Page 58 of Lying Hearts
Growing louder and louder, multiple sirens rush toward us. He closes his eyes again. “Annie,” he moans. “It hurts. What are you doing?” He tries to look at the wound, but his head falls back and his eyes close, weak from blood loss.
“I’m saving yours.” I kiss him. “Can you hear the sirens? Help is coming. Stay with me. Please stay with me!”
Banging on the door pulls my head to that direction. The door is locked. They’re banging on it, but I don’t want to leave him. What if my hand pressed here is what’s keeping him alive?
A police officer appears in the window and yells through it, “Ma’am! Unlock the door!” I shake my head at him, eye blurred by tears. He slams his baton into the glass while someone else, maybe two people, throw their bodies against the weight of the door trying to break it down. The window caves first. He used his gun to break it, aiming toward the bar. I squeeze my eyes shut at the explosion of bullet and glass, lunging my torso to cover Brendan and ducking my own head.
Firemen, Police and E.M.T.s pour in through what used to be my window, stepping over shards that reach up dangerously from the frame. Their feet crunch through the glass on the floor as they race to us. I’m lifted up, my arms reaching toward Brendan as I cry out, “No!!”
“We’ve got him.”
I weep, restrained by stronger arms than mine, as I watch the E.M.T.s check the wound, press on it. Another runs in with a stretcher and they raise him on it, rushing to the door. It’s still locked.
Through my dazed mind, I see what they need and reach for the key attached to my belt. “Here!” This is the last time I’ll ever wear it like this. They struggle to detach it from me, but the blood has made it too slippery. The E.M.T.s are already speeding to the window instead. “Go through the window!” the police yells to them as if they don’t already know. But everyone’s in crisis mode and trying to help save Brendan’s life.
I’m staring after him as the policeman lets go of me and speaks, but I can only see his mouth moving, can’t hear what he’s saying. I want to be with Brendan. I break into a run for the window. They can’t leave without me! “Wait! Wait, please! Wait!!”
The ambulance doors are just about to shut me out. Brendan’s inside with oxygen being pumped into him through a mask.
“Please!” I grab the door and fight her for it.
“You can’t ride with us. I’m sorry,” the female E.M.T. says, struggling with me.
Thinking quick, I blurt out, “I’m hurt, too!” She’s taken aback. Regret flashes across her face at her mistake. She holds the door open and I climb in. “Thank you!”
“We’re taking her to the hospital. She’s hurt.” She hurriedly tells the chasing policeman who nods as she closes the door. Sitting down next to her, I take Brendan’s hand and watch his unconscious face. The siren switches on. Our bodies sway with speeding twists and turns through traffic, like a jerking, grotesque dance to music no one wants to listen to.
The E.M.T.s - one male, one female, plus a male driver – are all in their early thirties with arms that belie the strength it takes to do a job like this every day. The female pokes and prods me while I stare at Brendan. All of them remain faceless. It feels like I’m not really here.
“Where are you hurt?”
With my eyes fixed on him, I mumble. “I’m not.” She frowns and shares a look with her partner. “You’d do the same thing.”
She places her thumb and forefinger on his wrist to monitor his pulse, muttering, “I don’t think I would have been so quick-thinking.”
“Is he going to be okay?” Even as I hear the question, I know they don’t know. They can’t possibly. But I want hope. I can’t believe I didn’t lock the door. I can’t believe the gunman pulled the trigger. I can’t believe Brendan saved my life. I can’t believe he’s dying. None of this seems real. It can’t be. The night turned from a dream to a nightmare.
“We’re doing everything we can,” the male says to me.
“You always say that.”
“And we always do it.”
My eyes flutter over to his face. Resolutely he looks back. They are doing everything they can.
I look back to the mask covering Brendan’s mouth and nose, to his eyes shut gently like he’s sleeping, to the paleness of his skin. “Please stay with me, Brendan. Please stay.” Arms go around my shoulders. The female E.M.T. holds me. The human tenderness is crushing, breaking down the wall of shock. Everything starts to spin.
She looks to the driver. “Can you go any faster, John?”
He looks back and gives a brief nod, but we all know he’s going as fast as he can. Nausea overtakes me. My vision blurs and I see the male E.M.T.s mouth move. I don’t hear him as he says, “She’s down.”