www.neminat.com Third Edition
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * by Vilia Kinell Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 B1 Part 4 Part 5 B2 Part 6 - Story Index © - 2007 Vilia Kinell, all rights reserved. Disclaimer: None needed – These people are mine, I made them up. Please let me know if you wish to borrow them so that I don’t think they’ve been kidnapped and come after you with a shovel. LANGUAGE: Yes. Without it we fail to communicate and express ourselves. Some swearing occurs. SEX WARNING: Adult situations between two adult consenting women depicted. If this is illegal or otherwise frowned upon where you live, or by you – Go away! NOTES: Still here? Cool! Please send constructive comments or feedback to me…I’d love to hear it! THANKS TO: Many, many heart throbbing thanks to Tintin for being my constant supporter, encourager, friend and Beta. As creativity sometimes left me and consequently had the story hanging in thin air she inspired me to new heights. THANK YOU EVER SO MUCH, Tin!!! *Big Smooch!!* Comments and/or feedback: vilia@stockholm.com Chapter I
November 1, 2006 Captain James McFarlane had seen worse storms in his day but truth be told, he was growing concerned with the roaring Mother Nature and rather upset Hudson River. She’s clearly not in a good mood today, he brooded as he skillfully steered through the waves. Out on deck the volunteers of the U.S. Auxiliary stood clinging to railings and other fixed items. They were only just now seeing the upside down turned sailboat bobbing fifty feet away in the upset water. Team veteran Charlie Dermot signaled to his second in command to get into the small but sturdy and reliable lifeboat with him. Making an experienced and accurate calculation of the probable headings of the boat they had been sent out to secure, Charlie watched on as it drifted in behind the wave breaker of the harbor, into relatively calm waters. Claire Ailey scampered across the deck and joined her friend and mentor in the lifeboat as it descended through wind and heavy snowfall into the murky water. Just a quick check and then they could get to business. Still on the bigger vessel, three volunteers made their way back and forth with ropes and trusses, preparing to tow the distressed boat out of harms way. As Charlie and Claire closed in on their subject, getting completely drenched in the process, Charlie noticed something resembling a person hanging on for dear life to a buoyant fender. “I see him.” Charlie guided the small boat towards the man and Claire caught him in a strong grip as they passed by him. Silently thanking the adrenaline rush a rescue always gave her, she took advantage of the momentum and heaved him up into the boat. The man’s arms stayed stiff in front of him, as if still hugging the fender and he didn’t seem to be aware that he was no longer in the water. Claire reached for one of the rescue blankets and wrapped it around the man. “M… my… son……” the man stuttered as he tried to look into Claire’s eyes moments later but instead gazed somewhere to her left. “What’s that, sir?” she said as she secured the blanket with a Velcro band. He looked familiar. “My son…” He could barely utter the words but Claire heard him. “He’s still in… th… the boat.” Turning to Charlie she shouted, “Go back!” and motioned towards the boat that was taking a beating against a dock barrier. “There might be a kid in there.” Knowing the middle-aged man was in dire need of medical attention, and not knowing for how long he had been in the freezing water, Charlie continued to steer towards the USCG Motor Lifeboat that had stayed as close to them as possible. The distress call had not said anything about people being in danger. The caller had seen the boat drift aimlessly for a few short moments before a large wave had knocked it on its side. In less than a minute the keel had protruded through the surface like a shark fin. A bad connection had made the call almost inaudible and finally ended it. Based on the fact that no one from the boat in question had sent out a mayday, the somewhat lazy and arrogant short-term temp at the dispatch centre hastily assumed the boat had been torn from its rightful place by the heavy weather and had sent out Captain McFarlane and his crew on a basic tow-mission. “Charlie!” “We need to get him inside.” He likely won’t survive the wait if we go back… Charlie avoided stating the obvious as not to worry the pale man further, confident that Claire would know and understand his reasoning. Her silence affirmed it. Moving the silver-wrapped man from the dingy to the larger vessel proved to be a slightly bigger challenge than expected, costing them precious minutes that might well be crucial to the boy, allegedly still in the once beautiful sailboat. Claire felt a tight knot clench her intestines. There were plenty of reasons she had offered her free time to the U.S. Auxiliary five years ago, one being a desperate need to feel useful outside the hospital where she worked. Another that she genuinely thought she had something to offer that would be a shame to waste. All her life she had been athletic. Starting out with soccer, which had soon proved boring and too much of a team effort, she had turned to swimming and enjoyed the thorough workout it had provided with little to no risk of injuries yet a phenomenal way to build up muscle tone. She had soon found that being tall and lean with strong features attracted admiration and awe from her peers and she had not minded the attention it had gotten her. By the time she was in high school she swam the 100 breaststroke in 1 minute and 8 seconds flat. Her coach had vainly sought to get her to pursue a career as a professional athlete, but she never listened. She was in it for the self-discipline and therapeutic “alone-time” all those hours in the pool provided. Repeatedly looking like a prune was a side effect she was willing to live with. Now wet and cold, sitting in a dingy with Charlie and recently joined by USCG newcomer Peter Mitchell she couldn’t help but thinking she was about to take a swim in 38 degree water. The pain of the sharp crystal snowflakes fiercely hitting her face had long since gone. Peering through thick, dark eyelashes and with a hand shielding some of the wind away from battering her skin Claire observed the overturned sailboat. The waves crashed it against a wide cement block to which normally smaller boats temporarily docked during the summertime. Most docks now lay barren, offering a slightly eerie environment even aside from the snowstorm tearing up the surface. The howling wind and sloshing water made it nearly impossible to hear what was said in the small boat. The three used a combination of words, sign language and imagined telepathy to communicate. Peter may be the new kid on the block, but he sure does know his business, Claire thought as she watched him prepare the oxygen tank and put on a pair of bright green flippers. A last adjustment to the mask and he rolled backwards into the water. Giving the ok-sign he turned to the vessel that was falling apart with each blow to the concrete block. Seconds later Claire joined him. Charlie carefully kept his distance, allowing the divers room to work. Her thought to be numb face flared up in sharp protest at the stinging sensation of the icy water. She followed Peter around the boat to the side and the two simultaneously ducked beneath the surface. With one hand on the railings of the boat and another holding a bright flashlight Claire waited briefly for the initial discomfort of being tossed around by the moving mass of debris, convincing herself that all would be okay as long as the water moved her and Peter in rhythm with the boat. Visibility was less than a foot and for every second that passed Claire knew that the chances of finding the boy alive slimmed. If there even is a boy... she thought. But there’s no way in hell I’m going to bed tonight without checking! She made her way forward, fighting the nausea and cold that seeped through the wetsuit she wore beneath her uniform. Realizing it would be much easier if she was on her back she turned and started a type of crawl towards what should be a way inside the vessel. Suddenly a hand shot in front of her face and she saw Peter getting hit by a piece of the mast that had broken off. Holy Fuck! Peter disappeared from sight and Claire shone her flashlight in what she thought was his direction. Damn it, Peter! Where are you? She felt her foot getting caught on something and decidedly kicked her way loose. In the same instant she found the entrance and slipped inside. The gratitude of not feeling the water’s constant pull on her was short-lived. She felt the right leg of her scuba uniform tear apart as the material caught on something and the cold water stabbed her. It no longer seeped in, it poured, seemingly piercing every inch of her body that it now had access to. Gasping for air she flayed at the ever surrounding attacker. In a sheer moment of death defying willpower she grabbed hold of the first solid object she could find and pulled. Peter resurfaced in what he felt like record time. The grey sky and harsh snowfall greeted him as he filled his lungs with air, waving for Charlie to pick him up. “What happened?” Charlie yelled close to Peter’s ear. “I got hit by something… It tore the mask right off of me!” “Where’s Claire?” “Still under. I tried to get her…” Peter’s voice trailed off as he coughed and pulled himself into the boat with Charlie’s help. “This is insane. We’ve got to get out. It’s getting worse!” Peter croaked as he shook his head. “I know…” The two men stared at the rocking boat, waiting. Claire’s heat shot out of the water and hit what appeared to be a small cabinet. Crap. That’s gonna leave a mark…Steadying herself she forced a calm she had not been able to find for years. An air pocket? Willingly ignoring the pain shooting through her she took off her mask. Pressing on she came to a larger area which could have been used as an onboard living room. No wonder this thing is still floating! She looked around. I’ve gotten this far… Might as well do my job. A dark voice taunted her; your job? You mean that cozy position at the hospital? This you do for free… She knew she didn’t have time to think, just react. A little further into the wrecked vessel she saw what she had hoped for. Hanging onto an empty bookcase was a small boy. He was wet but had managed to keep himself out of the water. Claire made her way over to him. “It’s okay, I’m here to help you…” she said as she stretched out her hand to him. “We need to get you out of here.” The boy stared at Claire in horror. She was pale and her lips and ears had a dark bluish purple tint. A small trickle of blood made its way down from her forehead, the cold water preventing what would normally be a gushing flow from such a large cut. “Who are you?” The boy yelled over the deafening noise inside the boat. Claire’s words were drowned out as she answered. “I’m… help you.” Her jaws clenched together as the cold held its firm grip. “…come.” She fought desperately to regain her composure, holding up the mask for the boy to take. Come on, Claire! Keep it together! “Here…” She got closer to him. Don’t freak him out now… “The water is very cold. You have to k-keep bree… breathing, okay?” she stammered, still rather pleased she had formed a sentence. Please, kid. The physical strain itself of diving under these conditions combined with her failing body told her more than she wanted to hear right now. With a sigh of relief she watched the boy inch his way into the freezing cold, never taking his eyes off her. Without as much as a flinch the boy immersed himself in the water and grabbed the woman’s outreached hand. He studied her face in shock before she put the mask on his face and pulled the rubber cords behind his head. “Keep b-breathing, yeah?” she managed. The boy shut his eyes and let himself be pulled across the distance to where she had appeared. Curling into a ball in her arms he felt the water wash over his head. With jerky movements that didn’t really seem to be going anywhere he was grateful that at least he had company. “Come on, Claire! Don’t do this…” Charlie screamed in frustration through the storm. A quick look at his watch confirmed that it had been seven full minutes since Peter had re-emerged. Stupid, stupid, self-centered infantile bitch!! Why the hell...? Charlie’s thoughts were interrupted by a familiar, although seriously discolored, face. His previously silent ever knowing inner voice knew precisely why Claire had taken her time. Now it squeezed out a smug told you so. The boy was suddenly gone from Claire's grasp. Where d’ya get…? A world-tumbling yank that probably should have hurt stopped her unspoken question. Then nothingness took over. * * * November 2, 2006 “Explain what?” Jenna hesitated as she tried not to look guilty, knowing full well what her boss was referring to. Her hand went for the paper as if to look what could possibly be the matter. “My office. Now!” the elder lady pressed through gritted teeth. Shitshitshitshitshitshit! Jenna squeamishly followed Mrs. Downs passed arched eyebrows and whispering voices. Goodbye job, she thought as her boss made no effort to hide her disappointment in her. The large wood and glass door was held up and slammed shut behind the 29-year-old. Large framed photos obviously prepared to withstand trembling walls from time to time stayed perfectly still where they hung. A single plant standing next to the wall had seen better days and the gust from the door tore a leaf from the stem. Offering a perfect view of Central Park on a clear day, the airy corner office was sparsely decorated. The desk held a single laptop computer and a stack of articles that were to be featured in the evening edition. It was uncharacteristic for any newspaper personnel to have such a bare working area yet no one questioned Elizabeth Downs’ decision or ability to keep it as such. The woman was brilliant, in every respect of the word. Her body exceptionally well preserved for being in its mid-sixties and her crisp white hair practically shined as it was backlit by the raging grayness of the outside aftermath of the storm. Mrs. Downs had successfully taken over the newspaper when her husband had rekindled his fondness for classic cars and left his life of journalism behind to take over a small automobile museum eighteen months ago. What was a small-time excuse of a local news rag just two years ago had been twisted, turned and wielded into one of the leading daily papers of the state, much to Mrs. Downs’ expert knowledge and hard work. “Um, Mrs. Downs. Let me try and…” “Silence!” her boss’ demanded. “You can’t talk your way out of this one and certainly not write it either, it seems.” Blazing dark eyes pinned the younger woman who aptly stopped midway through her sentence. “You’ve been working here for two years, and I know this because I’ve been watching your articles,” the elder woman began, drawing a slight nod from Jenna in reply without particularly caring. “I’ve even enjoyed them.” A brief, stern look directly into Jenna’s green eyes shot from the statuesque editor before she continued to pace the floor, one hand on her hip the other cutting through the air with precise, controlled strikes. Jenna swallowed hard, bracing herself for the inevitable moment when her beloved career as a journalist would end. Mrs. Downs stopped abruptly in front of her. “No ifs ands or buts, Ms McApa, a simple why will do.” Feeling slightly dizzy Jenna knew she had nothing to gain by trying to excuse her recent activities. “Um, I… There were no stories to cover…” she began. “So you fabricated them,” Mrs. Downs stated. “Well, no. Not really…” “Fine, elaborated freely,” the editor offered. “Okay… Guess you can say that.” Wide eyes saw the editor leaning into her personal space, stopping mere inches from her face. “I can say that and I am saying that. Because that’s what you did,” was the slow, methodical answer. “Yes.” The barely audible defense rested. Knowing defeat and taking it rather than worming her way out of it, Jenna had learned during the first week of Elizabeth Downs' leadership that you stood a better chance of the police finding you alive if you did not argue with her when all parties involved knew that the senior editor was right. Mrs. Downs was aware of the sometimes cruel rumors being passed around the office when her back was turned. Hell, I even started most of them myself, she mused while contemplating what outcome should result of this predicament. She hardly felt like telling the talented writer that she was considered among the better journalists the paper had seen lately. Realizing just what Jenna had been up to these last couple of weeks had infuriated her as a professional newswoman but also amused and impressed the not so serious side of her. The young writer had on occasion felt the need to spice up her articles to a more livid level by adding certain heroics to the stories she covered. She had not reinvented Spider-Man but there was a fairytale quality to the events she reported. Describing, personal texts had caught the attention of readers and caused envy from rivaling papers as she colored a little bit outside the lines, just to make it look better. Normally, Mrs. Downs wouldn’t have thought twice about the ordeal since this was essentially what the media did. Took the truth and twisted it into entertainment for all to see. But Jenna had lately begun using too colorful crayons and described events so detailed it was beginning to look suspicious. Elaborated truths became white lies became a right mess as people in the business was starting to call the bluff. A publicly defaced journalist was bad not only for the journalist but also the paper itself and subsequently the senior editor. Elizabeth Downs was not prepared to let her success succumb to the wild fantasies of everyday heroes invented by a bored, youthful newcomer. “I will give you one last chance. This is your first and only warning.” Jenna’s jaw dropped. Did I just hear her right? “I think you have potential and I’d hate to see you ruin it, especially since you’ve been the cause of such glee with your little scribbling adventures,” Mrs. Downs began. “This is your chance to prove to me that my instincts aren’t completely gone.” What in the…? “You have until deadline to find a real story, with real people doing real heroic things. I want the front page tonight to tell of an event so special we’ll be the only paper in the state with that scoop.” Oh boy… “Other than that your hands are untied.” Why thank you right kindly… Jenna felt the slight tingle of a mild stress attack coming on. “Do that, or you might as well not bother coming in tomorrow again,” Mrs. Downs said matter-of-factly. There it is - the final nail in the coffin. I’m screwed! “Tick-Tock, Ms McApa…” the senior editor challenged and tapped a long finger on the face of her wristwatch. * * * “Did she sack you?” a voice asked as Jenna hurried to her desk to collect her bag. “Not if I can help it, Allan,” she said as she opened her cell phone and punched in a number she was surprised she still remembered. “Sally! It’s Jenna. I need a HUGE favor!”
Dammit, can’t someone just tell me what the hell is going on!!? Charlie stalked between the waiting area and reception desk at the emergency room. The middle-aged man and young boy they had rescued out of the Hudson River yesterday had both been affected by the cold water, yet recovered nicely during the course of the night. The boy, who had only been submerged a few minutes, had bounced back like a rubber ball thrown at a wall and was now resting with his body temperature completely back to normal. The father had lost consciousness soon after being brought onboard the USCG Motor Lifeboat but had soon woken up and was now well on his way down the corridor to see his son. Being an avid winter-sailor, the man had thoughtfully dressed appropriately as the storm had hit and he needed to move the boat. Without the wetsuit keeping him somewhat warm he would most likely have died before the Coast Guard had arrived, leaving the fate of the boy unknown. Claire, whose protective diver’s suit had been ripped, had been fully exposed to the harsh turmoil of the storm. Having stayed in 35-degree water for over eight minutes, while physically strained and with nothing to keep her warm, hypothermia had set in and advanced quickly. Captain McFarlane had mastered the waves and gotten the boat ashore within ten minutes. A helicopter rescue had been considered for the three but there was no way a helicopter would have hurried the process under these weather conditions. Two ambulances had awaited them at the docks and the half-mile drive to St Vincent’s Midtown Hospital had taken shorter time than expected. Seeing Claire’s alarmingly discolored skin as the paramedics worked on her had been surreal for Charlie. He’d seen hypothermia many times before but never on a friend. “Can someone please give me some answers?” he pleaded with a woman in burgundy scrubs behind the nurse’s station in a forced but rational voice. Having seen the rescue worker worrying in the unusually empty waiting room since her shift started she greeted him with a sympathetic smile. “What’s the name of the patient?” “Ailey. Claire Ailey.” Charlie managed. “Dr. Claire Ailey, even.” The nurse typed in the name on the computer and then went through a pile of charts. Pulling one from the stack she looked it through and returned to Charlie. “This hasn’t been updated yet.” Seeing his expression she assumed the patient was a loved one and continued. “Let me see if I can find out for you.” Her ergonomically correct flip-flops squeaked as she hurriedly made her way through the doors marked Hospital Staff Only. “Hey Erika. Wassup…?” A rotund man smiled from behind thick glasses as she passed. “Um, Ailey? Which room is she in?” “Four, I think. She’s a tough one,” he admitted somewhat impressed. “Had three cardiac arrests and still with us.” Erika glanced at the chart in her hand. “She came in yesterday afternoon?” “I reckon. Talk to Dave…” The man continued on his way as did the nurse. She found Dr. David Graham just moments later. My lucky day, she thought and hurried up to him. “You’ve been taking care of a Claire Ailey in there?” Erika motioned towards ICU room four. “Yeah. The lady doesn’t know how to relax.” “How is she? I’ve got a guy out there and this hasn’t been updated…” She held out the chart. “She’s not quite back to normal yet,” the doctor informed her. “But she’s getting there.” Dr. Graham was not a friend of Claire’s but they had worked together on occasion. He knew full well that the screaming, slightly ill-mannered and bad-tempered side of his colleague would pass as soon as she was discharged and left to fend for herself. A tired smile edged its way onto his face. “Stan said she’d arrested three times?” “Yup. But you know those hypothermia’s… No one’s dead until they’re warm and dead. And she just quit dyin’. Didn’t know she had family waiting…” Of all things they fail to inform me of…”Give us a few more minutes and then bring them in.” * * * “Sally, you have no idea how much this means to me! You might just have saved my job!” Jenna immediately regretted adding the last sentence. As if you need her to have one up on you! “Really? Then I’m absolutely delighted you decided to call!” It’s not everyday I get this chance. “You know, I’ve been thinking about you lately. What a coinkydink, huh?” The voice on the other end held a friendly tone with an acid aftertaste. “Yeah…” Jenna trailed off in an uncomfortable laugh. “I’ve gotta go. Call waiting,” she lied, desperate to get off the phone with her ex-best friend. “Okay, but just you remember – I’m gonna want that coffee one of these days, hun.” What coffee? “Me too.” Just hang up! “Okay, then… Byeee!” Jenna faked her enthusiasm and quickly snapped the phone shut. The Lizard is going to owe me big time for this one! She quickly pushed the fact that she was already in debt to her boss out of her mind. Driving down 6th Avenue during the early stages of rush hour was not on her favorite-things-to-do-list, but traffic was mostly well behaved and not as heavy as usual. She navigated past the other cars easily. She took a right onto W 57th street and crossed 7th Avenue and Broadway and turned left onto 8th. She took a right onto 55th street and another left onto 9th. Driving zigzag had always had a calming effect on her but she had never figured out why. Getting closer to her goal, she began scouting for parking. Maybe I’ll get lucky! Giving up sooner than the thought was out of her head she turned right onto W 51st street. Hospital parking. It’ll cost me an arm and a leg but it’ll do the trick… Getting out of the car and into the elevator in under a minute Jenna drew heavy breaths as she made her way to her destination. Finally she was greeted with the sign she was looking for. Intensive Care Unit
November 2, 2006 Walking closely behind the nurse who had offered to lead the way, Charlie could hear that Claire was back with flair. He snickered as he heard her voice almost boom out of the hospital room she recently had been moved to. “…cannot be serious! I am completely okay!” The pitch of her voice got higher with each syllable. “Trust me, doc, if she says she’s ‘okay’ she probably is.” Charlie poked his head in through the open door. “It’s when she says she’s ‘fine’ that you need to worry…” He sported a genuinely relieved grin as he fully entered the room. “Charlie, thank the heavens! Get me out of here!” Claire sprung to her feet from the bed that one of the nurses had just managed to get her to sit on. An annoyed glare was delivered to the uniformed man as the nurse gave up and left the room with a ‘humph’ and slight shake of the head. “Dr. Ailey, you really should consider lying down for a bit. It’s only a precaution, as you well know.” Dr. Graham instructed his colleague and greeted her friend. He was ignored by the woman. “Charlie, I swear! I need to get out!” she pleaded. “Nothing I can do about it,” he reached out for a hug but was pushed away. “What good are you then?” Claire stomped back the two steps the room allowed her to the bed but didn’t sit down. Dr. Graham and Charlie stole a knowing glance as the irritated woman’s back was turned. “I’ll leave you two alone for a bit,” the doctor stated and started out the door. “Behave!” A finger pointed warningly at the patient who stuck her chin out defiantly. “You believe this guy? Says I have to stay for observation. Of all the…..” She was interrupted. “You know just as well as he does, if not even better,” Charlie tried some old school flattery, “that he is right. Christ, Claire. You died three times last night!” “Oh, he told you that, did he?” she said with a forced calm. “Yes, he did.” “I’ll sue him for blabbing his big mouth! Doctor-patient confidentiality, my ass!” Claire snorted, fishing for sympathy from her chuckling friend. “What’s so funny?” “I’m just glad you’re okay,” he began. “I mean, seriously – you were clinically dead!” “Yes, but I survived, I’m delighted to say.” Claire plopped down on the bed with her arms stretched out as if to say ‘all light on me’. “I can’t stand hospitals,” she adopted a pitiful look. “You work in one!” Charlie laughed. “Believe you me, it’s quite different lying in the bed and standing over it. The standing I can deal with.” With a sigh she leaned back on the raised pillows and shifted her legs under the sheet posing as a cover. * * * “I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to give out any information about our patients to non-relatives. Especially to people who don’t even know the patient’s name.” Jenna eyed the nurse’s nametag. “Look, Erika. I really need to talk to this person. It won’t take long, I promise.” “It’s against hospital policy,” the nurse tried not to look annoyed as the insistent woman pressed on. “I’m a journalist with the New York Daily Express and I would greatly appreciate your help…” Jenna tried. “Will I get a mention in the article?” Erika inquired. “If you let there be an article…” Jenna smiled her most endearing ‘best-friend’ smile. “Then the answer is definitely no! Imagine what my boss would do to me if I got my professional reputation shot down for the whole state to see!” Imagine what my boss will do to me if you don’t… “I’m sure there’s…” “No!” Erika said firmly and left the journalist standing where she had been caught by her. “Liz is gonna kill me…” Jenna whimpered as she turned her eyes to the big board charting the names and locations of all the patients in the ICU. “Which one are you?” She contemplated whether or not to find another nurse and play the little-sister-too-shocked-to-remember-big-sister’s-name, but decided against it. Erika laid a watchful eye on her from down the hall. Bet you’ve got bloodhounds that’ll sniff me out the second I try it. It’s not like I’d ever become nominated for an Oscar anyway... She observed the clock on the wall for several seconds, mindlessly calculating the minutes to the end of her career. * * * For the second time that day, Jenna silently kissed her job goodbye. She was walking slowly back to her car when she caught a glimpse of a familiar overcoat. Definitely Coast Guard! Dad had one just like that! She grinned and picked up the pace to catch up with the man before he disappeared from her view. The elderly man was heavyset but in good shape, although a little bit too tall for his hair that seemed almost desperate to cling on to the back and sides of his head. The man reminded her a bit of Santa Claus. His white beard was well trimmed and the red coat helped the image take form in Jenna’s mind. “Excuse me, sir?” she addressed him as she got closer. “My name is Jenna McApa. I’m with the New York Daily Express and I’m here to do a story about your colleague, it’s nice to meet you,” she offered her hand before he had a chance to reply. “Would you mind telling me what happened last night?” Please tell me something, anything! “You’re who from the what now?” Captain James McFarlane asked a bit startled. “Jenna McApa. I’m with the paper.” Jenna deftly pressed her business card in the man’s hand. “I would really appreciate it if you could answer just a couple of questions. It’ll be real quick, sir, I swear!” James cast a look at the card in his hand before stopping and looking back at the woman following him. “I suppose…” he said, figuring a question or two wouldn’t slow him down too much. “Thank you so much, sir!” ‘Politeness will get ya further than you think’, Jenna recalled her professor’s advice, ‘but so will straightforwardness.’ “What happened yesterday?” She fumbled for her pen and notepad. The captain looked on, amused by the rapid movements of the young woman in front of him. Must be her first day or something. All nervous and all. He decided to accommodate her. “We responded to a distress call. A sailboat had capsized in the storm and we were sent out to tow it back to shore.” He watched as the journalist scribbled something on her pad. “What type of sailboat was it?” “A nice one,” he teased, knowing she wanted a more detailed description. “My colleagues saw someone in the water so the mission changed. Had to save the poor fellow.” James continued instead of giving the make and model of the boat. “And he was in the water, no?” “Correct.” “Was he conscious?” Damn you, Sally! These questions are wasting time! Why didn’t you tell me these things? “Yes, that’s how we found out about the boy.” Jenna scribbled. “So we went back after him and one thing led to another and now we’re here,” James wrapped up, eager to get to see his friend and save Charlie from her. “Is there any chance I could get to talk to your colleague? The one who saved the boy?” Please, please, please! “Claire? I suppose… But you’d have to ask her that.” She’ll tear your head off if you see her now, though. James had learned first hand how not to approach Claire when in a compromised position. He unconsciously scratched a scar that she’d given him during her first year on his ship. “I’d love to!” YES!! THANK YOU, GOD! Jenna motioned for the two to get to the elevator. “No, no, no. She’ll have the best of me if I come dragging you in there. She doesn’t like questions very much.” NO!! SCREW YOU, G…no… not going there! “I see. Any chance I could perhaps book an interview at a time that’s more convenient for her?” Preferably before my deadline in forty minutes… “I really don’t know. I have to get moving, they’re expecting me.” James began walking again. Sensing her chances slipping away yet again she called after him; “Could I at least get her last name?” It’ll take a bloody miracle but the odds are still better with a full name! “Ailey.” She deserves her name in the paper after what she did, the captain thought as he got on the elevator. * * * Penning away frantically in her still parked car, Jenna drew a deep breath and dialed the number for her office as she finished off the last sentence. “Daily Express, McApa’s office.” “Andy! I’ve got an article for you to bring to Liz and it’d be good if it arrived on her desk last week.” “Shoot.” Jenna began reciting what she had just written, cringing as she realized that she hadn’t taken the man’s name and therefore lacked credibility. Just quoting him as ‘the colleague’ made him sound made-up. Or is that just my paranoia talking? “Ok, got it, I’m printing it out as we speak.” “Thank you, Andy.” “Are you fired yet?” “I think so…” “Then why bother with the article?” “Because I’m a masochist and like the good fun of torturing myself before being brought to slaughter…” she sighed, wondering if her statement was true. She glanced at her watch. Three minutes to deadline. Either that or a flat-line… Lucky I’m outside a hospital. She rubbed her eyes waiting for her assistant to respond. “Andy?” The sound of a phone not so much being passed over as snatched out of someone’s hand was heard on the line. “McApa! Are you being serious with this?” “Mrs. Downs…” Crap. “Yes, I am.” “Care to inform me as to why exactly your source doesn’t have a name?” Damn, she’s a fast reader! “I um…” There was a beep on the line. “Actually, Mrs. Downs, can you hold for just a second? I’ve got a call waiting.” Thinking she was dead no matter what she told the editor, Jenna listlessly tapped the small button on her cell phone and answered her other call. “Yes?” “Ms. McApa?” Recognizing the voice she stiffened in her seat. “Speaking.” “Oh, good. This is James McFarlane, we spoke earlier. About Claire Ailey.” “I remember.” Jenna was too uncertain about anything and forgot how to think. “I’ve spoken with Claire and she’s agreed to see you.” Whaa..? “Would you hold, please?” Jenna switched back to what she expected to be a silent line. “Mrs. Downs?” she asked a bit frazzled. “Yes…?” Oh, God, she’s still there! Jenna almost dropped the phone. “I’ve just arranged a meeting with Claire Ailey, the woman who saved the little boy. She’s agreed to an interview.” Coloring a little outside of the lines, just this one, last, time can’t be completely bad, surely… “Good. You have fifteen minutes. If you don’t call back with a completion to this so called ‘article’ I’ll send Andy here over with the things from your desk.” The line went dead. Jenna switched back to the man holding. “Mr. McFarlane? I’m still outside the hospital. Would you mind terribly if I came up right now?” She got the ward and room numbers from the captain and hung up, collapsing in the seat and hitting her head against the steering wheel. “Oh, my nerves…” * * * With little effort, despite shaky hands, Claire pulled on a sock. She rummaged through the bag that James had brought with him and found the other party of the pair. Another quick look in the bag and she pulled out the black sweatpants with white stripes on the sides. I love these pants, she thought as she sat on edge of the hospital bed and stuck her feet down their legs, both at the same time. A swift jump back onto the floor and she pulled the soft, well worn fabric over her hips. She checked to see the door was mostly closed before removing the hospital gown and pulling on the white v-necked t-shirt. It too was well worn and had seen better days. Knowing she wasn’t getting out of this place just yet, she thought she might as well get comfortable. She eyed the magazine that someone had left on the small table next to the window. Seeing its tabloid cover quickly extinguished her interest in it. Getting back on the bed, she crossed her legs Indian style and pulled the bag closer. In it was a book she had been meaning to read but never started, a cd-walkman and a navy blue hooded sweater with the letters spelling out Cambridge sewn onto the front. She missed England every time she saw it and pulled it out just to have it near in case it got cold later. The bag was then placed on the floor, and just as she popped a red grape into her mouth there was a knock on the door. “May I come in?” a young, blonde woman asked as she halted already a stride inside the room. “I’m Jenna McApa.” “Yeah, sure. By all means.” Claire responded and reached out her right hand. The journalist came close enough to grasp her hand before Claire continued, “I’m Claire. Please sit,” she gestured towards the chair by the bed. “Thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice. I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Jenna said as she sat across from Claire. “Since when do you people hope you’re not disturbing?” Claire sneered. “Um… well, it’s what you say, isn’t it?” A wry smile replied. “Guess it is. Well, I’ve got nothing against ya, and could use the killing of time.” Ha! Nothing against her… as if journalists aren’t among the most irritating people on earth! “Glad we’ve got that covered then.” A forced smile took over the journalist’s facial features. The interview was strained. The journalist kept prodding for details while jotting on her pad constantly. Claire did admire the woman’s talent for writing without looking but wondered if she’d be able to read her notes after they were done. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something about the blond bugged her. She was rushing through the questions, which was obviously thought up on the spot, and she talked faster and faster the further they went on. Claire brushed it off as what was either her first day on the job or a general lack in people skills. “What does the text on your shirt say?” Jenna inquired as Claire had begun fiddling with the hem of one of the arms. “Cambridge.” “As in the university?” “I went there for a year before going to med school.” “What was you major?” “English Literature.” This seemed to peak a more genuine interest in the journalist. “Why did you quit?” Because I chickened out. “Wasn’t for me, I guess,” Claire offered and noticed that the blond was no longer scribbling in her pad. “Huh,” Jenna uttered as she appeared to process the information on a different level from what she had done before. Claire studied her and mutely compared the two very different personas the woman seemed to have. This one seems nicer. “Well, I’d love to stay longer,” the journalist began. No, you don’t, Claire thought. “But I’d better be going.” The journalist tucked her pen and pad in her bag and rose. “It was nice meeting you. Thank you again.” She stretched out her hand and they shook. Without much further ado, the journalist ducked out of the room leaving Claire puzzled. No sooner had she left than Charlie came back. In his hands he held a big Styrofoam cup with steaming hot, black coffee and a Spicy Chicken sandwich. “How’d the interview go?” he asked as he handed Claire her much needed objects of craving. Like a toddler begging to be lifted her arms were in the air and aimed for the goodies. “Really weird,” she shook her head as her fingers finally touched Charlie’s thoughtful gifts. She hadn’t asked for the items which made it so much sweeter to actually receive them. “She seemed stressed though, so maybe she was just having a bad day.” She shrugged as the put the coffee on the small table next to her and unwrapped the sandwich. "Did you get a hold of Tin?" * * * November 3, 2006 The familiar bell announced that the elevator had reached the requested floor and the doors slid open. Jenna stepped out, her back straight and head held high. With self-assured steps she marched towards her desk and settled in. Andy came running from the area he liked to call The Den, which in reality was just a cramped space with two old, beaten couches, a coffee machine and a water cooler. “You are so not fired!” he joyously announced. “I know,” Jenna replied smugly, shooting him a smiling eye as she enjoyed the emotional comfort of her highly uncomfortable chair. “Granted, it wasn’t your best work, you’d have to admit, but given the circumstances…” The assistant humbly exclaimed before his palm met Jenna’s in a loud high five. “I am so not complaining!” she assured him. “I could have been out on the street looking for work at a tabloid, but no, I’m still here and it feels good!” she conceded. “You really think ‘Mommy Dearest’ would have thrown you out on the street?” Andy wondered only half-serious. “Well, not literally, but being fired by your own stepmother does tend to raise an eyebrow or two when looking for new employment.” The assistant chuckled. “Looks like you’ve successfully staved off that scenario, at least.” “For the time being... Go, look busy,” she whispered as her boss and sort-of-mother approached. I’m just glad I was working here before she took over from dad. “Ms. McApa,” the editor said somewhat respectfully as she passed Jenna’s desk without looking down. She was obviously pleased by having been the only paper in town to cover the rescuing of the young boy from the ‘cold jaws of terror’ as the headlines had read, but that didn’t mean she was going to cut the journalist more slack than necessary for some time yet. Jenna drew a relieved breath and focused on the contents of her drafts-folder. It was in dire need of updates and revising. * * * November 6, 2006 “Claire, get in here!” Peter Mitchell yelled from the tv-room of the US Auxiliary NY headquarters. Everyone had disputed Claire when she showed up for duty so soon after the trip to the dry land’s sickbay and neither camp had settled for anything less than a compromise. She was to stay at HQ and man the phones and other ‘light’ work for at least two more days. Charlie, Peter and James had pushed for five days but lost the battle as Claire gained backup from Rose, who threatened not to bring in home baked sweets if Claire didn’t get her way, which was zero days. So they landed at a two day trial period. Should Claire be up for heading back out on the water after that, and the lads reckoned they couldn’t stand in her way – they’d have another discussion. But for now, and until Wednesday, she was stuck in the stuffy offices of the volunteer fleet. “What?” she asked as Peter urged her presence again. “Look…” he said, staring at the newscaster reading the latest tidbit from the teleprompter. “Today it was announced that it was indeed actor Joe Stephens and his son Richard that were rescued Friday afternoon after their sailboat was rendered helpless in the storm. Reports say that the Coast Guard is to thank for their survival…” “That was us, man! US!!” Peter cheered as Claire looked on in dismay. “I knew he looked familiar!” “…the couple’s spokesperson said earlier this morning.” “You think we’ll get famous?” “Hardly,” Claire exhaled slowly, thankful that no one had named any of the team members. “According to an article covering the story in the New York Daily Express, a Captain James McFarlane was in charge of the rescue-mission…” “Damn that journalist!” Claire blurted despite knowing it was not really her fault. “...and a Claire Ailey was personally responsible for saving young Richard…” “Oh, crap…” Claire grumbled. “Just what we need!” Did they have to name names? “…being committed to hospital for acute treatment of hypothermia.” The news program cut to a neatly dressed and healthy-looking Joe Stephens. “Of course we are tremendously grateful to the US Coast Guard and the Auxiliary members who saved our lives…” “I wish the others were here to see this! This is freaking awesome!” Peter practically jumped in his chair. “For you, maybe. You weren’t named.” A disappointed and chafed look took residence on Claire’s face. “Come on, this is a good thing! You’ll be known as the one who saved Joe Stephens’ son! Joe Stephens!!!” Peter exclaimed the name again to emphasize. “He’s one of the biggest actors in the world! This is huge! I can’t believe I got to meet him and didn’t even recognize him!” “Yeah, well if there weren’t medical records and official reports that stated different, I’d say you saved them both.” “I want to thank Claire for saving me,” a young voice said from the tv-set. “I thought I was going to die…” Claire watched the close-up narrow around the boy's face as he clung to his father with his mother kissing the top of his head. “Please, no!” she said and sank into the sofa opposite Peter’s chair. “Why…?” Don’t paint me up like a stupid hero! Peter watched as Claire’s face went from something resembling helplessness to flat out despair. On the television screen, a photo of his colleague and friend showed. “Can I sue them for that? Showing my picture, I mean.” Although, it is a good picture…SHUT UP! A small mental war broke out in Claire’s mind. Peter chuckled and raised his bottle of coke in a toast. “To Claire, the Celebrity Savior!” “I’m going home!” she darted from her spot on the sofa, passed the highly entertained Peter and was out the door in seven long strides.
Continued in Part 2... Comments and/or feedback welcome at vilia@stockholm.com
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