A/N: I've taken a few liberties with Andy's past and I've guessed at his
age but this is a really good chapter, so read it and review, please. Oh,
and thanks for the reviews from the last chapter. Bye.
Chapter 9: He Thought He Knew
Andy Brown thought that he had experienced real pain. When he was five, watching his father's fists collide with his mother's face, he thought he knew pain. When he was sixteen, lowering the carcass of the monster he called Father into the earth and watching his moms heart break over a man who didn't deserve it, he thought he knew pain. When he was twenty-five, announcing the time of death for the first patient he couldn't save, he thought he knew pain. When he was thirty-seven, walking out on the wife who cheated on him, he thought he knew pain. Two weeks later, saying goodbye to a body in a casket that was no longer his everything, he thought he knew pain. Eight months later, listening to his son scream his hatred of him, he thought he knew pain. But Andrew Brown did not know pain. Not until now.
This was pain. The instant he heard Amy's quivering voice over the phone, he felt fear, but not pain, not like this. Pain was definable to him now. Pain meant watching as life was shocked into your son's broken, burned, and battered body. Pain was seeing a straight green line continue without interruption across a black screen. Pain was looking at your son's chest as it failed to rise and fall. Pain was hearing a deep voice pronounce time of death over your son, the only person who made you feel alive anymore, even if it was with anger. Pain was the humiliation of hearing a whiny, broken voice plead for one more shot and knowing that the pathetic sound was coming from your voice.
But wait, this wasn't pain. Hearing one more shock and, finally, seeing the green line move. There was something wrong, thought. Andy's son's chest still failed to move. The pain returned. Questioning, he turned to the white-clad man standing over the metal gurney.
"He's not breathing on his own. There seems to be a lot of damage to his lungs. Does he have asthma?" the sympathetic eyes of the man were puzzled.
"Yes," Andy heard himself answer. "But he had his inhaler. I saw him take it with him."
"That may be, but you know as well as I do that the forty-five minutes he spent in that smoke would harm an asthmatic considerably, inhaler or not." The man reasoned.
"He didn't have his inhaler." Andy heard a small voice behind him whisper. Turning, he saw Amy hugging herself tightly; tear tracks glistening on her cheeks.
"Amy, what do you mean? Of course he had his inhaler. He knows better than to leave it behind." Andy said softly, seeing that the girl was close to falling apart.
"He didn't leave it behind. At first, he had it. He was using it. But then, we got separated and I realized I had it. The last twenty or so minutes he was in there without it, because of me." Amy ended on a whisper.
Andy chose to ignore the young girl's self-deprecating remark. He was more concerned with the words she had said before. If Ephram had been in that building without his inhaler, he surely would have had an attack within the first few minutes. This greatly alarmed Andy. All the smoke would have been bad enough on healthy lungs, he didn't even want to think about what kind of effect it had on his son's already weak ones. Fortunately, he was interrupted from dwelling on all the worst-case scenarios that suddenly flew through his mind.
"Okay, we're going to load up and head back to Denver. There isn't room in the copter for anyone to travel with us but Officer Randall here," the paramedic pointed to the tall man who stood over Amy, looking upon her with concern, "will escort you to the hospital in your car. We're going to take Ephram straight into surgery when we get there and then he'll be in ICU, so it's probably best that only family come. Except you ma'am," he addressed Amy, "You need that hand looked at and we need to check you for smoke inhalation."
Amy nodded, obviously not wanting to be left out because she wasn't family.
Andy nodded at the paramedic and looked down at his son, a fresh wave of devastation crashing over him, even though, he had seen the horrible sight already. Ephram lay strapped to the gurney, neck brace and backboard holding him stiff, with an oxygen mask covering part of his mouth and nose. The rest of his face was painted with fresh red cuts and purple bruises, blood slowly seeping out from underneath a once-white bandage taped to his temple. Thankfully, his face had been spared the terrible burning that had ravaged his right side and legs, leaving sickening bloody, black charred flesh were once there had been smooth white skin. The burns couldn't be covered up, Andy knew, the bandages would become stuck to the healing flesh. Ephram left arm was strapped into a thick splint and his ribs were wrapped in layers and layers of white bandage, holding them stable. The worst sight of all the terrible sights that Andy saw when looking upon his son was the closed eyelids that seemed to stare at him more than the green- gray orbs lying underneath ever had.
Grasping his son's right hand, one of the few uninjured spots on his body, Andy leaned over the gurney and whispered into his sons ear as his tears fell onto the white sheet below.
"I'll see you soon, son. You'll be okay. You won't leave me. I won't let you. I love you, son. Hold on." Placing a soft kiss on Ephram's cheek, Andy stepped back and watched as the paramedics loaded the gurney into the helicopter and it lifted into the air.
Pulling in his breath and drying his eyes, he turned to Nina, busy with a sobbing Delia in one arm and a sleeping Sam in the other, and placed his hand on her back, steering her towards the car.
"But Andy, I'm not fam-," Nina sputtered, wide-eyed.
"Yes, you are." The blue eyes of Andy Brown were fierce, determined to get to his son. Glancing behind him to see Amy get into her parents car as it's lights turned on and pointed to the highway, then in front of him as Officer Randall settled into his police cruiser and began flashing the red and blue lights, Andy nodded silently and walked towards his own car, towards his son.
Chapter 9: He Thought He Knew
Andy Brown thought that he had experienced real pain. When he was five, watching his father's fists collide with his mother's face, he thought he knew pain. When he was sixteen, lowering the carcass of the monster he called Father into the earth and watching his moms heart break over a man who didn't deserve it, he thought he knew pain. When he was twenty-five, announcing the time of death for the first patient he couldn't save, he thought he knew pain. When he was thirty-seven, walking out on the wife who cheated on him, he thought he knew pain. Two weeks later, saying goodbye to a body in a casket that was no longer his everything, he thought he knew pain. Eight months later, listening to his son scream his hatred of him, he thought he knew pain. But Andrew Brown did not know pain. Not until now.
This was pain. The instant he heard Amy's quivering voice over the phone, he felt fear, but not pain, not like this. Pain was definable to him now. Pain meant watching as life was shocked into your son's broken, burned, and battered body. Pain was seeing a straight green line continue without interruption across a black screen. Pain was looking at your son's chest as it failed to rise and fall. Pain was hearing a deep voice pronounce time of death over your son, the only person who made you feel alive anymore, even if it was with anger. Pain was the humiliation of hearing a whiny, broken voice plead for one more shot and knowing that the pathetic sound was coming from your voice.
But wait, this wasn't pain. Hearing one more shock and, finally, seeing the green line move. There was something wrong, thought. Andy's son's chest still failed to move. The pain returned. Questioning, he turned to the white-clad man standing over the metal gurney.
"He's not breathing on his own. There seems to be a lot of damage to his lungs. Does he have asthma?" the sympathetic eyes of the man were puzzled.
"Yes," Andy heard himself answer. "But he had his inhaler. I saw him take it with him."
"That may be, but you know as well as I do that the forty-five minutes he spent in that smoke would harm an asthmatic considerably, inhaler or not." The man reasoned.
"He didn't have his inhaler." Andy heard a small voice behind him whisper. Turning, he saw Amy hugging herself tightly; tear tracks glistening on her cheeks.
"Amy, what do you mean? Of course he had his inhaler. He knows better than to leave it behind." Andy said softly, seeing that the girl was close to falling apart.
"He didn't leave it behind. At first, he had it. He was using it. But then, we got separated and I realized I had it. The last twenty or so minutes he was in there without it, because of me." Amy ended on a whisper.
Andy chose to ignore the young girl's self-deprecating remark. He was more concerned with the words she had said before. If Ephram had been in that building without his inhaler, he surely would have had an attack within the first few minutes. This greatly alarmed Andy. All the smoke would have been bad enough on healthy lungs, he didn't even want to think about what kind of effect it had on his son's already weak ones. Fortunately, he was interrupted from dwelling on all the worst-case scenarios that suddenly flew through his mind.
"Okay, we're going to load up and head back to Denver. There isn't room in the copter for anyone to travel with us but Officer Randall here," the paramedic pointed to the tall man who stood over Amy, looking upon her with concern, "will escort you to the hospital in your car. We're going to take Ephram straight into surgery when we get there and then he'll be in ICU, so it's probably best that only family come. Except you ma'am," he addressed Amy, "You need that hand looked at and we need to check you for smoke inhalation."
Amy nodded, obviously not wanting to be left out because she wasn't family.
Andy nodded at the paramedic and looked down at his son, a fresh wave of devastation crashing over him, even though, he had seen the horrible sight already. Ephram lay strapped to the gurney, neck brace and backboard holding him stiff, with an oxygen mask covering part of his mouth and nose. The rest of his face was painted with fresh red cuts and purple bruises, blood slowly seeping out from underneath a once-white bandage taped to his temple. Thankfully, his face had been spared the terrible burning that had ravaged his right side and legs, leaving sickening bloody, black charred flesh were once there had been smooth white skin. The burns couldn't be covered up, Andy knew, the bandages would become stuck to the healing flesh. Ephram left arm was strapped into a thick splint and his ribs were wrapped in layers and layers of white bandage, holding them stable. The worst sight of all the terrible sights that Andy saw when looking upon his son was the closed eyelids that seemed to stare at him more than the green- gray orbs lying underneath ever had.
Grasping his son's right hand, one of the few uninjured spots on his body, Andy leaned over the gurney and whispered into his sons ear as his tears fell onto the white sheet below.
"I'll see you soon, son. You'll be okay. You won't leave me. I won't let you. I love you, son. Hold on." Placing a soft kiss on Ephram's cheek, Andy stepped back and watched as the paramedics loaded the gurney into the helicopter and it lifted into the air.
Pulling in his breath and drying his eyes, he turned to Nina, busy with a sobbing Delia in one arm and a sleeping Sam in the other, and placed his hand on her back, steering her towards the car.
"But Andy, I'm not fam-," Nina sputtered, wide-eyed.
"Yes, you are." The blue eyes of Andy Brown were fierce, determined to get to his son. Glancing behind him to see Amy get into her parents car as it's lights turned on and pointed to the highway, then in front of him as Officer Randall settled into his police cruiser and began flashing the red and blue lights, Andy nodded silently and walked towards his own car, towards his son.
