Chapter Four
After waiting for several minutes, Aaron finally managed to catch an elevator, wedging himself in with a dozen or so others. As it sped upward, he marveled at the number of people already at work at eight-thirty in the morning.
Exiting at the 30th floor, he found the door to the office of Casey Construction already unlocked and he entered the reception area, loudly announcing his presence. “Diane, just once I would like to beat you to the office in the morning.”
Diane Keller came around the tall file cabinet with a manila folder in her hand and big grin on her face. “Fat chance boss. If I ever let you beat me in, I’d never hear the end of it.”
A stunning redhead, the twenty-six year-old had been Aaron's office manager for two years. Ultra efficient, without being stuffy or arrogant, Diane proved to be a genius at keeping him on schedule and was much more a trusted assistant then just a manager.
She saw Rambo’s small white face peek out above the zipper of Aaron's coat and laughed again.
“I see ‘Her Royal Tinyness’ is with you today. Someone better warn the mice.”
He joined in her infectious humor with a lop-sided grin. “No self-respecting mouse would dare show his face with her around.”
Opening the door to his kingdom, he flipped the lights on and went inside. Rambo jumped from his arms and into a chair next to the desk, settling in with a yawn and a stretch. Aaron hung his jacket on an ornate teak coat tree in the corner next to the door.
The Spartan office was small when compared to the sprawling expanses occupied by most corporate executives. A neat, efficient workspace, it sported only a few pictures on the desk, while stacks of blueprints and reference manuals filled the bookshelves along the wall to his right. A bank of floor-to-ceiling windows to his left balanced the aesthetics, offering a stunning view of the city beyond.
The top of his desk, thanks to Diane, also represented a textbook study in efficiency. On the left end, a stack of file folders arranged in order of importance, on the right end rested an elegant gold writing set in an oak holder and he saw the day's mail placed in the center, awaiting his attention.
Sitting in his black leather high-backed chair, he briefly looked at the photographs standing in opposite corners of the desk. On the right, a crystal frame held a candid shot of his mother and his younger sister Beth. His favorite, the picture showed the two women smiling and obviously happy.
The photo was taken a little over two years ago and he thought about how much the lives of these two women had changed since then. His mother Ann, being devastated by the death of his father only one month after the photo session, and Beth, blinded in an accident by a drunk driver just a few months later.
He looked away from their smiling faces and tried to get motivated. He needed to tackle some reports that were due, but somehow didn't really feel like plodding through paperwork. The thought of spending endless hours writing detailed descriptions of complicated construction methodology for city bureaucrats who would never understand them made him visibly wince.
He couldn't bear to look at the other picture, the gold filigree frame resting on the far right corner. It still hurt too much to think of Heather. He started up his computer and began writing the first report, trying to fight off the memories, not an easy task when it came to her.
Aaron Casey had met many women in his life, but never had he known anyone like Heather Robbins. She was, by far, the most exciting woman he had ever known. A tiny pixie at only five-feet, three inches tall, Heather was blond and stunningly beautiful, her delicate features and captivating smile something out of Elvin lore. She had the look and style of a super‑model, tempered with the relaxed demeanor of the ‘girl next door’. Her endless blue eyes complimented a warm and caring personality and as soon as he saw her, he fell for her like a cliff diver. Sitting in his office dodging the reports, his mind drifted back to their first, chance, encounter.
Aaron had grudgingly attended the annual party Boston College hosted for its prominent graduates. He could still remember the pungent smell of cigars and hear the string quartet playing elevator music in the hotel’s dim ballroom.
Standing in a circle of admiring men both young and old, Heather exuded grace and charm. He remembered taking in every inch of her petite body, the sculpted curves sheathed in black silk. She made small talk, polite yet a little uncomfortable amidst all the unwanted attention.
While she enchanted the male attendees, he attempted to escape the clutches of the wife of the college president. A woman old enough to be his mother, Gloria Damian had an annoying habit of grabbing his ass whenever his back was turned. He still chuckled at the memory of her undisguised pursuit and his tactful evasions.
The evening wore on and he couldn't help staring across the crowd at this tiny little woman who had every man in the room at her feet. After several minutes of intermittent eye contact, she broke free of her admirers and headed to the bar, he followed her.
He tried to be suave as he introduced himself and offered her a glass of champagne. She gave him an appraising glance, but still she accepted and they began the ‘party small talk’ dance.
After several minutes of superficial discussion covering everything including the weather and the Bruins Stanley Cup chances, Heather coughed, waving a delicate hand in front of her face.
“The smoke in here is getting to me.” She’d said.
Not wanting the conversation to end, Aaron prayed he hadn't misread her signals. “Would you like to go out on the terrace and get some air?”
She shot him a sly look. “Sure, but won't you miss all the fun and excitement in here?”
He threw his hand to his forehead in a gesture of mock distress and did his best, but still pathetic, Scarlet O' Hara impression. “However will I survive?”
She laughed, flashing him a captivating smile that instantly set his insides on fire. With a flourish of his hand and a Rhett Butler bow, he led the way to the terrace. “After you, my dear.”
As the two of them walked to the entrance, he dropped slightly behind and lifted a rose out of a table arrangement, presenting it to her at the door.
“Thank you for saving me from a slow, boring death in there.” He said, offering her the flower, its delicate scent wafting up between them.
She smiled and graciously accepted the gift, gently inhaling the fragrance. “Thank you, but President Damian's wife seemed to be keeping you occupied.”
Aaron shook his head and rolled his eyes as his face reddened in embarrassment. “Yes, and it will be at least a week before I can sit down again.”
They both laughed and went out into the cool night air. On the terrace, the conversation came easily and he was delighted to find her as intelligent and sensitive as she was beautiful. The crickets chirped loudly and the full moon crossed a star-lit sky while they talked about everything from politics to kids. By the time he thought to glance at his watch, he discovered more than two hours had gone by.
The luminous dial on his wrist told him it was after midnight and although neither wanted the evening to end, he walked her to her car and kissed her good‑night. It was a long, deep kiss, the sweet taste of her on his lips long after she disappeared from view. He knew right then that if she would have him, his single days were over. Three months of whirlwind courtship later he proposed and she accepted, making it the happiest day of his life.
The cruel reality of the present intruded and shattered Aaron's sweet reverie. His emotional self didn’t want to believe it actually happened, but his practical side refused to join in the delusion and the grim truth made his blood run cold.
Beth had told Aaron she was going shopping and would meet him for a late lunch. At three o'clock he began to wonder what happened to her. Beth hated being late and he made several calls trying to find her, all unsuccessful. What he didn’t know, until later, was that she had picked up a passenger.
He sat in his office chair unblinking,
while the excruciating memories continued to roll forward like a movie he couldn’t stop. At 3:15 the phone rang and he instantly recognized the frantic voice of his mother on the other end of the line. Ann stammered and sputtered in distress as she tried to speak. ‘Youu have to come to the hossspital quick! Beth was in an accident!”
Aaron heard those words and a burning rush of panic surged through his body. “Come where? Mom, where are you?”
“Mass. General. Aaron, she’s hurt bad. You need to hurry.”
The heavy rush-hour traffic seemed transparent as he raced across town and burst through the emergency room doors.
The E.R. at Massachusetts General Hospital resembled its counterparts all over the country, big on function but short on comfort and humanity. The antiseptic smell assaulted his nose while he scanned the crowd of sick and wounded, finding his mother sitting in a corner chair. He ran to her side, his face white with worry. “How is she?”
He sat next to his mother, holding her hand for what seemed like an eternity. His insides churning, he feared the worst. Time seemed to stand still as the two waited for some news. A doctor finally came through the glass doors separating the waiting room from examination cubicles.
“I’m Doctor Allen. Are you Miss Casey’s family?”
Aaron nodded. “How is she doctor?”
“She suffered mostly minor injuries, but she's got a significant amount of windshield glass lodged in both eyes. We have an eye specialist with her now, but I don’t know if the surgeon will be able to save her sight. We’ll know more after she’s finished, but I'm afraid the prognosis isn’t good.”
His heart sank, his only sister blind. It was almost too much for him to comprehend. Reeling in shock, he almost didn't hear the doctor mention a second victim. It took him several seconds to register the new information.
“A second victim, what second victim?”
The doctor flipped through the papers on his clipboard and read in the monotones only medical school can perfect. “Victim number two, her name is Heather Robbins…”
Aaron stopped him in mid‑sentence. “Where is she?”
The doctor looked up from his papers and studied him for a long moment. “Are you a relative?”
“No.”
“No. Then I’m sorry, you can't see her right now.”
“I said, where is she?” He barked, sitting up straighter in his chair.
“I’m sorry, if you’re not a relative you can't see her right now.” the doctor repeated.
Aaron had enough of the doctor’s evasion. He stood to his full six-feet, four inches and leaned forward, towering over the doctor, his face tight, the expression menacing.
“She's my Fianceé. So you better tell me where she is right now, or you'll need a doctor.”
The man studied him carefully, gauging the danger, then cleared his throat before speaking. “When the ambulance brought her in, she had sustained massive trauma to her head and chest. We tried to stabilize her so we could get her into surgery. While we worked on her, she went into cardiac arrest and after several attempts we were unable to revive her. I’m sorry, but we did everything we could.”
Aaron’s heart stopped as the words rang in his ears like Hell’s bells. He staggered backwards until the chair stopped him and he collapsed into it. He tried to wrap his mind around the doctor's devastating words.
He’s lying! It just can’t be true. Heather can’t be dead!
He looked to his mother to deny it, but the crushed and dazed expression he saw told him it was true. The love of his life was gone.
“Aaron!” Diane called, louder this time.
The sights, sounds and smells of the emergency room dissolved and he slowly became aware of his surroundings again. He noticed the picture of Heather in his hand. He answered Diane as he placed the frame, face-down, on the desk and tried to compose himself. “What? Oh, sorry Diane, what's up?”
She picked up the photograph, studying it briefly. “Aaron, you’ve got to stop blaming yourself. It was a tragic accident. It wasn’t your fault.” Diane paused, obvious concern filled her face. “She was a wonderful girl and we all loved her.”
“Thanks Di, I think I just need to get my mind off it for awhile. What's on the schedule board for today?”
Quickly consulting her PDA, she tapped the screen with a stylus, rattling off a day filled with meetings and appointments. Aaron hardly heard her. His mind was nowhere near his body.
After the third question with no response, she realized he wasn't listening. “Look, you need to rest,” she said. “I'll handle the Bergsten conference call and send the revised plans to the city architect. Why don't you go home and try to take it easy for the rest of the day. You’re no good to me here.”
Just about to refuse her, he suddenly felt waves of fatigue overrun his mind and body. It took a few more gentle pushes before he reluctantly agreed to her suggestion.
“Okay. I'll go, but you call me if you need me for anything.”
She kissed him on top of the head and looked into his eyes for several seconds. “I miss her too. Just remember this, she loved you and all she wanted was to be your wife.”
Diane's gentle reminder made him feel better, if only for a moment. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
He collected a sleeping Rambo from her chair, an act she looked upon unfavorably. With Diane shooing him like a vexatious child, he left the office and the elevator delivered him back into the indifferent arms of the cold, lonely city.
"Chain Reaction" Power Failure Book I Page 4
