Read Come What May (Heartbeat) Online
Authors: Faith Sullivan
Come What May (Heartbeat)
COME WHAT MAY
HEARTBEAT #2
FAITH SULLIVAN
Copyright © 2013 Faith Sullivan
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States of America.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Cover image © Yuri Arcurs
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Shutterstock.com
Edited by Mickey Reed at
http://www.ImABookShark.com
To readers who were shocked by the ending of HEARTBEAT
CONTENTS
Breathe, damn it. Breathe.
I continue the compressions on her chest, but she’s not responding. I can’t let this happen. I can’t let her die.
1…2…3…
My lips are on hers, but they’re ice cold. A shiver runs through me when I realize she’s already gone. She’s not coming back. I’m trying to resuscitate a corpse.
All I can hear is a woman wailing behind me. I squint against the flashing lights of the ambulance cutting through the snowfall. Cradling the dead girl in my arms, I know that I’ve failed her.
Stroking her damp hair, I whisper in her ear, “I’m sorry,” over and over again. Relaxing my hold, I caress her face. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a body bag being prepared. Oh God, no…
Her head is on my knee, and her eyelids are blue. Praying for a miracle, I will her eyes to open. And then suddenly, they do.
Trapping me with her gaze, she utters the word I know is coming.
“Adam?”
***
Startled, I jump out of bed, panting like I’ve run a marathon. Covered in a thin layer of sweat, I lean against the wall. This nightmare is my recurring torture. For weeks, it has haunted me. I can’t get that girl’s face out of my mind.
Katie Turner, the first victim I was unable to save.
If only…
No, I can’t go down that path. I’ve reworked the scenario a million different times and the end result never changes. Charlie and Tommy said she was doomed from the moment we arrived on the scene. Blood loss, head trauma, organ damage—the injuries to her body were supposedly irreparable. So why did she regain consciousness long enough to say my name?
After the accident, I tried to uncover if I had some prior connection to this girl. I Googled every name listed in her obituary. I attended her funeral hoping to bump into someone I recognized. I meticulously went through her list of Facebook friends. Nothing.
And yet she keeps appearing in my dreams. I can’t shake her. She jumbles my thoughts when I’m awake and pierces my sleep at night. She’s pursuing me from beyond the grave and I can’t escape her.
No amount of training could have prepared me for this. There’s no manual that explains how to deal with this type of phenomenon. How can I break free of the hold she has on me?
Scratching the stubble forming on my chin, I nudge the bedroom door open with my toe. In a few hours, Charlie is picking me up to go for breakfast. After several counseling sessions, my therapist recommended that I talk through my feelings with someone I trust. At work, my head isn’t in the game, and the last thing I need is to put someone else’s life in danger. Especially when I still have Katie’s blood on my hands.
The familiar throbbing sensation is beginning to pound inside my skull. Massaging my temples, I shuffle into the kitchen shielding my eyes from the glare as I open the refrigerator door. Popping the lid on a can of beer, I chug it down. There are only two left, so I might as well finish them off. Alcohol is a much better numbing agent than spilling my guts to Charlie.
Welcoming the buzz, I slip into a stupor. The induced haze provides the respite I desire. It’s the only way I find relief. I crush each can underfoot and one by one toss them in the general direction of the recycling bin, missing every time. My perception is way off. Yep, I’m officially drunk. I might as well keep going.
I root in the cabinet under the sink and pull out a bottle of whiskey. Tipping it back, I take a swig. Not yet satisfied, I take another. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I savor the burn cascading down my throat as it leads me toward oblivion.
Within minutes, the wooziness engulfs me and I’m free. Katie Turner can’t follow me here. I’m beyond her influence. I’m in a place where the world still makes sense. I’m a paramedic who saves lives, and those who are dying aren’t uttering my name with their last breath.
Sinking to my knees, I collapse onto the floor. The tiled surface is cool against my cheek. I succumb to the urge that is pulling me under. It’s like a riptide drawing me away from shore. I’m caught in the undertow, and I don’t care. All I seek is a release from this unending guilt.
***
Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong.
A line of drool trails from my gaping mouth. Yawning, I rub the back of my neck. I’m majorly hungover, and according to the microwave clock, it’s a little after seven in the morning. Staggering to my feet, the doorbell rings again. I have no choice but to answer it.
“Rise and shine, kid. Man, you look like hell.”
I don’t even respond as Charlie enters and I stumble up the stairs toward my bedroom. There’s no time to shower so I pull a red hoodie over my head and slide my feet into sneakers with the laces already tied. Stuffing my wallet and keys in my pocket, I brush past Charlie and walk out the door without saying a word.
“Good morning to you too, sunshine. You smell like a brewery.” It’s no surprise my attitude is pissing Charlie off.
Trudging toward his car, I raise my left hand behind me giving him the finger. I tug on the door handle but it won’t budge. Great, it’s locked. Keeping my back turned, I frame my face with my hood wanting to disappear.
Suddenly, I’m spun around and pinned against the side of the car. Charlie digs his nails into my shoulders. “What the hell is the matter with you, huh?” I’m at least six inches taller as I tower over him, but I’m immobilized by his grip. I lower my head, but he forces me to look at him. “Adam, this has to stop. You have to just forget about it.”
“I can’t.” I want to scream in his face, but instead I mumble incoherently. I don’t have the energy to explain how these dreams are destroying me from the inside out.
Giving me a shove, he stomps away. “Get in the car.” The shrill beep of his automatic door opener releases the locks.
Obeying his command, I sullenly drop into the passenger seat. I’m in no mood for a heart-to-heart. My head is pulsating, and the sun shining in my eyes isn’t helping. Lowering the visor, I slouch below the dashboard seeking the darkness I cannot find. It’s where I feel comfortable now. Daylight is too harsh. My soft underbelly doesn’t like to be exposed.
Wiping the condensation off the window, Charlie adjusts the defog control and backs onto the road that ends in a cul-de-sac at the top of my sloped driveway. Even though it’s freezing out, the chirping birds are heralding spring. Too bad I’m not buying their optimism. What I wouldn’t give to stay holed up in my apartment. But no, Charlie has to intervene and play the hero.
But for now, he’s ignoring me. Let him. Conversation is overrated anyway. I don’t need the lecture he’s about to give me. He’s a frustrated old man who’s tired of his life, trapped in a job like ninety-nine percent of the population. I’m not fooled by his bravado. He’s sick of riding in a frigid ambulance trying to hang on until retirement. Good luck, Charlie. It’s a long road ahead.
His face is still red and it’s not from the cold. He’s still inwardly seething. He thinks by holding his tongue that he won’t go off on me later. But he will. He always does—my mentor-turned-verbal combatant.
He’s driving semi-recklessly, taking the turns a bit too sharp. Wrapping my fingers around the door handle, I brace myself against the rapid shifts in momentum. Hurtling to the bottom of the mountain, he slams on the brakes at the first traffic light we come to. Directly in front of us is Eileen’s Diner with the usual array of four-wheel drive vehicles lined up outside.
Whistling, Charlie seeks to diffuse the tension before we enter the public arena. “There sure is a crowd today. They’ll probably be out of half the menu.”
His attempt at pleasantries is grating. So now he’s reverting back to Mr. Nice Guy? I don’t think so. He finds a space in the lot, but the minute we stop I bolt out of the car, slamming the door behind me. Not bothering to wait for Charlie, I storm inside and take a seat at the counter. Two regulars bedecked in thermal shirts and plaid vests give me looks before resuming their idle banter. Yeah, take notice. The screw-up of the year has arrived.
“Coffee, hun?” I simply nod at Eileen. She’s not half bad. It’s her place, but she doesn’t pry. Gossip fills her diner all day long. There’s no need for her to go looking for it. News finds its way to her on its own accord.
Turning over a mug, she fills it with the pot of regular she’s holding before circling the room to freshen up the cups that need it. I drink it black hoping it’ll abate the effects of my hangover. Pressing a hand to my forehead, I grimace as Charlie bumps my arm while sliding onto the stool beside me. He’s already made the rounds, greeting everyone he knows.
Eileen follows in his wake, ready to take our order. “What can I get for you, fellas?” She doesn’t need to write it down. She’ll just tell her husband who’s manning the grill a few feet away.
“Short stack of pancakes, two eggs over easy, hash browns, and rye toast.” My speech is slurred, but she does me the courtesy of pretending not to notice.
“The usual, Eileen,” is all Charlie says. No wonder he’s getting a little flabby around the middle. Eating in this grease trap multiple times a week will do that to a man. Ambulance crews live in joints like this. Killing time, taking bathroom breaks, seeking caffeine to stay awake—diners are a refuge. If I wasn’t skinny as a rail, I’d be three hundred pounds by now.
Taking a sip from his steaming mug, Charlie launches his attack. “Kid, Talbot’s disbanding our crew.”
Instinctively, my eyes dart to his. I want to question him, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. Let him keep talking.
“He bought a whole fleet of new rigs, and he doesn’t have enough manpower to run them. So he’s dividing everyone into two-person teams. And needless to say, I’m getting paired with Tommy.” But the only sound that registers is the clink of his mug hitting the saucer.
His announcement makes me want to throw in the towel. My heart isn’t in it any more, and this makes everything worse somehow. At least Charlie and Tommy have my back. Miserable has been my middle name lately. They’ve seen me at my worst, yet they continue to stick by me.
“Here you are, boys. Can I get you anything else?” Eileen asks, depositing our plates before us. I want to ask her if she can get me a new life, but it seems inappropriate. It’s not her fault things suck.
“Nah, we’re good here. Thanks Eileen.” Charlie gives her a wink and digs into his scrambled eggs.
I vent my frustration on my pancakes, tearing through them with my knife. As I reach across Charlie for the syrup, he grabs my wrist. “I fought for you, kid. I did. But Talbot didn’t buy my argument that because you’re in school you’re still technically a trainee. He thinks you’re ready to lead your own team.”
His tone indicates that he couldn’t disagree more, and I don’t blame him. I’m a mess. He knows it, even if Talbot doesn’t.
“So I think it’s time you snap out of whatever it is that’s bothering you and get your shit together.” He wipes a few crumbs from his mouth after finishing his toast, but I’m already losing focus.
A flash of pale skin framed by red hair skirts across my vision. Her voice echoes through my head. “Adam?”
“Adam?” Her intonation mixes with Charlie’s. He’s looking at me like I’m crazy. “Did you hear what I said? You’re going to be in charge of another student, Jada Martin. She’s a first-year at Blomain. Do you know her?”
All I do is shake my head because it doesn’t matter.