by Sarah Cole
Fading
to Light
Sarah Cole
Copyright © 2016 Sarah Cole
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1537672541
ISBN 13: 9781537672540
To all of you that supported me, and encouraged me to do this. This is for you. Thank you.
To Andrew- my Andrew, thank you for believing in me even when I don’t believe in myself. I love you more than words.
To my mother – who taught me from an early age that books will take you anywhere you want to go. I love you.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1 Five Months Later…
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Playlist
Prologue
Charlie:
“Thumper!!! Please just trust me on this! You look gorgeous, and no you can’t see your butt cheeks, so don’t even ask me.” my best friend Abby shouts, stopping just inside my bedroom door.
I poke my head out of my bathroom door and give her the dirtiest look I can muster, although I’m certain it just looks more like a grimace. “Thumper? Really, Abs?” I ask, stepping back in front of the mirror to finish applying my mascara.
“I have no idea why everyone still insists on taunting me with that stupid nickname. You and Jay couldn’t have come up with something a little more badass?” I crack a smile, and she beams back at me, giving me her best goofy grin.
“Well we were only in eighth grade, so I think you can cut us some slack!” she laughs.
We have been best friends since, well, I can’t remember a time when Abby Mason and I weren’t friends. Well besides for that time she put gum in my hair in second grade to see if it would stick… it did. Then she cut it out with her Mom’s sewing scissors, resulting in an epic bowl cut that still haunts our grade school yearbook pages. That day we weren’t friends, but I digress. We’ve shared everything for pretty much our whole lives; our birthday parties, our secrets, our college dorm room, our apartment, our heartbreaks, our career aspirations, inside jokes, and large quantities of gourmet ice cream from the creamery around the corner.
“OK Charlie, we absolutely have to leave now or we’ll lose our reservation! You look fine.” she calls, snapping me back to reality.
“Alright. Chill your roll, woman! We’re on time.”
I remember we are meeting our other best friend, Laney, tonight. She’s a popular hair stylist here in Chicago and runs a well-known fashion blog; she also happens to be one of the best people you will ever know. Laney Roberts just kind of fell into our lives one day during our freshman year in college, and the rest is history.
“Is Laney meeting us there, or do we still need to pick her up?” I ask Abby, grabbing my black leather jacket to toss on over the sorry excuse of a dress she forced me into.
I look across the living room at her and she’s still stumbling around, like a drunk sorority girl, her blonde waves hanging loose, in an emerald bodycon dress, buckling her insanely high designer heels while holding her trendy earrings between her perfectly made up lips.
I cross my arms, “And you are lecturing me about my punctuality?” I arch an eyebrow, and she gives me that innocent, ‘What did I do?’ look.
“She told me that she would just meet us at the restaurant.” Abby says finally righting herself with both shoes on.
“She said had a hair emergency. One of her clients tried to use one of the lavender box dyes, but apparently it just looks like a unicorn threw up on her pixie cut,” she laughs, rolling her eyes.
I shake my head, groaning, “That’s awful. It might be just about as bad as the time you decided to cut yourself some full fringe bangs in college after those frat guys were commenting on how hot they thought Katy Perry was with hers!” At the mention of what we refer to as fringe-gate, I get a throw pillow to the face which only makes me laugh harder.
“It was pretty fucking terrible, but in all fairness I was wasted and you did nothing to discourage it.” she says, smiling brightly.
Forty-five minutes later we finally settle into our table at a swanky tapas place that I honestly can’t even pronounce, let alone spell. Foo-gwe-gi, Foogui… oh fuck it.
“Well at least we made it on time.” Abby says.
“On time?” I look at my best friend disbelievingly. “Abs, we are fifteen minutes late, you doofus.” I shake my head, taking in the dark walls and iron and crystal sphere shaped chandeliers.
“Not my fault Deborah routed me into an arts festival.” she says, shrugging. Deborah is what Abby decided to name the female voice on her GPS.
“Hi I’m Ronald and I’ll be your server tonight. You ladies, ready or are you still waiting for someone?” our waiter asks, staring unabashedly down the front of Abby’s dress. In all fairness, her girls are just kind of out there tonight.
Of course Abby notices, and leans forward flashing him a wicked smile, giving him a better view. She’s beautiful, sassy, and she leaves a trail of broken hearts in her wake. Just ask Jay.
“We are still…,” she stops, when we hear a familiar cheerful voice.
“I’m here! I’m here! Let’s get the festivities started!” Laney practically shouts, plopping down on a plush leather dining chair across from us. Other patrons give her snotty looks, but it doesn’t faze her. She’s a short, spunky, spitfire who is definitely not afraid to call ‘em like she sees ‘em.
“Celebrating something special tonight?” our waiter asks, still salivating over us like a hungry dog on the trail of a pork chop.
Laney gives him a strange look, and says, “Down boy!”
I snort trying to conceal my laughs into my napkin because apparently she read my mind.
She continues, “We are celebrating my two best friends! They just passed the bar exam and are ready start adulting with the rest of us!”
She gives us two thumbs up and an overly cheesy smile.
“Oh! And we’re celebrating Charlie’s newly found freedom.” she says gesturing to me. I tilt my head in question, wondering where she is going with this. She’s gearing up, I can feel it.
“She just dumped her pretentious, dismissive, bastard of a boyfriend after a year and a half of us begging her.” Aaaand there it is.
I choke on my water. “Jesus, Laney!” I exclaim, wiping tears from my eyes.
Of course Abby thinks my embarrassment is hysterical and is doubled over laughing pounding her perfectly manicured hand on the table. The waiter is just staring at her like she’s absolutely bananas sandwich.
“Uhhh, alright then. What can I get you?” he asks, nervously shifting.
“Cake! Lots of cake with candles!” Laney jokes.
“We don’t have cake here.” He deadpans, obviously missing her humor.
“Then booze. All the booze!” Laney bellows, gesturing wildly. He looks confused still. Poor Roland. I don’t really blame the little creep; my friends are a bit nuts after all. “Fine! I’m kidding, Ronald. Lighten up!” Laney continues.
“I’ll just take a tall Blue Moon on tap please.” I say lightly, giving him an embarrassed smile.
He nods after taking Laney’s order, and turns to Abby. “May I please have a
Diet Coke with lime?” Laney looks at her in confusion at her request. “I drove Charlie and I here.” Abby explains.
“I see! For a second I thought you were gonna tell us Jameson put a bun in that oven. Whew. Dodged a bullet!” It’s Abby’s turn to choke on her water, so I do what any friend would do and laugh. Yeah right! Can you imagine Abby with a child? That certainly wouldn’t fit the plan.
We spend the next couple hours laughing, eating way too much, and finalizing our plans for our girls’ trip to the Caribbean. We are being way too loud, and getting the stink eye from our neighboring tables. They probably think we’re sloshed, but we are far from it. This is just who we are when we are together; fun, loud and carefree.
Finally, it’s time to call it quits and head home since it is nearing ten, and all three of us have work in the morning. Abby and I both work as paralegals at a large firm downtown. We accepted offers to a large firm, but won’t start there until the fall after the summer interns leave.
“Just one more day until the weekend!” I shout spinning myself around with my arms out on the sidewalk.
Abby giggles and tugs on my outstretched arm, as the valet pulls our car around, “Come on loser! There’s my car.”
We all give each other quick hugs and call out our endearments. We make sure Laney gets safely into a cab before pulling away from the curb. As we drive down the road I flip through the music Abby has synched with her phone. It sucks. “Are you kidding me? Do you have anything other than pop radio top forty on here Abs? I know I taught you better than this.” I say shaking my head. Bieber fever, my ass.
“Sorry Charlie, but not everyone likes their music hard and heavy.” She says tapping her hands on the wheel to musical garbage. I mean, I don’t think there are actually any real instruments being played here.
“That’s not what she said.” I snort as I begin laughing. That only makes us both laugh harder. Abby is wiping the tears from her eyes as I look over at her to make another wise crack. I raise my head just in time to see headlights plow into the driver’s side of the car. The world is spinning, the sound is deafening, and the dark consumes me.
Andrew:
“I am dead fucking tired.” I say out loud to myself rubbing both my hands down stubbled face. I turn to pull my leather duffle from my locker, dreaming about my bed. I can’t wait until my new apartment is done so I can move out of my best friend, Parker’s guest bedroom. I love him, but the dude is a slob.
“Aaand now I’m talking to myself; never a good sign.”
I have now been on the clock for nearly sixteen straight hours, and I finally finished checking on the last of my tiny patients for the evening. This final month of residency has been brutal as I have tried to rack up hours in the Operating Room and impress my superiors in hopes of snagging the newly open attending’s position in Pediatrics. It’s the best specialty in my personal opinion. The children are always so positive despite their ailments, and they bounce back so quickly never giving up. There’s nothing more rewarding than giving little kids a fighting chance in this world.
Just as I’m finally slinging my bag over my shoulder to head out the door, my pager starts beeping repeatedly. “Shit! Fuck!” I say, letting my head thud against the door in defeat. The Emergency Room is paging me for an emergency. Defeated and exhausted, I put my bag back into its space and rush down to the ER two floors below.
“What do you have for me?” I ask, as I step up alongside Dr. Mandari, the lead surgeon in the ER tonight.
“Sorry, Dr. Montgomery, I know the system said you were almost out of here, but we have a major trauma incoming. ETA is nine minutes, and we need all the hands we have because Dr. Adler started vomiting all over the floor in the unit, then Dr. Nicholson…Yeah, well, you get it...” he trails off staring into space with a pained expression, as if he’s reliving the experience.
“Yeah, that’s no good.” Purell is my friend, got it.
“Anyways,” he continues, “Looks like five are being brought in. The rest were treated on scene. Good thing you’re here because apparently one of the victims is a child, approximately ten years of age, with a severe abdominal laceration and what appears to be a broken leg.”
“Jesus! What happened?” I look over at him, feeling like I need more answers.
“All I know is that it’s got something to do with a drunk driver, a delivery truck of some sort, a few cars and a shit ton of bad news.” A solemn look shadows his usually cheerful face.
Being in the heart of the city we see it all, including our fair share of drunk drivers. Somehow the assholes who cause this shit, are always the ones that walk away unscathed. I know you take an oath as a doctor but at times like these, I wish I knew if all lives were worth saving. How do you willingly save someone who so carelessly harmed another, whether intentional or not? I push that thought away as an ambulance pulls into the bay, and we gather to wait as paramedics work to unload the patient.
“Sixty-two-year-old female, minor head contusion, possible fractured tibia and fibula. Completely lucid.” The EMT reports to our waiting staff with an exaggerated eye roll.
And lucid she is… “Don’t you morons know who I am? I’m Vivienne Drake Moore! You twats need to get me something for my suffering!” She screeches, switching to a terribly fake British accent. She’s screaming about her driver, and her Pomeranian thoroughbred, Fifi or Shi Shi, or whatever overly pampered, aging heiresses name their yappy mutts. Dr. Mandari is directing them to the first bay so he can try and appease her while yanking the cigarette she is trying to light out of her hand.
“I don’t have time for this shit.” A nurse grumbles under her breath walking past me towards the bay with the apparently now Russian accented woman. Maybe she isn’t as lucid as we thought.
I turn away from the chaos in time to see several more ambulances pull up at once. I rush outside with all available staff to assist.
“I’m looking for an adolescent male with an abdominal laceration.” I say to the first driver, and he points to his back hatch and says, “Brandon Gates. Nine years old; appears to be pretty superficial; just a broken leg. Most of the blood wasn’t his. It mainly belonged to his father who was pronounced dead on the scene. You may want to help out the other rigs. They will need every hand you’ve got.” And with that he turns to his partner looking a little green in the face.
“Are you kidding me? What does that even mean?” I say to myself because everyone has already moved on to the next task. It is utter chaos out here.
“Help! We need the surgical team NOW!” A hysterical EMT yells.
I spin on my heels to look upon, well, there aren’t even words… just devastation. Several ambulances open to similarly shocking scenes, but what I see right in front of me nearly destroys my normally calm facade. I have to brace myself and remember my purpose here.
I see what I assume to be a young woman, but she’s missing part of her left arm, and she has a jagged piece of metal protruding from the space between her shoulder and neck. Everything is covered in so much blood, I am not sure where it is all coming from and her face is horribly swollen. I have to take a deep breath to steady myself, and the thick coppery smell makes my stomach turn. From the looks of how she is dressed, I figure she’s been out clubbing. I assess every detail of the situation, as I try to fill in the blanks and find answers to the questions I need to know.
“I need a toxicology screening now. See if there is anything that will interfere with treatment.” I tell the nurse to my right. She nods stiffly in response.
“No need!” The one of the EMT’s calls. “Did one in route. Came up clean, no drugs, BAC was zero, everything’s clear.”
I look up stunned. Pointing to the young woman in front of me, “Not the drunk driver?”
“Not at all.” He gestures towards one of the other rigs that just pulled in and have yet to open their doors. “It was her an another female passenger, both are in critical state. They were just caught in the middle. They got broadsided
and spun into an intersection.”
We all help to delicately unload the patient so as not to disrupt the large piece of debris embedded in her neck. “Good God. Is that part of a stoplight?” I ask the EMT and he only nods his response with a grim look on his face.
The EMT gives me the rundown of what they could evaluate on site and in route to us, “Alright, twenty-four-year-old female according to her license. Severe head contusion, had to partially amputate left arm to free it from the vehicle; it wouldn’t have been salvageable anyways, impaled by…well, part of a stop light. We aren’t sure where it has her, or what it is holding together, so the first responders trimmed it and left it. Pulmonary embolism, we placed a chest tube, suspect broken ribs, internal bleeding, broken left femur… obviously lacerations to eighty percent of the body. BP keeps bottoming out, she coded in the rig, but still hasn’t gone into shock. It’s only a matter of time though.”
“Got it! Let’s move, people!” I shout as we run as a team carefully to the automatic doors that lead inside. I’ve been a surgeon long enough to have an idea of what we are working with, and the likelihood of this woman surviving the night is unfortunately next to nothing.
“All hands on deck! I’ve paged cardio, neuro, and all general surgeons available. Someone needs to clear an operating room.” Barks Dr. Mandari, in his clipped Middle Eastern accent.
“Montgomery, right side. Help lift to the table on three. One, two, three.” We all move as a single unit to bring the young woman to the table.
I give him the same rundown that the EMT provided me moments ago, and as I continue with the litany of known injuries, his jaw sets and his eyes dim. Dr. Mandari starts rattling off orders to our assembled team, as I feel something cold brush the back of my hand.
I look down to see the patient’s fingers moving, searching for something. I grab her hand lightly and look to her face. I’m met with warm brown eyes filled with tears, but they focus on me and she appears to be completely alert.
“Can you hear me ma’am?” I ask softly. She makes a garbled noise, that I take as a yes.
