Disclaimers in part 01
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"That is the fearful part of having been near death. One knows how easy it is to die. The barriers that are up for everybody else are down for you, and you've only to slip through."
~~Katherine Mansfield -- The Letters of Katherine Mansfield~~
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MONDAY, JUNE 26, 2000
GEORGE WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER
5:33 AM
BYERS:
I have to get away for a few minutes. The tension here is suffocating me, and though I'm very concerned about Langly and Deborah, right now the most pressing thing on my mind is that if someone's shot Deborah to get to us, are they going to be gunning for Sari as well?
Sari isn't usually up this early, but she'll be going into the office today and should be up in about an hour and a half anyway. I desperately need to call her before she gets out the door, and not over my mobile phone that Frohike keeps swearing he's secured. I've got the pocket scrambler and security system with me, and with it, I can make a secure call from any payphone in the place.
I dial; her phone rings five or six times, and with each unanswered ring, my anxiety grows. What if someone's already gotten to her? Finally though, she answers, groggy, her voice sleep-muffled.
"Whoever this is, it better be good," she grumbles, yawning.
My relief is immense. "Sari, it's John."
She groans. "It's... uhhh..." I can hear her grope for her glasses "...5:30 in the morning, John. You never call at this hour. What's wrong?" She's still not quite awake. I wish I didn't have to wake her with news like this.
"Deborah was shot about an hour and a half ago."
Her voice is suddenly sharp and alert. "Deborah's been shot? Is she alive? How badly is she hurt? How did it happen?" I can hear her breath quicken. "Is anyone else hurt?"
"It happened here at GWU, not long after someone shot out the window of her car. We don't know yet how badly she's hurt, but she's alive and in surgery. They said she had a punctured lung. No one else is hurt." I'm jittery thinking about it, but nobody needs to watch me freaking out.
"How's Ringo holding up?" I should have known that would be her next question.
I sigh. "He's badly shaken by the whole incident. So am I. Mel is too, but he's doing pretty well. Better than me and Langly, at any rate."
"Just keep breathing, John, you'll be okay. But why would someone shoot Deborah?" Sari asks, her voice cautious. Perhaps she suspects, as we do, that this had something to do with our work.
"I... we... we think someone shot her to get to us, but we don't know why. Not yet, anyway." I hear her sigh.
"Oh Gods, why did I know you were going to say that? You don't know that for a fact John -- not that it hurts to be cautious. Look, I'll be down as soon as I'm dressed and running on more than one brain cell."
That wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear. It may not be safe for her to leave her apartment. I have no idea where the shooter is right now.
"Sari, wait! How do we know that whoever shot at her won't be waiting for you, too?"
She's silent for a moment. I can feel the tension from her end of the line. "We don't, John. I'll be careful."
"No, Sari, I can't let you drive down here." Not by herself anyway. "Let me come and get you in Mel's car." It's not my favorite vehicle to drive, but I can manage it.
I can hear a quiet moan from her. "Every minute that thing spends on the road brings us one minute closer to global ecological collapse."
That may be true, but I'd rather go get her in Frohike's gunboat than have her risk her life alone.
"It'll be easier if I just drive down. You know it's not that far." She does live near the university, but I don't want her to take the risk.
"Please, Sari, just wait for me. I'll be there soon."
She sighs, resigned. I think she knows I'm not giving in on this one. We're both stubborn people and, this time at least, I win.
"All right. I'll be ready when you get here."
"Are you sure you want to bring her here, when we don't know who's gunning for us?" Frohike asks.
"It was either that, or she was going to drive herself. We don't know that whoever shot Deborah was working alone, or where the shooter is, and I'm not willing to risk Sari getting shot with no one around to help her."
"Oh, yeah, Byers, that's brilliant," Langly says. "Like what if they shot both of you? Where the hell would we be then? I mean, we 'd have to do our own QuickBooks!"
Despite everything, I manage a chuckle.
"We'll be fine, Langly," I assure him. "You know that I generally prefer
to keep my head down. Frohike, keys?" I hold out my hand.
Mel proffers them to me wordlessly, then, as I turn away, he says, "Be careful. You two come back in one piece." Believe me, Mel, that's the plan. Of course, as Burns -- Robert, not George -- said, 'the best laid plan...'
LANGLY:
We wait. We wait some more. I don't wait good. I end up making a complete ass of myself that way. That's not what Deb needs right now; she needs me to be strong. Now there 's a joke. I 'm so pathetic it's way beyond funny.
Byers got back with Sari about an hour ago. They're sitting next to each other, talking real quiet. We're all drinking coffee, except Sari has tea. I'm about to be coffee'd out and the day's just starting. Frohike is trying to distract me, talking about next week's headlines. I mean, I know why he's doing it, but I just can't get into that space. Dylan said it in 'Wonder Boys' -- 'I used to care, but things have changed.'
Damn straight they have.
All I can think of is Deb and how lucky I am. Man, she's the real thing,
I swear. I think about stuff with her like I never did before. I used to
just think about getting laid and all. Well, I still think about getting
laid, but it's always with Deb, and it's not just about sex, it's the little
stuff that I never thought about before. Like how nice her shoulders are.
She hates 'em, says they're too wide. Why doesn't she understand how nice
it feels when I rub them? How
soft her skin is? How good she smells?
It's like Sari and that sandalwood oil she always wears -- I mean, you kinda have to be there right next to her to smell it, but it's always there. It's totally a Sari thing; she wouldn't be Sari without it. Deb doesn't use perfume or anything; she can't, doing what she does, but she's still got her own unique Deb-smell, and I love it; I love everything about her.
Why haven't we heard anything yet? It's been three hours now.
"Something's bad, man. Like why aren't they saying anything?"
"Langly," Byers is being Mr. Rational, which can be a good thing, but it gets on my nerves, "if the bullet penetrated her lung, you know it's going to be a lengthy procedure. She tells you about her work."
Sari nods and holds Byers' hand, silent. Doesn't she have to go to work soon or something?
"Yeah, but she saves the gory details for her doctor pals." We talk
about her work, but she doesn't get down and dirty with me. You know, blood
and guts, it can bother some people.
"Buddy, you need to get in touch with her parents," Frohike reminds
me. I wince. I wasn't cut out for this stuff. Jesus. It'd be easier not
to tell them. What're they gonna do, come running up to DC to be with her?
Okay, yeah, probably. She's tight with them and her sister. Not me. I haven't
talked to my folks in ages. But if I do try to talk to her people, what
am I supposed to say? 'Hi, Mr. and Mrs. SaintJohn, guess what? Your
little girl just got shot in the lung, and there's a good chance she got
messed up 'cause of me.' Somehow, I don't think that'd go over real well.
This is the last thing in the world I wanna do, but I'll do it -- for her.
Frohike hands me his cell phone, the one he modified so the signal is secure. Me and Byers have our own, but mine's at home. I step out in the hall, 'cause I really need to be alone to do this. I already made an ass of myself in front of people once tonight. I'd like to do the repeat performance without an audience.
I hesitate. Like, for one thing, I don't know her folks' number. I hate calling 411. I'm trying to remember where she said she was from. Covington? Something like that? Is there such a place there? I give it a shot. I think she said her dad's name was Gerard. I try that. Maybe they're unlisted and I won't have to do it.
"To connect at no charge, press one," the canned voice says. I hit the button. Shit. I hope her mom picks up. Moms are easier, I think. So of course a guy picks up, and since the only people who live there are her mom and dad, it's gotta be dad. I know she's told 'em about me, but I don't know what or how much.
"Hello?" He sounds kind of grumpy, like he hasn't had his first cup of coffee yet. I keep forgetting it's one hour earlier there, only 6 am right now.
"Um... uh... Mr. SaintJohn?" Wow, sterling delivery. My specialty.
"Yes?" He's getting annoyed; I can tell. "I'll tell you right now, I 'm not buying anything, so you can either speak up or take your business elsewhere."
"Um, like, well, you don't know me but Deb's told you about me I think..." God, that's great, Langly. Keep it up and you'll be a dead man by sundown.
"Who is this?" He's not sounding any happier.
"Rin... uh... Richard Langly."
"Her boyfriend, Richard Langly?"
"Uh-huh." Boy, I'm doing great here.
"Yes?" Not a real friendly guy, wonder why.
"Um, like, I'm calling... I... Deb... Deb got hurt." The last three words come out in a rush, half drowned. I gotta work on my delivery. Least I don't have to say it again.
"Deborah's hurt? How badly? Is she all right? How did it happen?" Oh man, he's shook up big time. I don't blame him. So am I.
"Um, she, like, got shot at work."
"Deborah? Shot? I told her not to work in DC, what with all the crazies up there. You did say shot, didn't you?"
"Uh, yeah... y'know, with a gun." Will someone just put me out of my misery now? "At work."
"Oh, my God. Sarah Jane!" That's Deb's mom's name. Well, I just ruined his day, now I get to ruin hers.
"Deborah's been hurt?" I can hear her mom shriek behind him. Oh man.
He gets back on. "Where is she?"
My voice is all shaky. "In surgery."
"How's she doing?"
"Uh... I don't know yet... we haven't heard anything."
"Well, find out!" he snarls.
"Hold on." I run back inside. There's this tall chick standing there talking to the guys and Sari; maybe she knows something. I cover the phone. "You here about Deb?" I'm ready to choke her for some 411. Then I recognize her as one of the people Deb works with, but I can't remember her name.
"This is Dr. Barbara McGee," Frohike says.
"I remember you, how're you doing, Ringo?" Well, she's way ahead of me if she can remember my name.
"How's Deb?" Christ, doesn't even sound like me.
"She's holding her own, critical but stable."
I uncover the phone again. "Uh, she's critical but stable, they say."
"Where can you be reached?" her dad asks.
I give him the number on Frohike's phone, and the number at the office, just in case.
"We'll call when we have our flight arranged," he says -- end of conversation.
Well, what was I expecting, a thank you or something?
Barbara's a pretty cool chick. She's a year ahead of Deb, they work
together a lot, and she's calm and all, so I feel a little less wrecked.
"Can I see her?" I know I'm whining, but I don't care.
She looks at the guys and Sari, then back at me. "Not yet. About two hours. They'll let you know. Did anyone call her parents?"
I wave the phone at her. "Just did. They're gonna call back and tell us when they're coming up."
"Oh, good, she'll like that. I gotta go, see you all later." Barbara takes off.
Sari looks over to Byers. "John, I'm going to have to decide soon whether I'm going to work this morning or not." She's gotta be in about 8 am. Then she comes over and puts her arms around me. It feels real good, but I sure wish she was Deb. "Ringo, how are you holding up?" I can hear in her voice that she's worried about both of us, Deb and me. But I'm so not in the mood.
"Would everybody just stop asking me that already?!"
SARI:
Gods, poor Ringo. He's so shaken, and very understandably so. All of us are, really. John's pacing, Mel looks like he's eaten a week's worth of things that don't agree with him, and I'm still a bit nervous myself, if you don't mind understatements. I knew when I met these men that this was what it was going to be like, but it doesn't soften the reality to be standing here with Ringo snapping at me. "It's okay," I tell him. "She'll be fine. She's in very good hands."
"That's what they say at the blackjack tables," he shoots back. I think we might do well to leave him be. Obviously, trying to talk to him is only elevating his stress levels.
"Richard Langly?" A tall balding man with glasses, dressed in scrubs, enters the room.
"Uh, that'd be me," Ringo offers, looking as if he's about to be knifed.
The man offers his hand, and Ringo takes it. "I'm Gary Waldinger, Deborah's advisor." The doctor's accent marks him as a Brooklyn native, rare outside the region these days.
"Is she okay? Where is she? When can I see her?" Ringo spits the rapid-fire questions, then holds his breath waiting for answers. His face is tight with concern and fear. I'm holding my own breath, praying for no bad news.
Dr. Waldinger's a no-nonsense kind of guy. "Messy but holding her own." Not big on the comfort factor, either.
"When you say messy, what do you mean?" Mel narrows his eyes, hands on hips, wanting more information. John stands quietly, fidgeting, with his arms crossed over his chest.
"She took three hits. Two of them entered her lung, one her abdominal cavity. The lung shots made the worst mess, but she did very well in surgery. She did lose a lot of blood, so you'll have to expect her to be very weak for a while. She'll probably be with us for about a week. You contact her folks?"
We all release our held breath, holding to the earliest definition of 'conspiracy' -- to breathe together.
"Yeah. I did. They haven't called back yet with their flight information, though." Ringo's still shuffling his feet nervously.
Dr. Waldinger nods. "Good."
"She's gonna make it, isn't she?" Poor Ringo sounds so small right now, so scared and exhausted. I wish I could find a way to talk him into resting, or at least just getting something to eat. He really needs that right now. Maybe there's some chicken noodle soup in the vending machine.
"It looks promising," the doctor says.
"Can't I see her now?" Ringo's whining, but I don't blame him. I would be too, if it were John, or my sister, or anyone else I cared for that much lying in there.
Waldinger groans. I can see he's worn and stressed by the night's chaos. "No. Not yet. I'll catch up with you later." He hurries from the room before Ringo can give him any more of the five year old treatment.
Ringo shouts, "I gotta see her!" and starts after him, so I rush over and put my arms around him again before he can get to the door. He's shaking hard and sweating.
"Ringo, you'll see her soon. She's doing all right. Hold on to that."
"You try it sometime, then tell me how easy it is to hold on."
End part 02