Author's Note:
So, this is my second attempt at writing an Early Edition story. It has nothing to do with my first one ("If you had one wish..."), though. No, this one is completely independent and takes place under totally different circumstances. I had been planning to write a sequel to "If you had one wish..." but somehow "Tricked" developed into a different direction. It simply wasn't going to work any other way... However, I'm still planning to write a sequel one day. It might be a long time coming, though, depends on how many creative fits strike me in the meantime. : )
Frighteningly, I realized that this story has some parallels to the episode "The Choice" while I watched it again yesterday... That wasn't intentional, actually. Maybe it was a subconscious thing...
There's also an ER crossover touch to this one, but it's not enough to call it a real crossover story, I guess. I just felt I had to make ER a little part of this story... Anyway, I hope you enjoy this "non-sequel"!
Again, I have to remark that I'm not up to date with all the episodes, even with the first season ones. I don't know if anything was ever mentioned in the series about Chuck's family. So, please excuse any inconsistencies that might appear between this story and the actual events in the series.
And: Sorry guys, my story still uses the settings of the first season, 'cause I just don't know the second season (yet?). (Okay, I do know half the 2nd season now but it simply was too much trouble to rewrite everything, so you still have to do with the 1st season settings. Sorry! Consider it nostalgia,... g>)
Thanx to Alex and Christiane for helping me get out of my writer's block at some point! And also thanx to peregrin anna, Maryilee, and inkling without whose wonderful beta-reading this story would be only half as good, I guess!
Disclaimer:
Early Edition, its characters and situations belong to CBS and Tristar pictures. No copyright infringement is intended.
The same goes for ER, except its situations and characters belong to NBC and Warner Brothers.
PG-13 - ALERT!
There's occasional light swearing and some quite graphic medical scenes in here. Just thought I'd better warn you... :o)
--...----...----...--
Tricked
part 1
by TeeJay
...----...----...--
Chuck's monologue:
Life's all about decisions. Whether you make the right ones... or the wrong ones. But sometimes the right decision is the wrong one. This doesn't make sense? Well, in a way it does, I guess. Decisions can be hard to make sometimes. Take my friend Gary here. He used to think making decisions wasn't so bad. Until the paper showed up at his doorstep...
"Gary, are you sure?"
"Oh, damn, Chuck, no, I'm not sure! How could I be?"
Gary and Chuck were arguing in Gary's hotel room. "Chuck, you can never remember anyone's birthday!"
"What! Me? I know your birthday for sure! It's on April 20th!"
"24th, Chuck!"
"24th, right."
"There, you see. I told you!"
"Well, I know my birthday."
"Great! And how's that gonna help us?"
"I'm saying it's Marissa's birthday tomorrow. Yeah." Chuck nodded to underline his conviction. "Yeah, I'm sure it is."
"And I'm telling you it's not. It's next month. The 3rd. June 3rd."
"You wanna bet?"
"Bet? With you? No no no, Chuck, no way."
"All right. And what if you're wrong? How do we look then? She's gonna think we forgot her birthday."
"And how's it gonna look if we make a big birthday party and it's not her birthday?" Gary rolled his eyes and went over to his little kitchenette to get some more coffee. He gestured to Chuck to ask if he wanted some, too. Chuck waved no with his hand. It was always the same with Chuck. Once he had made up his mind, it was difficult to convince him he was wrong. Though Gary wasn't so convinced that he was right, either.
"Come on, Chuck. Just to be on the safe side, why don't you go over to the office and pull in a few favors there. Someone must know when Marissa's birthday is."
Chuck eventually resigned. The ever-wise Gary Hobson had spoken. But he was probably right. Embarrassing themselves in front of Marissa didn't seem too good a situation. But he had to add, "I'm telling you, it's tomorrow."
"Yeah, Chuck," Gary said in mock-belief.
Chuck glanced at his watch. "I'd better be on my way." He strode towards the door, carefully trying to catch a glimpse of one of the paper's headlines, preferably on the sports page. But Gary had already anticipated his move and with a forbidding "Don't!" he snatched the paper away from the counter it was lying on. Chuck defensively lifted his hands, a little embarrassed to be caught in the act. Again. Then, he exited the hotel room with a cheerful "See ya, buddy".
"See ya, Chuck."
So, back to basics, Gary thought. He sat down at his table and skimmed through the headlines. The ever present morning routine was about to fall back into place. So far, the morning had been uneventful. He had got up at 6:30, which, as usual was way too early. The cat had been fed, the paper been rescued from the doorstep and Gary had fought his early morning battle with himself about whether to go to bed again or to stay up. Eventually, Chuck had made that decision for him as he had dropped by before work once again.
Nothing special had been revealed in the paper so far. Just the usual political stuff, minor skirmishes that really didn't need any intervention. Small accidents with no big damage done. No, he didn't need to get out for that kind of trouble. Funny, Gary mused, a few months earlier I would have done anything to save even these people. He had changed, so much was obvious. He now set priorities, he had to. He thought how the paper might slowly be bringing him closer to ulcers with each day. Actually, it had gotten him into hospital more than once already. Is it really worth it? Is it? He was skeptically looking at the cat which was happily licking the last drops out of the bowl of milk. But alas, the cat couldn't provide him with more answers. Or maybe it could, only Gary wasn't able to understand it.
It really seemed like the paper was giving him an easy day. Find some time for Gary to relax. However, there was one thing. There was an old lady to save. The paper said she would be walking her little Yorkshire terrier which was going to be run over by a car. As a consequence, the old lady died on the spot of a heart attack. Gary still had over an hour until this was going to occur. He was contemplating if he should take the El or if he should simply take a cab. It was at the other end of town, however. He'd have to change trains twice if he took the El. No, after all this was going to be a lazy day, so he went for the cab idea, definitely.
His gaze went over to his little kitchen where the dirty dishes had piled up so high that he feared the dish-tower would crumble at the slightest breeze. Uh oh, he thought and went to work with a sigh of resignation. Now, where the hell was the sponge? Ah, there it was.
--...----...----...--
Gary dried his hands on a towel and rolled down the sleeves of his checked lumberjack-style shirt. It was time to head for the "adventure". There had been a time when he had considered going out for the paper's sake an adventure. But not anymore. Nowadays, it only wore him out. There was the thrill of satisfaction, however, once he had saved another unfortunate person. But with it came the frustration of not getting any acknowledgement for his good deeds as those people never knew what they had been saved from. At least in most cases. Which was only for the best. Mostly. Gary took his jacket and left. The cat went sneaking through his legs like a flash, once he opened the door. Gary only shook his head. If only he knew what went through its little brain...
Oh, to hell with it all! Gary thought when he exited the cab. Why did all the other people have to take the same route as he did? It seemed to him that everyone in this city had conspired against him. And the day had started so promising. But once Gary had left the door, everything had just started to go wrong. First, no cab had felt the need to stop for him. He had been left standing at the side of the road, waving and yelling at every cab that passed but none had stopped for ten minutes. When he had finally got one, the driver's English was so poor that Gary had to use his rusty and very limited knowledge in Spanish to get to the place he wanted to go. No, he didn't want to go there, he needed to. It had nothing to do with pleasure. Anyway, the driver kept babbling on in Spanish the whole way and Gary actually didn't have the slightest clue as to what amazing stories he had been told there. Then they miraculously had managed to get stuck in the only traffic jam at this time of day in the whole of Chicago. At least Gary had gotten to his destination in time. He looked at the newspaper again.
>At approximately 8:30 a.m., yesterday, an 84-year-old woman collapsed when her pet Yorkshire terrier ran into the street and was struck and killed by a passing motorist. Emergency medical procedures rendered at the scene were ineffective, and the victim died before she could be transported to a nearby hospital.
That was how the article started. Gary had a look at his watch. It showed 8.24. He kept looking out for an old woman with a dog. It could happen any minute now. There was no old woman he could spot. Not yet. He watched the people hurry by. They all seemed preoccupied with their own business. No one looked at anyone in particular, everyone just stared ahead, rushing his or her own way without caring for anyone else. What is the world coming to, these days? he began to wonder. If people would care more for others, would open their eyes to the world around them a little more, maybe these things he was just trying to prevent wouldn't happen so often. He suddenly realized he was drifting off to philosophical musings, so he mentally reminded himself that he had more important things to do than to worry about today's society's conscience.
And there she was. A rather fragile looking woman, walking one of those little furry dogs. She was on the other side of the road, so Gary sprinted across the road. He had been so focused on the woman that he almost didn't see the black sports car rushing dangerously in his direction. He jumped a step back and the car missed him by about two inches. He quickly recovered from the shock and attempted to cross the road again. This time he managed without nearly getting run over. He ran over to the old lady and shouted, "Hey, Ma'am!" She was walking with her back to him. "Ma'am, I need to speak with you for a moment." She didn't turn round and kept on walking. Must be hard of hearing... Gary went closer and tapped her on the shoulder rather impatiently. Actually, he hadn't intended to tap her so hard. With a sudden move she faced him, holding her hand to her heart. "What do you think you're doing, Mister!" she snapped at him. "Do you always frighten women like that? For a moment I thought my heart would stop!"
"I... I'm sorry!" Gary was frantically searching for words. He was sorry! He had just saved that woman's life. Sorry was the last thing he needed to be. But of course the woman couldn't know that, could she? "I just wanted to ask you about your dog."
That was the best Gary could come up with for the moment. "I... I was considering getting a Scotch terrier myself."
"Moogie is not a Scotch terrier! If you knew anything about dogs you would certainly recognize that she is a Yorkshire terrier, Mister!" She bent down towards the dog, "Aren't you, my little Moogie Poogie?"
"Look, I- I- I didn't mean to insult your dog!"
"But they are lovely little creatures, aren't they?" the woman said in a much softer tone. "Moogie has been my companion for over 11 years now, ever since my husband died. She's so gorgeous sometimes. Every time we go shopping she insists on sitting in the cart. You know, dogs aren't allowed in there, normally, but I just can't leave her outside. Her whining just breaks my heart. Even the shop assistants tolerate her in the shop by now. And on the way home..."
God, I shouldn't have started talking about the dog! Gary realized. He had the distinct feeling that if he kept the conversation flowing he'd never get to leave. So, he cut the woman off in mid-speech. "Excuse me, Ma'am, this is all very fascinating but I have to get going again. My boss is waiting for his morning paper." He waved the paper in front of her. God, what a stupid excuse! "Thank you for the information, anyway." He was just about to turn around and yell for a cab when he sensed a resistance at his trouser-leg. The little beast of a dog had fiercely stuck its teeth into the cloth of his jeans and seemed intent on never letting go. He shook his leg but the dog only tightened his grip on it. The old lady didn't seem to care too much, though.
"Er, could you...?" Gary demanded, indicating the dog.
"Come on, Moogie, let that gentleman go." she said in a tone much too soft for accomplishing anything. She tried pulling at the lead which also didn't help much. So, Gary just wrestled his leg loose with the necessary force. An unpleasant sound of tearing fabric accompanied the action but at least his leg was free. He quickly turned away and took a step back to a safe distance. The lady attempted to scold her little Moogie. "You nasty little thing, Moogie, good dogs don't bite gentlemen's trousers!" But Moogie just looked at her with an utterly innocent glance and went sniffing for the next interesting smell she could detect. So, the old lady just tilted her head and made her way towards wherever she was going. No word of excuse, no apology, nothing.
Yeah, you're welcome But Gary should be used to this sort of situation by now. He was rarely thanked for his actions. He carefully inspected his leg. There was a big tear in the lower part of the left leg of his jeans. What luck that it had only been the fabric. He didn't dare imagine what he would look like if there had been flesh between Moogie's teeth... Moogie! he thought, How can anyone give a dog a pathetic name like that? He had never liked these little lap-dogs, anyway. And his most recent encounter had only reinforced his opinion. With a sigh, he turned to go. This time he was heading for the El station. No cab this time, he had had it for today.
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Chuck took a large bite of his savory burger. Ketchup dripped from the other end onto the stack of paper that lay before him on his desk. Uh oh! he thought and quickly tried to wipe it off with his hand, which only produced one more greasy stain on the report he had just finished. Suddenly, his boss rounded the corner. Chuck desperately tried to hide the hamburger behind the back of his chair, while he swiftly turned the office chair around, so that Pritchard couldn't see what he had just indulged in. At least Chuck hoped he couldn't see it. "Fishman, how is that report coming?"
"Almost ready."
"I expect it on my desk in five minutes, is that clear?"
"Yes, sir."
Pritchard turned to go and Chuck let out a mental sigh of relief. But then his boss turned again. "Fishman, didn't we recently discuss eating during working hours?"
"Er, yeah, I think we did."
"So, don't give me a reason to sack you, I just as easily might."
Chuck blushed. It was always the same. First Gary, who didn't let him have even the slightest glimpse at the paper, and now this! Was he really that clumsy? Moreover, Chuck had also tried to wipe the grease off his fingers quickly but he hadn't been able to find anything to use as a towel. So, he had taken some paper that had been lying on his desk. He now looked at what it had been. Oh no, not the Rottman Calculations! It had taken Chuck hours to get them right. He looked at the report Pritchard had demanded. It showed some slightly red greasy marks right in the middle of it, as well as a nice clear grease-fingerprint. I can't hand it in like this! Oh boy, he was in trouble. Big trouble! There was no way he could type it again that quickly. Cook! shot through his head. Julia Cook. She was working two booths to the right and hell, she was the quickest typist he knew. He went over to her booth. "Julia, my dear, did I already tell you that you look wonderful today?"
"All right, what is it this time, Mr. Fishman?"
Chuck hadn't expected to be this predictable. But she was right, wasn't she? So, he got to the point immediately. "I had a... a sort of an accident. And I was wondering if you could maybe type this for me again?" he carefully probed.
"I think I could probably arrange that. Just put it on my desk, I'll get to it as soon as possible."
"Er, that wasn't what I had in mind. I was thinking more along the lines of right now."
"Well well well. That's a bit too much to ask, is it not?"
"Oh come on, Julie! Didn't you owe me a favor, anyway?"
"Me? Hah!" she said with a dismissive hand-wave. "I can distinctly remember at least three favors you owe me."
"Okay." Chuck offered. "What about a dinner tonight? You choose the restaurant."
"That sounds more like it."
"So, we have a deal?"
She nodded and then looked at the ketchup-caked report. "Oh boy, what have you been doing? Preparing a picnic?"
"Something like that." Chuck just said and went back to his desk before she had the opportunity to embarrass him even more. Then, he suddenly remembered he still hadn't asked anyone about Marissa's birthday. He went back to Julia and popped his head around the corner. "You don't know when Marissa's birthday is, by any chance?"
She almost jumped out of her chair. "Do you have to scare me like that! And, no, I don't."
Hmm, who else could he ask? Tellberg. He always had notes about everything. Chuck quickly scanned the office. There he was, at his desk. He approached him. "Tellberg, do you know Marissa's birthday?"
"Who?" Then he seemed to get the picture. "Oh, Ms. Clark!" even before Chuck could explain. "I think I must have it written down somewhere." He started searching his desk. When he hadn't found what he obviously was looking for after five minutes, Chuck got a little impatient. "Tell me once you find it, will ya?"
Back at his desk he looked at the grease-stained calculations. There was no way they could be saved either. With a sigh of frustration he went to work again. Life just wasn't fair sometimes...
...----...----...--
Gary entered his hotel room and immediately dropped onto his couch. His face bore a weary look and his body felt accordingly worn out. He had just spent three hours in the El. First, his connecting train hadn't arrived for twenty minutes and then, on the last leg of his way home, there had been a power outage and they had been sitting ducks on the middle of the track. One and a half hours trapped inside an El coach was not his idea of fun! He closed his eyes. Just rest a few minutes, relish the quietness while it lasted.
Gary awoke with a start. The cat had jumped onto his belly. With a sleepy glance he looked at his watch. 1.30 p.m.! Oh my God! He must have dozed off. Had he missed anything? He quickly grabbed the paper to skip through it again. He had to know. Know if he had missed any opportunity of saving someone, anyone. He noticed immediately that the front headline had changed. This morning there had been something about the British Prime Minister's visit to the USA. And now it said >14 PEOPLE KILLED AS BUS PLUNGES INTO CALUMET RIVER Below it was a picture of a bus wreckage with wounded people lying on emergency stretchers everywhere. He quickly scanned the article to find out what time it would happen. 16.47 p.m. it said. Thank God! He led out with a relieved sigh. He still had enough time to prevent it. But then he realized something else curious. The headline below it had also not been there before. That one said >3 CUSTOMERS WOUNDED IN GROCERY STORE HOLD-UP Gary also quickly flew over the report.
>Yesterday in the late afternoon, a 23-year-old man entered a grocery store on East Goethe Street, drew a gun and demanded to be handed all the money in the counter. When the owner of the store didn't co-operate, the man got nervous and took a hostage. When the police, who had been signaled by a witness from outside, arrived, the man overreacted and wildly fired shots at the by-standing customers. Three people, including the hostage, have been seriously wounded and were rushed to hospital after the police managed to capture the suspect.
Gary didn't need to know more. Another task he had to pursue. However, there wasn't a time given in that article. It just said "in the late afternoon". That wasn't much to work with, was it? And it was also at the other end of town, far away from the bus incident. But his priority was clear, the bus accident seemed more important. What were three wounded people to fourteen dead? He had made his decision, he was going for the bus accident, no question.
...----...----...--
Chuck looked up from his desk when he realized someone was standing behind him. Tellberg was standing there, holding a little notebook. "Fishman, I found it."
"Great. So, does it say anything about her birthday?"
"Yeah, it's right here. It's on 3rd May, that's tomorrow."
"I knew it!" Chuck slapped the edge of his desk, which set the piles of papers shaking dangerously. Tellberg looked at him uncomprehendingly. He shook his head.
"Thanks, Tellberg. You can't imagine how pleased I am."
"You're welcome, glad I could help. Anyone else's birthday you'd like to know?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Okay then," Tellberg replied and headed back for his own desk.
Considering his report, Chuck had just gotten away quite luckily. Julia Cook had really saved him big time. Apparently, Pritchard had been on a coffee break and Chuck had managed to get the retyped report onto his desk just before he came in again. Phew, what a bit of luck! he had mused. As for the Rottman Calculations, he had retyped them as well, which had cost him a precious half hour. But he had managed it all somehow. I just hope Gary's having a better day. Chuck looked at his watch. Only 10 minutes to go, then he could go home, leave these unfortunate events of the day behind. So, after all, it was Marissa's birthday tomorrow. Which meant, they didn't have much time to throw a little surprise party together. If only Gary had listened to him! He tried to phone him. Gary obviously wasn't in as he only got the answering machine at the other end. He quickly left a message for Gary that he was going to take care of arranging the party.
It was time to go, so Chuck grabbed his jacket, shut down his computer screen and went out of the office. He was curious about where Julia Cook would take him tonight. He was not sure if he was looking forward to the occasion. After all, she wasn't that unattractive and she seemed a nice person to hang around with. Chuck hadn't had much contact with her, except for the occasional chat in the office. Nothing special. Somehow, he had never seen her as someone to have any romantic interest in. Now, he was wondering why. So, he decided to take it easy and see how it would develop. They had agreed she would phone him at home and then tell him where they'd meet. So, Chuck still had some time left to buy the stuff for the party. He went over to the driver's side of his beloved sports car. He gently stroked the gleaming hood with one hand and disgustedly recognized the layer of gray dust that stuck to his palm. "Time to give my baby a thorough shower, eh?" Was he going out of his mind? He had just caught himself talking to his car. He shook his head and got into the car. He pulled out of the car park and steered into the direction of his favorite store.
Amazingly, there was an empty parking space right in front of it. He entered the small grocery store. "Hello, Jack," he greeted the owner who must be in his sixties, Chuck thought.
"Good day, Mr. Fishman," Jack replied. The store was quite small, though you could get about everything in there. Chuck really liked it, even if it was a little more expensive than the big stores. He never liked these huge warehouses, they always gave him a feeling of being lost. No, he much more preferred the familiarity of this little cozy shop. He steered the cart through the aisles and soon had it filled with all sorts of party articles...
...----...----...--
Gary was restless. He had left the hotel in time, or so he thought. This really wasn't his day today. He had gotten a taxi right away this time, however, it was rush hour in Chicago. He should have considered that. And now he was stuck in the middle of just another traffic jam. His cab was, so to say. Gary almost told the driver to hurry up a little. Maybe he didn't, because he knew the cab driver couldn't push all those cars away, either. So, he just handed the bloke his fare and exited the cab. It would be quicker for him to go on foot when traffic was like this. Sitting around in the cab would get him exactly nowhere, he decided. It wasn't much farther away, luckily. His watch showed 16.32 hrs. He fell into a light jog-trot. He had no idea how he would stop the bus from crashing, so he just had to make something up as the situation developed. He had done it before, so he was pretty confident he could make it this time, too...
...----...----...--
Chuck whistled a little tune as he approached the counter. In the back of his mind he was still debating whether he should get more of the salted peanuts. He didn't like peanuts too much, but that didn't mean... His thoughts were violently interrupted by a young man who hit his cart as he hurried by. Chuck shouted, "Hey, you jerk!" but then he saw the guy pointing a gun at Jack, the owner. Oh my God, what should he do? Call the police. Difficult without a phone... Yell for help. Too risky, the guy might overreact... Fight the guy. Even riskier... Run away. And leave Jack on his own? A thousand possibilities ran through Chuck's head. But all he could do was stand there and stare at the scene. He could hear the conversation.
"Now, Grandpa, if you don't hand me that money, you'll be in trouble!"
Jack looked shocked but determined. If only he would give the guy what he wanted, they'd all be safe. But instead Jack shook his head. The fellow looked nervous. Nervous as hell. Like he might pull the trigger any second. Chuck couldn't take it, "Jack, give him the damn money!"
The guy suddenly turned at Chuck's interjection and pointed the gun at him instead. "You," he waved the gun slightly at Chuck. "Come over here."
Chuck was almost too frightened to even take a step. If only he had remained silent! He thought his knees would buckle every moment. But he did as he was told. The guy grabbed him and held the gun to his neck. He was rather small and slender but the fierce look in his eyes and the gun he was holding were enough to make him appear intimidating. Despite his fear Chuck managed to say, "Now, you don't wanna do something you'd later regret, do you?"
"Shut up!" the guy just barked. "Now, Jack," he said with stressing the name of the shop-owner in a disgustingly smug way, "get that money over to me stat or this little pal will see the flowers from below."
Chuck managed to look around. As far as he could count there were four other people in the store. They, too, stared in shock at the scene that unraveled in front of their eyes. The guy had noticed the other customers, too. "And all of you, sit down in that corner!" He pointed the gun at a corner of the shop that he could easily target if push came to shove. Anxiously, the other customers obeyed the order. There wasn't much they could do, was there?
The guy handed Jack a plastic bag. "Put the money in there, Grandpa!"
And then they all heard it. Sirens. Police car sirens. The high-pitched sound penetrated the air as they were nearing.
"Oh shit!" The guy got even more nervous. "Now if you don't get on with it, Grandpa, then I'll blow you all to Kingdom Come!" He released the grip on Chuck and pushed him away from him, so that Chuck made an easy target. He fidgeted dangerously with the gun. Jack now tried to open the cash register which for some reason didn't open. The seconds were ticking by. They seemed like hours. To Chuck at least. After Jack frantically hit some keys on the cash register, it finally opened with a loud Ping that penetrated the otherwise frighteningly silent shop. But then there wasn't any more time. Two police cars had assembled in front of the store and a mechanical voice sounded. "You are surrounded. Leave through the door with your hands up."
What a stupid phrase, Chuck thought. This guy wasn't about to just leave this scene like that. So, why did it always work in movies? And Chuck had been bang on right. Sweat broke out on the guy's face. He was getting desperate, so much Chuck could tell. He pushed Jack and Chuck to the corner where all the other customers were gathered. "Sit down, you two!" he demanded in a brusque tone. Somehow, a policeman had made his way to the door of the shop. The guy had noticed him and shouted, "If you come one step closer, these people will pay the price!"
"All right, we just wanna talk to you."
"I don't need any of this fancy psychological-talking stuff, just go away and let me get outta here!"
"We'll see what we can arrange."
Suddenly there was the sound of falling cans at the back of the shop. A gun fired from behind Chuck and then all hell broke loose. The only thing Chuck could remember was looking at the guy's finger pulling the trigger of his gun and the last thought that went through his head was, This is not how I planned to die! And then all went pitch-black...
...----...----...--
Gary was panting violently. Almost there. He had just stepped onto the Torrence Avenue Bridge. In the paper it said the bus driver would overlook a dog that was wandering in the middle of the road, which would cause the bus to skid through the railing of the bridge and plunge down into the river, trying to avoid hitting the dog. All these events would eventually lead to the death of fourteen people. Funny, how one decision, one reaction can so easily result in the death of so many people. So, it didn't seem so difficult to Gary to prevent the accident. Just find the dog and stop him from going astray in the middle of the bridge. He was looking out for anything that looked remotely like a dog. He checked his watch again. 16.44. A car just pulled to the side of the road. That must be it! And yes, a dog was leaping from one of the opening doors. It looked like a German shepherd, just like Spike. Gary heard the voice of the apparent owner. "Kira! Kira, come here!" But Kira had something entirely different in mind. A woman emerged from the car and ran after the dog. Gary knew it was time to react. So, he also ran after Kira, who was running straight toward him. For a moment he felt a rush of adrenaline well through him. What if the dog intended to bite his arm or his leg or whatever else off? Not every dog was as friendly as Spike, this morning's encounter had proved that. But being a coward wouldn't help much now, would it? So, he took all his courage together and faced the Beast. He tried to get in the way of Kira and stop her running away. The woman still yelled "Kira!" repeatedly. Miraculously, Kira seemed to react just as Gary had planned. She approached him with an angry growl, however. Uh oh! shot through Gary's mind. She jumped at him, digging her teeth into his hand. Despite the pain that shot through his hand, he managed to grab the collar around Kira's neck and keep her in check. At least until the owner arrived, he hoped.
Then he saw the bus coming toward him and the dog. It didn't slow down a bit, and Gary was still standing in the middle of the road. He tried to drag Kira to the pavement. The dog, however, did not obey. Gary pulled at the collar with all his might. He managed to almost get her off the road. Almost. With a sickening thud the bus hit her left hip. The dog whined loudly and dropped onto the pavement beside Gary. Her back limbs seemed to lie at a strangely contorted angle. He felt a sick feeling creep up his stomach. The bus had come to a halt and the driver arrived at the scene just at the same time as the owner. The woman bent down to the dog and stroked her head carefully, whispering "Kira, what have they done to you?" Gary realized the dog was still alive. Maybe it wasn't too late for Kira. The bus driver was dead pale and Gary told him, "Go and call for help, will you?" He was so shaken that he didn't react at first. Gary nudged his shoulder. "Go get some help, did you understand!" The driver just nodded and went off back to the bus.
"We gotta do something!" the owner screamed at Gary. Gary tried to calm her. Except, he was far from calm himself.
"Listen, lady, help is on the way, all right?"
Then the owner saw Gary's bloody hand. "You... You're hurt. Are you all right?" Gary looked at his hand. The other events had totally suppressed his pain but now it came back with twice the strength. Looked like a flesh wound to him. He didn't hope he broke any bones. So, he just said, "Yeah, I'll live." And so will Kira! he silently added with a flicker of hope.
"You should get that checked out."
He couldn't believe the woman worried about his hand more than she worried about her dog. Then, Gary suddenly remembered the grocery store hold-up. It might not be too late if he got there immediately. He turned to the lady who had bent over her dog again. "Look, lady, I've got to go. I'm sorry for what happened to your dog."
She looked at him uncomprehendingly. "You probably saved her. How can I thank you for that?"
"Just make sure she gets well." Gary said in response and turned to go. From far he already heard police sirens. Help would be there soon. He heard the woman shout behind him, "Wait, mister!" but then he had already gotten into the cab he had just managed to stop. "East Goethe Street," he told the driver, and off they sped.
...----...----...--
It had been a busy day in the Cook County's ER today. They had seen almost everything today. From MIs to motor vehicle accidents to stabbings and God knows what else came through the doors of an emergency room in the middle of Chicago. Doug and Mark were just taking a few moments to get their minds off all the stress and intensity of the ER in the hospital's small basketball field.
"Come on, Doug, get it if you can!" shouted Mark, dribbling the basketball quickly past Doug. Doug was just starting a maneuver to attempt just that when Mark took the ball and made a leap for the basket. The ball shot right through it, which made the chains that functioned as the actual "basket" rattle. "What's wrong, Doug, you not up to my standards today?" Mark continued to tease him. "Try me!" Doug snarled in mock anger at his mate. He made another attempt at catching the ball from Mark's grasp and this time succeeded. He was just trying to get near the basket when they both heard a Peep peep. They both instinctively grabbed for their beepers. Mark exclaimed, "It's mine. Seems like there's more work ahead." He patted Doug on the shoulder and went back to the ER. "Wait, it's no fun playing alone." Doug shouted after him. They both went back and entered through the automatically opening ER doors that had opened so often to all sorts of misery today. And not only today.
Carol saw both of them enter. "Mark? A call just came in. Three GSWs on their way. ETA in 6 minutes." Mark's prompt reaction was, "Okay, folks, you know the drill." They all knew what they had to do. Everyone went his or her way like they had done so many times before. They prepared the one, the two and the four, setting up intubation trays, defibrillators, saline IVs, 0 neg blood and everything else that would be needed quickly to try to do the impossible. Everything was ready in just after four minutes. The nurses and doctors lined up near the main doors, waiting for the first ambulance. The tension rose from second to second. Would they get to see just more of the hopeless cases that had bullets embedded right in their hearts, brains or other vital organs and lacked every hope of ever waking up from unconsciousness again. Or would it be easy, just for once? Bullet in the arm or leg, nothing life-threatening. Whatever the doors might reveal, they would be prepared for the worst. They always had to be.
Then, the first ambulance arrived. Mark, Carol and a couple of other nurses sprang into action. On the stretcher lay a male with a GSW to the chest that had bled profoundly onto his clothes and the emergency stretcher. He had been intubated already and was being bagged by one of the EMTs. The other EMT quickly filled Mark in on the victim.
Once inside the destined room, the show could begin. "One, two, three." Mark exclaimed and they carefully moved the patient from the emergency stretcher to the ER gurney. A nurse exposed the presumed entry wound by scissoring away the clothes. Another nurse took over the ambu bag and continued pressing air into the patient's lungs in regular intervals. Carol set up a large-bore IV for the 0 neg. Mark had quickly assessed the situation. "ABG, Chem 7, cbc and Crit. A Chest, too. We need six units O neg." He studied the readouts of the heart monitor. It didn't look too good. "And get Carter down here, stat!" One nurse went to the phone, another did the ordered tests. They all functioned like a perfect unit. Sometimes even without words being uttered. At moments like this Mark, the ER Attending, was very proud of his "crew". But this time he didn't have the time for that. He once more had a life to save. A life that was held only by silk strings that might be severed at the slightest mistake. And he vowed not to make any.
"Flatline," Carol stated. Mark reacted promptly. ".9 milligrams epi, IV push." Carol handed Mark the paddles of the defibrillator. He applied them to the man's chest, to the left and right of the heart. "Clear," Carol said when she was assured no one was near the patient. The patient yanked upward when the electric shock of 200 Joules hit him. The monitor still showed flatline. "300 Joules," Mark said, but Carol had already adjusted the right number. Mark sparked him again. Nothing.
At that moment John Carter entered the scene. He looked quite young, almost too young to be taken as a fully qualified doctor with a specialty in emergency medicine and surgery. "What have we got?"
Carol filled him in with all the necessary information. Carter took over the paddles. 350 Joules shot through the patient's body. Finally, the monitor showed something. "V-tach," Carter said. "I'll shock him again." Once more, the patients body erupted. Then there was a stable heart-beat. For the moment. Everyone seemed to release his breath as the tension relieved a little. The chest x-rays could be taken now to assess the damage that the bullet had caused inside the patient's chest. Mark had called Carter as he hoped this one would make it through to surgery. For the moment it looked very much like it. The silk strings still held. But for how long?
The x-rays had come back and they had located the bullet near the heart. It apparently had not penetrated right into the heart but close to it. Very close. "Okay, get him up to the OR!" Mark ordered. Carter took off with a hand-full of nurses around the gurney. Mark breathed a sigh of relief. Another close call he had managed to pull back from the dead... He could see Kerry Weaver hovering over another patient next door. Maybe she could use some help. Mark ripped off his blood smeared yellow apron and his latex gloves, immediately putting on new ones, while he went through the connecting doors into the neighboring room...
...----...----...--
On the ride to his destination, Gary reflected on the day that had started so promisingly. By now, he had saved two dogs from their deaths, or so he hoped, and had been bitten twice by those same dogs. What an irony, came to his mind. He carefully scrutinized his wound. He tried to move his fingers. They all worked, though not without a certain amount of pain that came with the movement. Yeah, he really should get it checked out. But not before he had made sure if he couldn't do anything concerning the hold-up. He saw the blue and red blinking police and ambulance lights from far away already. Oh no, I'm too late! The cab stopped and the driver said, "Sorry, pal, this is as far as I can take you, looks like the road's been blocked." Gary was yanked back to reality. "Yeah, all right," and he handed the driver his fare.
Gary ran to the site of the action. One of the ambulance vans just sped off with howling sirens. There was a barrier round the site and policemen crowded the scene. Then, out of the corner of his eye Gary recognized a red car that looked vaguely familiar. Chuck's car? He checked the license plate. This was Chuck's car all right. What was he doing here? He hadn't... No! This couldn't be happening! He quickly surveyed the area to see if he could spot Chuck anywhere. He begged his fears wouldn't be true. He went over to one of the policemen. "Excuse me."
The policeman turned to face him. "Yes?"
"Where are these victims being taken?"
"To Cook County General."
"Thanks." Oh my God! He had to know. He frantically searched for a phone box.
The man who answered the phone in the hospital seemed everything but friendly. "Cook County General."
"Yes, I'm looking for someone who has just been admitted to you. His name is Charles Fishman, he probably came in with a gunshot wound."
"What do you mean, probably?"
Gary neither had the time nor the patience to fuss about trivialities now.
"Look, could you please just check if someone under that name has been admitted recently?" He heard the receiver being briskly put onto something hard. In the background he could hear muffled voices, shreds of sentences. "Lydia, Code Brown in two!" "Mark, where's the..." "...the Chem 7 came back..." Then the unfriendly voice was back. "Hello?"
"Yeah."
"I can't find anyone under this name. There were a couple of gunshot wounds admitted today who haven't all been identified, so if you wanna make sure, come in personally." With these words he slapped the receiver onto its hook. Puzzled, Gary listened to the monotonous Tooooh of the disconnected line for a few seconds. Should he phone Marissa? But then he didn't know if anything had happened to Chuck. He didn't wanna trouble Marissa with any sorrow if there wasn't anything to worry about. Maybe Chuck had just parked his car there and had gone somewhere else entirely. There was only one way to find out. Go to the hospital and prepare for the worst. He would also be hitting two birds with one stone, considering he still had to get someone to look at his hand. So, he decided to only phone Marissa if necessary after his visit to the hospital.
Gary entered the Cook County's emergency room and went straight for the admittance desk. A bulky figure with short hair and a trace of a beard hovered behind it, munching away on what looked like a hamburger. That must be the unfriendly guy I talked to, was Gary's first thought. He addressed the big guy, "Excuse, excuse me, I phoned in earlier, asking for a patient named Charles Fishman."
The clerk looked annoyed by the intrusion. "Charles Fishman, huh?" For a moment he seemed to consider if he should ignore the request or not. Then he said, "I'll have a look again." He romped through some of the charts that were held in some sort of metal rack on the edge of the desk. Behind him, the ER seemed to bustle like a bee hive. Nurses and doctors went to and fro, picking up some paper, a chart or drugs. One with graying short hair in a blue OR shirt was talking to someone on the phone. A nurse had referred to him as 'Doctor Ross'. Gary hesitated a moment. Hadn't he seen this guy somewhere before? He couldn't recall it, but then he encountered so many people every day, it was virtually impossible to recall every single one of them. The clerk came back. "Sorry, but I can't find anyone with that name."
"If he had a gunshot wound where would he be now?"
"He'd probably been taken to the OR. We had three gunshot wounds today, two of them unidentified. Maybe try the surgery department, 4th floor."
"Yeah. Thanks." Gary's tension rose to an almost unbearable amount.
"Hey, your hand's bleeding, mister."
Gary had almost forgotten about it again. "I'll come back later."
Jerry, the clerk, just shook his head. People! All sorts of weird people came to the ER. But then he imagined how he would react if one of his friends or family was injured. He'd probably behave similarly...
The surgery department... If it was Chuck and he was in surgery, then at least it meant he wasn't dead. Gary made his way up the stairs, taking two at a time. There it was, 4th floor, surgery. Again, he went up to the desk there and inquired about a Charles Fishman, possible gunshot wound. The nurse there seemed quite friendly, for a change. She told him that one of the GSWs was still in surgery. The other two apparently had made it. The identified one was not named Fishman, the other one was a woman. So, the nurse couldn't tell Gary if it was Chuck on the operating table or not. However, after the description Gary had given her, she said it could very well be the one he was looking for. Oh no! It was really Chuck!
"Are you a family-member?"
Gary almost said no, but then he remembered that he possibly wouldn't be allowed to stay if he said he wasn't. So, he lied, "Yes."
"Okay, why don't you sit down and I see what I can do for you."
Gary sat down on one of the plastic chairs in the quiet hallway. Finally, he had some time to think. What did the paper say? He took it out of his jacket. In the process, he glimpsed at his hand again. The blood had already clotted and the wound wasn't even bleeding anymore. Gary looked for the article. It hadn't changed. No word about the identity of any of the victims. However, the bus accident headline had been replaced by an article about a dog being hit by a bus. He quickly read it to see if Kira had made it. And she had, at least that was what the article said.
Gary buried his head in his hands. Why? Why did it have to be Chuck? Why hadn't he, Gary Hobson, been there? The paper had given him the opportunity to rescue his best friend, but yet, he hadn't. Would he have if he had known Chuck was one of the injured victims? To trade the life of your best friend for the lives of fourteen people you don't know, would that have been the right decision to make?
The nurse came back. "We still haven't got a positive ID but after the description we're 90 sure the man is Mr. Fishman."
All blood drained from Gary's face. "And how is he?"
"I don't know any details but he's critical."
Gary got up, paced the hallway, sat down again. This was all his fault. Was it? The nurse came back to him. "Sir, I suggest you get some rest. This is not gonna do you or your relative any good." Then she too noticed Gary's hand. "Let me have a look at that." Gary held out his hand. "I suggest you go down to the ER and let someone have a look at it. I promise I'll call you if there's anything new on Mr. Fishman. Can you tell me your name?"
"Gary, Gary Hobson."
Gary couldn't think straight. All the thoughts rummaged through his brain in one big blur. But what the nurse was saying did make sense. Blindly, he made his way down to the ER again.
They had done an x-ray of his hand, and a young female doctor with dark brown hair who had introduced herself as Dr. Doyle had treated his hand. First, she had given him a shot of tetanus. Then, she had treated the wound with an antibiotic ointment of some sort that had burned like hell, sutured his hand and finally a nurse had applied a bandage to his hand. No broken bones, luckily. Gary had been officially discharged, then. Marissa! He still hadn't called Marissa! He found a pay-phone in the waiting area. Now he prayed she would be home.
"Marissa Clark," a familiar voice at the other end of the line said.
"Marissa? It's me, Gary."
"Gary. Is anything wrong?" This woman was amazing. No one else would have noticed that something was very wrong just from the few words he'd uttered.
Gary didn't know how to tell her. "Yeah, it's... There was..." he stuttered.
"Gary, go easy, what is it?" she asked worriedly.
"Marissa, it's Chuck. He's in hospital. He's been shot," Gary blurted out finally.
There was silence at Marissa's end. Only for a few seconds, but it seemed like an eternity to Gary. "Where are you now?"
"Cook County General."
"I'll be there as soon as I can." Then she hung up.
Gary idly held the receiver in his hand, unable to replace it on the hook. Unable to focus, unable to think of anything else than the image of Chuck being shot and him not being there. Then, he slowly began to get back to reality. He quickly replaced the receiver, but in his confusion didn't realize he had take out the spare change. He made his way up to surgery again, to wait for Marissa.
Back up in the surgery department, Gary didn't find anyone. No one manned the nurses' desk, so he just sat down again. The plastic chair he had chosen squeaked when he sat down. However, Gary didn't even notice it. With his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, he felt miserable. More miserable than he could remember ever feeling before. He had this tool, a tool no one else had. A very powerful tool, made of paper and black print. And yet, what was he doing? What had he been doing. Letting down his best buddy. Letting him die. Or almost die, he didn't know. All he could think about was his failure. His failure in grasping the wrong opportunity, making the wrong decision. The wrong decision? He had saved fourteen people. But not Chuck. Not Chuck! Chuck had paid the price for the fourteen lives he'd saved on that bridge. Fifteen lives, including the dog. Had that been worth it? This wasn't right! He shouldn't even be questioning himself. But yet, he was... What were fourteen lives compared to one? What...
Then he heard the sound of shoes tapping on the floor. It was the nurse he had talked to. Gary abruptly jumped to his feet. "How is he?"
"I don't know, Mr. ..." she paused, obviously trying to remember Gary's name.
"Hobson." Gary added quickly.
"Mr. Hobson, I can't tell you anything at this point. If you could please sit down and wait." She made a stressed impression to Gary, and obviously she was stressed.
Gary could make out the OR-doors through the glass windows of the connecting door. He stared at them with a blank expression, as though to convince them to open and show him that the gunshot victim was not Chuck. He prayed it wasn't him. For all he knew, Chuck could be at McGinty's now, eagerly waiting for him. There was still a small chance it wasn't Chuck. There had to be.
Gary heard footsteps again. Not the hurried ones of the nurses running around frequently. More reserved ones, though not without urgency. He turned, to face a black woman, being led by a dog. Marissa. One half of him screamed to be left alone now. And still, the other half screamed for someone to share his misery with. Someone he could take some comfort from. He went up to her. With a barely perceptible whisper he managed to get out her name.
"Gary, how is he?" She came to the point immediately.
"I don't know. No one tells me anything."
"Gary, how did this happen?" Gary led her to the chairs and they sat down.
"I don't know either. All I know is that there was a hold-up. Chuck must have been caught up in it somehow. Hell, Marissa, I'm not even sure it is him."
"What do you mean, you're not sure it is Chuck?"
Gary suddenly yelled at Marissa, "That's what I mean, I can't say if it is Chuck, lying in there on the operating table!" Gary had jumped up from his chair again.
There was silence for a moment. Gary nervously ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, Marissa, I'm sorry. I..." He sat down again. He felt a warm reassuring hand on his shoulder. A hand that seemed to say It's all right. Calm down and start from the beginning. A hand that said more than words, though a hand he could feel trembling with fright. Come on, Gary, get yourself together, Marissa has a right to know. It still took him a minute to compose himself before he could tell her the story. Marissa just sat there and listened. Despite her skin being dark, her face looked pale. He had never seen her this terrified.
Gary noticed a movement at the other end of the hallway. They were wheeling out a bed, doctors and nurses clustered around it. Gary sprang up from his chair, hurrying toward the action. Marissa followed at a safe distance. Gary went to the side of the bed, just to glance into his best friend's face. It was indeed Chuck. Oh my goodness! was the first thing that went to his mind. Chuck looked horrible. He had tubes stuck into him, into his mouth, his arms, his chest. One of the nurses dragged him aside. "Mister, you can't get in the way." Gary was too stunned to speak. Finally, he managed to get out, "How is he?"
One of the doctors, a heavyset small man in green surgical scrubs took Gary by the arm, while the nurses headed off with Chuck.
"Are you family?" the doctor inquired. Gary just blindly nodded.
"He is in a stable condition for the moment. A bullet penetrated his chest and he had to be resuscitated. We managed to stabilize him now."
Gary felt a rush of relief wash over him. Though, when he looked at the doctor again, he had the nagging feeling that there was more. The doctor continued. "He is in a coma due to critical blood loss from a gunshot wound he received to the chest."
A coma. The words sounded empty to Gary. "How bad is it?"
"We can't say, he could come to every minute. There is also the possibility he never will."
Never. How could this man even utter the word? This was impossible. Gary felt his surroundings starting to spin around him. "Can I see him?"
"Not at the moment. Maybe you could come back tomorrow."
But Gary didn't grasp the full meaning of these words. He felt yet another hand on his arm. Marissa's hand. She led him back to where the chairs lined the wall and made him sit down. For a long time none of them spoke.
Marissa and Gary had sat in the hospital hallway for half an hour without saying a word. Every now and then a nurse would hurry by, making squeaking sounds on the PVC floor with her shoes. However, Gary and Marissa didn't even notice that. Gary was the first to break the nerve wracking silence.
"Marissa?"
"Yeah."
"This is all my fault."
She kept silent. In any other situation, she would have told him that wasn't true. That he couldn't be at two places at the same time, that he was just one mortal man who couldn't expect to be playing God all the time. But not now. For the first time she doubted Gary. Doubted him for the decision he had made. But was it fair to do that? Had it been Gary's decision to make? Gary didn't know Chuck was one of the victims, the paper had withheld that information from him. The damn paper! It didn't matter. Chuck was on the verge of dying and Gary hadn't prevented that, the paper hadn't prevented that. Why hadn't Gary tried to ask for help if he knew he couldn't be at two places at a time? She felt bitterness. A bitterness that wanted her to scream at Gary. A bitterness that restrained her from comforting him, even if she knew he had to feel the same pain as she. No, she couldn't bear sitting in this hospital any longer. The scent of disinfectant that mingled with sweat and plastic pushed like a 16 ton weight on her shoulders. She stood up and left Gary on his own. She knew she shouldn't just walk out like this, she shouldn't leave Gary all alone now. But she just couldn't stand it any longer.
"Gary, I'll go now," she just said.
Gary just uttered a barely perceptible "Yeah." that sounded from far far away inside his body. She took Spike by the lead and headed for the elevator.
...----...----...--
Marissa fumbled with her key. Her hands were shaking so much that she had difficulties getting the key into the keyhole. She had walked all the way from the hospital, as she had hoped the fresh air would clear her head a little. But it had only worsened her fear, her bitterness, her sadness. Finally, she got into her apartment. Automatically, she freed Spike from his gear and sat down at her table. And then all the emotions came crashing down on her. All the emotions that had dammed up since the phone-call she had received from Gary. They all had assembled like an air-filled tire that was about to burst. And now someone was releasing the pressure through the valve. The tears came first. Hot salty tears that ran down her cheeks uncontrollably. Sobbing followed and soon her shoulders were shaking.
Spike sensed that something was wrong with her and he carefully touched her had with his wet nose. When she didn't respond, he softly licked her hand. Absently, Marissa stroked his head. She turned to him and embraced his soft furry body. At least she had someone to hold on to, even if it was "only" a dog. The sobbing slowly receded and after a while she went to the bathroom to rid herself of the sticky feeling the dried tears had left on her skin. Ironically, she thought about what a good thing it was she didn't have to look into a stricken face with swollen red eyes now. There had been a time when she had cried herself to sleep every night. A time when she had been sure she couldn't face life any longer. Being blind in a world of seeing people was never easy and there had been a point in her life where she had felt she couldn't cope with that anymore. That had been a long time ago but now these old feelings welled up again. Feelings of desperateness and sorrow. Why did life have to be so unfair?
And now Chuck. Charles Fishman, one of her friends. One of her best friends. She thought about how they had come to know each other. That was back at the office where she worked as a receptionist and Chuck as a broker. And Gary, of course. When Gary had worked there. At first, Chuck had only been a casual acquaintance, a colleague you said 'Hi' to, not more. But through Gary she had come to know Chuck better. And she had learned to like him, his humor, his flaws, his goddamned smugness. Sometimes he could be a darn nuisance but he definitely had his moments. And no matter how annoying he might be sometimes, he was there when you really needed him. No, Marissa couldn't imagine a life without Chuck anymore.
She sprinkled ice-cold water onto her face and neck. Feeling a little better, she decided to occupy her mind with work. Work that helped her taking her mind off things. There was a lot of work waiting for her in her apartment, she just had to find it.
It was three minutes after midnight. Marissa awoke from a troubled sleep. She had eventually drifted off into a light and wary doze. But now she felt she couldn't go to sleep again. She lay in her bed, tossing and turning. Her common sense was returning slowly. How could she have left Gary on his own, back there at the hospital? She felt sorry for him now. Guilty for walking out on a friend. A friend who needed comfort, who had no one to talk to. If he ever needed a friend it would be now. And she had refused to be his friend at a difficult time like this. She quickly got up and reached for her phone. She dialed his number. But all she got was his answering machine.
"Gary, if you're there, pick up the phone."
Nothing.
"Gary, please, I have to talk to you."
Still nothing. She hung up. Quickly throwing on some clothes, she left her apartment and headed for the Blackstone hotel.
Please let him be home! she prayed. She knocked on his door but there was only silence greeting her. She tried again. And again. No avail, if he was home he was ignoring it. But this didn't seem like Gary, she was convinced he wasn't home. A nagging feeling told her to go back to the hospital.
There it was, the Cook County. She could feel it looming in front of her, it still seemed very busy, despite the late hour. Marissa entered the building and immediately recognized the odd stench of chemicals and human sweat. She bravely ignored it as best as she could and tried to remember where to go. Eventually, she found the way to the ICU. Although she couldn't see Gary, she could feel his presence. She sensed him, sitting forlorn on one of the plastic chairs where she had left him. She smoothly sat down next to him. He didn't move.
He didn't move because he had drifted off into a doze, his head leaning back against the wall. Marissa carefully touched his arm. "Gary? Gary, wake up," she said softly. He slowly came to, blinking in confusion.
"Marissa?" For a moment he didn't recall where he was. But then it all came back to him in a flash of painful realization. "Did anything happen?" he asked anxiously.
"No, not that I know of. Gary, it's 1 o'clock in the morning. You can't spend the night here. You can't do anything here, why don't we go to your place?"
He opened his mouth to protest but then he thought the better of it. Maybe she was right. He didn't care. He didn't care what was happening to him at the moment. So, he just let her guide him down the hallway out of the hospital, back to the Blackstone.
They went into his room and Marissa more or less placed Gary on his couch. He seemed lost, like he didn't have any life left in him. Like a piece of him had died with the terrible incident that day. Marissa decided to get the two of them a cup of coffee.
She had to make them talk about it, had to make Gary get out of the state he was in now. The fact that he hadn't uttered a word since they had left the hospital didn't help much. He had wanted to talk about it that afternoon. But she, Marissa herself, had refused to, back then. And now she regretted it. Deeply.
She poured the freshly made coffee into two mugs and went over to the couch. She handed him the mug with a "Gary, have a cup of coffee." He absently took it and sipped at it. She carefully tried to start the conversation.
"Gary, it is not your fault. Whatever decision you made, you can't throw away your life by blaming yourself for what happened today."
She waited for a reaction. Instead, she just heard him sipping his coffee. But she wasn't ready to give up.
"Look, you might regret the decision you made now. But back then, back when you had to make it, you didn't know it was gonna be Chuck, did you? And if you had, would you have decided to let the fourteen people die in the bus accident?"
"No, dammit, I didn't know it was Chuck!" Gary forcefully told her. "No, I didn't know," he repeated more softly.
"Would you have let these fourteen people die, Gary? Even if you knew?"
"I don't know. That's what I'm asking myself all the time." He put down the mug so forcefully that it made a loud clank on the table. "And what do I tell him. What do I tell Chuck when he... if he ever wakes up again?"
"He'll understand. I'm sure he will," Marissa tried to convince Gary. Chuck might have seemed somewhat opposed to Gary's decisions concerning the paper in the past, but when it came down to life threatening situations, he had always backed Gary up. And he would this time. She hoped. "But you can't turn back time, for all it's worth. You made a decision and now you have to live by it. It doesn't do you any good contemplating what might have been. That's not going to help Chuck and me, and especially you. If you question your decision for the rest of the time, it'll haunt you, destroy you. Gary, you have to accept what you did."
"Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, I guess I'll have to. But I'm not sure I can."
"You will," Marissa said with conviction. "Sooner or later I'm sure you will. But now we both have to rest. Get some sleep. Promise me you'll get some, all right?"
As Gary kept silent, Marissa got even more worried. "Gary, why don't you let me stay with you tonight? You could really need the company after all that happened."
Gary didn't feel like having Marissa's motherly presence around him tonight. He knew she was worried but he just wasn't up to having anyone around now. "No," he quietly said. "I, I just wanna be alone, okay?"
Marissa understood. She was worried about her friend but she understood. She wanted to squeeze his hand in reassurement but her fingertips detected something other than the expected feeling of skin. It was something with a more textured feeling. A bandage? She felt Gary wince slightly as she touched it and quickly withdrew her hand. Her brow furrowed in concern?
"Gary, did you hurt your hand?"
She heard him shifting his position slightly. "Yeah, I- It's nothing. A dog bit me and I had it sutured in the hospital."
"Are you gonna be okay?"
"Yeah," he quietly said.
Marissa then turned to go when she heard Gary call her.
"Marissa?"
"Yeah."
"Thanks."
For a moment she considered replying but then she just left it hanging in the air like that and went out the door.
...----...----...-- >> Gary was running. As fast as he could. Not fast enough. Have to be there! Can't get there in time. Then suddenly there was Chuck in front of him. He seemed translucent, like a ghost. The ghost spoke to him, "Gary. Congratulations. You did it. You let down your best friend. Let him die just like that when you could have saved him. Well, thank you very much."
Gary wanted to explain himself. "No, it wasn't like that. I was..." But the ghost just shook his head and - snip - it disappeared just as quickly as it had turned up. Then there was Marissa. Her voice seemed to come from everywhere at the same time. "How could you! Gary, how could you?" She stood there, accusing him silently. Suddenly, thunder roared high above him, under him, next to him. A deep rumbling sound ringing in his ears. A familiar sound, a ... Gary opened his eyes. What - where was he? Slowly, he realized he was lying in his bed. And the cat had rolled up next to his head, purring right into his ear. He stroked its head softly. The digital clock at his bedside said 4.22. "What are you doing here?" he spoke to the cat. But the cat just stretched one of its paws and continued to sleep on one of his pillows. For half an hour Gary lay there in a half awake state, not being able to fall back asleep. He got up and quietly sneaked into the kitchen corner, getting himself a glass of water. The images of the dream still haunted him.
He went over to the window and settled down on the window sill, pulling his knees up to his chin. Gary had a look over the city from his window. Dawn was breaking. A few people were up and running, despite the early hour. No matter how hard he tried, his thoughts all ended up at one point: He had failed to rescue Chuck. Chuck, who was fighting for his life now. Chuck, a fighter? He had to be. He had to hang in there. He had to.
Gary couldn't imagine a life without Chuck, no matter how annoying he might appear sometimes. Funny, how you don't appreciate something until it's gone...
Gary suddenly heard a key turning in his lock. It could only be Marissa, she was the only one who had a second key. What was she doing here, so early in the morning? She silently entered the room.
"Gary?" Marissa turned in his direction. How could she know he was sitting there if she couldn't see him?
"Yeah," Gary answered softly.
"What's wrong?"
"I awoke and I couldn't go back to sleep. I... I had this dream and it got me thinking."
"You wanna talk about it? About your dream?"
Gary was silent for a moment, as if considering the matter. But then he said, "No, not really."
"That's okay."
Gary had expected her to sound disappointed. If she was, she didn't let it show. There was silence again. Marissa went over to Gary at the window. "Would you mind opening the window?"
"What? Er, no." He opened the window a bit.
"I meant, open it wide."
Gary looked confused. "Are you hot?"
"No. No, it's just that sometimes I sit at the open window, taking in all the sounds and smells outside. It's my way of looking out of a window, you know."
Gary opened the window wide. Marissa leaned forward a bit and took a deep breath. "Did you know that the city sounds different at different times of day?"
"No, suppose I never paid much attention to that," Gary ruefully admitted.
"Close your eyes."
"What?" Gary asked, surprised.
"Close your eyes!" Marissa repeated.
"Closed them."
"And now listen. What do you hear?"
"Nothin'."
"Oh, come on Gary! Listen!"
"There's noth-"
"Shhh!"
For a moment none of them uttered a word, both of them listening "out of the window". Then, Gary spoke. "There's cars in the distance. Very faint. Wait, there's something else. A rattling sound."
"That's the El," Marissa explained.
"I can hear birds, too. And voices. Very low, but I can hear them."
"Good, that's a start."
They both listened again for a while. Now it was Marissa's turn "Those voices, they're angry. They're quarrelling."
"You can hear that?" Gary asked, amazed.
"After a while, you get a knack for detecting these things," she just said.
"Yeah, suppose so. Hey, you want some coffee?"
"That'd be nice."
So, Gary prepared some coffee and soon they both sat on the window sill, sipping their coffee. Gary's thoughts drifted again. Half to himself he muttered, "I'd miss him." Marissa turned to face him. "Me, too."
Gary looked at her with a surprised expression. Had he really spoken out loud?
"Gary, did Chuck ever tell you about his parents?"
"Not recently. But, you know, we've known each other for some time. Chuck doesn't get along with his family very well. There was something, some incident, I, I don't know exactly. It was a few years back. As far as I know, Chuck hasn't spoken to his parents since. His parents moved away from Chicago some years ago."
"Do you know where they live?"
"No, I don't know. I remember Chuck mentioning Vancouver once or twice."
"Do you think they've been notified?"
"I dunno."
"But they have a right to know, haven't they? What about sisters and brothers?"
"He's got a younger brother, that's all I know."
Chuck had never talked to Marissa much about his personal life. Gary and Chuck had been buddies since college at least, so Gary must have a little more insight. But apparently his family wasn't something Chuck was very proud of, so it was understandable that he didn't feel comfortable talking about it. Marissa felt that she and Gary had become some sort of family for Chuck. No, not only for Chuck, for themselves as well.
"Gary, I think breakfast would be a good idea now," Marissa suddenly proposed. It was no use drowning in grief and depression. They had to be strong now, optimistic.
"Yeah, okay."
So, they made their way out of Gary's room, trying to find something that was open so early, serving breakfast at this ungodly hour.
"Gary, shouldn't you go get the paper?" Marissa carefully probed. It was almost a quarter to seven and Gary and Marissa were still sitting in the small coffee shop they had finally found.
"No," he said, determined. "I don't wanna do it anymore, don't you see?" There was a hint of sadness and also hatred in his voice. "After what it's just done to me, to Chuck! No, no way I'm going back."
"Gary, the paper hasn't done anything to you. Are you sure about this?" Marissa remembered the times Gary had tried abandoning the paper. And every time the paper had followed him one way or another, had needed him to be somewhere. And he had regretted it almost every time.
"Yeah, damn sure."
"Okay, if that's your decision..."
"That's my decision, yes. Come on, let's go see Chuck."
When Gary and Marissa stood outside Chuck's hospital room in the ICU, they could see an elderly woman through the window in the door, sitting at his bedside. Gary hesitated in front of the door.
"What's wrong?" Marissa sounded worried.
"There's someone with him."
"Do you know who?"
"No. It's a woman. You think it could be his mother?"
"You tell me. Come on, let's wait outside. We should give them some privacy."
So, Gary and Marissa settled on the same plastic chairs they had already occupied the day before.
After a while, the woman exited Chuck's room. Her brownish hair was already graying and was bundled in a ponytail at the back of her head. She had a rather wiry frame and a slim figure. Gary spoke to her as she passed him. "Excuse me, are you Mrs. Fishman?"
She looked startled. "Yes, I am. And who are you if I may ask?"
"We're friends of Chuck's." Gary gestured her to sit down. Gary then held out his hand. "Gary Hobson."
Marissa did likewise. "Marissa Clark."
Mrs. Fishman shook both their hands, one at a time. "Gary? I think I remember you. Are you the same Gary who went to school with him?"
"Yeah, that's me."
The situation felt a little awkward, no one knew what to say. Then, Mrs. Fishman spoke, "I haven't seen him for some time." She gestured in the direction of the hospital room door Chuck was behind. ""We've grown apart since... ever since..." She suddenly stopped. "We haven't talked to each other in a long time. I guess we're both too stubborn." She paused for a moment. "And now I might never have the opportunity to speak with him again."
An uncomfortable silence fell over the three of them. Each was thinking the same thing but no one dared speak about it. Mrs. Fishman stood up. "I'm sorry, I have to go."
She slowly walked down the hallway, her back slightly arched as if she had been carrying a heavy burden for too long. Gary took Marissa by the arm to signal her it was time to pay their first visit to Chuck.
Gary pulled up a second chair to Chuck's bedside. It was quite difficult to find a place between all the beeping and blinking instruments that surrounded him. Gary was frightened by the realization that all the instruments probably functioned to keep Chuck alive in the first place. Marissa touched Gary's arm and whispered, "Gary, tell me what he looks like."
"Are you sure you wanna hear that?"
"Yes. Yes, I am," she said with determination.
Gary studied Chuck. He didn't even know where to start describing. He told her about the wires and tubes that seemed to lead into every part of his body, about the respirator that had taken over Chuck's breathing, about the IVs that led into his arms, about the electrodes that were attached to the parts of his breast that weren't covered in a big white plaster-like bandage and that reflected every one of his heart-beats on one of the monitors next to his bed. When it came to his face, it looked almost peaceful. Except for the intubation tube that led into his mouth, Chuck looked nearly like his usual self.
Marissa listened intently. After what Gary had described to her, it was nearly as bad as she had expected. She could hear the sound of the respirator, pumping oxygen into Chuck's lungs regularly. She could also hear the occasional bleeping of the medical instruments. And it was all that technology that was keeping him alive? It was near to impossible to grasp.
Suddenly, a nurse entered. She looked at the two visitors and nodded a friendly "Good morning". She checked one of Chuck's IVs and injected something from a syringe into his arm. Gary felt a little stupid, asking, "Can we... I mean... are we allowed to touch him?"
"Oh yeah, he's all yours. Just make sure he doesn't go off dancing around too much," she replied cheerily.
Gary tried to produce a smile in response. However, it looked more like a mere lifting of the corners of his mouth. The rest of his face bore a painful expression. The nurse wrote down something in Chuck's chart and exited the room. Gary hesitated a moment before he softly took Chuck's hand. He was feeling a bit awkward but something told him to make physical contact with his best friend. Something to tell him that he was still alive other than the readouts on some machine. He spoke to Chuck, "Chuck, we're here. It's Marissa and me. I... I don't know if you're hearing any of this but, hey, come back to us soon, buddy. I'll even let you have a look at the sports page." His attempt at humor didn't mask his desperation as well as he hoped it would. He felt a lump in his throat.
Then Marissa added, "Hey, Chuck, I've never been very good at putting my feelings into words and I'm still not good at it even now. But hear this, there aren't many people I'd call friends. Good friends. But you're one of them. One of those few people who can look past my inability to see and treat me as an equal and not just someone who's blind and helpless. You've become special to me. And I'd like to keep it that way."
Gary was moved by her little speech. He had never really seen her so seriously worried, so desperate. She always had been the optimistic, strong center of their friendship. And now that seemed to crumble...
A young doctor in a white coat entered the room. "I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave now," he said, looking at Chuck's chart at the bottom of the bed. Gary and Marissa stood up and did as they were told. Gary took the doctor to the side. "Dr. ..." he looked at the name tag, "...Carter, can I have a word with you for a moment?"
"Yes, sure."
They went outside and sat down on a row of chairs and introduced themselves. Gary then inquired, "How is he?"
"At this point, we can't say for sure. Dr. Anspaugh's operation went very well, under the circumstances. We managed to repair most of the damage the bullet had caused. Though, the blood loss was the critical factor. That's why he is in a coma now."
Gary interrupted, "And how long will he stay like this?"
"We can't say, either. I'm afraid, that's a little up to Mr. Fishman himself. We've still got him on the respiratory ventilator. The way things look, we'll be taking him off the ventilator tomorrow. Then we'll see what happens. But I have to say, it all looks positive to me." Carter gave Gary and Marissa a reassuring smile. He always liked to spread hope. But not false hope. He strongly believed in honesty, to the patients and to their relatives. And he was convinced Mr. Fishman was a winner. Someone who would be strong enough to fight his way back to consciousness. And usually, Carter could trust his first impressions.
Marissa and Gary had gone down to the hospital cafeteria. They both sipped a cup of hot, though quite bad coffee. Gary made a mental note not to order coffee a second time, should he ever come here again. Doctors and nurses clustered around them, adding a colorful picture to the scene. It was a mixture of green, blue and pink scrubs, dotted by the occasional white doctor's coat. Gary could hear the conversation one doctor had with another at the table next to him. "I am telling you, Peter, the PVCs and the electrolytes clearly suggested hyperaldosteronism." The other doctor countered, "No no no, it was a normal cardiac rhythm with a block. There was -" Gary cut the eavesdropping. He wasn't able to grasp what the talk was about, anyway.
Marissa rubbed her eyes with her fingertips, as if nursing a headache. Gary worriedly inquired, "You all right?"
She lifted her head, "Yeah." She sighed, "What a lovely birthday. It's got everything I was hoping for."
"It's your birthday today?" Gary suddenly was alert. It was Marissa's birthday today?Oh boy! So, Chuck had been right, after all. How ironic, he thought. Then, an idea popped into his mind. He got up and said to Marissa, "Back in a minute."
He went over to the counter and two minutes later he returned to their table with a big bowl of ice-cream, furnished with all sorts of fancy glittering decoration. He put it in front of her. "Happy birthday from the bottom of my heart. Even if it is not that much of a happy birthday."
Marissa had to smile. "Thank you, Gary. That's really sweet." She started eating. "You wanna try some?" she asked, holding the spoon in Gary's direction. He emptied it. "Definitely better than the coffee." And soon the both of them were sharing the ice-cream together.
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