Resuscitation

by D. M. Annechino

  Al—tired, troubled, and regretful—leaned back in the cramped seat, his knees rubbing against the seat in front of him, closed his eyes, and tried to fall asleep.

  Just at the point in time when Julian began to doze off on the leather sofa, he heard Connor moaning. Julian shook his head, and slowly walked toward the bed.

  “Well,” Julian said, “glad you returned from your little nap.”

  Not yet realizing that his wrists and ankles were bound to the bed, Connor tried to sit up. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “At this moment, not much.”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Connor screamed. “Cut me loose, you fucking asshole!”

  “There, there,” Julian said. “No need to be uncivilized. It would be much easier for you if you just relaxed.”

  “You’re a sick, twisted fuck!”

  Julian ignored his rant and walked past the kitchen and into a small storage room. He wheeled out the heart monitor and positioned it beside the bed. Still dazed and foggy from the effects of the sedative, Connor squirmed like a man covered with spiders. As Julian shaved his chest, Connor opened his mouth, but nothing came out. When Julian finished connecting the ten electrodes to Connor’s chest, wrists, ankles, and shoulders, he stepped back and surveyed what he’d done as if he were appraising a beautiful painting.

  “Perfect,” Julian said. He turned on the heart monitor and studied the screen carefully. Connor’s pulse rate was over ninety beats a minute. The elevated reading seemed perfectly normal under the circumstances, so Julian did not feel alarmed. But he also noticed signs of an irregular heartbeat. At this point, the abnormal sinus rhythm did not pose a problem. In fact, most people under severe stress experience mild arrhythmias. This could turn out to be an unexpected bonus. If Connor suffered from a benign case of atrial fibrillation, it might reveal critical data Julian did not anticipate.

  Julian went into the closet and opened his leather satchel. He pawed through a myriad of medical paraphernalia and sample bottles of various heart medications: Coumadin, Toprol XL, Bystolic, Cardizem, Lipitor. About to give up, he found the last plastic bottle: amiodarone.

  Julian opened the bottle and removed four 200 mg tablets. This amount, called a loading dose, would hopefully stabilize Connor’s heart and return it to normal sinus rhythm. Julian filled a twelve-ounce glass with water and sat on the side of the bed. “You need to take these pills, Connor.”

  “Do I look fucking stupid to you?”

  “My, oh my, we certainly have a foul mouth, don’t we though?”

  “Cut me loose, you asshole, and I’ll show you foul.”

  Julian stood up and pointed to the heart monitor. “See this wavy line at the bottom of the heart cycle? Without getting into technical definitions, it represents an irregular heartbeat, which could lead to what we call A-Fib. If that happens, your heart rate could reach two hundred plus beats a minute. If the blood pools in your left ventricle, it could result in a blood clot to your brain, or cause a pulmonary embolism. Either way, you’d be dead in less than five minutes.”

  Connor processed the information. “Why do you know so much about hearts? Are you a doctor?”

  “You could say that.” Julian grabbed a pair of scissors sitting on the nightstand and cut the nylon strap securing Connor’s left wrist. He placed the pills in Connor’s free hand. “You need to take these pills and you need to take them now.”

  Connor wasn’t sure what to think. In this particular situation, his options were few. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected Julian to be a nutcase. He’d met lots of men in local bars and nightspots. And once in a while he’d picked up a guy who was a little kinky. But this was more than kinky. Whatever Julian—if that was even his real name—had planned for him, Connor feared that it wasn’t going to be pleasant. Maybe Julian was into bondage and just wanted rough, submissive sex, which was fine with him. But why the heart monitor?

  Now that Connor’s brain was nearly wide-awake, a wave of panic crashed over him. He was in a predicament he never imagined possible. He could either cooperate with Julian and hopefully survive this ordeal, or he could continue to yell expletives and provoke him further. It seemed like a lose-lose situation.

  “So,” Julian said, “are you going to take the pills or risk a stroke?”

  “Tell me what I’m taking.”

  “It’s called amiodarone, and it’s used for various types of irregular heartbeats.”

  “I don’t get it,” Connor said. “You’ve got me strapped to this bed like an animal, and it’s pretty obvious you’ve got some sick, twisted agenda. Yet you’re concerned about my health? How can I be sure that this amio—whatever it’s called—is what you say it is?”

  Julian walked over to the cocktail table and returned with his laptop computer. Once booted and connected to the Internet, he Googled “amiodarone.” He clicked on the link to Wikipedia and set the laptop on the edge of the mattress so Connor could see the screen. “If I wanted to kill you with lethal drugs, I’d be sticking them in your veins,” Julian said.

  Connor read the first few sentences and concluded that the drug was a legitimate treatment for an irregular heartbeat. “If I take these pills and it stabilizes my heart, then what?”

  “You and I will conduct a little experiment.”

  “Emily?” Sami said into the phone.

  “Please tell me your mom’s okay.”

  “She’s stable. At least for the moment.”

  “Thank God.”

  “I’m really sorry to call so late, Emily.” Sami told her cousin about Al’s sister and his hasty departure to Rio.

  “That’s terrible. Anything I can do?”

  “I just needed to hear a friendly voice. That’s all.”

  “Hey, that’s what cousins are for.”

  Sami regretted making the call. “Get some rest, Cuz. We’ll talk in the morning. Okay?”

  “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t I drive over and spend the night?”

  “That’s sweet of you, Honey, but I’m okay. Really. Just feeling some overwhelming emotions. Between my mom’s surgery and Al—”

  “Hey, it’ll be like a sleepover. We can make popcorn, throw down a few brews, and watch old movies.”

  “You’re sweet, Honey, but—”

  “I’ll be there in less than an hour.”

  Julian wanted to take a little nap himself, while the amiodarone worked its magic and stabilized Connor’s irregular heartbeat, but his mind was filled with unsettling thoughts. He rested his head against the soft leather sofa and closed his eyes. He drifted back to a day he wished he could forget.

  As if God had a vendetta against him, his mother was diagnosed with chronic atrial fibrillation on his eighteenth birthday. After five surgical procedures, the doctors concluded that her condition was irreversible and that another attack would ultimately be fatal. As much as Julian prayed for her to be healed, his plea fell on deaf ears. On the day she died, he stood outside her hospital room and watched in horror as the doctors frantically tried to revive her with CPR and an external defibrillator, no one realizing that the young man had a front-row seat to watch the event. After repeated attempts, the doctors pronounced her dead. While all this happened, Julian’s father sat in the hospital cafeteria.

  He witnessed his mother’s death all alone.

  He watched a nurse pull a white sheet over his mother’s face, and before the doctors and nurses filed out of the room, Julian ran down the hall, went into an unlocked closet, and cried his eyes out. After several minutes, he found his way back to his mother’s room. The room was still and quiet. A small fluorescent lamp on the wall behind his mother’s bed lighted the room. It cast eerie shadows across the floor. He stood by his mother, staring at the white sheet, feeling as if his body were frozen. Carefully, and as if the process were some sort of devout ceremony, Julian pulled the sheet far enough so he could see his mother’s face. Beautiful as ever, even in death, he kissed her on the cheek.


  “Goodbye, Mom. I know you can’t hear me but I have to tell you something anyway. Something that’s been tearing me apart for years. I never tried to…hurt Cousin Rebecca. It was actually the other way around. Dad and you have been so distant. And I know it’s because of what you thought I did. But I swear to you, I’m the victim. I just wanted you to know that.”

  About to cover her face again and leave the room, a strange feeling overwhelmed Julian. He couldn’t understand why the doctors and nurses with all of their medical knowledge could not save his mother. Then, as if some mysterious force controlled his actions, he removed the sheet, and began administering CPR, using the same technique he had witnessed earlier.

  Over and over, he pressed on his mother’s chest, trying desperately to revive her. He heard cracking sounds, probably ribs snapping. But he continued thumping on her chest. Every so often he’d stop and put his ear near her nose for any sign of breathing and pressed his fingers to the side of her neck, searching for a pulse. He continued with the chest compressions until his arms were so fatigued he could hardly move them.

  “Please wake up, Mom. Please.”

  Just as he was about to give up and pull the sheet up over her face, his mother’s eyes opened, and she seemed to look right into his eyes. Before he could even begin to react, two nurses rushed into the room, each one grabbing an arm.

  “You shouldn’t be in here, young man.”

  “She’s alive. My mother is alive!”

  “Please, son,” one of the nurses said. “You must leave this room immediately.”

  “But she’s alive! Her eyes are open. She looked right at me.”

  “I’m sorry, son, but she’s not alive. Her open eyes are merely a reflex.”

  The nurses tried to lead Julian out of the room, but he wasn’t going anywhere. Noticing the commotion as he walked by the room, a security guard came in to find out what was going on. Once briefed, he secured Julian and literally dragged him out of the room.

  Over the next few months, everyone tried to convince him that he had not resuscitated his mother. But he knew better. He had revived her, and no one could convince him otherwise. He now felt that he had a special gift. And to waste these extraordinary skills would be tragic. So, once wanting to be a college-level chemistry teacher, Julian accepted the event as a divine message, and felt absolutely certain that one day he’d be a gifted cardiologist specializing in A-Fib research.

  When Sami heard a knock at the front door, she glanced at the clock above the TV. Wow, she thought. Almost two in the morning. Always overcautious and a little paranoid since her ordeal with Simon, she looked through the door scope and felt relieved when she saw Emily.

  “Hey, you,” Sami said. “I feel like a seven-year-old kid who just saw a scary movie.”

  Emily walked in and Sami closed and locked the front door. They both sat on the sofa in front of the TV.

  “You’re dealing with a lot of shit, Cuz,” Emily said. “You’ve always been the Rock of Gibraltar for everyone. It’s time you get to lean on someone else for a change.”

  “But you know how damn independent I am. I hate to rely on anyone.”

  “Get over it, Cuz. It’s called being human.”

  “You’re wise beyond your years, Emily.”

  “And I owe a bunch of it to you.”

  Up until four years ago when Emily went to college in San Francisco for her nursing degree, Sami spent a lot of time with her. Sami was more of a surrogate mom than cousin. Recently graduated, Emily now lived in a small studio apartment in East San Diego. “You’ve got your choice. Corona Lite. Dos Equis Amber. Or we can uncork a bottle of Cabernet and really get shit-faced.”

  “We can also get shit-faced on the beer,” Emily said. “A Dos Equis sounds great.”

  Sami popped the caps on a couple of beers and handed one to Emily. “Here’s to my favorite cousin.” They clicked bottles.

  “You mean only cousin, don’t you?”

  They talked for over an hour about nothing in particular. They were three beers into the conversation, both feeling the effects of the alcohol.

  “How’s everything going with school?” Emily asked.

  “Good question. To be honest, I’m seriously thinking about dropping out.” Sami couldn’t believe what she’d just said.

  “But you’ve got nearly two years invested.”

  “More like two years wasted.”

  “For as long as I can remember you’ve dreamt about being a social worker. And now that you’re almost there you want to flush it down the toilet? I don’t get it.”

  “I guess investigating homicides was more in my blood than I thought. Maybe I still feel guilty about bailing out. I’m still a little haunted by my stupidity trying to apprehend a serial killer with no backup. Maybe I can’t deal with breaking a promise to my father just before he died. The fucking walls are closing in and I haven’t a clue what to do.”

  “Does Al have any idea how you feel?”

  “We’ve talked, and I’ve explained the great divide between my idealistic view of social work and the reality. But I never even hinted that I was thinking about dropping out.”

  For several minutes, neither uttered a word.

  “Have you discussed this with your therapist?” Emily asked.

  “Extensively.”

  “And what does she say?”

  “She always hits the ball back in my court.”

  “If you’re really that unhappy, Sami, maybe you should follow your gut.”

  “But what the hell would I do, watch soap operas and eat chocolate bonbons?”

  “Have you considered going back to police work?” Emily asked.

  “It has been on my mind.”

  “Then why are you hesitating?”

  “Do you have any idea what I’d have to go through to get reinstated? I don’t think they’d welcome me with open arms.”

  “Don’t be so humble. You were one hell of a detective.”

  “Yes, I was. But the operative word is was.”

  “Isn’t Al investigating the murder of that girl they found near Mission Bay?”

  “He is. Or at least he was. Who knows how long he’s going to be in Rio?”

  “Exactly. This would be the perfect time for you to lobby for your old job.”

  “It’s just not that simple, Emily. It’s not like asking to be rehired at some discount clothing store. This is a civil service job with lots of red tape and truckloads of bullshit.”

  “Well, I’m not going to nag. But I really think you should go for it.”

  “I’ll give it some thought.”

  Emily swigged the last of the warm beer. “You still okay with me moving in to take care of Aunt Josephine while she recovers?”

  Sami, a little teary-eyed, slipped her arm around Emily and gave her a firm hug. “You’re a sweetheart, Cuz, and I truly appreciate the gesture. But I really can’t ask you to do that.”

  “Is it Al?”

  “Of course not. He’s all for it. But you had your heart set on taking the summer off before searching for a nursing job. How do you possibly expect to unwind if you’re caring for a cranky old lady who just had major surgery? Trust me. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

  “You’re really stubborn, Cuz. This is something I want to do. Honestly. Who would be a better caretaker than your favorite cousin, who just happens to be a nurse?”

  “Let me think about it, Emily.”

  “Well, don’t think too long. My offer expires at sunrise.”

  Julian awoke from his disturbing nap and felt as though he had just revisited his mother’s death. It wasn’t the first time and he suspected it wouldn’t be the last. To this day, he felt haunted by the whole incident, certain that he had indeed revived his mother. But the incident, as traumatic as it was, proved beneficial. Had he not experienced such a life-changing event, he might be in front of a classroom right now, pointing to a chart of the elements, instead of standing on the
threshold of a medical discovery that could fulfill his desire for fame and recognition, and change the lives of one hundred million people worldwide suffering from atrial fibrillation.

  He could hear Connor mumbling something under his breath. He made his way to the bed. “Did you say something, Connor?”

  “I was praying.”

  “For salvation?”

  “No. Praying that your balls fall off the next time you take a piss. You’re a pathetic pile of dog shit.”

  “Those are some pretty harsh words, Connor.” Julian sat on the side of the bed and gently brushed Connor’s hair out of his eyes.

  Connor turned his head in a defiant manner, trying to avoid Julian’s touch. “Don’t you dare put your hands on me!”

  “Please try to understand that I’m doing this because I have no choice.”

  “That’s total bullshit and you know it.”

  “What would you say if I told you that you had the power to save thousands of lives every year, to literally change the world?”

  “I’d say you’ve been watching way too many science fiction movies.”

  “It’s true, Connor. You will be instrumental in the treatment and cure of a debilitating medical condition.”

  “And how exactly can I do that?”

  “Through some of the experiments we’re going to conduct.”

  “What kind of experiments?”

  “I can’t give you specific details but you’ll find out soon enough.”

  “And if I’m not interested in being a lab rat?”

  “Sorry. You don’t have that option.”

  Connor squeezed his eyes shut and tears leaked out of the corners. “You’re going to fucking kill me, aren’t you?”

  “The needs of the many,” Julian said, sounding like an echo in his own ears—did he even believe it? Did he have a choice?—“outweigh the needs of the few.”

  Slightly hung over from her evening with Emily, her mind whirling with conflicting thoughts, Sami lay in bed waiting for the Excedrin to kick in. She checked the clock radio and wondered why she hadn’t heard from Al yet. He, needless to say, had his hands full, but she had hoped to hear something by now.