by Hawk, Nate
Kelly thought he had recognized a face amidst his own fog, an artificial feeling that ran through his veins. The cloudiness seemed to numb him of physical pain. Wait, he thought. There’s something else too. He felt a sensation of unusual relaxation that he couldn’t quite place ever feeling before. He knew he’d been doped up with a sedative. He felt confused and began searching for the familiar face yet again. Where could it have gone? Kelly continued looking straight ahead and after what seemed to him like forever, the face reappeared.
This time he recognized the face. It was his long time friend and flight instructor. Kelly had a fleeting memory of flying with Steven. Yeah, maybe that’s it. We had been flying and then something must have happened, he thought as he tried harder to concentrate. No. That’s not it, he realized as he continued thinking.
Kelly slowly began placing pieces back together in his mind when the impact of the senseless violence returned and smashed him yet again, this time emotionally, as hard as it had hit him physically several days prior. He remembered the moment that he was on the ground crawling through broken glass and other debris that had been scattered through the roadway. He remembered the blood and the smell of freshly burnt black powder and severed guts, lying with him in the street. The reason for his previous determination to crawl forward through the street began to come to him as well.
“Can you hear me, Kelly?” the face asked.
He thought for a minute. The man moved his hand down to Kelly’s in a purposeful manner.
“If you can hear me, squeeze my hand two times,” he requested.
Kelly could hear him and attempted to gather his strength and focus to respond. He squeezed his visitor’s hand, one time lightly and the second with increasing strength. Steven was encouraged.
“Good man!” the ASAC said, as he nervously adjusted his glasses.
Steven was encouraged for the first time since the blasts.
Steven added, “I swear I’ll help you get through this, Kelly.”
As soon as the words were uttered, the reminder of why Steven was there began to overcome him. The agent put his free hand up to his eyes and wiped away the sadness that so desperately wanted to escape from him. Get a hold of yourself, his inner conscience told him. Jesus, man. You must be a pillar of strength for your friend who cannot be his own right now. Keep it together for another fifteen minutes.
Kelly fought the medicated fog in a desperate attempt to articulate his thoughts. He pulled harder at the restraints this time. Why can’t I speak? he wondered. Kelly understood now that there had been an explosion; wait, perhaps, two or more explosions. But where was Griffin? Where was Pearson? What had happened to Graves? Then it hit him; he wasn’t in Fallujah, he was in Boston. So why wasn’t his family standing beside him. Where is Jen? he asked himself. He tried again to connect his brain to his mouth but it seemed to be a futile exercise. Steven was watching him closely when Kelly’s lips moved slightly without uttering a sound.
“That’s it, Kelly. Talk to me,” the ASAC probed.
Steven knew damn well that conversation would lead Kelly to a new and darker understanding of his current existence. Both men knew there was no way around the question that was coming. Kelly looked deeper within himself, trying even harder to push out the words. And then he did. He pushed just that one word out that had been hanging in his mind.
“Jen?” he asked.
The moment had come that Steven had dreaded, fighting off his own emotion for as long as he could. Nurse Evans was quietly standing several feet back, carefully observing the awakening of her patient through the simple, yet life-changing dialogue taking place between the two men. She didn’t care about the ASAC’s credentials. She cared about her patient’s recovery and she knew the high-ranking FBI agent would have to leave soon. This didn’t intimidate her but her patient’s condition sure did. Kelly wasn’t in any shape to continue down the destructive road where this conversation would lead. But first, surely the man should know what had become of his family.
“I’m sorry, Kelly,” Steven uttered, as he shook his head no.
Steven’s chest tightened and Kelly’s restraints went taut.
“They didn’t make it,” Steven said, feeling as if it was his own fault. “Jen put up a hell of a fight… but neither one made it.”
The words came out as the sides Steven’s lips began to waver. He could empathize with his friend’s pain. Some agent I am, he thought as he envisioned the sketch of the bombing suspect that Kelly had given him after he’d assaulted Jen. Steven tried hard to regain his composure, his own feelings of remorse unwavering. Nurse Evans spoke up then and gently but firmly told the ASAC he would have to leave for now. Her patient was too critical for any additional stress.
Nurse Megan had a very professional manner and produced the exact words and bedside gestures that were required at times like this. She clearly was a gifted nurse. Steven seemed to understand so he gave a well-intended promise that he would return soon. As Kelly watched his friend go, he sadly contemplated the confirmation of the news he had somehow been unconsciously anticipating since that day he tried to crawl to the finish line on Boylston Street. It had already been three days but it felt to Kelly as the bombing had happened only moments before. Deep inside of Kelly, some controlled determination caused him to pull at the restraints again. He knew what he would do. First he’d break the restraints. Then he’d break the lack of clarity that the medication was producing. Then he’d get the hell out of the bed and go find the motherfuckers that did this.
Kelly fought to sit up while his nurse quickly injected something into his IV. The medicine proved to be too much of a force, easing the fight right out of him. Jen’s face appeared in his mind and he was taken back to that first dinner that she had cooked for him at her apartment, eighteen months before.
“I’ve got a quick phone call to make. When dinner is ready,” he had jokingly said that evening, “just bang on the wall and I’ll be over”.
As Kelly drifted away to semi-unconsciousness, he looked back on that that first dinner and specifically his comment. He regretted it and wished that he would have said something more sincere. Growing together with her and Brady had been the best experience in his life. They had gone from the first night’s dinner, almost to the chapel and nearly every minute of it had been wonderful. Especially the moments with Brady.
Kelly felt the fight within him quickly turn to absolute defeat through every part of his being. He wished for his own swift death to befall him. What was fate waiting for? Why did Kelly always somehow survive and those that he loved the most did not?
Take me. Take me, damn it, he pleaded, as he lost himself to the sleep that called for him.
***
Chapter 15
The High-Value Interrogation Group (HIG) had begun to wonder if they would ever get the pleasure of interrogating the accused perpetrators of the Boston Bombings. It had been several days and although there were some good leads, it seemed that the two main suspects were determined to commit Jihad. One had been killed after murdering an MIT police officer, setting off improvised explosive devices and then trying to blow himself up with a suicide vest that, dumbly, hadn’t worked. Besides the MIT officer, sixteen other officers had been wounded by the explosives that had functioned and by the gunfire during an ensuing shootout. The mayhem had shaken the city of Boston and its residents to the core.
But one suspect had survived and he would soon be interrogated. The men of the HIG had their tools of torture to remedy stubbornness and silence by ushering in compliance and conversation. There were medieval-inspired devices mostly made of stainless steel that were great for intimidation but not so good for suspects that would have to be released back to the federal prison system or a military facility. The HIG team knew that it wouldn’t do to remove fingers, toes or other appendages, as it would be admissible evidence into a court of law, indicating illegal torture. If that happened, the information that the team would soon extract, would beco
me inadmissible in court.
The men would threaten with those tools but when it came time to get physical, the water board worked best. It had recently become socially unpopular but that in itself did not affect its efficacy. It was miserable and highly effective but best of all it left no trace. In the moments of usages, it was a fate much worse than the peace found in death. It was a constant struggle to gasp for air while the victim’s captors laughed from above, never quite allowing the victim’s body to fully release its soul. It was a living death of unimaginable suffering which the HIG team thought was just about right for the one bastard that had survived.
The HIG team had assembled and stood trained and ready. They had been ordered to wait at the Federal Medical Center at Fort Devens for the incoming prisoner.
***
Back in Boston at the Israel Deaconess Medical Center where Kelly was recovering, there was a nineteen-year-old Chechen man who was being treated for gunshot wounds and other combat related injuries. He had a sheepish demeanor, black hair and white skin and he had lost a lot of blood. After the last shootout that had taken the life of the MIT officer, the younger Djabrail had struck and driven over his older brother with a large SUV. Simultaneously, he had received heavy amounts of gunfire. Predictably, he had been shot multiple times but surprisingly, he had made his escape. He had realized that he was bleeding out and the thought had terrified him. How did I get wrapped up in this? he asked himself, over and over. I don’t want to die, he thought, as the blood seeped seemingly from every pore on his weakened body. Eventually, he had climbed into a stored boat and crawled into the fetal position. He remained there until federal agents removed him at gunpoint, much to the city of Boston’s relief. They had taken him to Israel Deaconess Medical Center until he was stabilized and could sustain a forty-mile ride in an ambulance that was sure to hit every chuckhole and bump on the way. As with all things the time had come so the patient or prisoner, depending on the perspective, was transported the distance and relegated to the custody of the federal agents. They had been preparing for days and were eager to get acquainted.
***
Chapter 16
The media was carrying on with an ignorant level of constant drivel, claiming this was an isolated incident and not connected to a larger terrorist organization. The usual shills were queued on the usual networks condemning torturous interrogation methods and proclaiming that the suspects were entitled to their constitutional rights. The chatter went on and on, twenty-four hours a day, as dramatic as the networks could possibly make each clip. Viewer attentiveness was at all-time highs. The presentation was made to seem as if the streets of Boston were still lined with injured and dying people. The news segments filled any moment of would-be silence with some airhead flapping his jaws for volume but not necessarily content. Amongst other heart wrenching photos, someone had snapped a picture of Kelly. Most of his clothes had been ripped from his body and he displayed cuts and blood all over. He was making his best attempt to crawl towards the finish line. He had one hand extended and was yelling something the news anchors could only prognosticate about.
Kelly was in and out of consciousness. Between the sedative medications that he was given and the exhaustion from his body’s rebuilding itself, it was hard for him to stay awake. He was however, aware of where he was and generally what had happened. He was experiencing a mix of survivor’s guilt and depression from the murders that had taken place, right in front of him; the murders of his family and other Bostonians.
Kelly was experiencing the PTSD symptoms that the VA Hospital had warned him about years before. His nightmares and flashbacks of Fallujah had combined with what he had seen in Boston. In his sleep, he couldn’t keep the two events separate. He didn’t know if he was trying to save Pearson or his family from the Jihadists. In one dream, Jen’s son Brady was the knife-wielding maniac. When Kelly awoke, the sensation would evaporate into a pulseless, lack of emotion. Sometimes Kelly felt nothing. He didn’t know if his dreams were a result of the medication or if he was just that fucked up. As soon as he dozed off again, the tormenting details would come flooding back into his mind.
Nurse Evans was keeping a close protective eye on Kelly during what seemed to him to be the day shift. There were other nurses that looked after Kelly too but none quite as attentively as her. The doctors had been in and out but Megan was the one with whom he was having the most interaction. At that point it had mostly been nonverbal interaction but that would change as his condition improved. None of the other nurses sounded as charming as she did with her southern accent. But when Kelly was awake, he was indifferent and not energetic enough to be interested in conversation. He wasn’t himself. In fact, he didn’t feel like anyone, just a lifeless body lying in a bed. Just then Nurse Megan walked in and picked up his chart.
“Good afternoon, Kelly,” she said pleasantly.
An encouraging smile adorned her face as she scanned the page on the clipboard. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
Nurse Megan wasn’t upset when Kelly didn’t answer. She hadn’t really expected an answer from him this time either. She was patient and her experience told her that he would eventually come around as his condition improved. Kelly shifted some in the bed and looked up at her as she walked to his side. Then a doctor walked into the room a few seconds later and began to assess Kelly for himself.
“I’m Dr. Gerrard. You can call me Ben if you prefer.”
He quickly outlined the purpose of his visit and peeled back the dressing on Kelly’s head as he inspected the scalp wound.
“This is looking really good, Kelly. It is healing up properly. As you can imagine, cranial injuries are very serious but fortunately this was small and shallow to begin with. And as I said, progressing quite nicely. The bones are fusing back together and I am hopeful for a full recovery.”
He was both convinced and convincing, as he informed his patient, still jotting down more notes on Kelly’s chart.
“Kelly, we’re all keeping a close eye on you. It will take some time but you have a good chance at a full recovery. Only time and your level of determination will provide all of the details of your recovery. From what we’ve heard and seen, determination is one of your stronger character traits.”
The doctor paused as if to gauge whether Kelly understood everything that had been said. Kelly made eye contact and nodded his head in understanding. Encouraged, the doctor continued.
“You’ve stabilized drastically since you were brought in so we are going to move you downstairs to general recovery. Also, an ASA something or other from the FBI has called no less than five times demanding that we keep our best staff looking after you 24/7. I’ve made arrangements to ensure that you receive this hospital’s very best. We’ll talk soon,” Dr. Gerrard assured Kelly as he looked at both his patient and nurse.
The doctor offered a less convincing smile and made his way towards the door, disappearing to other responsibilities within the overworked facility. The hospital was swamped with new arrivals from the recent attack. With all of the casualties from the blasts, the crowding amongst the corridors of the facility had initially come as a surprise. Now tested, the medical staff was pleased that their mass-casualty contingency policy had performed well under stress. After three days they had discharged many of the bombing victims but there was still a significantly greater number of patients than the hospital normally treated at once. At the doctor’s exit, Nurse Megan informed Kelly that it was time for his next round of medicine. She dispensed the proper amount, making further notations on Kelly’s chart. Encouraged that Kelly was beginning to communicate she looked down at him and spoke.
“I need to inspect your left foot, clean it and rewrap it. We have you on a high level of pain medication but you will still feel some shooting pains generating from the area. I’m going to go real easy on you, Kelly,” she promised, with a delicate seriousness.
She began unwrapping the wound. She didn’t have the bandage fully unwrapped before h
e felt nauseated, experiencing the pain she had forewarned of. She saw him grimace, as she had anticipated.
In some ways Kelly had been lucky. It could have been much worse. He had been far enough away from the explosion that he didn’t experience some of the trauma that affects victims closest to a blast. Fortunately, he hadn’t shown any symptoms of primary blast injuries. The medical staff knew that the immediate blast overpressure waves were especially damaging so they had been monitoring him for any signs of damage to his ears, lungs and the hollow organs of his gastrointestinal tract. They knew those injuries could come with a delay, but after the several examinations, their concern for those type of injuries had waned. Nurse Megan did as she had indicated and rewrapped his foot without causing him undue pain. He figured she had upped his pain medicine intake on the last dosage yet he found himself indifferent. Maybe a little more physical pain would offer a break from the emotional torment.
Besides Kelly’s head and foot injuries he had incurred secondary, tertiary and quaternary blast injuries. He bore wounds where fragmentation and other objects propelled by the explosion had penetrated him, mostly on the front side of his torso and legs. All of the shrapnel that could be removed, had been removed during a series of surgeries over the first two days of his hospital tenure. He had been displaced some distance through the air by the blast wind that the explosion had created. This had caused some deep bruising and abrasions upon landing in the road. Lastly, Kelly had received a relatively minimal flash burn over some of the uncovered areas on the front side of his body. Medically, the latter was the least of anyone’s concern as much of the redness had already subsided.
