3

Chapter 3

March 2003, Manhattan, NY

            Silas walked through the door of the sixth floor loft he shared with Samantha at a quarter after three in the afternoon.  His patient load had been light and he finished early.  He knew Samantha would be home and he wanted to surprise her.  Van Morrison drifted across the room as Silas placed his keys, wallet, and cellphone in the dish on the table by the door and hung his coat on the hook next to the table.  He wished he had changed out of his navy blue scrubs before leaving the hospital.

            Rounding the corner that opened into the kitchen, Silas found papers, maps, and books scattered everywhere and Samantha hunched over a map and a book at the kitchen counter with her hair blanketing her face.  Black track pants and a gray sweater hugged her, showing off the curves Silas had explored numerous times.  He leaned against the corner, admiring her, not wanting to disrupt her working or cause her to knock over the glass of red wine next to her.  He loved watching her work especially when she may have found an area worth investigating on her maps or in her books.  Samantha had said something about a possible position at a university research department for an underwater excavation team.  Her eyes lit up each time she talked about it.  She had an interview that morning for the position.  Admiring long enough, Silas pushed himself from the wall, being careful not to step on any papers.  As he approached her, Samantha looked up through strands of dark hair, smiling.

            “Hi babe, you’re home early,” she said, still with her bright smile.

            Silas picked up the wine, taking a sip before leaning over to offer a kiss to his love’s soft, awaiting lips.  He mumbles a ‘hello’ between their meeting lips.  His reply is met with a soft hum as Samantha deepens the kiss.  Silas sets the wine glass away from the chaos of her research, quickly returning his hands and arms to her – entwining his fingers in her hair.  Her fingers twirled around the ends of his hair, taking a firm hold but not pulling as she held onto him.

            They stayed that way, holding on to one another and kissing, for several minutes, enjoying themselves as if their love was brand new rather than having been together for over a year.  Samantha was the one who finally broke it off with sweet, short, gentle kisses as she moved her arms to circle around his waist.  Her chin rested on his chest as he looked from her lips to her eyes to his fingers softly sweeping a strand of hair away from her forehead.

            “So my lovely Samantha, how did the interview go?”  Silas asked, still stroking her hair.

            She bit her bottom lip before turning them into a grin and saying, “I got the position.  The department head liked my previous work and wanted me to get started on the research as quickly as possible.”

            “What is the research on if you don’t mind me asking?”

            Samantha laughed, pulling her arms away to move back to the piles of maps and books, and replied, “I don’t mind.  It’s research about a supposed sunken pirate ship that new details say went down about two hundred years ago near New York or New Jersey.”

            “How very Captain Hook-ish,” Silas teased while reaching for the wine glass.  Samantha intercepted, regaining ownership of it.

            “You, Silas Clay, can go get your own glass of wine.  And I might for the time being call this project Captain Hook.”

            “Hey, I just wanted a sip, not the whole thing,” Silas fired back, throwing his hands up in direction of the glass.

            Samantha quirked an eyebrow and possessively held the glass.  Slowly moving away, she reached the barstool she previously occupied.  Carefully, she lifted her foot to press into the bottom rung so she could sit down.  Her bottom never met the wood for Silas’ hand caught her elbow, pulling her back towards him.  One arm snaked around her waist while his hand eased away the wine glass, took a sip, and then set it down.  A small kiss on her nose followed by a brief squeeze was done before Silas said, “Congratulations beautiful.  There’s no one more deserving than you.  When you become the next famous person to discover hidden pirate treasure and it’s all over the news, I’ll proudly proclaim to everyone that’ll listen that you’re my woman and I love you more than anything.”

            Samantha blinked away tears and gave her love a smile, whispering to him a thank you.  Van Morrison’s Have I Told You Lately came on next in the playlist.  Silas moved her hands from his arms to behind his neck as his hands wrapped around her hips.  Samantha pressed her cheek into his chest; he rested a kiss on her head.  They stayed that way as they swayed in time to the song.  When it was over, Samantha looked up and asked, “How was your day, Silas?”

            Removing one hand from her hip, Silas stroked a strand of hair and moved his fingers to rest on her neck.  His thumb caressed her cheek.  His eyes glanced at her lips then moved to her eyes.  A smile played upon Samantha’s face.  Silas wanted another kiss and then another and another.  He never wanted to stop kissing her.  As he leaned in to take more love from her lips, he whispered, “It was like all the rest, nothing new.  For now, I want to continue congratulating you.  Here on the kitchen counter, on the kitchen floor, then to the couch, then our bed where we’ll fall out from exhaustion.  Are you up for it?”

            His question was answered with a fevered kiss.  He met the fervor by backing them up to the counter, pushing away all the papers, maps, and books to the floor.  Samantha’s ass hit the edge of the butcher-block counter.  Her hands roamed over Silas’s back, his hands explored her hair as their lips and tongues danced a waltz. 

His hands gripped her thighs, hoisting her up to the counter.  Samantha laid back, her hair fanning out.  Silas loomed over, running his hands down her arms to her belly and then to the top of her black track pants.  They came off, along with the panties, with ease.  Samantha opened herself for him.  She was met with his tongue running up the inside of her thigh.  Silas placed an open-mouthed kiss on the soft flesh before moving up to remove her gray sweater.  The bra met the same fate as the rest of Samantha’s clothing.

Brown Eyed Girl flipped on next.  Silas was moving his way down Samantha’s neck to her chest before stalling over her pert nipples.  He moved his hand from her hip to brush his thumb across the pink pebble.  She inhaled sharply; he grazed his tongue over it.  Looking up at her, he rasped,” I love you, my brown eyed girl.”  She smiled faintly, his lips enclosed her nipple, she gasped and arched her back.

Present Day

On-call room, General Hospital

Slamming my eyes shut, I shake my head.  Why did that day have to bubble up from my own Tartarus?  That day we created life.

Whispering, I say to no one, “That was beginning of the end.”

2

Chapter 2

12:15 AM, October, General Hospital, Port Charles, NY

            Those few minutes it took to bring her back were some of the longest of my career and again…my life.  When it came to her livelihood, I got tunnel vision – everything disappeared but her.  In rapid fire as if on a film projector, memories of her sped through my brain as I did everything I could to save her.  Like I couldn’t do years before or with us.  The memories- her smile first thing in the morning, lazy and sweet, how excitedly her dark chocolate eyes would dance when I would surprise her with pizza from her favorite pizzeria, or how she’d breathily moan in my neck and arch her back underneath me- are still raging war inside me as I watch her get wheeled down to radiology for a CT scan.  Dr. Drake will need to be called in.  He would want to be for her case.

            Leaning against the nurse’s station, I take a few seconds to gather myself.  I hear footsteps approaching and I know it’s Elizabeth once she addresses me as, “Dr. Clay.”  Looking up, I see her face trying to be professional but worry weighs heavy in her eyes.

            “Yes, Nurse Webber, what is it?”  I ask as I try to clear my throat.

            “Samantha Morgan’s mother, Alexis Davis, is here as is Detective Falconeri.  Both would like to speak with you,” she says.

            I nod and say, “Thank you for telling me.  I’ll be with them in a minute.  One more thing, is that boy who brought Ms. Morgan in still here?”

            “I think so.  Last I saw he was sitting watching the TV in the waiting room.”

            I give her thanks once more before I head off to meet with the mother and detective.  Her mother.  She didn’t know who her mother was back then.  I recall days and nights she’d stay up scouring for information.  Her mother’s a nice enough lady the few times I spoke with her when I consulted on her grandson’s leukemia case.  For a brief time I thought about taking over his case but in the end I couldn’t.  He had had a good doctor and eventually was cured.  It hurt too much on too many aspects for me to be his doctor- to have to look at her and she look at me, not remembering who I was.  It would have gutted me.  Now, on the cusp of losing her once again, it hurts almost, if not, worse than it did the first time.

            But dwelling in self pity was of no use right now.  Her mother and the detective are waiting on me.  They stand by the entrance to the exam rooms- both huddle together, talking closely.  I take one last second to put myself in check.  Ms. Davis knew nothing of me, and definitely wouldn’t know of the past I share with her daughter.  I push the door open, immediately greeted with a mother’s look of worry and the detective’s look of business mixed with tense concern.  Det. Falconeri speaks first.

            “Dr. Clay, I’m Detective Dante Falconeri.  Nice to make your acquaintance,” he says with an offered hand.

            I meet his with mine and then another hand, smaller, was put forth in front of me.

            “I’m Alexis Davis, Samantha Morgan’s mother.  Can you tell us what happened?”

            “There should be a young man in the waiting room wearing a gray hoodie, baggy jeans with brown, buzzed hair who brought Ms. Morgan in.  We didn’t get his name but Nurse Webber said she saw him a short while ago.  He would be best to answer the question but I can tell you what happened from when he brought her in and onwards,” I answer, suddenly feeling the heavy weight of stress and my emotions dragging me down.

            “What condition was she in when he brought her in?” the detective asks as one of his police officers arrive with report paper in hand.

            I tell them of the swelling of her eyes, her bloodied split lip, and the gash in her hairline.  Dante asks if she was conscious or not.  I say not.  When I explain the sluggish vitals she had, her mother gasps and begins to panic after I tell them she crashed.  Ms. Davis was relieved somewhat when I explained how we revived her.

            “Where is she now?”  Alexis asks as I watch her eyes blink back welling tears.

            “She’s gone to CT.  We need to see if there’s any extensive trauma,” I answer, looking between her and the detective.

            “Dr. Clay, thanks for your answers.  I will check back later to see how she’s doing.  Alexis, I’m going to go question that kid,” Detective Falconeri announces before leaving with the officer.

            We watch them leave.  Exhaustion wants to take me and I still have six hours left in my shift.  The silence begins to feel strained as Alexis and I are in our own personal hells.  Her hand clutches her brown purse as she texts with the other.  I slump against the wall, lean my head back, close my eyes, and silently send words of love and concern into the universe, hoping they are heard.  Several seconds of silence go by before it is broken with words from a worried mother.

            “Dr. Clay, you consulted a few times on my grandson’s cancer case, didn’t you?”

            I open my eyes to look at her.  She is now leaning against a wall, looking away.  She’s wearing black slacks with a royal purple blouse, basic black heels.  Hair is wild from her hands gripping and raking it.

            “Yes, Ms. Davis, I did.  How is the little boy doing?”  I inquire, although I knew of his outcome.

            Alexis runs her tongue across her bottom lip, still clutching her purse.  She turns her head towards me.

            “He’s great.  In fact, Sam and I were supposed to go tomorrow to look for Halloween costumes for him.  Now, that looks unlikely.  Do you think she’ll be out by Halloween?”

            False hope is an enemy of mine.  It never serves any purpose.  So it would not be given here.

            “Ms. Davis, right now we don’t know.  I’m having Dr. Drake called in.  Everything is depending on the CT scan results and from there it will be up to him.”  A strained smile appears as she says, “Thank you, Dr. Clay for your honesty.”

            I give a nod in acknowledgement and say a simple, “You’re welcome” before walking off to grab a cup of coffee and maybe something unhealthy out of the vending machine in the doctor’s on-call room.  Coffee and junk food- a vast plain of nothing, just like my life.  Although, I shouldn’t say my life is nothing.  I do have the kid, Rafe, who is a well-mannered young man.  He makes coming home not so horrible.

            The on-call room is vacant.  Coffee pot is half full but cold.  The only item left in the vending machine is fake fried onions.  Wonderful.  The staff, patients, and their families would find me charming if I came back with coffee and onion breath.  Nonetheless, I need caffeine and something in my stomach.

            The coffee tastes burnt and the Funyuns are stale.  I roll my eyes at the realistic comparison.  Work, sleep, eat, piss and shit, try to father Rafe, and hit repeat.  No, add in missing her for the last ten years of my life on a daily basis, then hit repeat.  In the midst of self-deprecation, “Brown Eyed Girl” meat–cleavers my thoughts and the surrounding silent abyss.

            Funyun bag is crumpled underneath cross fingers, resting against my chin.  Eyes are closed, throat tightens, and I take deep, even breaths.  I feel a single drop roll down my face.  That early spring morning ten years before rushes to me.  It was one of the last moments of happiness we would have. 

1

Chapter 1

11:30pm, General Hospital, Port Charles, NY

            With every hiss of the sliding emergency room doors, more of the cool autumn air dances in.  A slight chill raises the hair on my forearm, I instantaneously rub the skin to friction the warmth.  Patients and their companions huddle in sweaters, hoodies, or coats as they wait for a nurse to call them back.  Nothing urgent among the patrons- sprains, cuts, and someone complaining of stomach cramps.  I tap my pen on the counter as the nurses behind me start gossiping - nothing is more irritating.  When I turn around, both girls stop and look up at me.

            “Why don’t one of you go see if there’s any new patients and the other go see if any paperwork needs to be filed.  Idleness will not happen on my watch,” I command, looking at them both.

            They nod and scatter away, grumbling they wished another doctor had come in.  I wish someone else had been called in also but the emergency room was short staffed and someone had a death in the family.  My nephew, Rafe, was staying with Lucy, and I had no one else at home.  Didn’t see a need to say no.  All that was left in the refrigerator was stereotypical empty Chinese takeout boxes, horrible sugar loaded sodas, and a lonely orange.  It was just the boy and me.  My love life died years ago when she slipped away.

            Not wanting to dwell on the past, I gather a chart for a patient that was patched up and ready to leave but stop in my tracks when a young man bursts through the emergency room doors carrying an unconscious person.  Several nurses scurry to the boy, prompting someone to bring a gurney.  I drop the chart, running to the cluster of bodies.

            Upon arrival, I notice the person is small, long dark, almost black hair swept over their face.  The person’s small body lay like a rag doll.  The ample swell of the chest said it was a female.  Making everyone move, I crouch down, feeling for her pulse which is sluggish, her skin cold, and breathing is erratic.

            “Where did you find her?”  I ask the young man, who stands a few feet away, staring as if the woman was dead and he’d never seen a dead body before.  He looks to be all of eighteen, maybe nineteen, wearing a gray hoodie and baggy jeans, buzzed brown hair.

            “Son, I said where did you find her?”  I ask again.

            He snaps his head, looking at me for the first time.

            “Oh…uh…yeah.  It was about two blocks away.  All of her possessions were gone except her purse,” he mumbles, handing a nearby nurse the tattered black leather purse.

            I nod at the nameless boy as I sweep the long, black hair away from the woman’s face.  Her face is an angry purple and blue, colors of swirling storm clouds.  Eyes are swollen, lip is split and bleeding, and blood is caked on her hairline.  Once I take in the whole face, I feel the breath knock out of me.  It is her.

            A nurse harshly pats my shoulder; I quickly swallow the lump in my throat and tell them to take her to exam room four after they swiftly but safely put her on a gurney.  Nurses and techs are running with the gurney, I’m quickly beside keeping check on her pulse, a pit of gnawing worry swells up.  A nurse sweeps the exam curtain back, I tell them to hook her up to monitors immediately. Her vitals are a mess, highly unstable. I’m afraid she could crash any moment.        

Oxygen is given but her heart rate is still unstable, too slow.  I check her pupils for dilation, they looked fine but I wanted her stabilized.  She needs a CT scan done for possible head trauma but her heart rate still worries me.  An IV is placed and I monitor her heart and respirations.  Her breathing is still sluggish.  And there’s still bleeding from a gash in her hairline.  I grab sutures, alcohol swabs, and begin cleaning the wound, preparing to sew it up.  In the middle of closing the gash, she crashes.  Someone hauls everything away, bringing in the defibrillator.  Time seems to stand still while it rushes around me.  It feels as if I’m pulled back in time.  With all my might and knowledge, I will not lose her again- not after all these years.