Engulfing Emma (The Men on Fire Series)

by Samantha Christy

  My mother would be worried sick. I hope this isn’t all over the news. If they mention the name of the school, I’m sure twenty of her friends will call her to find out if I’m okay. And when she tries to call me and I don’t answer, she’ll know I’m not. Oh, God. To put her through this twice in one lifetime is more than any woman should have to face.

  I’ve never been happier that Evelyn is far away at camp. I’m usually sad when she’s gone. And she’s gone for two whole weeks this time. She left just yesterday. I cried, of course. But now, my eyes well up with tears of relief. She’s not going to hear about this. And maybe if I can save Carter and we get out of this, she’ll be none the wiser.

  Carter. I try to clear my head and focus on what I need to do. Everything hinges on my being able to save him.

  I walk back into the storage room but turn around before the gunman can close the door. “Thank you,” I say.

  His brows draw down. He’s confused as to why I’m thanking the guy pointing a gun at me.

  “I’m Emma, by the way.” I gesture at the kid on the floor. “That’s Carter.” Maybe if he sees us as people, he’ll be less likely to hurt us. “I know this was an accident.”

  I almost think he’s going to tell me his name, but instead, his icy demeanor returns. “You don’t know dick, teacher.”

  He slams the door in my face.

  I sink to the floor, bile rising in my throat. I breathe deeply and then crawl over to Carter, who doesn’t look as good as he did a few minutes ago. I touch his hand. It feels clammy. “Carter, are you still with me?”

  He moans.

  I glance back at the door, confirming it’s still shut before I pick up the phone. “Brett, are you there?”

  “I’m here,” he says. “Good thinking with the water and hand sanitizer. And telling him your names—that was brilliant. He’s beginning to see you as more than just hostages.”

  “I was terrified.”

  “I know. You’re doing great. Do you have a belt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Find the bullet wound. There may be two, an entrance and an exit wound. He won’t like it when you move his leg. He may even scream. But it’s important you do it.”

  “Okay. Hold on.”

  I sanitize my hands. Then I grab another shirt from lost and found and show it to Carter. “I’m going to put this in your mouth. I have to look at your leg and it might hurt. Bite down on the shirt. Scream into it if you have to. But we don’t want to give the guy out there a reason to come in here and see me on the phone. Do you understand?”

  He nods.

  “Here we go then.”

  I push up his shorts. Blood trickles out of a hole two or three inches above his knee. I roll him onto his side and look for an exit wound. There is so much blood caked on the back of his leg, I can’t see much. I open a bottle of water and spill some on his leg, then carefully wipe the back of his thigh. This makes him scream into the shirt.

  I quickly cover the receiver in case the gunman opens the door.

  I roll Carter onto his back again and wait to make sure our captor doesn’t come in the room. When I’m convinced he won’t, I pick up the phone. “I only see one bullet hole just above his knee.”

  “Good job. Now wrap the belt around his upper thigh a few inches above the wound. You’re going to have to pull it tight, tighter than you think it needs to be. If you can’t poke a notch in the belt to secure it, you’ll have to use something to tighten it. A metal ruler maybe. Slip the belt around it and turn it around and around like a corkscrew, tightening the belt to the leg.”

  “Hold on.”

  I do what he says, but it’s hard. Carter fights when I try to tighten the belt. Then he goes limp.

  “Oh, God. Carter? Carter wake up.” I shake him gently.

  I pick up the phone. “I think I did it wrong. He passed out.”

  “Emma, listen to me. You didn’t do it wrong. Look at the wound. Do you see blood coming out? Wipe it clean and watch for a second.”

  I do what he says. “There’s no more blood.”

  “You’re doing great. How’s Carter’s breathing?”

  “A little fast, but he’s not hyperventilating or anything.”

  “Can you check his pulse?”

  “I know how to do that, but I don’t have a clock to count how fast it is.”

  “I’ve got one. I’ll tell you when to start counting. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

  I pick up his arm and lay his wrist on my lap. “Ready.”

  “Start now.”

  I close my eyes and count the pulsations in my head until Brett tells me to stop. “I counted seventy-two. Is that bad?”

  “Normal is between sixty and one hundred beats per minute. I had you count for thirty seconds so his pulse is one hundred and forty-four. He’s lost blood and may be in the early stages of hypovolemic shock. But it’s not high enough to panic, okay?”

  “What’s high enough to panic?” I ask.

  “Let’s not worry about that yet. There is a man here who wants to talk to you. A police officer. You are our only contact inside the building. He wants to ask you a few questions.”

  I shake my head vehemently even though I know he can’t see me. But I really don’t want him to give the phone to someone else. Brett’s voice is calm and soothing, and he’s my only tie to the outside. “No. I don’t want to talk to anyone else. Brett, please.”

  “Okay, okay,” he says, assuringly.

  His words become muffled. He must be cupping a hand over his phone. Then he’s back. “How about if the police officer tells me what to ask you, would that be all right?”

  I slump against the wall next to Carter. “I guess that would be okay.”

  “Good. They want to know how many gunmen are inside.”

  “Just the one,” I say.

  “Are you sure? There wasn’t anyone else who came in the school with you who could be working with him?”

  “I’m pretty sure. I mean, he kept making this one skinny guy do everything, but he was just caught up in it, like I was. He looked as scared as everyone else. It even looked like he might jump him at one point.”

  “Did the gunman tell you his name?”

  “Yeah, we’re BFFs now, in case you hadn’t noticed.” I laugh weakly. “Of course not.”

  “I didn’t think so. They want to know exactly where you are in the building and where the other hostages are being held. Are any of them tied up?”

  I watch Carter’s chest rise and fall as I give Brett as many details as I can. I’ve worked here for three years, and I could find my way around the place blindfolded.

  “You’re being very helpful, Emma. They are asking how many hostages there are.”

  “Aside from Carter and me, three others, but I don’t know their names except for the teacher. Her name is Becca Jamison, but don’t call her family. They would be devastated. You can’t let them call, okay, Brett? I know all too well what that feels like. Please don’t let them call.”

  My pulse races as I remember when my mother got the call that the World Trade Center was attacked, and my father’s company had gone to help.

  “How do you know what it feels like?” he asks.

  I close my eyes. I’ve thought about my dad a lot today. I’ve also thought about my mom and Evelyn, and what losing me would do to them. “I lost my father on 9/11.”

  “You—”

  He stops talking, and I think maybe we lost the connection. “Brett, are you there?”

  “I’m here,” he says. “I lost my mother that day.”

  “Oh, no. Really?”

  “She was a nurse who ran in to help. How about your dad?”

  “A firefighter. A lieutenant here in Brooklyn.”

  “Damn. I’m sorry,” he says, emotion bleeding from his voice.

  “I’m sorry for your loss too.”

  “This is going to turn out differently. Evelyn is not losing her mother today. How old is she?”
<
br />   “Twelve.”

  “I have a child too. A son. He’s two.”

  “What’s his name?” I ask.

  “Leo.”

  “I like that name.”

  “Is there anyone you’d like me to call for you, Emma?”

  My heart pounds, and I feel the walls closing in on me. “I don’t want you to hang up.”

  “I won’t. I promise. I can use someone else’s phone. Can I call your husband for you? Maybe even patch you through?”

  “I’m not married. It’s just Evelyn and me. And my mom. It’s always just been the three of us.”

  “Your mom never remarried?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “Neither did my dad. He moved to Florida when my younger sister graduated high school four years ago.”

  “Florida’s nice.”

  “You’ve been?”

  “No. I just assume it’s nice. And I think maybe I’m rambling to keep you on the phone, because I’m feeling claustrophobic in this closet. How long do you think he’ll keep us in here?”

  “You don’t have to worry about keeping me on the phone. I’m not going anywhere. Even if you don’t want to talk, I’m here. The police are still trying to contact the gunman, but he won’t answer the phone in the office. They don’t know what he wants.”

  “I don’t know either,” I say. “I mean, except that he wanted money. That’s why he robbed Shettleman’s. I assume he wants this finished as much as we do, but he’s probably scared. He didn’t mean to shoot Carter. But the fact that he hasn’t let us go is very upsetting.”

  “It is. I’m sorry you have to go through this.”

  “Can you just talk to me?” I ask. “Tell me something about yourself. About Leo. Or your wife. Anything to get my mind off this.”

  “Well, let’s see. Leo is great. He recently became this little chatter box. He’s so curious about everything. He loves the park. And dogs. He loves dogs. But his nanny is allergic so we can’t have one. Sometimes I’ll take him to the dog park or the pet store so he can play with them.”

  “I love dogs, too. But I don’t think it’s fair to leave them alone all day. It’s why I’ve never gotten one. So, Leo has a nanny? That must mean your wife works as well.”

  “It’s just Leo and me,” he says.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to assume anything.”

  “It’s fine. I did the same thing with you. We recently divorced.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah, well, we didn’t really have a marriage for the last two years.”

  “Two years? Isn’t that how old Leo is?”

  “Yes. That’s when Amanda completely shut down and pulled away. She never really wanted to be a mom.”

  “I love being a mom. I don’t know what I’d do without Evelyn. She’s away at camp for two weeks, and it’s killing me.”

  “I love being a dad. I can’t imagine life without Leo.”

  Carter moans, and I lean over to check on him, feeling his pulse and determining it’s about the same as before.

  “How’s he doing?” Brett asks.

  “Okay, I think.”

  “Is the tourniquet still tight?”

  I look and see very little new blood around the wound. “Yes. Listen, how long can this thing stay on him? I know we need it to stop the bleeding, but isn’t it stopping all blood circulation to his leg? That can’t be good.”

  “It’s not good. We shouldn’t keep it on him longer than an hour, or we’ll risk ischemia.”

  “Does that mean his leg could die?” I whisper so Carter can’t hear me.

  “It’s possible. We’ll assess him closer to the hour mark. If he’s regained consciousness, we may try to remove the tourniquet for a few minutes to feed fresh blood to the lower leg. But let’s hope this doesn’t go on that long.”

  I sigh. I can’t believe this is happening. It’s like a nightmare. “How did I get here?”

  “Wrong place, wrong time,” he says. “That’s really what it boils down to.”

  “I’d rather be anywhere else in the world.”

  “I know you would. If you could be—where would you be? It can be anywhere.”

  I close my eyes and think for a minute. “Myrtle Beach.”

  He laughs. “Emma, I said anywhere, and you pick a place you can get to in less than a day?”

  “My aunt lives there. She has a house on the beach just north of the city. We would go there every summer for vacation. My mom and I haven’t visited since my dad died. We just couldn’t bring ourselves to return to a place that reminded us so much of him.”

  “Tell me about him,” he says. “I mean, if it’s not too difficult.”

  I settle against the wall and think of all the best parts of my dad—which was pretty much every part. “He was amazing. He only worked a few twenty-four-hour shifts a week, and when he was home, he spent every minute of the day with me when my mom was at work. He took me ice skating in the winter, boating in the summer, and when I went to school, he walked me there, and he’d be waiting for me when I got out. I know it’s been a long time, and I’m probably only remembering the good parts, but he really was the best dad.”

  “It sounds like it. That’s how I want it to be for Leo and me. Bonnie—that’s Leo’s nanny—lives with us because that’s what Amanda wanted when he first came home. She’s more like family than his nanny. She’s there when I’m on shift, and she watches him when I go out with my friends, but for the most part, I’m Leo’s primary caregiver whenever I can be.”

  “I think you must be a lot like my dad.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Brett?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m really worried about Carter. His pulse is racing, and he’s breathing like he’s running a marathon.”

  “What does his skin feel like?”

  I put a hand on his head and then his arm. “Cool and clammy.”

  “Can you open his eyes and look at his pupils? I’m not sure how much light you have in there, but I need to know if they are enlarged.”

  “Hold on.”

  I cradle the phone with my shoulder and open his eyelids with my fingers. “They could be enlarged, but I don’t have a flashlight in here to tell for sure.”

  “Damn it.”

  “What is it?”

  He blows a breath into the phone. “I think he’s going into hypovolemic shock.”

  “What does that mean exactly?”

  “It means …” He hesitates, and I know the next words out of his mouth won’t be good. “It means he’ll die if he doesn’t get a blood transfusion.”

  My eyes well up with tears that quickly spill over. I’m already crying for Evelyn and my mom. I’m crying because I know the phone call they’ll get will devastate them.

  “Emma, are you listening?”

  “I’m here. What can I do?”

  “You can get the gunman to let me in.”

  Chapter Five

  Brett

  “Let you in? Are you crazy?” she yells in my ear.

  “Emma, be quiet. You don’t want him to catch you on the phone.”

  “Are you crazy?” she whispers loudly.

  “It’s the only way to save him. Knock on the door again. Don’t tell him you’re on the phone. Tell him Carter will die in a matter of minutes if he doesn’t get blood. Lie and say you’ve had some kind of emergency training because you’re a teacher. Tell him you’re sure of the situation. Make up whatever you can to get me in there. Either that or maybe he’ll understand the severity of things and let Carter out. Either way we need to help Carter.”

  There is a long pause.

  “Emma?”

  “Brett, I think I’m having a heart attack.”

  My adrenaline spikes. “I really doubt that. You’re probably having a panic attack. I need you to sit down. Or better yet, lie down and put your head back in case you pass out.”

  I hear movement and then she says, “I’m lying down n
ext to Carter.”

  I can hear the quickness in her breath. She needs to calm down. “Listen to me, Emma. You have to breathe. Take in a deep breath for five seconds, hold it briefly, then breathe out for five seconds. I’ll count for you. Ready? Breathe in. One, two, three …” I count in a soothing voice until she’s completed the cycle three times. “Talk to me. What do you do when things get bad? Do you pray? Meditate?”

  “I listen to music.”

  “Do you have a favorite band?”

  “Not really, but I have a favorite song. Have you heard of ‘Bennie and the Jets?’”

  “You like Elton John?”

  “Just the one song.”

  “Why just that one?”

  “The doctor had music on in the operating room when Evelyn was born. The first time I saw her, when they placed her by my head and let me kiss her, that song was being played. When I hear it, I remember that moment.”

  I can hear in her voice that she’s getting calmer just talking about it.

  “I’d sing it to you myself,” I say. “But I don’t know the words. Plus, I’m not sure you’d want me to sing. I can’t hold a tune to save my life. Can you sing it in your head?”

  She goes quiet. Time seems to stand still, yet we’re in a rush to save a man’s life.

  “Did that help? Are you feeling better now?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “How’s Carter doing?”

  “Not well.”

  “He needs you, Emma. You are the only person who can help him right now. Can you knock on the door and do what we talked about?” I hear her counting as she exhales. Good girl.

  “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  “Don’t hang up the phone,” I tell her.

  “I won’t. But what do I tell him to do? I can’t call your number from the administrative phone. He’ll know we were talking.”

  “Tell him to put the office phone back on the hook and answer it when it rings. We’ll take care of the rest.”

  “But he’ll wonder how you know someone in here is dying. How will you explain that?”