by Turner, Lori
“The sky is clear boss. No emergency air transports in sight.”
“Are you sure Caesar?”
“Yep—the skies are clear and blue—not one flasher in sight. I don’t think anyone’s on the horn boss. Nobody has sounded the whistle.” then his pilot said…“Hey boss—isn’t that a Delors’ logo on the top of that van?”
“Yes—it is.”
A Delors’ van was responsible for the accident and if Lucien were to believe his pilot, it would mean that no one on the ground had notified the police or any of the emergency services; not even the Delors’ staffers. He supposed that on a day like today, the witnesses were more than likely dazed, or thoroughly inebriated.
“What do you want me to do boss? Sound the whistle?”
Lucien watched and waited, and still no one seemed to be helping this person. The closer he looked, he was convinced that if this person were to survive, someone had to react.
“Yes—call for medical support—and…” Lucien stalled before finally saying…”You might as well notify the local authorities as well as my families solicitor. From this height, it’s unclear if the driver is to blame, but I’m confident that our legal counsel will want to be notified, just in case this victims family decides to take legal action.”
What a way to start the new year, he thought to himself. He wondered if the driver of the transport realized the consequences tied to this accident. Of course he did, Lucien reasoned. But he didn’t envy this person, whoever they were because this was the worst way to begin a new year.
“I see the flashers boss. Ground and air transport—but it looks like the air medical transport will arrive first. They should be here in five minutes. Ready to head back to the brownstone?”
Lucien stared at the people below. Their heads were craned towards the sky, watching the approaching medical transport. Once the medical technicians got to work, there wouldn’t be anything left for anyone to do. His rational mind told him to leave but—he couldn’t get his family’s crest out of his head. The logo was clearly printed on the van’s roof, its side, and more than likely the logo was printed on the license plate, and stitched on each employee’s shirt. He groaned, then Lucien said…
“Find someplace to land.”
“What’s that you say? Did I hear you right when you said to land?”
That’s right, Lucien thought to himself—land this fucking bird. He didn’t know what compelled him, but his gut told him that his presence was needed on the ground.
“That’s right Caesar—I want you to land. Try to put down, at a safe distance, but close to the person lying in the street. From here, it doesn’t look like anyone is rendering first-aid.” Not even the Delors staff. Lucien cursed under his breath, and his vexation eased when he heard his pilot say…
“Okay boss”
For a moment, Lucien had had second thoughts—mainly because his pilot had not questioned him. He’d heard a hint of concern, but the chopper was lowering all the same. From this height he could see a number of vehicles, and none of them seemed to be moving.
“Caesar—what about the land vehicles—they aren’t moving.”
“When they get an up close and personal with my whirly bird—I guarantee—the sea will part, just like it did for Moses.”
Lucien gave his pilot credit because—the sea parted indeed. When the chopper hovered meters from the ground—land transports and automobiles scattered, making room for the helicopter to land. When Caesar gave him the thumbs up, Lucien jumped out on the passenger side, making his way to the accident victim.
He shouted over his shoulder, directing Caesar in how best to help.
“Check the driver of in the van—see if he’s injured—and if he isn’t, make certain he stays put. The same goes for the servers—I want everybody to remain here. They will all need to give a statement to the police and the detective, if one arrives—and tell them to be quiet and not to talk until the Delors’ solicitor gets here”
Overhead, an amplified voice blared from speakers mounted on the police helicopter. The officer was issuing directions to the crowd instructing them to disperse and make room for the ground patrol and the approaching medical flight vehicle.
Lucien didn’t hesitate. He ran to the front of the van, and everyone moved when they saw his white coat flapping in the wind. They were surprised to see a man of his caliber on the streets; wearing white and preparing to get his hands dirty. Lucien passed the crowds and he cursed, mouthing…
“Worthless horde. Not one of them is sober enough to help.”
When the crowd was to his rear, he headed straight for the person lying motionless in the street. He removed his white duster, to use as a headrest. A pain shot through his chest when he realized the person who’d been hit was a woman. He lowered to the ground and he could swear that he’d heard her whispering something—maybe a prayer, or perhaps a name. Lucien cradled her head, then he eased her neck up, ever so slightly to place his coat on the ground as a makeshift pillow.
By the shape of the body, he’d rightly surmised that she was young—perhaps, nineteen or twenty. Her face was covered by long black hair. Lucien parted the strands and his eyes widened at first glance. He was amazed by his first impression because there was something about these events that should have been antiseptic, clinical and most certainly dispassionate. But his heart told him otherwise because instead of mere concern, Lucien was drawn to her natural beauty, and the fact that to his eyes, she was a vision worth beholding.
Lucien tried to remain on point. He’d never dabbled in first-aid and he didn’t know what this situation called for; but he believed, if he comforted her, his strength would give her the will to survive. On that thought, she drew in a breath, then the air rushed out on the tail of a low moan.
Lucien stroked her cheek with his thumb, he wondered what was taking the medical transport so bloody long. This was an emergency, for goodness sake. The area was swarming with people, and he’d heard the amplified voice from the officer, directing the crowd from the sky—but he didn’t hear the blare of the medical transport.
“Move”, the voice had said—”make way for incoming aircrafts”
In spite of their urgent cries, Lucien was alone, so he thought it best to encourage this woman.
“Hang on—I’ll stay with you, until help arrives.”
He watched the flutter of long dark lashes, and witnessing this lodged a lump in the rear of his throat. Who was this woman, he thought to himself. At that moment, he felt a controlled whirling wind hovering directly above him. He didn’t bother looking up—instead, he kept his eyes trained on this broken dove. She gasped, and Lucien wasn’t sure what this sound had meant. He comforted her saying…
“My name is Lucien—Lucien Delors. Can you tell me your name?”
He didn’t expect an answer and the woman didn’t supply one. More importantly, he didn’t know why he’d told her his name—but for some strange reason, her knowing was important to him. He looked at her battered broken body and he wondered how this had happened. Had she fallen in the street, or had she been pushed? He was low enough to smell her aroma, and except for the smell of soap, he didn’t detect anything that would hint, she’d been drinking. In the distance he could hear Caesar telling the van driver of the transport to stop talking. His pilot wanted this man to reserve his right to have legal counsel present before he told his side of the story. Lucien didn’t know what was going wrong because Caesar’s urging was being ignored.
“It was an accident man. Somebody pushed her—but with so many people on the street—it’s going to be impossible to finger the person responsible for all of this. Oh God, oh God—what a way to start the new year. It was an accident man…”
The driver of the Delors’ van had repeatedly said the same sentence over and over again. If it was within his power, Lucien would have removed this woman from this place. He didn’t know her but she had a face that told him she was a gentle spirit—and for whatever the reason was�
��he felt partly to blame. The driver was a staffer and the van was owned by his family. He wanted to cradle this woman in his arms but he didn’t dare move her for fear of worsening her injuries.
Lucien could hear the rapid approach of footfalls.
“Step aside sir…”
Lucien felt a hand nudging his shoulder. He was being urged to move aside by one of the medical technicians. Two men knelt on either side of the young woman, then each man began administering care. Their hands moved so fast, he couldn’t say with any certainty, which task had been administered first. An intravenous catheter was inserted, then the tech squeezed a bag filled with liquid between tightly palmed hands. The other tech snapped buttons off her shirt, spreading the fabric to place EKG leads in different areas on her chest. He switched on the machine, then covered her nose and mouth with a mask to administer oxygen. Out the side of his eyes, something caught his attention. When the tech had moved her arm to start the IV, it was then that he clearly recognized the object. It was a wristband, not to far from her outstretched hand. The technicians had been so busy working to stabilize her for transport, neither of them noticed the object. Lucien lowered, and no one observed him because all eyes were trained on the victim. He lifted the band, then he curled his fingers to palm it. He’d heard stories about the Samaritan’s and their marriage rituals. Unmarried Samaritans wore one black band on their left wrist. When they are betrothed the women wear two braided black bands on their left wrist, and the men wear one blue band. That’s what puzzled Lucien. He was staring at this woman lying in the street and her wrist was bare. When he’d picked up the band, he’d made note of its size and he was certain, that the band had not been made to fit a woman’s wrist. At least, not the woman currently injured in the street. By the size of her hand and fingers, he judged her to be small boned—petite; just like his sister Chantel.
Lucien watched the medical techs, frantically working to save her life and within him, he sensed a gnawing question. Was she married or not? Did the band belong to her—or a male Samaritan who wanted her to wear his band? He didn’t understand his curiosity but he wanted to know these answers.
Lucien’s gaze was drawn to his duster—the coat that had been white. When he noticed an expanding red circle, his brows rose in concern. When he’d knelt by her side, Lucien had been drawn to the deep shade of black that colored her hair. Now her glorious mane had a lacquered sheen; a glaze all due to her seeping blood. Dear God, would this ever end. Apart from News telecast, Lucien had never witnessed illness or death firsthand. But here it was—and he didn’t like it. More to the point; this wasn’t what he wanted for this woman. Not now—not ever and he didn’t know what gave him the right to feel this way; given that he didn’t even know her name. Amidst all the blood and her twisted broken body; he wanted a good outcome for this woman. She was too young for her life to be cut short.
His musing was interrupted when a voice rose above his inner thoughts.
“I got a line in her and I’m running normal saline wide open. Her pulse is thready and the fluid doesn’t seem to be affecting her volume. Something has to give because at the rate she’s bleeding—it’s like covering several holes with one bandaid and at this rate—she’s bound to bleed out. She needs a transfusion—and I mean fast.”
The other tech said…
“Do what you can—but it doesn’t get any better on my end. I don’t like the look of this scan. She’s got multiple fractures—and based on her dipping blood pressure—I’ll bet you a million bucks, she’s got internal bleeding.”
Above their voices, Lucien heard someone say…
“Some morning—huh”
Lucien’s concentration had been broken by an officer. He wondered at what point had he joined the mayhem—and why was he bothering him.
“You’re one of the Delors—right?”
“Yes—Lucien. Lucien Delors.” He said.
“Yeah—I thought so. I recognized the logo on the chopper—and the van. Was that your pilot who made the call?”
“Yes—it didn’t appear that anyone was helping this young woman—so I instructed him to land. I hope that wasn’t a problem.”
“Oh no—no problem at all. Actually, I wanted to thank you. We—that is—we being the police force—we appreciate good citizens doing their part. But it’s funny.”
Lucien furrowed his brow. He didn’t see anything worth laughing at.
The officer said…
“She’s a Samaritan—a young woman, and you hardly ever see them out on their own. Where are the other members of her Sect? I’m just asking—but I don’t suspect it’ll matter because the detective said that the Samaritan’s hardly ever sue—and I’ve never witnessed them complaining about anything.”
“Perhaps now isn’t the time to think about lawsuits or who might be blamed. As you said—she’s here alone—and that’s highly unusual.”
“I guess you’re right.”
Lucien stood back to get a better look. In the distance he could see that one of his families solicitors had arrived, and the driver wasn’t talking. From where he stood, to him it appeared like the driver had finally calmed down.
Lucien said…
“I’ve instructed the driver of the van to cooperate.”
“Sure, sure.” The police officer said, then he continued…and Lucien wondered if the man had heard him because his comment picked up on an earlier thought.
“You know—today is a holiday. I wonder if her family knows that she’s hurt.”
His chest tightened when he said…
“I doubt it.” Lucien continued….”Maybe you should contact the Samaritan Conclave. That might be a good place to start. Maybe if you send them a picture—I’m sure they’ll be able to identify her, and contact her family.”
Lucien watched as the officer nodded, but he didn’t move to make the call. To make matters worse, his ears pricked when he heard the medical technicians arguing.
“She’s a Samaritan—and that means that we have to follow certain protocols.”
“But we’re close to Midtown General—we could have her there in less than ten minutes.”
“She’s a Samaritan Quin. Look—I know that you’re agnostic and you may not give a damn about her Sect or her Creed—but some of us do. I’m may not be a Samaritan but I am a Christian and I do respect the beliefs of others. Samaritan’s follow a strict set of rules and—this group of people are devout in their beliefs. I’m telling you—they cannot step foot in a hospital, unless it’s a Samaritan hospital. And that limits her choices because the only Samaritan Hospital in this area is located on the Samaritan barge in the harbor. It’s their rule man—and I’m not going to break it.”
The other tech protested saying,
“That place is more than thirty minutes away—plus, they aren’t equipped to deal with traumatic injuries.”
Lucien couldn’t believe what he was hearing—they were quibbling over religion, Sect Creeds, distances and beliefs. Whatever happened to discussions that involve the obvious. Topics like—life and commonsense. Clearly, this woman was in urgent need of professional medical care—and from where he stood, there was no debating this fact. He stared at the wires and tubes attached to her body, then he asked himself; would this be enough—or would all their work be in vain? Lucien looked at the police officer. He felt compelled to say….
“Look—this was a street accident, and as such, doesn’t that make you the authority in this situation? If this lady’s injuries require that she be transported to the facility best suited to meet her needs—can’t you override them? I mean—according to the law—it is her legal right to have the best and safest care. And…when she wakes up, you’ll need to talk to her—and you can’t do that if she’s dead.”
The officer scratched his head, then he said…
“Well—yes, I guess you’re right—but she is a Samaritan.”
It was clear that this was the sticky point, and the officer and one of the medical technic
ians weren’t willing to bend. But as far as Lucien was concerned, in this situation, her religious belief wasn’t a consideration. Since it had been his families van that took part in this accident—he felt a duty to right things—it would be the just thing to do.
The two techs were busy strapping their injured patient to the stretcher. They stood at either end, then lifted her for transport. One of the techs spoke on a headset, reporting on his patients status, while the other positioned the stretcher to the receiving in of the air-transport. If Lucien was going to intervene, he would have to do or say something now.
Lucien said…
“Officer—may I make a suggestion. Clearly—this woman needs immediate care—which includes being taken to the closest medical facility. And I don’t mean Midtown General, like the technician had suggested. She needs to be taken to Lincoln Medical Facility”
“Lincoln Medical Facility?!” the officer nearly choked when he repeated the hospital’s name. “But—that place is a private hospital—and I mean private, private. I work for the city—and I’m not even allowed to enter the lobby. Hell, at that place—I couldn’t afford a bandaid for a cut, even if my life depended on it.”
“It is a private hospital—but it’s also the best place for this young woman to be.”
Lucien didn’t want to debate prejudices and how some viewed his wealth as a form of class separation. Lincoln Medical was a private hospital that catered to the super rich. Most families owned suites, departments, and some owned entire wings.
The officer stared at him, perplexed, then he said…
“Look, I’m no doctor—but if you think Lincoln will accept her—I’ll agree with whatever is best.”
