Driven by Destiny

by Falls, K. C.

The only voice I had was my body.

  I could love him with that.

  Unspoken and felt can be better than spoken too soon."

  ***

  We were hunkered down over the books late the following afternoon when Reggie answered a call on his personal cell.

  "I have to take the Prince Bashar to the Poconos. He's coming into Newark in about an hour. I'll be lucky to make it in rush hour traffic."

  "But can't someone out of Acme take him? They're closer to Newark than we are."

  "He's been with us for years and I'm the only one he wants to drive him. It would have been useless to argue with him"

  I didn't want him to go. Even if he didn't show it—and maybe didn't feel it—I did. At least for me there was some tension. I'd left the L-word hanging in the air. You don't leave the L-word hanging in the air. Fuck.

  I was the first one to say it to Sal. I remember the terror of it. What if you say I love you and you don't say it back? That's a vulnerable place to be, male or female. And I hadn't said it back.

  Okay, so technically it was not an "I. Love. You." moment. He hadn't said it like that. The way he said it required no immediate response. Still, "Before I met you, I think I loved you" is slightly higher on the L-bomb scale than signing off with "Luv ya baby" at the end of a phone call. I hate that line. That phrase should never be the first mention of love in any relationship. Just sayin'.

  Truthfully I did love him and I intended to tell him that night. I really didn't want him to go off on an eight hour night trip to the mountains!

  "But…"

  "He comes to New York maybe twice a year and he asks for me. The rest of the year aunts, uncles cousins, friends, wives, children and grandchildren come. They don't care who drives them just the prince. And the royal family is huge."

  "I guess it's a small price to pay for so much business. But why you?" I whined.

  "The prince and I go way, way back. All the way back to Saudi Arabia. We kept in touch after I left the Stallions." He smiled his imperfectly perfect smile."If I drop a hint that I've got a girl he'll probably come up with some gaudy Saudi gold for you. Would you like that?"

  Somehow 'girl' seemed inadequate. But what did I expect him to call me? Lover would be awkward with a Saudi prince, for sure. Roommate wasn't descriptive and technically wasn't true. And I hadn't really given him permission to call me the woman he loved. Overthink.

  "I just want you to get him up there and come back to me as soon as possible.

  "I will, Hon. I'll call you when I get there. ETA . . ." he looked at his watch, "between ten and eleven."

  'Hon'. That's what a waitress in a diner calls you. 'Babe' was way better than 'Hon' He was feeling the tension, I was sure.I wanted to grab him and pull him back to me. But he was halfway out the door.

  "Be careful," I yelled as he climbed in our biggest limo. "There's a winter storm watch in the mountains."

  "I'll be careful."

  Chapter Six

  The phone woke me at midnight. It was Reggie's father Ronald.

  " . . . shot . . . kidnap . . . prince . . .coma . . ." The words seemed disjointed as if I was hearing through water. I hung up the phone and sat on the edge of the bed dully piecing together what I'd just been told.

  I'd gone to sleep full of guilt and angst about the night before and I was tossing and turning in a bad dream when the phone jerked me awake. At first it almost seemed as if what Mr. Lewis was telling me was part of the dream.

  Reggie had been shot. He was in a coma, and the doctors didn't feel confident that he would survive. They weren't willing to speculate on any lasting damage if he ever came out of it.

  The prince had been injured and two of the people traveling in his entourage had been killed. All this was part of an ambush just as the limo had pulled into the gate of Prince Bashar's mountain estate. The purpose was to kidnap the prince's only son, Khalid. The kidnappers had succeeded but not until they had neutralized the two bodyguards, Reggie and the prince himself.

  Reggie had been stabilized at the Poconos Medical Center and very soon was to be airlifted out to Lehigh Valley Hospital in Allentown.

  I called Mario and got him up out of a deep sleep. I didn't want to make the drive by myself. I wanted to sit in the back seat and will my life force into the man. I wanted to concentrate every bit of karma, prayer and energy I could summon up in the vast universe and bring it with me to his bedside.

  I called Rose from the car.

  "Oh my God, that's terrible. Sweetie, what can I do?" she asked me.

  "I guess you could pray," I cried into the phone. I wanted to get as many tears out of me as I could before I got to the hospital. Blubbering and weeping wasn't going to do a thing to help the man I loved.

  "Rose, I had the chance to tell him how I feel last night and I hesitated. Then we were all busy today and there just didn't seem to be a good moment. I was going to tell him tonight and he had to go. What if he never knows I love him? What if he dies thinking I just didn't care enough for him to tell him that simple thing? Was it so much to ask of me?"

  "Now, sweetie, don't think about him dying. Think about how he's going to wake up and you're going to tell him. They'll be the first words he hears."

  "I'll tell him anyway. Even if he in a coma. They say people can sometimes still hear."

  "That's right. You go tell him. It will give him so much more to live for."

  I beat Mr. Lewis to the hospital. Reggie was in ICU and that's all they'd tell me. I couldn't tell him because I couldn't see him. I wasn't 'related' and he wasn't able to tell them I was allowed. So I had to wait for his father to tell the staff to let me in.

  I paced the waiting room until Mr. Lewis arrived. He hugged me close and held my hand as we both went to Reggie's bedside.

  Reggie's big frame took up the entire hospital bed yet he still seemed smaller, more diminished than the man who had walked out the garage door just hours before. I ignored all the bleeping machines and the tubes and went straight over to my dear one's bedside.

  I leaned over and whispered in his ear. His flesh was cold. Therapeutic hypothermia was being used to cool his body and reduce the swelling in his brain. The doctor had explained it to us but I still wasn't prepared for the feel of his skin. He felt like death.

  "I love you, Reggie. I love you more than I've ever loved. I love you and I need you to wake up and love me back." In spite of my resolve in the car on the way, silent tears splashed onto his cheek. I wiped them away with a trembling finger.

  Mr. Lewis and I stood helplessly next to the bed. The older man put his hand over mine and bowed his head. I followed his lead and together we prayed silently for some moments. When I opened my eyes, I saw a devastated father weep and quickly turn away. He left me alone with Reggie and went somewhere—to pull himself together, I suppose.

  When I pried myself away from the ICU, I found Mr. Lewis in the waiting room talking with a couple of men.

  "Trina, this is Detective Harrington and Detective Frishing. Gentlemen, this is my son's girlfriend, Trina Ferreti. They're also business partners."

  The two men looked like detectives, but the movie kind. The FBI kind—not your local precinct gumshoes like I was used to seeing.

  "Ms. Ferreti, did Reggie say anything about his assignment tonight? Mr. Lewis tells us that Prince Bandar was very specific about having him drive tonight."

  I had to think. "Well he did say that he and the prince went back a while. Reggie knew him when he served in Saudi Arabia."

  "He was with the Black Stallion brigade. He's a captain." Mr Lewis said this with such pride it brought a lump to my throat. I knew how much that meant to Reggie. "Funny, he never mentioned any relationship with the prince before Acme drove for him. I always assumed the guy had just taken a real liking to my son."

  "He's been opening up to me a lot more lately about his time overseas." Immediately I wondered if that was the right thing to say.I didn't want Mr. Lewis to think that Reggie had been hiding an
ything from him that suddenly he was sharing with me instead. I doubted that was the case. He was very close to his father. It was just a matter of the right time and place that let me get a toe in behind the wall.

  "I'm glad he's found someone he can open up with," Mr. Lewis reassured me. "My son suffers some residual effects from his time in the military. I'm not exactly sure what the extent of his . . . PTSD . . . is. He's never called it by that name and never sought any help," he explained.

  So, Mr. Lewis probably didn't know about the dreams. I only knew about the dreams because I shared Reggie's bed. Hell, I only knew he had them, not what they were about.

  "Did he tell you anything about the relationship with Bandar? Anything at all?" Frishing asked me.

  "Nothing. Just what I told you."

  "Ms. Ferreti, did Reggie customarily carry a weapon?"

  "Absolutely. We consider a concealed carry permit almost as important as a commercial driver's license."

  "Would it have been on his person or elsewhere in the car?"

  "It should have been on his person. Why?" I was puzzled. Reggie had a holster under his jacket every time he got behind the wheel. "Are you saying he didn't have his Glock on him?" That sounded insane. Watch, wallet and weapon. Every time. No exceptions.

  "I'm not saying anything. I'm simply trying to fully understand the circumstance." That was an infuriating dance around an answer and it rubbed me the wrong way.

  "Don't you think that we have the right to know the circumstances too? That's the man I love in there and his son," I said pointing to Reggie's father. "He might not make it. I'd like to know what you know about why."

  "I am very sorry about his condition. We're all hoping he'll recover."

  "What do you know about what happened tonight?" I demanded. "You seem to be insinuating that Reggie didn't have his gun on him."

  "Please, Trina," Mr. Lewis said as he put his arm protectively around my shoulders. "Much as I'd like to know precisely what happened, the detectives can't tell us anything right now. Let it be. We'll know soon enough."

  He was right of course. And soon enough turned out to be pretty soon. An hour later Mr. Lewis and I were summoned to Prince Bandar's room.

  The prince had a shit load of fire power around his door. There were uniforms stationed at either side but they were far less intimidating than the four huge bodyguards whose eyes constantly moved around the hall. None of the various weapons were concealed.

  Prince Bandar bin Abdullah was ensconced in what must have been one of a few VIP suites in Lehigh Valley Hospital. I'd never been in that kind of hospital room. My kind of folks always wound up in semi-privates.

  The room was huge and all decorated like a living room. There were half a dozen people—all Arabs—milling around, sitting on the sofas, hovering over the prince. Half of them were dressed in the white robes with the headscarf thing and the other half weren't. But all of them were unmistakably from the same tribe. I wondered how so many could have gotten there so quickly and then realized that private jets can make pretty good time.

  The prince himself was sitting up in bed. Although his lower body was covered by a sheet, he, too wore the thobe and gutra. He was far younger than I had pictured him and far more handsome. His hawkish nose and full lips gave him a dangerous look, but when he greeted us his voice was very kind.

  "Mr. Lewis. Ms. Feretti. Please come and sit by me." Reggie's father and I took the two chairs at his right side. "First let me say that I am so very sorry Reggie was injured on my behalf tonight."

  "On your behalf?" Mr Lewis echoed.

  "Yes. Your son is an extremely brave and generous man. I am eternally grateful to him for saving my life."

  "Prince Bandar, the detectives aren't willing to give us much on what happened. Can you tell us what happened? Not that it will make any difference, but Trina and I would like to know."

  "I owe you nothing less." The prince adjusted his headdress and made me think of how Reggie had told me he and his buddies got such a kick out of that peculiar habit. I wanted him to wake up and tell me more. I wanted him to wake up and tell me everything there was to tell about his life, his fears, his hopes. I wanted . . . I just wanted.

  "We approached the gate to the estate. We were expected. The butler in the house recognized Reggie when he looked into the security camera at the entrance. The gates are old and slow. They're very pretty and ornate and to tell you the truth I never thought about how long it takes for them to open and close. The Poconos are not a place I often feel I have to look over my shoulder."

  I hoped he wasn't going to tell us the story of his life. I wanted to hear the 'Reggie' part of the story and get back to ICU.

  "When we were halfway in and half way out of the entryway, four or possibly even five—I can't be sure—men sprang from behind the brick columns and attacked. They shot directly through the windows on all sides. One of my bodyguards was killed instantly. They shouted at us to vacate the car. When my bodyguard exited the car, the attackers killed him. Reggie was slow and I think deliberately so."

  Finally. Tell us about Reggie.

  "My cousin Sultan was next and then I stepped out. They threw Sultan to the ground and pulled my son out from behind me. At some point Reggie roared out of the driver's seat with his gun drawn. One of the thugs hit him from behind with the butt of his weapon. That knocked him to the ground and was enough for the men to disarm him. Why they didn't shoot him then, I don't know."

  "So how did he get shot?" I asked impatiently.

  The prince continued a little faster. "When I realized that their intention was to take my son, I first tried to reason with the man who held him. I offered money. I offered myself. I don't know how long I talked. I begged. They began to move away with Mishal. I threw myself at them. Reggie tackled me from the side and took the bullet that was meant for me."

  I couldn't hold back a terrifying sound that was between a cry and a scream.

  "I am so very sorry, Ms. Ferreti. Allah's will is hard to understand at times."

  "Allah's will?" I shrieked at him. "Fuck Allah. And fuck God, too if He takes my Reggie away."

  Mr. Lewis gathered me into his arms and I wept like a baby. I'd been good; I'd stayed pretty well under control but the dike wouldn't hold. This damn spoiled prince was barely nicked and I didn't know if Reggie was going to live or die. Why in the hell did he sacrifice himself for this scum bag in the bed—the one that had demanded Reggie as his driver?

  "He'll have the finest care in the world. I have three different cranial specialists consulting with the doctors here. I can't undo what's been done but I can certainly do all I can to aid his recovery." The prince looked genuinely stricken. "Reggie is more than someone who drives me—he's also a friend."

  Blame wasn't going to help Reggie and neither was making an enemy of Prince Bandar. I bit back the urge to tell him that money wasn't going to buy Reggie's life. Nothing was to be gained by letting my anger piss off a powerful man who might be able to help.

  "I appreciate your concern," said Mr. Lewis.

  "Yes, thank you," I added. "If you will excuse me now, I'm going back to intensive care. I know I won't be able to do anything, but I need to be near him."

  And I need to keep telling him, again and again, that I love him. I need to tell him until he wakes up and tells me back.

  ***

  By dawn, Reggie had had a C-scan and the doctors were able to offer a glimmer of good news. The bullet had missed the major arteries in the brain. It had missed the brain stem.

  An intracranial hematoma was responsible for the deep coma Reggie was in.

  "That doesn't sound so good to me," I said.

  "It is in the sense that we have something to work with. It's operable."

  "So, if you remove the hemotoma he'll recover?" I knew I wasn't going to like the answer but I asked anyway. I wanted someone to tell us something miraculous. But doctors don't do that.

  "The experience of intensive care is that things ca
n suddenly take a turn for the worse without any warning. I would say that you'd have to wait at least a week before you're starting to become confident about the future. And that doesn't take into account the cognitive future. So far, we're just talking about survival."

  "By 'cognitive future' I assume you mean permanent brain damage?" asked Mr. Lewis.

  "That's correct," Dr. Christopher answered. "It's impossible to assess the scope of impairment until we can perform tests. Tests that require Reggie to be conscious. It's unrealistic to discuss it based on scans."

  Prince Bandar made good on his promise. It took another twenty-four hours before Reggie was stabilized enough to be airlifted to New York-Presbyterian Hospital. There were two neurosurgeons from London and another one from Germany in addition to the very competent staff at the hospital. If firepower meant anything, I was sure that Reggie would recover.

  He had to.

  The surgeons waited another day to operate.

  He survived.

  They told us there was no way to predict when or even if he would come out of the coma.

  I waited.

  On the seventeenth day Reggie opened his eyes.

  I prayed.

  On the twenty-first day he spoke. He was confused and aggressive. He didn't know who I was.

  I cried.

  On the twenty-fifth day he recognized his father.

  I cried some more.

  On the twenty ninth day he smiled at me.

  "Do you know who I am?" I asked him.

  "I don't know your name." The words came out painfully slowly. "But I know you."

  "Yes, yes! You do know me. You know me very well. I'm Trina and I love you."

  "Trina. Yes, that's it." He nodded deliberately, like a child would. "Trina."

  I took his hand, still chock full of tubes and electrodes. "I've been with you the whole time. I didn't know if I'd ever have you back."

  "I've been dreaming about you."

  "Good dreams?"

  "Yeah," he said as he squeezed my hand and smiled again. "Real sweet dreams."