Fan Fic 100: After Shocks, Part 3
Title: After Shocks, Part 3
Author: kosmickway
Rated: R for language and sexuality
Summary: Grace's backstory continues as we learn about Zane, the man before Morgan, and Grace's first major case.
“Want me to leave you alone?” George asked solicitously. “You look like you’re trying not to fall asleep.”
“No, stay. I am trying not to fall asleep.”
“Sleep is the best thing for you right now.”
Grace ignored the unsolicited advice and looked out the window at the smoke-filled sky. “Did I ever tell you about my friend Zane?”
“I don’t think so.” George sat on the edge of her bed. “Is he someone I should know?”
“He was-“ Grace stopped, trying ro come up with the proper term to describe her complex relationship with Zane. “Fifteen years ago, he was the same thing to me that you are now. My partner at work, my best friend, my rock.” She looked up at George. “He was also, for a brief time, my lover. While Morgan and I were having a rough time.”
George nodded, surprised by this new revelation about his friend. “Where is Zane now?”
“He died in the Amnesty Towers bombing in Miami.”
“I’m sorry,” George said simply.
The Amnesty Towers bombing had been cataclysmic, the worst domestic terrorist incident up until Oklahoma City. Men and women in law enforcement still spoke of it in hushed voices and those who had worked it were regarded with awe bordering on reverence.
“I’ve never talked about it since it happened. Not even to Morgan,” Grace said. “It’s not easy to-“
George nodded. “It’s okay.”
“Zane and I worked the bombing as EMT’s. What we really wanted to be doing was crime scene investigation and bomb blast forensics. We’d each done a year at Quantico right after Columbia but by the time we’d finished up the hiring freeze was on and we couldn’t get anything at the Miami field office. We had bills to pay so we took on EMT positions, hoping to wait out the hiring freeze. ” Grace shook her head. “We were stupid kids.”
She took a deep breath, forgetting her injuries, and hissed in pain, pressing a hand to her rib cage. George frowned and started to hit the call button but Grace stayed his hand. “I’m okay. There’s nothing they can give me for it anyway. It has to heal on its own.” She managed a soft chuckle. “That’s Zane’s way of reminding me what an idiot I was.”
“What happened during the bombing?”
“We made a mistake. A big one. They called us to the scene to help triage, everyone within 50 miles with a medical degree and a basic knowledge of anatomy. Zane and I would have missed it if it hadn’t been for the fact that I left my damn radio on.”
=====
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone puke so much in my entire life.”
“Alexander Marshall, give it a rest! You’re making me sick!”
Zane grinned mischeviously. “Come on, Gracie, what’s a little bile between friends? It should be nothing to you, the Decomp Diva.”
“That wasn’t just a little bile. That was practically the entire lining of her stomach.” Grace shook her head, disgusted. “God, when will these college kids learn they can’t drink 10 shots and half a keg without dire consequences?”
Zane laughed. “According to the boyfriend downstairs it all started with a bet for $20 stakes. Unbelievable. Hope Mr. Hamilton was worth losing about five pounds and all that laser bleaching on her teeth. ”
“Stop, you’re making me feel sick!” Grace moaned. “Give it a rest.”
Zane grinned. “Speaking of bets, I have one for you.”
Grace raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I want to take a bet from you.”
“Trust me, you’ll like this one.”
“Okay.” She narrowed her eyes. “Name your stakes.”
Zane ran his hand familiarly along her inner thigh. “I bet that I can make you come three times in the shower.”
Grace pretended to think it over, trying hard not to giggle. She was secretly thrilled by this new side of their relationship. “Just three times? You’re slipping, honey. It was at least four the other night.”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “Three times is all the hot water heater can handle, Gray. Unless you think you’re still going to need a cold shower by the time I’m done with you.”
“God, who knew you were so depraved?”
“Deprived, honey. Deprived. Do you think Chase gives it up for me anymore?”
Grace stared at him, open-mouthed. “You and Chase stopped sleeping together? Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. The old ‘oh, honey, I’m so tired, I had such a long day, maybe tomorrow,’ routine.” He laughed hollowly. “Trust me, she’s good for everything up to heavy petting and then she’s closed for business. Nice to know there’s one female in our little household that likes me to touch her.”
Grace felt something hot and heavy sink in her chest. “Am I just good sex for you? Zane, if I wanted sex I’d go to Morgan for that. That’s all he wants.”
Zane braked sharply, causing a car behind him to honk and pull into the next lane. He pulled the car over to the side of the road. “Gray. Baby, no.” He took her face in his hands. “You’re a lot more to me than just sex. You’re my best friend, my partner in crime, my study buddy, and my ambulance amigo. Believe me, I haven’t stuck with you this long for nothing." He traced the line of her jaw with his fingers. “All of this history between us, these years and experiences, that’s more important to me than the sex. I’m just glad that now we have one more thing to share.” He wrapped her curls around his fingers. “It feels ... right to finally know your body. I’ve been staring at it for years and wondering what those curves of yours felt like.”
Grace leaned forward to look him in the eye. “So you’re not just with me for the sex? Honestly?”
“Honestly. Besides-“ Zane brushed his fingers across her cheek, his thumb rubbing lightly over her lips. “It’s not ‘just sex’ with you, mi amore. It’s making love.”
Their lips came together softly at first, then with more urgency. Grace nipped at his bottom lip, ran her fingers through his hair. He groaned against her mouth, murmured her name. His hands skimmed across her torso, slid under her shirt. “Let’s go home, baby. I want to get you in bed.”
“Drive fast,” Grace whispered into his ear. “I want your hands on me.”
They took the anticipated shower and Zane did, in fact, win his bet. They tumbled into his bed, all desperate hands and mouths, and alternated between sleep and sex for the better part of two hours. They were roused from sleep at 9:15 when Grace’s radio squawked out an alarm.
“All units, report to home base immediately. All units have been activated for
a major emergency in Miami. Repeat, all units, including volunteers, report to home base immediately.”
There were flames shooting from the upper stories of West Amnesty Tower. A huge gash had been torn in the steel and glass frame of the tower ... it looked at first glance as though a giant had taken a bite out of the side. Shattered safety glass, twisted metal, office furnishings, wood, and bodies were scattered in a huge circular diameter around the building.
Grace and Zane could only stare at the carnage, struck dumb. They wasted precious moments gaping at the building before there was a rap on Zane’s window. Joe Washington, the head of the 11 to 7 shift was yelling, “get your asses moving!” and they jumped to comply, grabbing their emergency gear out of the back of the car. When Grace stepped out of the car she was assaulted by the smell of superheated metal, gas, smoke, and the smell of cooking flesh. She held down the gag reflex, knowing that the smell was part and parcel of a bomb situation.
“Alvarez, Marshall, you’re on triage,” Washington barked, pointing toward the auxiliary parking lot, where people were lying on coats, blankets, plastic tarps, anything that could offer protection between the ground and their skin.
Grace met Zane’s eyes, dismayed that with all their forensic training they’d been relegated- again- to triage duty. Though it was never a good idea to question her superiors, she decided to toe the line, wanting to do the best that she could with the skill she’d been given.
“Joe, I’d really like to help with the on-site rescue efforts,” Grace ventured. “There’s still people in that building that need help.”
“Yeah, and there’s people out here that need help, too,” Washington replied. “Look, Alvarez, bomb squad’s in the building already and they’ve got their hands full without a bunch of trainees in there, complicating matters.”
“Joe, I’m not a trainee! I spent a summer doing classes on bomb blast forensics at Quantico,” she replied. “I can help you in there, really! We both can.” She gestured at Zane.
“Look,” Washington said sharply, losing patience, “I know you two are the hot shot Columbia kids, all right? I get it. But in this kind of situation, you do what I tell you to do, not what you think you can do. I got a woman over there who jumped from the 4th floor to get out of this building and she needs a lot more help than a band-aid and a pat on the hand. I’m asking you to triage because you’re the best I got. Now as a favor to me, do what I ask you. You’ll get your chance to do your forensics, Alvarez. You, too, Marshall. It just won’t be today. You straight with me?”
“Yeah,” Zane replied, hefting his kit. “Yeah, we’re straight. Where’s your jumper? I can help her out.”
Washington pointed them in the direction of the parking lot and turned to direct the other medical teams that were pulling in.
“I’ll take the left side,” Zane said, all business. “You take the right. Radio if you need me.”
Grace nodded and cut toward the right side of the parking lot where people lay bleeding and moaning. A few EMT’s were circulating among them already but not nearly enough to treat the number of people who were sprawled on the ground.
A man in scrubs approached her.
“EMT?”
“Grace Alvarez.”
“Dr. Martin Field. Glad you’re here. Can you triage for me?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Good. We’re seeing a lot of puncture wounds, wounds with foreign material in them, a lot of broken bones and head trauma. There have been a few jumpers- they’re first priority when the ambulances start arriving. Stabilize, field dress, and move on as quickly as you can. If you need assistance with anything severe, use your radio. We’re on channels 4 and 5.”
Grace nodded, making the adjustment on her radio and hefting her kit. “Anything else?”
“I wouldn’t look up if I were you.”
Despite his warning, Grace’s eyes flickered to the burning building. Amid the chorus of sirens, the crackle of fire, and the groaning of distressed steel, her ears isolated the sound of screaming. One scream, louder than the others, and then she saw it- a body flying through the air. No, not flying. Falling. A tiny black figure, silhouetted against a corona of fire and steel, its arms and legs waving almost comically as it pitched downward toward the pavement.
She didn’t see it hit. She wrenched her eyes away in time, bile rising in her throat. Her eyes met Dr. Field’s and she saw that his face was twisted into a grimace.
“There’ll be more,” he said grimly. “That’s the tenth so far. Keep your eyes down.”
The bomb went off at 9:00am. Full paramedic and fire teams were out in force within the hour, trying to treat the victims and stoke the fires. At 11:00am, Joe Washington began rounding up a team to venture into the building to look for survivors.
Zane found Grace treating a woman with second degree burns on her arms and hands. Giving the woman a quick smile, he kneeled next to Grace and whispered, “Washington assigned Meran to head rescue teams.”
Grace began winding gauze around the woman’s wrists. “So?”
“So, Meran owes me a favor. He’ll put us on the team if I ask him to.”
“Joe asked us to triage,” Grace said, cutting the gauze and winding tape around the dressing. “There you go. We’ll get you in to a hospital as soon as possible.” She gathered her kit and walked away with Zane.
“Come on, Gray, since when do you ever do what Joe asks?”
“Look, I want to go in there as much as you do. But he has a point. We’re short-handed on triage. They need us out here.”
“They’ve treated most of the major injuries,” Zane coaxed. “There’ve been ten ambulances dispatched out to the hospitals. More personnel and ambulances are on the way. Come on, Gray, when are you ever going to get an opportunity like this again? When are you going to be able to actually use bomb blast forensics in the field?”
“Not often,” she admitted. She looked up at the smoldering building, fingers itching to be digging in the rubble and wreckage, eager to find what had caused so much damage and how to stop it from happening again.
“So come on. Washington’s busy with the press. I’ll talk to Meran, get us on the first team in. We’ll look for survivors, you can work with the evidence teams getting your samples and info.”
It was too tempting to resist. Grace nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”
They searched the ruins methodically, floor by floor, from the lobby up. The chance of finding survivors in the building decreased every hour so the rescuers searched quickly but carefully, entering offices and suites and listening to for signs of life, pushing aside wreckage and debris. Grace and several members of the CSI team assigned to the bombing carried evidence bags and containers and spent time combing the debris while the others looked for survivors.
By noon, they’d reached the offices on the fourth floor of the tower. The plexiglass-covered map of the offices on each floor was sooty but intact. Team leader Tim Meran studied it and quickly calculated how to cover the search area in the quickest amount of time.
“Dr. Field, Miriam, take the three offices to the left of the elevators. Grace, Zane, and I will take the ones on the right. Ray, Jason, take the back two suites. From the blast pattern it looks like the bomb was located somewhere in or around this floor. I doubt we’ll find survivors so close to the point of origin but it won’t hurt to look.”
They were about to split up when Joe Washington’s voice crackled out of Grace’s radio.
“122 to 415.”
Grace depressed the talk button. “415, go ahead.”
“Discontinue your triage duties and 10-25 me in the west parking lot for a hospital run. I’m short on paramedics and I’ve got two women who need immediate transport to Lincoln Memorial.”
“Copy that, 122. I’m 10-12 to your location.” She placed the radio back on her hip and glanced around at her team. “Sorry, guys. I’ll be back in as soon as I can.” She passed her evidence bags off to Miriam West, the primary CSI. “Don’t start your analysis without me.”
“Trust me, Grace, we’ve got plenty,” West replied. “Make your run. Radio in when you get back.”
Grace headed down the stairwell, hoping she could make it out of the building without Washington spotting her. She’d be up for a reprimand if he knew she’d disobeyed his direct orders and discontinued her triage duties in order to go in with the CSI team.
She was halfway across the lobby when there was an explosion from the elevator shaft, one that knocked her off of her feet and engulfed the walls and ceiling in flames.
==========
“Second wave,” George said softly.
Grace nodded, wiping her eyes. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying until that moment. “The second wave of explosives. They were located in the elevator shaft in the underground parking garage. They were timed to go off three hours after the original explosion, almost certainly to catch the rescue teams and investigators who’d be in the building.”
“What happened?” George asked. “To Zane and the others?”
“Dr. Field made it out, carrying Miriam West. We never did figure out how he made it down those four flights of steps with a shattered femur. But he came out, Miriam in his arms. She needed 7 rounds of surgery to repair the damage the blast did to her. Of the 10 major bones in the human face, she broke 6.
“Ray and Jason were closest to the elevators when the doors blasted out. They suffered from what’s called the Van Gogh effect ... their ears were torn off their heads from the force of the explosion, indicating that they were facing the bomb head on when it detonated. The most that was ever found of them were body parts. I named my oldest son after Jason ... he was one of the bravest, most dedicated EMT’s I ever met.
“Tim Meran made it as far as the lobby before he collapsed from shock and blood loss. He lost an eye and needed skin grafts from the glass window that shattered on him. Joe Washington dragged Tim out of the lobby himself.”
Grace took a shaky breath and stared out the window. Night had fallen and the horizon was glowing orange with flame.
“I ran up the stairs on a broken ankle, looking for Zane. I searched all over the fourth floor for him. It didn’t occur to me that he was probably already dead, that he’d died the minute the bomb went off. I couldn’t leave that building without him. If he wasn’t going to leave that building neither was I.
“Joe Washington ran in after me. He said he found me on my hands and knees, sifting through ash and rock, screaming, covered in blood. He carried me out before West Amnesty Tower came down. He told me later he had to strap me to a gurney because I kept trying to run back inside.”
Her voice broke and fresh tears cascaded down her cheeks.
“I went back a few weeks later with Miriam, Tim, and Martin Field. We each took a chunk of concrete from the site, a piece of the building closest to the epicenter of the explosion. To remember.”
“That’s the concrete you keep on your desk in the lab, isn’t it?” George asked quietly.
Grace nodded. “What I don’t think you’ve ever noticed is the black blotch on the underside of it. I tested it in the lab a few years ago, just to see what it was. I thought it was charring from the fire. It’s actually melted black plastic and rubber that was fused into the concrete in the heat of the explosion. It’s consistent with the plastic and rubber you’d find in a two-way radio. I like to think it belonged to Zane.”
George’s hand went to her hair, brushed a few loose curls away from her face. “If I’d know what it took for you to go in that building today, if I’d had any idea-“
”I wouldn’t have let you stop me,” Grace finished. “I needed today. I’ve needed it for a long time. It’s been fifteen years but I’ve never come face to face with Zane’s death before now.
All I’ve ever done is blame myself for agreeing to go into that building with him, for letting him talk me into trying to prove myself as a scientist instead of staying where I belonged and triaging like I was supposed to. If I’d turned him down, convinced him to stay with me in the parking lot and make ambulance runs, he’d be alive today. He’d never have gone if I hadn’t agreed to go in too.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” George said softly, though he knew that telling her wouldn’t do any good unless she believed it herself.
Grace stared out the window again, looking at the glowing orange sky. “There wasn’t enough of him left to bury. The crematorium ended up sending a mix of ashes of all the victims to the families who had loved ones to bury. Chase insisted on burning a lot of his clothes and books to mix in. She wanted there to be plenty of him in those ashes. Morgan, Chase and I took a swamp boat into the Everglades one rainy Saturday and cast his ashes into the wind. He would have wanted to be there.
“Morgan never found out Zane and I had been lovers. I think he suspected, though. There were times when we were making love when he could tell I wasn’t with him. Chase never knew- well, if she did she never let on. After Zane died she faded out of our lives. It was too hard for all of us to live with that kind of shared pain. We moved to Atlanta and she stayed on in Miami. As far as I know, she got married and still lives there with her husband.” She wasn’t aware that she was crying again until she felt George’s fingers on her cheeks, brushing away tears. “I wonder if she ever moved past him. Sometimes I don’t think I ever will.”
George took her hand and cradled it in his own. She could feel the frayed skin on his palms, the bandages covering the delicate tapered length of his fingers. “There are some things that you’re never supposed to get over, people and events in your life that always pull at your heart and make you feel pain. They make you remember your limitations. They make you remember what it is to be alive.”
Grace shut her eyes. When she opened them she was blinking back tears. “You remind me of him sometimes. Especially when you say things like that.”
George rose and walked to the window. He pulled shut the running blinds to block the view of the smoldering skyline. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep now? I’ll wake you up when Bailey gets here to take us home.”
“Thanks.” She was tired all of a sudden, desperately weary. It would feel good to sleep for a while. “George?”
“Hmmm?”
A hundred questions entered her mind, a hundred things she wanted to say, none of which she could verbalize without sounding emotional, weepy, or just plain trite. George watched her grasp for words and seemed to understand.
“Whatever it is you want to ask me is something you already know the answer to,” he said softly. “What good is it going to do you to hear it all said again?” She felt his cool touch on her forehead. “Close your eyes. I’ll be right here when you wake up, whatever happens.”
Grace looked up into the eyes of her best friend, nodded, and closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to claim her, hoping to find Zane waiting there.
Finis.
Additional Author's Note: I've been working on this piece of back story of Grace's for the last six months. This has been one of the most difficult pieces I've ever written since I had to spend some much time and effort trying to make it authentically Grace. I'm hoping I've managed to give her the rich back-story that she deserves. I welcome any and all feedback on any aspect of this story, from my handling of the forensics to the relationships to your thoughts on what Grace's backstory should and shouldn't be. Thanks for reading!
Author: kosmickway
Rated: R for language and sexuality
Summary: Grace's backstory continues as we learn about Zane, the man before Morgan, and Grace's first major case.
“Want me to leave you alone?” George asked solicitously. “You look like you’re trying not to fall asleep.”
“No, stay. I am trying not to fall asleep.”
“Sleep is the best thing for you right now.”
Grace ignored the unsolicited advice and looked out the window at the smoke-filled sky. “Did I ever tell you about my friend Zane?”
“I don’t think so.” George sat on the edge of her bed. “Is he someone I should know?”
“He was-“ Grace stopped, trying ro come up with the proper term to describe her complex relationship with Zane. “Fifteen years ago, he was the same thing to me that you are now. My partner at work, my best friend, my rock.” She looked up at George. “He was also, for a brief time, my lover. While Morgan and I were having a rough time.”
George nodded, surprised by this new revelation about his friend. “Where is Zane now?”
“He died in the Amnesty Towers bombing in Miami.”
“I’m sorry,” George said simply.
The Amnesty Towers bombing had been cataclysmic, the worst domestic terrorist incident up until Oklahoma City. Men and women in law enforcement still spoke of it in hushed voices and those who had worked it were regarded with awe bordering on reverence.
“I’ve never talked about it since it happened. Not even to Morgan,” Grace said. “It’s not easy to-“
George nodded. “It’s okay.”
“Zane and I worked the bombing as EMT’s. What we really wanted to be doing was crime scene investigation and bomb blast forensics. We’d each done a year at Quantico right after Columbia but by the time we’d finished up the hiring freeze was on and we couldn’t get anything at the Miami field office. We had bills to pay so we took on EMT positions, hoping to wait out the hiring freeze. ” Grace shook her head. “We were stupid kids.”
She took a deep breath, forgetting her injuries, and hissed in pain, pressing a hand to her rib cage. George frowned and started to hit the call button but Grace stayed his hand. “I’m okay. There’s nothing they can give me for it anyway. It has to heal on its own.” She managed a soft chuckle. “That’s Zane’s way of reminding me what an idiot I was.”
“What happened during the bombing?”
“We made a mistake. A big one. They called us to the scene to help triage, everyone within 50 miles with a medical degree and a basic knowledge of anatomy. Zane and I would have missed it if it hadn’t been for the fact that I left my damn radio on.”
=====
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone puke so much in my entire life.”
“Alexander Marshall, give it a rest! You’re making me sick!”
Zane grinned mischeviously. “Come on, Gracie, what’s a little bile between friends? It should be nothing to you, the Decomp Diva.”
“That wasn’t just a little bile. That was practically the entire lining of her stomach.” Grace shook her head, disgusted. “God, when will these college kids learn they can’t drink 10 shots and half a keg without dire consequences?”
Zane laughed. “According to the boyfriend downstairs it all started with a bet for $20 stakes. Unbelievable. Hope Mr. Hamilton was worth losing about five pounds and all that laser bleaching on her teeth. ”
“Stop, you’re making me feel sick!” Grace moaned. “Give it a rest.”
Zane grinned. “Speaking of bets, I have one for you.”
Grace raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I want to take a bet from you.”
“Trust me, you’ll like this one.”
“Okay.” She narrowed her eyes. “Name your stakes.”
Zane ran his hand familiarly along her inner thigh. “I bet that I can make you come three times in the shower.”
Grace pretended to think it over, trying hard not to giggle. She was secretly thrilled by this new side of their relationship. “Just three times? You’re slipping, honey. It was at least four the other night.”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “Three times is all the hot water heater can handle, Gray. Unless you think you’re still going to need a cold shower by the time I’m done with you.”
“God, who knew you were so depraved?”
“Deprived, honey. Deprived. Do you think Chase gives it up for me anymore?”
Grace stared at him, open-mouthed. “You and Chase stopped sleeping together? Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. The old ‘oh, honey, I’m so tired, I had such a long day, maybe tomorrow,’ routine.” He laughed hollowly. “Trust me, she’s good for everything up to heavy petting and then she’s closed for business. Nice to know there’s one female in our little household that likes me to touch her.”
Grace felt something hot and heavy sink in her chest. “Am I just good sex for you? Zane, if I wanted sex I’d go to Morgan for that. That’s all he wants.”
Zane braked sharply, causing a car behind him to honk and pull into the next lane. He pulled the car over to the side of the road. “Gray. Baby, no.” He took her face in his hands. “You’re a lot more to me than just sex. You’re my best friend, my partner in crime, my study buddy, and my ambulance amigo. Believe me, I haven’t stuck with you this long for nothing." He traced the line of her jaw with his fingers. “All of this history between us, these years and experiences, that’s more important to me than the sex. I’m just glad that now we have one more thing to share.” He wrapped her curls around his fingers. “It feels ... right to finally know your body. I’ve been staring at it for years and wondering what those curves of yours felt like.”
Grace leaned forward to look him in the eye. “So you’re not just with me for the sex? Honestly?”
“Honestly. Besides-“ Zane brushed his fingers across her cheek, his thumb rubbing lightly over her lips. “It’s not ‘just sex’ with you, mi amore. It’s making love.”
Their lips came together softly at first, then with more urgency. Grace nipped at his bottom lip, ran her fingers through his hair. He groaned against her mouth, murmured her name. His hands skimmed across her torso, slid under her shirt. “Let’s go home, baby. I want to get you in bed.”
“Drive fast,” Grace whispered into his ear. “I want your hands on me.”
They took the anticipated shower and Zane did, in fact, win his bet. They tumbled into his bed, all desperate hands and mouths, and alternated between sleep and sex for the better part of two hours. They were roused from sleep at 9:15 when Grace’s radio squawked out an alarm.
“All units, report to home base immediately. All units have been activated for
a major emergency in Miami. Repeat, all units, including volunteers, report to home base immediately.”
There were flames shooting from the upper stories of West Amnesty Tower. A huge gash had been torn in the steel and glass frame of the tower ... it looked at first glance as though a giant had taken a bite out of the side. Shattered safety glass, twisted metal, office furnishings, wood, and bodies were scattered in a huge circular diameter around the building.
Grace and Zane could only stare at the carnage, struck dumb. They wasted precious moments gaping at the building before there was a rap on Zane’s window. Joe Washington, the head of the 11 to 7 shift was yelling, “get your asses moving!” and they jumped to comply, grabbing their emergency gear out of the back of the car. When Grace stepped out of the car she was assaulted by the smell of superheated metal, gas, smoke, and the smell of cooking flesh. She held down the gag reflex, knowing that the smell was part and parcel of a bomb situation.
“Alvarez, Marshall, you’re on triage,” Washington barked, pointing toward the auxiliary parking lot, where people were lying on coats, blankets, plastic tarps, anything that could offer protection between the ground and their skin.
Grace met Zane’s eyes, dismayed that with all their forensic training they’d been relegated- again- to triage duty. Though it was never a good idea to question her superiors, she decided to toe the line, wanting to do the best that she could with the skill she’d been given.
“Joe, I’d really like to help with the on-site rescue efforts,” Grace ventured. “There’s still people in that building that need help.”
“Yeah, and there’s people out here that need help, too,” Washington replied. “Look, Alvarez, bomb squad’s in the building already and they’ve got their hands full without a bunch of trainees in there, complicating matters.”
“Joe, I’m not a trainee! I spent a summer doing classes on bomb blast forensics at Quantico,” she replied. “I can help you in there, really! We both can.” She gestured at Zane.
“Look,” Washington said sharply, losing patience, “I know you two are the hot shot Columbia kids, all right? I get it. But in this kind of situation, you do what I tell you to do, not what you think you can do. I got a woman over there who jumped from the 4th floor to get out of this building and she needs a lot more help than a band-aid and a pat on the hand. I’m asking you to triage because you’re the best I got. Now as a favor to me, do what I ask you. You’ll get your chance to do your forensics, Alvarez. You, too, Marshall. It just won’t be today. You straight with me?”
“Yeah,” Zane replied, hefting his kit. “Yeah, we’re straight. Where’s your jumper? I can help her out.”
Washington pointed them in the direction of the parking lot and turned to direct the other medical teams that were pulling in.
“I’ll take the left side,” Zane said, all business. “You take the right. Radio if you need me.”
Grace nodded and cut toward the right side of the parking lot where people lay bleeding and moaning. A few EMT’s were circulating among them already but not nearly enough to treat the number of people who were sprawled on the ground.
A man in scrubs approached her.
“EMT?”
“Grace Alvarez.”
“Dr. Martin Field. Glad you’re here. Can you triage for me?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Good. We’re seeing a lot of puncture wounds, wounds with foreign material in them, a lot of broken bones and head trauma. There have been a few jumpers- they’re first priority when the ambulances start arriving. Stabilize, field dress, and move on as quickly as you can. If you need assistance with anything severe, use your radio. We’re on channels 4 and 5.”
Grace nodded, making the adjustment on her radio and hefting her kit. “Anything else?”
“I wouldn’t look up if I were you.”
Despite his warning, Grace’s eyes flickered to the burning building. Amid the chorus of sirens, the crackle of fire, and the groaning of distressed steel, her ears isolated the sound of screaming. One scream, louder than the others, and then she saw it- a body flying through the air. No, not flying. Falling. A tiny black figure, silhouetted against a corona of fire and steel, its arms and legs waving almost comically as it pitched downward toward the pavement.
She didn’t see it hit. She wrenched her eyes away in time, bile rising in her throat. Her eyes met Dr. Field’s and she saw that his face was twisted into a grimace.
“There’ll be more,” he said grimly. “That’s the tenth so far. Keep your eyes down.”
The bomb went off at 9:00am. Full paramedic and fire teams were out in force within the hour, trying to treat the victims and stoke the fires. At 11:00am, Joe Washington began rounding up a team to venture into the building to look for survivors.
Zane found Grace treating a woman with second degree burns on her arms and hands. Giving the woman a quick smile, he kneeled next to Grace and whispered, “Washington assigned Meran to head rescue teams.”
Grace began winding gauze around the woman’s wrists. “So?”
“So, Meran owes me a favor. He’ll put us on the team if I ask him to.”
“Joe asked us to triage,” Grace said, cutting the gauze and winding tape around the dressing. “There you go. We’ll get you in to a hospital as soon as possible.” She gathered her kit and walked away with Zane.
“Come on, Gray, since when do you ever do what Joe asks?”
“Look, I want to go in there as much as you do. But he has a point. We’re short-handed on triage. They need us out here.”
“They’ve treated most of the major injuries,” Zane coaxed. “There’ve been ten ambulances dispatched out to the hospitals. More personnel and ambulances are on the way. Come on, Gray, when are you ever going to get an opportunity like this again? When are you going to be able to actually use bomb blast forensics in the field?”
“Not often,” she admitted. She looked up at the smoldering building, fingers itching to be digging in the rubble and wreckage, eager to find what had caused so much damage and how to stop it from happening again.
“So come on. Washington’s busy with the press. I’ll talk to Meran, get us on the first team in. We’ll look for survivors, you can work with the evidence teams getting your samples and info.”
It was too tempting to resist. Grace nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”
They searched the ruins methodically, floor by floor, from the lobby up. The chance of finding survivors in the building decreased every hour so the rescuers searched quickly but carefully, entering offices and suites and listening to for signs of life, pushing aside wreckage and debris. Grace and several members of the CSI team assigned to the bombing carried evidence bags and containers and spent time combing the debris while the others looked for survivors.
By noon, they’d reached the offices on the fourth floor of the tower. The plexiglass-covered map of the offices on each floor was sooty but intact. Team leader Tim Meran studied it and quickly calculated how to cover the search area in the quickest amount of time.
“Dr. Field, Miriam, take the three offices to the left of the elevators. Grace, Zane, and I will take the ones on the right. Ray, Jason, take the back two suites. From the blast pattern it looks like the bomb was located somewhere in or around this floor. I doubt we’ll find survivors so close to the point of origin but it won’t hurt to look.”
They were about to split up when Joe Washington’s voice crackled out of Grace’s radio.
“122 to 415.”
Grace depressed the talk button. “415, go ahead.”
“Discontinue your triage duties and 10-25 me in the west parking lot for a hospital run. I’m short on paramedics and I’ve got two women who need immediate transport to Lincoln Memorial.”
“Copy that, 122. I’m 10-12 to your location.” She placed the radio back on her hip and glanced around at her team. “Sorry, guys. I’ll be back in as soon as I can.” She passed her evidence bags off to Miriam West, the primary CSI. “Don’t start your analysis without me.”
“Trust me, Grace, we’ve got plenty,” West replied. “Make your run. Radio in when you get back.”
Grace headed down the stairwell, hoping she could make it out of the building without Washington spotting her. She’d be up for a reprimand if he knew she’d disobeyed his direct orders and discontinued her triage duties in order to go in with the CSI team.
She was halfway across the lobby when there was an explosion from the elevator shaft, one that knocked her off of her feet and engulfed the walls and ceiling in flames.
==========
“Second wave,” George said softly.
Grace nodded, wiping her eyes. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying until that moment. “The second wave of explosives. They were located in the elevator shaft in the underground parking garage. They were timed to go off three hours after the original explosion, almost certainly to catch the rescue teams and investigators who’d be in the building.”
“What happened?” George asked. “To Zane and the others?”
“Dr. Field made it out, carrying Miriam West. We never did figure out how he made it down those four flights of steps with a shattered femur. But he came out, Miriam in his arms. She needed 7 rounds of surgery to repair the damage the blast did to her. Of the 10 major bones in the human face, she broke 6.
“Ray and Jason were closest to the elevators when the doors blasted out. They suffered from what’s called the Van Gogh effect ... their ears were torn off their heads from the force of the explosion, indicating that they were facing the bomb head on when it detonated. The most that was ever found of them were body parts. I named my oldest son after Jason ... he was one of the bravest, most dedicated EMT’s I ever met.
“Tim Meran made it as far as the lobby before he collapsed from shock and blood loss. He lost an eye and needed skin grafts from the glass window that shattered on him. Joe Washington dragged Tim out of the lobby himself.”
Grace took a shaky breath and stared out the window. Night had fallen and the horizon was glowing orange with flame.
“I ran up the stairs on a broken ankle, looking for Zane. I searched all over the fourth floor for him. It didn’t occur to me that he was probably already dead, that he’d died the minute the bomb went off. I couldn’t leave that building without him. If he wasn’t going to leave that building neither was I.
“Joe Washington ran in after me. He said he found me on my hands and knees, sifting through ash and rock, screaming, covered in blood. He carried me out before West Amnesty Tower came down. He told me later he had to strap me to a gurney because I kept trying to run back inside.”
Her voice broke and fresh tears cascaded down her cheeks.
“I went back a few weeks later with Miriam, Tim, and Martin Field. We each took a chunk of concrete from the site, a piece of the building closest to the epicenter of the explosion. To remember.”
“That’s the concrete you keep on your desk in the lab, isn’t it?” George asked quietly.
Grace nodded. “What I don’t think you’ve ever noticed is the black blotch on the underside of it. I tested it in the lab a few years ago, just to see what it was. I thought it was charring from the fire. It’s actually melted black plastic and rubber that was fused into the concrete in the heat of the explosion. It’s consistent with the plastic and rubber you’d find in a two-way radio. I like to think it belonged to Zane.”
George’s hand went to her hair, brushed a few loose curls away from her face. “If I’d know what it took for you to go in that building today, if I’d had any idea-“
”I wouldn’t have let you stop me,” Grace finished. “I needed today. I’ve needed it for a long time. It’s been fifteen years but I’ve never come face to face with Zane’s death before now.
All I’ve ever done is blame myself for agreeing to go into that building with him, for letting him talk me into trying to prove myself as a scientist instead of staying where I belonged and triaging like I was supposed to. If I’d turned him down, convinced him to stay with me in the parking lot and make ambulance runs, he’d be alive today. He’d never have gone if I hadn’t agreed to go in too.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” George said softly, though he knew that telling her wouldn’t do any good unless she believed it herself.
Grace stared out the window again, looking at the glowing orange sky. “There wasn’t enough of him left to bury. The crematorium ended up sending a mix of ashes of all the victims to the families who had loved ones to bury. Chase insisted on burning a lot of his clothes and books to mix in. She wanted there to be plenty of him in those ashes. Morgan, Chase and I took a swamp boat into the Everglades one rainy Saturday and cast his ashes into the wind. He would have wanted to be there.
“Morgan never found out Zane and I had been lovers. I think he suspected, though. There were times when we were making love when he could tell I wasn’t with him. Chase never knew- well, if she did she never let on. After Zane died she faded out of our lives. It was too hard for all of us to live with that kind of shared pain. We moved to Atlanta and she stayed on in Miami. As far as I know, she got married and still lives there with her husband.” She wasn’t aware that she was crying again until she felt George’s fingers on her cheeks, brushing away tears. “I wonder if she ever moved past him. Sometimes I don’t think I ever will.”
George took her hand and cradled it in his own. She could feel the frayed skin on his palms, the bandages covering the delicate tapered length of his fingers. “There are some things that you’re never supposed to get over, people and events in your life that always pull at your heart and make you feel pain. They make you remember your limitations. They make you remember what it is to be alive.”
Grace shut her eyes. When she opened them she was blinking back tears. “You remind me of him sometimes. Especially when you say things like that.”
George rose and walked to the window. He pulled shut the running blinds to block the view of the smoldering skyline. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep now? I’ll wake you up when Bailey gets here to take us home.”
“Thanks.” She was tired all of a sudden, desperately weary. It would feel good to sleep for a while. “George?”
“Hmmm?”
A hundred questions entered her mind, a hundred things she wanted to say, none of which she could verbalize without sounding emotional, weepy, or just plain trite. George watched her grasp for words and seemed to understand.
“Whatever it is you want to ask me is something you already know the answer to,” he said softly. “What good is it going to do you to hear it all said again?” She felt his cool touch on her forehead. “Close your eyes. I’ll be right here when you wake up, whatever happens.”
Grace looked up into the eyes of her best friend, nodded, and closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to claim her, hoping to find Zane waiting there.
Finis.
Additional Author's Note: I've been working on this piece of back story of Grace's for the last six months. This has been one of the most difficult pieces I've ever written since I had to spend some much time and effort trying to make it authentically Grace. I'm hoping I've managed to give her the rich back-story that she deserves. I welcome any and all feedback on any aspect of this story, from my handling of the forensics to the relationships to your thoughts on what Grace's backstory should and shouldn't be. Thanks for reading!