As the police car sped into Salem, Shane looked down at Andrew's face. Since Shane and Steve had found Andrew in the woods, the boy had not moved once. He was so pale and his breathing was so shallow, it was hard to even tell the boy was alive. And his body, which Shane held close to his own chest, still felt ice cold.
Shane leaned over again and tried to exhale warm air as Andrew inhaled. "Please be okay," Shane whispered. "Hang in there, son."
The sweater Steve had wrapped around Andrew's head was sliding forward, so Shane pulled his arm free of the blanket and jacket covering it and tried to put the sweater back in place. He kept his arm free, and brushed Andrew's pale cheek.
"I'm here, Andrew. Daddy's here." Shane heard his voice break. He closed his eyes and reminded himself that he needed to stay in control. It would not do Andrew any good if he lost his head.
Shane prayed he had made the right decision about taking Andrew home. The hospital was not safe, and, for hypothermia, all they would do is put him in a warm bath and use warming packs to bring Andrew's body temperature back up. They could do the same thing at the house. And if Steve had called ahead, Simmons probably would have the bath already filled.
Looking out the window, Shane could see that the police car had entered Salem and was now nearing the lakefront homes. It turned down Lakeview Drive and after a few minutes pulled into the driveway of Shane's house. He waited for the officer to unlock the back door, and then carefully climbed out of the car, all the while clutching Andrew tightly to his chest.
The officer helped Shane to the front door, where Simmons was waiting.
"Dr. Curtis is on his way, and the upstairs bath is drawn," Simmons said.
"Wait here for him," Shane instructed. Remembering his training, Shane tried not to jar Andrew too much as he carefully negotiated the stairs. Reaching the bathroom, he let the blanket and the jacket fall to the floor. In the light, Andrew's body was tinged blue-grey. Please don't let me be too late, Shane silently begged, as he tested the water to confirm it was not too hot. Then, he lowered Andrew's body into the bathtub, while holding Andrew's arms and legs above the water. Shane continued to try to breathe warm air into Andrew's lungs.
"Please wake up," he begged again.
He was not sure how long he spent trying to help Andrew when he heard a voice from behind him. "Shane, what's going on?"
Shane looked up to see Neil Curtis standing in the doorway. Simmons was standing right behind him.
Neil put his doctor's bag on the bathroom counter, opened it, and began rummaging through it. "Roman told me Andrew was hypothermic, but how did ths happen?"
"He got trapped in the woods. I don't know for how long," Shane tried to explain. "And he's been like this since we found him." Shane slid over to let Neil get closer. "I didn't think he'd be safe at the hospital. Someone tried to kill him out there, and we don't know who." Shane paused. Maybe Andrew did need a hospital. "I wasn't sure . . . is he okay here?"
With a thermometer in hand, Neil crouched down next to Andrew. Shane still held onto Andrew's arms and legs so they did not sink into the water. Warming the extremities risked pulling heat from the internal organs.
Neil checked Andrew's temperature. "It's a severe case," Neil said. "Body temperature's around 85 degrees - and I have to assume it was lower when you found him." He looked at Shane. "Do you have hot water bottles?"
"Yes, sir." The answer came from Simmons.
"Okay," Neil said. "Get as many of them filled as possible. Try to keep them around 110 degrees. They shouldn't be too hot - and the water will need to be changed every few minutes."
Simmons disappeared.
"Is he going to be okay?" Shane asked. "Do we need to take him to the hospital?"
Neil sighed. "As much as I'd prefer it, I can understand why you brought him here. We'd probably just do the same thing. I mean, there are some new ideas I've heard about for treating hypothermia, mainly using IV fluids, but we don't know enough about them yet, especially for kids." Neil shook his head. "The good thing is that kids generally manage better with hypothermia. But I'm not going to promise you anything." He went back to checking Andrew's vital signs. "How did Andrew get into the woods? There aren't woods around here."
"It wasn't here," Shane said. "Someone ran Kim's car off the road out on Route 6. They took Kim and Kayla, but Andrew ran away and hid in the woods."
Neil's eyes widened. "Do you know where Kim is?"
"No." Shane looked down. Ever since he had realized that Andrew had run from the car, he had barely thought about Kim and Kayla. "Roman and Steve are looking for them."
They shouldn't even have been out there. They were only in danger because I pushed Kim away.
Shane knew that was the truth. If Kim had stayed at the house that morning, she would have been here, in the bedroom, right now. It was Shane's cowardice that he pushed her away, and now he had no idea where she was and Andrew was clinging to life.
Andrew could die because I was a coward.
For the next hour or so, Shane's mind darted between worrying about Andrew and silently berating himself for what had happened. Finally, after Neil had checked Andrew's temperature for about the 50th time, he said, "I think we should move him to the bedroom."
Shane pulled his son out of the water, wrapped him tightly in a towel, and carried him to the bedroom. Simmons was already in there, with several hot water bottles and a pile of extra blankets. Shane set Andrew carefully down on the bed. He and Simmons followed Neil's instructions about placing the hot water bottles around Andrew's body. Then they piled on the blankets.
After looking down at his son's pale face, Shane brushed a lock of Andrew's hair off his forehead. Please be okay.
"That's all we can really do for him right now," Neil said. "We just have to wait."
Shane nodded. "I . . . I understand." He looked away from Andrew for a moment. "Thank you for coming, Neil. I hope you don't mind my letting Simmons see you out."
"He's my godson, remember?" Neil said softly. "And I'm not going anywhere. Not until I'm sure Andrew's going to be okay."
Shane smiled gratefully, as Simmons spoke to Neil. "Perhaps you'd like something from the kitchen while you wait, sir."
"That sounds like a good idea." Neil turned to Shane. "There's nothing you can do here, so why don't you come downstairs for a little while?"
Not a bloody chance. With a curt shake of his head, Shane said, "I want to be here. If - When he wakes. . . ." I don't want him waking up all alone.
"Okay," Neil said. "As he warms up, he might start shivering again, but that's a good sign. And if he regains consciousness, we want to get some hot liquids into him." He looked at Simmons. "Why don't we discuss that on the way downstairs?"
Neil and Simmons left, leaving Shane alone with Andrew. Shane pulled a chair from the other side of the room so he could sit next to Andrew's bed, and took a seat. Sitting there, Shane studied his son. He did not look as pale as before, but that seemed to be the only real change. He remained so still.
Shane closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Please, God, don't take my son," he said softly. "If you need to take someone, take me. Just please . . . don't take Andrew."
They had almost lost Andrew so many times during his short life. From the moment he was born premature to the kidnapping and then to the accident that nearly took his life. All those times, Andrew had come through unscathed. They could not lose him now.
He opened his eyes and wiped away some tears that were forming. Once again, Shane softly brushed his son's cheek, and he pleaded, "Don't take him . . . please . . . please let him live."