He slowly enters the room. I want to strangle him. Seconds are vital here, pal - hurry it up.
"He asked for you."
Clearly, the people at the door couldn't hear my plea. In a way, I hope Faith can't hear this. I don't want her to hear it from me, in my deathly state, that I'm responsible for almost getting her killed.
The agent leans in close to me, preparing himself for what I have to say.
"She…" I don't know if I'll be able to do this. I can't breathe. I summon every ounce of power in my system to thrust out a sentence, "Faith didn't do it…" I cough several times before I'm able to complete my 'statement'. "Cruz is bad… I asked Faith to be there… to get Noble's gun."
That's it, I'm out of oxygen and energy. I know that they can't convict Cruz on what I've just said, but hopefully it will contradict her enough that they won't hold Faith responsible.
My lungs are burning from the lack of air and my stomach is lurching, even though it's completely empty. I feel every muscle contracting and releasing, trying desperately to siphon in any last bit of oxygen.
I can't hear what's going on. I know people are talking because I see their mouths moving, but I can't make out exactly what they are saying. They're saying something about draining, but I'm not quite sure what they mean. My vision slowly follows my hearing - fading in and out.
I'm on my back again, but I'm not sure how I got there. Is this it? Maybe… I don't know if I did enough, but it's all I can do right now.
Before I slip off, I see Faith's worried eyes.
I did what I could, Faith. I tried, but I'm not sure if it's enough. I'm sorry if it's not, and I'm not even sure if I'll ever be able to make it up to you.
I see her mouth moving, and despite that fact that I can't hear her, I can tell she's talking to me. She's trying to comfort me. She'll always have that ability - she is my comfort zone.
TBC.
Enjoy,
JOEY
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
-The Hours After-
Chapter 9
Several sharp bolts of lightning radiate through my limp body. The sensation of the electricity vibrating from one end of my corpse to the other is ultimately surreal.
I can literally see the vibrant colors as every shock hits a little harder - a little deeper into my bones and flesh. With each consecutive jolt, I'm brought a little closer to the world of the living, but pushed a little further from consciousness. I can't feel the separate entities of my body, but instead, I feel alternating waves of cold and heat. The rotation gets stronger, each wave of coolness feels more like ice, and each rush of heat burns more like fire. The extremes become unbearable, ice meets fire, arising into some form of absolute zero, until I can no longer distinguish a difference between the two sensations - blending into one definitive crescendo.
"Got a rhythm!"
Lights out.
******************
I never thought I would have to experience what I have experienced in my life. Maybe I should have become a salesman, carpenter, or something a little more practical with less risk. Hell, I doubt even an electrician would ever experience a shock as strong as I did earlier. But no, I chose to do what my Mother insisted I stay away from. Rebellion? Hardly. Just a choice that made me feel in control for once. I make the decisions, I choose the outcomes, I pull the trigger.
Never once in my glory-filled daydreams of cops and robbers, did I imagine it could end like this. Here I lie, in some sort of vegetative state, thinking of what could have been. I never thought it would turn out this way. I never wanted to be this person.
Faith helped make my disappointing life interesting. She challenged me. I never knew what she wanted, and it was a game of whether or not I could guess before she got pissed off or hit me. It made the days fly and my boredom turned into comfort. I found my comfort zone with Faith - then I threw it all away. I have no one to blame for my problems but myself. I could have lead the comfortable life, kept my friends and my sanity, but I needed more. I needed to be in charge, I needed to be better, I needed the excitement of being scared. At the time, it always seemed like a good idea. I never considered the risks or consequences of my choices. I assumed it was the right thing. But now, I'm not in charge, I'm certainly not better, but I'm definitely scared.
I guess I struck out.
Now what? I wait? What am I waiting for? I don't think I'm going to get any better and if memory serves me correctly, I've continually gotten worse. The options aren't presenting themselves. I don't see any way out of this horrifying predicament. Maybe it's time I wrack my brain - examine the options that aren't clear, because if there's one thing that Cruz taught me, it's that there are shortcuts in life - you just have to find them.
So, I begin my journey, my search for another solution. It's time I used my brain instead of my fists or my mouth. It's time for me take control. I'm the only one that can make this better. Not Faith, not any of the thousands of doctors and nurse that have been fussing around, not Swersky or Davis, but me. Who knows, maybe I am in charge after all…
I'm beginning to resurface into the world of the living. As much as I dread the certain uneasiness and frustration that accompany what lies ahead of me, I take comfort in knowing my mission - my one sole purpose. I will find my short-cut, I'll do what I have to do to save-face. Not for myself, of course, but for Faith. She doesn't deserve to be engulfed in that labyrinth of uncertainty and guilt.
It's time to buckle down and get results. This is my one last shot. It's go big or go home.
Here goes nothing.
******************
"Officer? Can you hear me? I want you to try to open you eyes."
"Pulse/ox 70, BP's 90/60, temp's 103."
"Okay, start him on another 20 of ribavirin and increase his Claforan antibiotic drip."
"Officer Boscorelli, I need you to open your eyes. Com'on…" he sounds frustrated and disappointed. I think he's really taking this personally. Trust me buddy, I'm doing my best here.
I focus hard on giving the little doc what he wants. Hell, he's been pretty good to me.
Without warning, the doc digs his knuckles into the middle of my chest, causing a violent pain to surge up through my chest and head. My eyes shoot open in response. Can't say that's how I'd want to wake up every morning, but it's a hell of a lot more effective than my method, so I can't complain.
"He's awake!" the nurse sounds like she's a little too excited about it - like she wasn't expecting it… ever.
"Good. Officer Boscorelli, I need you to really try to stay awake, okay?"
I blink my answer. Whatever you say, Doc.
Dr. Grander and three other nurses continue to rush around me, but everything seems like it's playing out in slow motion. I feel so dizzy and nauseous. I didn't know being shocked would have that result. I always thought it would leave you feeling… well, burnt.
Uneasiness consumes me and I'm beginning to think having this tube in my mouth is not such a good idea. It's been a while; I might be able to breathe on my own. I'm willing to take my chances because right now, I feel smothered, and with every second that goes by, the uneasiness and nausea keep building. Unfortunately, it isn't my decision.
I am brought back to reality when I realize I am staring at Faith. She looks paler than before and her shocked expression gives me the impression that she may be a little overwhelmed by the whole situation.
She takes a shaky breath and breaks the contact, shifting her glance from the doctors to the nurses, in a silent plea for answers.
A nurse must have noticed her dilemma because she places a hand on her shoulder and whispers, "We got him back. It's okay now."
The words obviously hit close to home as Faith nods and a tear streams down her cheek.
I hate seeing her cry. Especially over me. Such a waste of emotion and pointless distress. I shift my gaze straight ahead and notice the crowd that's formed outside the door. Fred and Faith's mother are accompanied by Ma, Davis, Swersky and one of the FBI agents.
I realize that I have nowhere left to look, so I close my eyes to relieve the pressure emitted by their stares.
I guess the perky nurse assumes that closing my eyes means I am falling asleep against her wishes, so she violently jabs her knuckles into my chest again. The pain that results is so incredible that I nearly shoot upright.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dr. Grander shoves the little nurse to the side while he attempts to hold me down by my shoulder.
I can't breathe again. The nausea has turned into convulsions, surging from my stomach up into my chest. The heaving is so intense that I find my eyes are squeezed shut and my hands are tightly balled into fists.
"Calm down, Officer, stop fighting the vent."
Don't they understand that this is involuntary? I can't help it that my stomach has decided to turn inside-out. I can't control the convulsions that have me violently thrashing under the their grasp.
"We'll have to extubate again," he spins to grab his equipment, "I don't know how many more times we can do this…"
Wait! I see it! I see my short cut.
Dr. Grander has again, climbed on top of me and swiftly pulls the tube out from throat. The gagging and coughing rip through my throat like a knife. Despite the agony, I know it's time. I need to focus. The door is open, they can hear me. Faith can hear me. This is my chance; it may be my only shot.
"Get a mask on him and give him 10 of valium."
NO! No valium. I see the nurse preparing the sedative.
With my last resources of energy, I throw myself on my side, making it nearly impossible for her to inject the substance through my IV.
You know what people? I have something to say and damn it, even if it kills me, I'm going to say it!
I'm coughing less violently now and though breathing is nearly impossible, I find that if I don't try to take large, gasping breaths, but settle for more shallow intakes of oxygen, I'm able to sustain my own breathing for at least long enough to make my point. The next challenge… talking.
"Wait!" I even surprise myself. It wasn't loud at all, in fact, it was a near whisper, but the urgency was evident.
Everyone has stopped. The only sound in the room is me coughing, as I try to regain my composure so I can speak at least a couple more words.
I have clear view of my audience, and though the door is open, the crowd remains behind the invisible barrier. Their looks vary from concern to fear. I can relate to the fear.
I take shallow, shaky breath and whisper, "FBI agent."
Dr. Grander tilts his head in an effort to comprehend exactly what I meant by that. "You want the agent?"
I subtly nod and he turns his attention to the doorway, "You! The FBI guy. Come here."
The agent points to himself as if so say, "Who? Me?"
Dr. Grander nods.
He slowly enters the room. I want to strangle him. Seconds are vital here, pal - hurry it up.
"He asked for you."
Clearly, the people at the door couldn't hear my plea. In a way, I hope Faith can't hear this. I don't want her to hear it from me, in my deathly state, that I'm responsible for almost getting her killed.
The agent leans in close to me, preparing himself for what I have to say.
"She…" I don't know if I'll be able to do this. I can't breathe. I summon every ounce of power in my system to thrust out a sentence, "Faith didn't do it…" I cough several times before I'm able to complete my 'statement'. "Cruz is bad… I asked Faith to be there… to get Noble's gun."
That's it, I'm out of oxygen and energy. I know that they can't convict Cruz on what I've just said, but hopefully it will contradict her enough that they won't hold Faith responsible.
My lungs are burning from the lack of air and my stomach is lurching, even though it's completely empty. I feel every muscle contracting and releasing, trying desperately to siphon in any last bit of oxygen.
I can't hear what's going on. I know people are talking because I see their mouths moving, but I can't make out exactly what they are saying. They're saying something about draining, but I'm not quite sure what they mean. My vision slowly follows my hearing - fading in and out.
I'm on my back again, but I'm not sure how I got there. Is this it? Maybe… I don't know if I did enough, but it's all I can do right now.
Before I slip off, I see Faith's worried eyes.
I did what I could, Faith. I tried, but I'm not sure if it's enough. I'm sorry if it's not, and I'm not even sure if I'll ever be able to make it up to you.
I see her mouth moving, and despite that fact that I can't hear her, I can tell she's talking to me. She's trying to comfort me. She'll always have that ability - she is my comfort zone.
TBC.