"Coup de Foudre" 74
911 --
By Gaedhal
Pittsburgh, July 2016
Justin ran.
He’d never run so fast in his life and yet it felt like slow motion. As he hurtled down the hill, it seemed as if the Jeep, the motorcycle, and Brian were farther and farther away with every agonizing step.
The door of the Jeep opened and Gus jumped out. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” he kept repeating. “Daddy! Oh my God!”
“Don’t touch him!” Justin warned. He’d finally reached the bottom of the hill.
“But…”
“No!” Justin knelt next to Brian’s still form. “We have to wait for the paramedics. He might have… have broken his neck. They need to stabilize him.”
“The paramedics?” Gus fumbled in his pocket, looking for his phone. “We have to call 911!”
“I already did that, son,” said an older man who was suddenly there. Justin looked around as other people came out of their homes and stood at the end of their driveways. “They’re sending an ambulance - and the police should be here, too.”
“Thank you,” said Justin. “Brian? Can you hear me?” Like Gus, he was desperate to touch Brian, but knew he could not. He wanted to remove the helmet, but he didn’t dare. Nothing. There was nothing he could do.
“His hand,” said the man. He was wearing plaid shorts and a Steelers tee shirt. “Feel his pulse.”
Justin nodded. Brian’s arm was flung out on the asphalt, his hand clenched in a tight fist. Justin lifted that hand gently and felt for his wrist. But even as he did that, the fingers twitched, the hand opening slightly. There was a pulse, weak but steady. Justin set Brian’s hand down. His own hand was smeared with blood when he took it away.
“Oh my God,” Justin said, staring at the blood.
Gus was now sitting in the road next to the stalled Jeep, his head in his hands. A blonde woman reached down and took his elbow. “It’ll be all right, hon. Come over here with me.”
“No!” the boy cried. “He’s dead! I killed him!”
“He’s not dead,” said Justin. He heard sirens in the distance, getting closer. “They’ll be here in a minute and then everything will be okay. They’ll take Brian to the hospital. He’ll be fine. He has to be. Right?” Justin looked at the neighbor. “Right?”
“Sure,” said the man. “I’m sure he will be.”
But Justin saw the look on the man’s face. That face said, this guy is a goner. Motorcycle. Head. Pavement. Not a good outcome.
A white vehicle came around the corner, siren blaring. Everything happened quickly after that. It seemed familiar to Justin. Something from deep in his memory, something buried and long thought dead. The EMT’s - young, brisk, focused. The stretcher. The neck brace. Orders barked. Questions asked. Vital signs taken. Then a police car and two patrolmen. More questions. And more. Gus sobbing, unable to answer. The strange blonde woman, her arm around the boy, comforting him. Justin, trying to explain. Trying. While Brian was being loaded into the ambulance.
“Wait! Where are you taking him?”
“Allegheny General,” was the answer.
Of course, thought Justin. Where Gus was born. Where they took me after… Justin winced. After I was bashed.
“Someone needs to go with him,” said Justin.
A paramedic who seemed to be in charge frowned. “Who are you?”
“Justin Taylor. I’m his friend. And that’s his son.”
“You can follow us to the hospital. We have to get moving.”
“But I’m his…” Justin paused. “I’m his partner.”
The paramedic’s face was impassive. “Then take care of your son. Go to the E.R. entrance and ask at the desk when you get to the hospital. Okay?”
“Okay,” said Justin. And he watched the ambulance drive away. The cops wrote more things down and then said they’d be in touch to follow up.
“Will there be charges? It was an accident! I saw the whole thing,” said Justin. “He swerved to avoid the Jeep, which wasn’t moving. It wasn’t the kid’s fault.”
“It depends,” said one of the cops. “If he dies, there will have to be an inquiry.” The patrolmen got into their car and took off.
If he dies.
“Daddy!” Gus was still wailing.
Justin reached out. “Gus, come with me.” The woman handed the boy off to Justin. “We have to go to the hospital.”
Gus was in a daze. “Hospital?”
“Yes.” Justin looked at the neighbors. “Can someone wheel the motorcycle up to the house?”
“Sure.” A couple of the men lifted the downed bike and began pushing it up the hill.
Justin climbed into the Jeep and prayed it would start. It did. “Gus, get in.”
The boy got in beside Justin and they drove slowly back to the house. The motorcycle was moved into the garage next to the Lexus. Justin checked the kitchen, turning off the oven and setting all the food aside on the counter. It would be the ultimate irony if they ended up burning down the house, too.
In the driveway, the neighbors were loitering, waiting to see what would happen next.
“Thanks,” said Justin. “I appreciate your help.”
“Your friend,” said the man who had called 911. “We really don’t know him. He hasn’t been here long. But I’ve seen him and the boy around. I saw him go by on the motorcycle a couple of times.”
“I know,” said Justin. “They just moved from Los Angeles. But Brian grew up in Pittsburgh. He owns Kinnetik, the advertising agency. I work there, too.”
“Never heard of it,” said the man. There was nothing more to say. “Well, good luck.”
Gus was still sitting in the Jeep. He was breathing heavily, almost hyperventilating. Between sharp gasps he moaned, “I killed him. I killed my dad.”
“Gus, take deep breaths,” said Justin. “Or else you’ll pass out.”
“I… can’t…” Gus was shaking. If he continued like this, he’d need the Emergency Room, too.
Justin hated to do it, but he couldn’t think of anything else. He slapped Gus hard. The shock caused the boy to recoil, but he also took a deep breath. He swallowed and stared back at Justin. “Why the fuck did you to that?”
“Because you need to focus. We both do.” Justin started up the Jeep and pulled it out of the driveway. “If you pass out, that’s not going to help Brian.”
“Nothing will help him,” said Gus. “Because I killed him! I killed my father!”
“Stop saying that or I’ll slap you again,” said Justin.
“I hate you,” Gus said in a flat voice.
“I don’t give a shit about that now,” Justin replied. “We have to get to Allegheny General. That’s the most important thing.”
“What difference does it make?” said Gus, sinking into the passenger seat. “Nothing will help. Ron’s dead and now Dad. I might as well be dead, too!”
“Fucking drama princess,” Justin muttered, his own panic rising. “Now shut the fuck up while I drive!”
By Gaedhal
Pittsburgh, July 2016
Justin ran.
He’d never run so fast in his life and yet it felt like slow motion. As he hurtled down the hill, it seemed as if the Jeep, the motorcycle, and Brian were farther and farther away with every agonizing step.
The door of the Jeep opened and Gus jumped out. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” he kept repeating. “Daddy! Oh my God!”
“Don’t touch him!” Justin warned. He’d finally reached the bottom of the hill.
“But…”
“No!” Justin knelt next to Brian’s still form. “We have to wait for the paramedics. He might have… have broken his neck. They need to stabilize him.”
“The paramedics?” Gus fumbled in his pocket, looking for his phone. “We have to call 911!”
“I already did that, son,” said an older man who was suddenly there. Justin looked around as other people came out of their homes and stood at the end of their driveways. “They’re sending an ambulance - and the police should be here, too.”
“Thank you,” said Justin. “Brian? Can you hear me?” Like Gus, he was desperate to touch Brian, but knew he could not. He wanted to remove the helmet, but he didn’t dare. Nothing. There was nothing he could do.
“His hand,” said the man. He was wearing plaid shorts and a Steelers tee shirt. “Feel his pulse.”
Justin nodded. Brian’s arm was flung out on the asphalt, his hand clenched in a tight fist. Justin lifted that hand gently and felt for his wrist. But even as he did that, the fingers twitched, the hand opening slightly. There was a pulse, weak but steady. Justin set Brian’s hand down. His own hand was smeared with blood when he took it away.
“Oh my God,” Justin said, staring at the blood.
Gus was now sitting in the road next to the stalled Jeep, his head in his hands. A blonde woman reached down and took his elbow. “It’ll be all right, hon. Come over here with me.”
“No!” the boy cried. “He’s dead! I killed him!”
“He’s not dead,” said Justin. He heard sirens in the distance, getting closer. “They’ll be here in a minute and then everything will be okay. They’ll take Brian to the hospital. He’ll be fine. He has to be. Right?” Justin looked at the neighbor. “Right?”
“Sure,” said the man. “I’m sure he will be.”
But Justin saw the look on the man’s face. That face said, this guy is a goner. Motorcycle. Head. Pavement. Not a good outcome.
A white vehicle came around the corner, siren blaring. Everything happened quickly after that. It seemed familiar to Justin. Something from deep in his memory, something buried and long thought dead. The EMT’s - young, brisk, focused. The stretcher. The neck brace. Orders barked. Questions asked. Vital signs taken. Then a police car and two patrolmen. More questions. And more. Gus sobbing, unable to answer. The strange blonde woman, her arm around the boy, comforting him. Justin, trying to explain. Trying. While Brian was being loaded into the ambulance.
“Wait! Where are you taking him?”
“Allegheny General,” was the answer.
Of course, thought Justin. Where Gus was born. Where they took me after… Justin winced. After I was bashed.
“Someone needs to go with him,” said Justin.
A paramedic who seemed to be in charge frowned. “Who are you?”
“Justin Taylor. I’m his friend. And that’s his son.”
“You can follow us to the hospital. We have to get moving.”
“But I’m his…” Justin paused. “I’m his partner.”
The paramedic’s face was impassive. “Then take care of your son. Go to the E.R. entrance and ask at the desk when you get to the hospital. Okay?”
“Okay,” said Justin. And he watched the ambulance drive away. The cops wrote more things down and then said they’d be in touch to follow up.
“Will there be charges? It was an accident! I saw the whole thing,” said Justin. “He swerved to avoid the Jeep, which wasn’t moving. It wasn’t the kid’s fault.”
“It depends,” said one of the cops. “If he dies, there will have to be an inquiry.” The patrolmen got into their car and took off.
If he dies.
“Daddy!” Gus was still wailing.
Justin reached out. “Gus, come with me.” The woman handed the boy off to Justin. “We have to go to the hospital.”
Gus was in a daze. “Hospital?”
“Yes.” Justin looked at the neighbors. “Can someone wheel the motorcycle up to the house?”
“Sure.” A couple of the men lifted the downed bike and began pushing it up the hill.
Justin climbed into the Jeep and prayed it would start. It did. “Gus, get in.”
The boy got in beside Justin and they drove slowly back to the house. The motorcycle was moved into the garage next to the Lexus. Justin checked the kitchen, turning off the oven and setting all the food aside on the counter. It would be the ultimate irony if they ended up burning down the house, too.
In the driveway, the neighbors were loitering, waiting to see what would happen next.
“Thanks,” said Justin. “I appreciate your help.”
“Your friend,” said the man who had called 911. “We really don’t know him. He hasn’t been here long. But I’ve seen him and the boy around. I saw him go by on the motorcycle a couple of times.”
“I know,” said Justin. “They just moved from Los Angeles. But Brian grew up in Pittsburgh. He owns Kinnetik, the advertising agency. I work there, too.”
“Never heard of it,” said the man. There was nothing more to say. “Well, good luck.”
Gus was still sitting in the Jeep. He was breathing heavily, almost hyperventilating. Between sharp gasps he moaned, “I killed him. I killed my dad.”
“Gus, take deep breaths,” said Justin. “Or else you’ll pass out.”
“I… can’t…” Gus was shaking. If he continued like this, he’d need the Emergency Room, too.
Justin hated to do it, but he couldn’t think of anything else. He slapped Gus hard. The shock caused the boy to recoil, but he also took a deep breath. He swallowed and stared back at Justin. “Why the fuck did you to that?”
“Because you need to focus. We both do.” Justin started up the Jeep and pulled it out of the driveway. “If you pass out, that’s not going to help Brian.”
“Nothing will help him,” said Gus. “Because I killed him! I killed my father!”
“Stop saying that or I’ll slap you again,” said Justin.
“I hate you,” Gus said in a flat voice.
“I don’t give a shit about that now,” Justin replied. “We have to get to Allegheny General. That’s the most important thing.”
“What difference does it make?” said Gus, sinking into the passenger seat. “Nothing will help. Ron’s dead and now Dad. I might as well be dead, too!”
“Fucking drama princess,” Justin muttered, his own panic rising. “Now shut the fuck up while I drive!”