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In fact, they’d pushed me off the sidewalk in preparation of the light changing and almost into the line of fire.
Even as the gunshot went off only inches away, the explosive crack reverberating in my ears, no one had stopped going about their daily activities or bothered to look toward the victim and the person responsible.
But I had.
I’d lunged forward, screaming for help although I doubted it was coming. I’d terrified the perpetrator with my loud voice only seconds after blood and brain matter had painted my freshly washed scrubs. And I’d reacted the same as I did every day in the operating room, dropping into action, searching for any sign the man with dilated eyes was alive.
Performing CPR was second nature to me, a course I’d learned when I was twelve, a part of being a Girl Scout. I was told later I’d been the reason he’d remained alive, still breathing when he was rolled into my operating room.
I’d been his savior once.
But the odds hadn’t been with me. Perhaps there was a random selector in the heavens, the angel in charge identifying how many saves one person was allowed. Or how many times a person could be a savior.
It had appeared I’d used up my credit for the day, the man dying on the table. His driver’s license had provided an identity, a name to be used on the death certificate. But the pictures inside his wallet had told a story about his life. A beautiful wife in her late thirties. Two adorable children and a Golden Retriever with a happy tail. They’d sent him off to work that morning with a coffee cup plastered with similar photographs, the couple likely discussing what they would do that night after he got home from his accounting position.
They’d never thought about the possibility that it could be his last day, or that road rage would be the reason. Maybe they forgot to say they loved each other. Or maybe there’d been an argument the wife would always regret. For a little while his friends would mourn his loss.
Then they’d go about their daily lives because that’s what happened.
When I’d received an early morning call from my floor nurse only minutes before alerting me another patient had difficulty breathing, I’d wasted no time heading for my car. It didn’t matter it was early or that my car was covered in frost. I didn’t listen to the forecast or worry about whether I could get there in one piece.
I jumped into the car, determined to save a life.
“She’s crashing,” Maggie said, her voice strained.
No, dear God. I wouldn’t lose another one.
Cringing, I fiddled with the heater, trying to get the defrost on high. “I’m on my way. Make certain and have the surgical team prepped. We won’t have much time.” When my main nurse called, I knew the situation was dire. I had minimal time to try to save the woman’s life. Angie had fought hard, but the blood loss had been significant, sepsis likely setting in.
“You got it, Doctor. Be careful. It’s icy as shit.”
“Don’t worry, Mags. Careful is my middle name.” I ended the call, wrapping my hand around the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles were white almost instantly. I’d prayed the medication I’d prescribed would work, but I had my doubts I’d be able to save Angie’s life.
I had to. There was no other choice in my mind.
I made a turn, the back end of my Cruze drifting to the right. Damn it.Control. Breathe.I did what I could, leaning forward as I weaved my way through the early morning traffic. Thank God it was lighter than normal, the recent early snowstorm keeping a few die-hard New Yorkers cuddled up in their beds. That’s exactly where I wanted to be, but duty called as it did so often. I loved my job, but the recent overload of patients was killing the entire team.
As I made another turn, the windows started to fog. “Come on, you piece of crap. Work!” I fiddled with the blower, turning it on high, but the fog kept sliding across the windshield’s surface. No. No. If I had to pull over, it could mean the difference between life and death. As I braked for a stoplight, I could feel the tires losing traction, the salt covering the surface of the crunchy snow not able to work in these temperatures.
Please. Please. Help me get there.
When the light turned green, I wasn’t shocked the asshole behind me immediately started honking his horn. Everyone was in a hurry. I carefully pressed on the gas, barely able to see out the window. Panting, I leaned forward as far as possible, rubbing my gloved hand across the surface. The minimal help gave me a three-by-four-inch view of the road. Damn it. The conditions were getting worse. Only four blocks. Four little blocks.
“Come on, baby. You can do it.” I kept my speed well under the limit, crawling toward the hospital. When another light turned yellow, I sucked in my breath and pressed on the brake. At that moment it seemed all time stopped, the car skidding to the left. Then to the right.
As my beautiful red car spun in the opposite direction, I noticed approaching headlights, the driver barreling toward me. All I could do was keep my hands on the steering wheel, gently pressing on the brakes.
The car skidded again and I almost panicked, the other car close. So close.
Closer.
Closer…
* * *
Gabriel
Two minutes earlier
