by Dean Murray
I finally broke my gaze from his jacket, remained as calm as I could, and answered, “Okay sir, le’ me get your order.” Not wanting to take a chance at him staying here one second longer than he needed to, I grabbed a smorgasbord of food from the counter: chicken sandwiches, fish sandwiches, double cheeseburgers, hamburgers, fries and onion rings. I grabbed a handful of all the condiments in the bin and put it all in our largest to-go bag. Moving to the register, I reached for the “cash sale” button when I heard the same high-pitched voice I was certain had just left the restaurant.
“Hey! I didn’t want a girl toy. I’m a boy.” The child was notably upset, but I didn’t take my eyes off the man with the gun. I reached under the counter to get the boy a new toy. My fingers struggled to find the large toy box without the aid of my eyes showing them the way. I grabbed a handful of them and passed at least five to the boy without even looking at him.
The man with the gun was infuriated. In a thundering voice, he shouted, “What the hell are you doing? You’re ignoring me to give this little brat a toy?” His voice was fierce, and his look vicious.
Quietly and only to the man, “It’ll only take a second.” The toys were already in the boy’s hands, “and he’ll get out of the way.” The man’s uproar caught the attention of several of the customers, as well as Wanda, the manager on duty. I knew if Wanda saw anything she didn’t like, she would be at my side in the blink of an eye.
I didn’t break eye contact with the man and made my body language as relaxed as possible. In the most cheerful tone I could project, “I’ve almost finished your order.” I wondered to myself if it sounded too strained? I was sure it did. I willed in my mind for Wanda to stay where she was.
Wanda must have heard what I had just told the man, but thankfully she didn’t come to my assistance. I knew she was watching closely, but at least she was watching from a distance. I didn’t dare turn around to see.
“I want a robot. I already have all the cars. Can I have the blue robot? My dog chewed up my other one, and I really liked it. It was my favorite.” I felt his hopeful smile beaming at me.
His mother appeared behind him, “Frank, don’t be so demanding; she doesn’t have a blue robot, and she’s very generous to give you so many toys. What do you say to her?” She smiled at me, oblivious of the danger in a green jacket.
The little voice responded, “But I already have all these. I want a blue robot.” The sweet expression that was there a second ago evaporated.
Without breaking the gaze of the gunman, I answered the boy, “I’m sorry. That’s all we have. Have a good night.”
The child stomped his foot and screeched, “But I already have all these!”
His mother was obviously accustomed to his tantrums and did her best to get him away from the counter without a full-blown melt down. She called, “Goodbye, Frank, I’m leaving” and started walking to the door. The child erupted with tears, screamed, and threw his body at the counter.
I saw the man rotate his body toward the child, the gun drawn in full view of the restaurant. His fury wasn’t masked. I didn’t think: I just reacted. I leaped over the counter between the furious gunman and the unruly child.
It sounded like a door slammed. The noise must have rattled the gunman as I watched the fury on his face melt into sudden fear. When I first got over the counter, I wasn’t able to stand upright immediately. I’ve never been all that graceful, and leaping over a counter made me a little woozy. I could see the confusion on his face as my body was clearly protecting the child. I used as authoritative a voice as possible. “Leave the boy alone. I’ll give you what you want. You don’t need to use the gun.” He looked at the child on the other side of my body, but then returned his wild gaze to me.
The gunman opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His eyes were wide. I wasn’t sure but guessed in that second my sudden movement across the counter must have been more graceful than I realized. I must have thrown him off guard. “You can put your gun away; I’ll give you the cash, just don’t hurt anyone.” My voice was forceful, and I realized instead of moving away from him, I was actually leaning into him as my volume increased.
All the fear and anxiety I had felt disappeared. It was replaced by a new wave of confidence. I knew it was likely short-lived and probably a byproduct of all the adrenaline I had pulsing through my bloodstream. My only priority was the safety of the people in the restaurant; I considered moving toward the cash register but believed that might be too offensive of an act. It was bad enough that I was leaning toward him, no sense making him think I intended to tackle him.
Much to my surprise, he put the gun back in his pocket and turned away from me. I was vaguely aware of the customers who had dived to the floor, trying to locate whatever protection a table might give them. I heard several screams, but they seemed so distant. The man grabbed the bag of food from the counter, and in one smooth motion, rotated his back to me and was out the door in seconds.
Frank’s mother had been at the opposite door from the one the robber had just run through. When I looked at her again, she was standing behind me screaming. Why would she scream after the man left? I didn’t believe anyone had even paid attention to the man but me; hearing her screaming after the fact was just plain weird.
Wanda ran from behind the counter, phone in hand as she ran to the door he had just bolted through. She reached for the deadbolt latch and turned it. She grabbed her keys from her pocket and locked a second lock into the floor, nervously jerking it into position. Then she pulled the wire mesh from the ceiling down to the floor, and locked it the way we would if we were closing the restaurant.
She sprinted past me, pushing the screaming mother out of the way. Wanda nearly yelled into the phone, “There’s been a robbery at Tasty Burger, 1545 North Main Street. Send the paramedics.”
She was obviously not thinking clearly. She had asked for paramedics when she should have asked for the police. As I thought about it, the paramedics were a good idea: the child’s mother was still screaming with loud sobs behind me. She must have gone into shock or something.
I was in awe of Wanda. How did she know to react so quickly? The police must show up automatically for a robbery. They’ll think this is a waste of time when they find out the robber only got away with $30 worth of food and condiments. The thought of explaining what happened to the police made me laugh – not many folks get held up for cheeseburgers.
I realized that Melissa was still in the freezer, and I needed to go tell her what happened. I started to go around the counter as Wanda finished locking the second door the same as she did the first. This whole effort of locking deadbolts and engaging the high security doors took less than forty-five seconds. I’d never seen Wanda move so fast. I caught Wanda’s eyes as she was walking to me and told her as quietly as I could, “I’ve got to get Melissa out of the freezer.”
Wanda grabbed my arm to stop me. “Let’s get you to a booth and elevate your leg.”
Confusion must have spread across my face as I stared at her, “My leg?”
Wanda very gently picked me up, my head and shoulders resting over one arm and my legs draped over her other. Wanda was wicked strong. How had I never noticed before?
I didn’t understand why she was carrying me to a booth. I looked at my leg, and all I saw was crimson. Still confused, I looked over my shoulder for a broken ketchup bottle that I must have knocked over. Then the realization hit me: that crimson was warm and wet on my leg. It was my own blood.
Chapter Two
The next seven minutes were a little blurry. Wanda put me in a booth and held a dishtowel over my leg, which was doing little to deter the steady pulsing of blood from my thigh. I had never been afraid of blood but have to confess that this much blood was disturbing.
I looked away from Wanda’s face and could see about twenty others staring down at me. I found Wanda’s face again and asked simply, “Melissa?”
“Lauren, it’s fine. Rob already got her. She’
s right here.” I felt someone squeeze my hand hard and looked over to see Melissa.
Melissa asked, “What were you thinking?”
“I dunno, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I got a weird vibe from the guy when he walked in. I wanted to keep you away from him.” Her face was difficult to read. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or shocked.
“Like that guy that brought me flowers and you knew he was married?” The man she was asking about had been a regular customer and flirted with Melissa every time he came in. It seemed harmless initially. When he brought her flowers and wanted to take her to a movie, I knew I had to say something. I had a feeling about him, that something wasn’t right, and warned her ahead of time. She’d never asked me how I knew, I just knew. I hadn’t given it much thought since.
“Yeah, like that.”
She mumbled something I couldn’t understand.
I felt the pressure on my leg change and saw that Rob was pressing the blood soaked dishtowel to my leg, smiling a weird half smile. Very uncharacteristic. He’s the most charismatic person on our team, and I had never seen him smile without his pearly teeth beaming through. “The police and paramedics are here. Wanda’s opening the door for them. You’re going to be fine.” His reassurance didn’t sound that confident.
I smiled back at him. I was concerned about the amount of blood I saw. I could feel my pants were soaked. I wasn’t in any real pain, but a little self-conscious with all the eyes staring at me. “Anything to get out of filling napkin holders, right?”
Rob’s half smile turned whole as his typical jovial self responded, “Next time you don’t want to fill napkin holders, just say something. I’d much rather do those than have you get shot and me stuck here keeping you from bleeding to death.”
“Cool, will you do the salt and pepper shakers, too, or do I have to get knifed to get out of that?” Full blown laughter erupted from all sides.
“Lauren, you’re crazy. I love you, girlfriend. Looks like the white horsemen are here. You be safe.” He didn’t loosen his pressure on my leg, but he got out of the way so the paramedics could get closer.
An older, blue shirted paramedic leaned over me and lifted the blood soaked dishtowel. “Hi, what’s your name?” The lack of pressure over my leg encouraged the pain, which I hadn’t felt a second ago, to spread. I was thankful that he only looked at the wound briefly, and then pressed hard with the towel again.
“Lauren.”
“Do you know what happened to you?” His tone wasn’t urgent. It was what you would expect from a doctor doing a routine physical.
“Well, not to state the obvious, but some lunatic shot me by mistake. He was aiming at a kid ticked off about a toy.” I paused for a second, “I didn’t know I got shot right away.”
He didn’t register any excitement at this revelation, and, in the same monotone voice asked, “Lauren, does your leg hurt?”
“No, not really. It feels hot, but it doesn’t hurt. Is that strange?” It didn’t really occur to me to be worried that it didn’t hurt, but as I lay there, I started to get concerned for the first time. My mind started doing cartwheels; even paper cuts hurt, why doesn’t this gun shot? What’s wrong with me? Am I dying?
The paramedic didn’t answer me. “Is it weird that it doesn’t hurt? It should hurt, right?”
“Lauren, I need to finish examining you. You’ll be fine. I need you to remain calm. You may be going into shock. You are obviously lucid, you’re aware of your environment, and you have feeling in your leg. Be thankful that the pain hasn’t hit you yet.” His voice was the same monotone but had a soothing tinge this time.
I took a deep breath and was as cooperative as possible. I could feel them wrapping something tightly over my wound, checking my heart, and then the second paramedic said, “Okay, let’s get her on the gurney and into the bus. Saint Joe’s is ready for her; Doc Gracie’s on tonight.” His voice was a bit deeper than the first paramedic’s and was filled with real concern.
The second paramedic turned, and I saw his face for the first time. He looked like he couldn’t have been more than a couple years older than I was. He had dark brown hair, a warm smile with perfect teeth, and a rocking tan. It’s difficult to describe a man this way, but he was really - beautiful. When I looked at his eyes, my heart literally stopped.
I knew it stopped because I heard alarm in his voice when he answered, “She’s got an irregular heartbeat. We need to go now!”
They lifted the gurney up with my body strapped on. Being suspended on a gurney isn’t anything I’d ever experienced, and as they ran beside it, it felt a little like flying. Then we were in the ambulance, and the handsome paramedic was hooking me up to all sorts of wires while the older paramedic slammed the doors and went up front to drive.
I looked up at the handsome paramedic’s face again. “What’s your name?”
“Max, Max Meyer.” His eyes were looking directly into mine. My heart skipped a beat again and an alarm went off in the ambulance. He looked at the monitor. “Lauren, do you feel any different?” He looked directly at me instead of at the monitor, and I felt my heart beating out of control. I shook my head no.
He picked up a radio, in a calm and collected voice, “We’ve got an inbound, twenty-one year old Caucasian female, name, Lauren Davis. Gunshot wound to the left leg: bullet appears to be lodged in the femur. The patient’s vitals are unstable; she’s coherent but is experiencing irregular heartbeats, significant blood loss. Please advise.” Max released the button on the microphone. I heard an answer full of static, but couldn’t make out what the voice on the other side of the radio said. Max must have understood because he responded, “Roger Saint Joe, ETA four minutes.”
Max put his hand over mine, “Are you cold?”
Those eyes - they were a light green, just a few shades darker than sea foam with a hint of grey. There were brown specs in the green as if a fairy put brown sparkles in to make them more dynamic. I knew those eyes. I couldn’t help but stare. I took his hand and squeezed it hard, holding on as if my life depended on it.
“Lauren, I know you can hear me. Are you cold?” I started shaking uncontrollably. I kept my death grip on his hand but couldn’t form a response.
“Lauren,” he nearly shouted at me this time, no longer the kind soothing tone, now an urgent angry voice. He reached for the microphone again.
I stopped him with my free hand. “I’m . . .not . . .cold,” pausing at each word through chattering teeth. I felt an extreme case of déjà vu coming on. I’d seen his eyes in a dream every night since I was in high school. It couldn’t be. I had to be hallucinating. Didn’t I?
I didn’t want to sound absurd, but I had to ask. “M-M-Max, do I look f-f-familiar to you?”
His puzzled expression was obvious, “Maybe, I can’t place from where.” He reached for a blanket and spread it over my shaking body, then leaned back to me, now holding both my hands.
It was just a dream; there’s no way it could be real. I couldn’t possibly tell him unless I wanted to end up in a padded cell after they removed the bullet. “You look a little familiar, but I just moved here.” He was trying to humor me; I could hear it, but his grip on my hands didn’t loosen.
Without thinking, I blurted out, “Will you stay with me?”
My heartbeat fluctuated again, and his monitor blared to life. This time he released my hands and grabbed the microphone again. “St Joe, this is Bus forty-two, twenty-one year old female requires O positive, significant blood loss, irregular heartbeat, one minute out.” Another static filled response that I couldn’t understand and Max replied, “Roger Saint Joe, forty-two out.”
He continued to look at the monitors. He had ignored my question. “Max, will you stay with me?”
His smile was nervous. “I won’t be able to stay with you, but I’ll stop by after my shift in the morning to check on you.” I nodded fervently. I could tell he was trying to lighten my mood when he added, “Now, if I’m going to go to all
the trouble of coming in on my own time to see you, you need to hold on. Calm yourself down, understand?”
What a strange thing to say. Hold on. Was he serious? I wondered just how much blood had I lost? I wasn’t feeling that strange, but my body was still shaking like crazy. I had attributed it to being so close to him, the man from my dreams who introduced himself as my destiny. Did that really happen? Maybe I had lost too much blood.
I felt the warmth from his hands, while mine felt cold and strangely stiff. I knew I had to say something; I had to tell him. I couldn’t be dying, right? I wasn’t certain of much of anything in my life, but Max had haunted my dreams for so long I couldn’t let him go. I looked into those amazing green eyes, “I really want you to stay with me. Please don’t go. Stay.”
Max squeezed both my hands very hard, leaning only a few inches away from my face, “I won’t leave your side until they take you to surgery. The doctor that’s waiting for you is awesome. He’ll take good care of you. I’ll be back to check on you as soon as I can.” His eyes were so sincere, I could no longer hold back the wave of tears begging to be released. I closed my eyes and held his hands as tight as I could, then realized I couldn’t open my eyes.
I wasn’t in the ambulance or strapped to a gurney anymore. I was swimming in a deep sea of black.
The dream that I had tried for years to convince myself was a fairy tale began to replay in my mind while I swam in that black sea. I could hear his voice through my dream. . . “I am your destiny . . . I’m not a figment of your imagination . . . our physical paths have not yet crossed . . . we chose this life together before we were born . . . We need, more than anything else in this entire world, to meet and work together so that we both may be complete . . . You must learn and let courage be your guide. It will lead you to me . . .”
I don’t know how many times this dream had replayed in my mind - thousands maybe. Each time I experienced the dream, I was more aware that it was real. I had finally met my destiny . . . Max.
