September 26, 2008
The Liberty, Lower Manhattan, NY
He couldn't move his legs…
In fact, he couldn't move anything at all from about the waist down.
He fought against whatever had immobilized him, while his escalating heartbeat announced to the rest of his body that he wasn't the one calling the shots.
He was trapped…
If there was any consolation at all it was that he still had some feeling in his feet, legs and knees.
Pain? Injuries? Well, that was a different story.
He surveyed the situation as best as he could. His legs felt like they were bent at an angle.
Might even be underneath him. Maybe more to his right than underneath, he couldn't be sure.
Hell, maybe he didn't know…
There were two objects jabbing him; one in his left side and one in his lower back.
He tried shifting his torso, thinking he might at least force something loose, but nothing happened.
Except that the pain in his back suddenly got worse. Great.
But the hell with himself, he had to find her.
"OLIVIA!" he called out as loudly as he could.Even with the racket produced by the storm, she had to hear him. If she was anywhere around there, she had to hear him. Unless she was unconscious she had to hear him.
He didn't even want to think about that last possibility.
He waited for her to respond. He waited as seconds dragged on, pushing his fears into places he wasn't ready to go.
Could it get any worse?
He strained to hear any sounds or stirrings that might clue him in as to her whereabouts.
All he noticed was that the storm seemed to be getting louder.
Almost as loud as his fears... She was hurt. Something was wrong.
With his one useable arm, which was starting to give out from overuse, he began to shove a few things aside.
But even if he could make progress, it was too damned dark. He reached for the flashlight, but it wasn't in his pocket.
Must have fallen out… Shit.
He began reaching all around him, sifting his hand through more piles of God-only-knows-what, hoping it was close by. No such luck. Probably buried or too far out of his reach. He was left only with the reflected light trickling in from the suite in front of him.
If he were really honest with himself, he didn't see any way out of there without getting someone to help him. But that wasn't going to happen.
Maybe if he had some tools?
Of course without any lighting, he was liable to do something really stupid.
But all he could think about was Olivia and the fact that she could be in the same predicament.
She'd already pushed that injured foot of hers too far. He was no doctor, but she didn't need to be hobbling around in this garbage heap of a hallway without support. She was making it worse.
What if, after all of this, she wasn't able to use it again?
Dammit! He was seething. Finally about to lose his grip, he braced himself on the door frame of the suite behind him, straightened his upper body and pulled for all he was worth.
Nothing.
He sucked in a breath and tried again. Then tried a third time. Nearly messed his back up in the process.
And it still didn't help.
"OLIVIA!"
Elliot slowly lowered his head and wept.
x x x
His thoughts drifted back to suite. Back when the only sounds echoing in his head were the words he never thought he'd hear…
'I love you, El.'
After he finally convinced himself he wasn't getting anywhere with grief and self-pity, he tried again.
So he couldn't brute-force his way out of this. What else could he do?
He extended himself, reaching toward his right side and beyond the pile to try and figure out what might be holding his legs down. He cursed and groaned when the object poking him in the side caught his bottom rib. He sucked in a breath and waited for the pain to subside before he continued.
At the furthest extent his arm would reach, he found what may have been a part of an end table and shoved at it just so he could tell what was beneath it.
Probably wouldn't do a bit of good, but if he even got something to move, he might have a chance. He continued at it until he dislodged something. It would have raised his hopes except that anything he shoved aside only made more objects roll toward him. If it wasn't small enough to toss aside, it simply nixed any progress he had made.
Most of it was stacked or contorted into some kind of a geometric nightmare. There were boards and some kind of thick twine cord, which he tried to saw through with edges of boards.
There were rolls of what he guessed was some kind of heavy insulation material, metal fittings, and scraps of plywood scattered about. All of it was soaked by water, some kind of oily substance and trash.
So all he could do was shift things aside so that maybe he could find something that might allow him to move his legs.
That didn't count actually getting them free.
He realized at one point that some of the metal fittings had gotten hooked together and no amount of pulling was going to dislodge them. They had to be pried apart individually.
It was like a damned puzzle. Sort of reminded him of that movie he had watched one night when he couldn't sleep.
The one he remembered was called 'Saw.'
Not even funny right now, he thought sullenly.
But he kept at it. What else could he do?
After what felt like an eternity, he slid the last board out of his way. More garbage spilled over him, but he could finally move one of his legs. He braced himself once more and pulled one last time until he freed the other one.
He stood up, and every bone and muscle in his body was in pain. It was enough to almost knock him back down onto the pile. He steadied himself until he no longer felt like he was about to pass out.
There was no time for this, he scolded himself.
He was out. He had to find her.
Elliot called her name several more times but she never responded.
He searched again for the flashlight, but didn't find it. It was probably the worst possible time and place for him to not have a flashlight, but he'd have to try and make do without one. He had wasted enough time just trying to get free.
Where the hell is she? Had she seen him fall and then left to find some help?
He started back toward Jim's suite. It only got darker as he closed in on that end of the hallway where the window was blocked.
As he pushed onward, all he could do was think about her. The only reason she wasn't right there beside him was because she was trying to find a way to help him. Making that foot worse.
Best thing she could do for him would be to save herself.
But of course she wouldn't.
Dammit, Liv!
It only made him push himself faster through those piles, except that he paid for it each time his foot would slip on the oil-coated trash.
When he thought he had reached Jim's suite, he stopped and called her name a few times.
Meanwhile, all around him the storm raged on. The sounds were almost deafening. There was the constant high-pitched whir of the hurricane gusts. Things crashing or snapping. Metal scraping against metal. Every so often, something would hit against the building.
How many nights would he lie awake in bed from now on and not be able to shut these sounds out?
But nothing seemed more prominent than the sound of his heart slamming inside his chest whenever he thought about what might have happened to Olivia.
He had to find her.
But where now? Downstairs?
He found and then cautiously started down the main staircase, pausing when the frigid water hit his legs. Why should he even be surprised?
Something had probably broken through the first floor windows, causing some of the flooding from the streets to enter the lobby. Now everything in there was under water.
Here we go again, he thought as he submersed his body into the icy flood waters.
He continued calling out her name but only heard the faint echo of his own voice, which was mostly drowned out by the bellowing sounds of the storm.
He had the traces of light coming in through the broken windows, but it wasn't helping much. Unless she was there looking for him or could hear him over the storm racket, it would be near impossible to find her.
He reached the base of the staircase. The gusts that blew in created a mist over the surface of the water that also made it difficult to see.
He gazed over the water surface, his eyes straining to adjust to the dismal light.
His eyes panned over something he had dismissed once or twice before looking back. Whatever it was, was thirty to forty feet ahead of him, close to where the concierge desk would be.
He propelled himself quickly through the waters, at some point losing perspective on how much distance he had covered.
He stopped to catch his breath, for a moment.
His hand glazed the water surface and he froze when his fingers got caught in what he believed to be wet strands of human hair.
Liv?
No doubt he had found someone. Technically, anyone could have come inside seeking shelter.
But could it be her?
Then again, wouldn't he already know if it was?
He and Liv had a connection. Besides that, there was no other way to explain the elation, pain, relief, fear, love, frustration and peace he felt all at once.
Not to mention the sheer panic… She wasn't breathing.
He reflexively pulled her body toward him, instantly recognizing her frame, her weight, her hair, and the clothes she was wearing.
He wanted to thank God. He wanted to hold her and reassure both of them that they were going to make it.
That they would survive this storm.
But he couldn't. He needed something else. He needed for her to move, to say something, or to tell him that she was okay and didn't need his help. Anything.
She didn't answer him. He couldn't see well enough to know what had happened to her.
He found her wrist and felt for a pulse.
Weak. Very weak.
Dammit! What in the hell was wrong?
And then it happened… She moved unexpectedly, slowly releasing a deep breath as she slumped over, nearly falling out of his arms and into the water.
Oh my God! "Liv!" he gasped.He caught her dead weight and panicked.
She was barely conscious. He needed to get her out of there at the very least.
He pulled her tightly against his chest, and then kicked, paddled and pushed his way back toward the main staircase.
But where would he take her?
Neglecting the fact that the storm had blown out all the windows in the hotel, ransacked and flooded the place, and turned it into an upscale Manhattan wind tunnel with a deluge of some New Jersey landfill, there was no place they could get to quickly with even marginal lighting.
Except for the storage room or the one across from Jim's suite. But with two windows, the corner storage room had to be in worse shape than the one across from Jim's, so he opted for the latter.
He finally reached the second floor. "You're going to be okay, Liv," he told her, keeping his voice calm.
Who in the hell was he trying to convince? Olivia or himself?
He located the room, forced the door open and carried her inside. He searched for a place to set her down. The lighting was better near the window, but that wasn't the best plan because of the fragments of glass blowing in with every gust.
He opted for a spot midway between the window and the door, ducking behind what he supposed was a piece of broken furniture that could act as a shield.
He checked again for a pulse. Still weak.
But she was going to be fine. Nothing else was acceptable.
Just as he was about to administer CPR, he discovered it… He had lifted her shirt, sweatshirt and jacket and felt a deep gash in her stomach.
"Oh God…Liv!" It was hard to talk around the lump in his throat.
He put pressure on her stomach where the gash was.
But then what in the hell was he going to do? It wasn't like he could just call for a bus. And some doctor wasn't just going to appear with sutures and stitch her up, they were alone. There was no telling how long they were going to be stuck here.
He began CPR and after a series of compressions, he checked her pulse. Still weak. "Olivia, come on!" It sounded angry to his ears as he said it, but he had never been more terrified.
Not since that dreaded day at the bus terminal…
"Dammit you're not going to die on me, Olivia!"
After a while he began to feel lightheaded, which wasn't uncommon while giving CPR.
And then it happened.
"El…" Her throat made a strangling sound that frightened him at first.
He stilled. "Liv?"
"El… " Her voice was barely above a whisper. He only heard it was because no other sound mattered more.
She was going to make it.
He reached his hand down until he found hers. She loosely wrapped her fingers around his and didn't let go.
And then it hit him. Maybe it was stress, fatigue, something else had gone wrong, he didn't know.
It began with a weak feeling that spread quickly throughout his body.
His vision blurred and a tension he had felt in his head for quite some time progressively became unbearable. Every muscle and every nerve felt like someone had set him on fire.
But he braced himself with both fists planted on the floor on either side of him, as he sat at Olivia's side and swore wouldn't give in.
He couldn't. Not when she was fighting just as hard.
His motivation was her. Her motivation was him. Nothing else mattered. They were each other's lifeline.
But he was losing control.
Then the pain slowly escaped his body and was replaced by numbness.
He fell backward, cursing himself for not being strong enough to save her.
He never even felt himself hit the floor…
x x x
When his eyes finally opened, everything was fuzzy. It took a moment for them to adjust.
He was looking into her deep, brown eyes.
"Elliot? You okay?" She was leaning over him, her voice filled with concern.
"Liv," he smiled.
"Hey…" she greeted him, returning his smile.
He had no idea where he was, or what had just happened.
But it didn't matter. None of it did.
Because Olivia was there.
Because she was okay.
Through the broken window behind her, streams of daylight filled the room.
It was morning.
The storm was over.
x x x
Next chapter: STATE OF EMERGENCY