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Chapter 196

For a few seconds, she sat stock still, not breathing, in shock, unable to wrap her mind around what had just happened.

Then, all at once, the air in her lungs came gusting out, and with rattling breaths, Claire took in fresh air. She breathed in and out, and as she did, she returned to awareness. They had crashed in the snow and trees. Was anyone hurt?

Still breathing shallowly, she surveyed her body. She could feel everything, but nothing hurt. Her heart was racing, her whole body was trembling, but no part of her was screaming out in pain. She was shaken, she decided, but not injured.

Her mind immediately flashed to Nick. “Nick?” she called out, and was shocked at how frightened and little girlish her voice sounded. It was deathly silent, and the single syllable of his name seemed to echo in the car, giving her the impression that she was very much alone. She was almost afraid to look over at him, but she did, and discovered that she was, in fact, alone.

Nick was there, thank god; he hadn’t been thrown from the car. But he was unconscious, his eyes closed, his body slumped over the wheel. He hadn’t been wearing his seat belt, she realized. Oh my God… Why hadn’t she told him to put on his seatbelt?

The panic rose in her throat, as her heart pulsed rapidly in her carotid. Her next thought was that he was dead. She wanted to reach out and shake him, but she was so scared, terrified of touching him and feeling for a pulse and not finding one. What would she do? He couldn’t be dead… he couldn’t be dead…

“Nick!” she screamed. “Wake up! C’mon, Nick, please wake up!” Instinctively, she grabbed his shoulder, squeezing hard. He didn’t even flinch. She watched him unblinkingly, shaking all over, but he didn’t seem to be moving at all… not even breathing. She stifled a sob, her trembling fingers hovering near the side of his neck, where she could feel her own heartbeat pounding. But she withdrew them. No matter what she might find, there was nothing she could do for him while he was slumped over in the car. She had to get him out first.

With a burst of adrenaline, she snapped into action, fumbling with her seatbelt until it unbuckled, then reaching for her door handle. The door didn’t want to open right away, but she pushed hard, throwing her entire body weight against it, and finally, it flew open. She toppled out into the snow and scrambled to her feet. She was without gloves or coat, but she didn’t even notice the biting cold of the snow dripping from her hands or the twenty-degree air seeping through her worn hoodie.

The car was practically buried in snow, covered completely except for her open car door. Globs of the soppy white substance were already falling from the roof onto the passenger seat, but that didn’t matter now. She left the door open and waded through the snow, around to the other side. She couldn’t even see the door handle to grab it, so, using her sleeve as a scraper, she started brushing snow off the exterior in great, sweeping motions.

With some of the snow off the car, she could start to see the damage. It had plowed headfirst into a massive tree, striking mostly on the driver’s side. The hood was crumpled, the fender smashed, and the entire front end seemed to have caved in with the tree’s impact. The deathly silence was now permeated by the hiss of steam rising from the engine and the faint sound of dripping from somewhere beneath the car.

It didn’t sound good, but Claire’s only concern was for Nick. Finding his door handle, she took hold of it with both hands and tugged, trying to wrench the door open. But her effort was in vain. The metal was so twisted, it wouldn’t budge. She pulled until her arms were screaming in their sockets, and finally, she slumped against the car in exhaustion, icy tears stinging her cheeks.

I need to call for help, she realized. They were on a back road; there was no guarantee of anyone driving by to find them. She would have to call… but she had no phone. She’d run out of the house without her cell phone, without her purse, her coat, anything. But Nick would have his phone with him. He was never without it. She just had to get to it.

She gave the door one last tug, knowing it was useless. She had no hope of getting it open, and so she scrambled back around to the other side, clawing her way through the deep snow. Back into the car she climbed, headfirst, patting at Nick’s pants pockets. She tried the right side first, in hopes that his phone would be there, easily accessible to her, but of course it wasn’t. She knew he always kept it in the left side pocket, maybe as a way of filling the void left by his prosthesis.

Leaving him slumped forward, she reached around his back and felt him up blindly, her hand pawing for his pockets. Finally, her knuckles struck something hard, and she managed to find the opening of his pocket and cram her hand inside. Her numb fingers emerged with his phone clutched tightly in them, and in her excitement, she nearly dropped it trying to bring it back around him.

Finally, she had it in her grasp. Holding it up, she punched the three numbers she’d been taught to dial as a small child, but had never actually had to use before. The call went through, but the reception inside the car was so bad that all she heard were clicks and crackles.

“Can you hear me?!” she cried into the phone, feeling the panic rise in her chest again. “Please, I need help!” She had no way of knowing if the 911 operator could understand her or not, and if not, her attempt was futile. She had to get better reception. Flipping the phone shut, she clambered out of the car again and moved away from it. Out in the open, she saw two bars appear on the phone’s screen and dialed again.

“Please work,” she begged, as the phone rang.

“911. What is your emergency?” came a woman’s voice, clear this time.

Claire tried to keep her own voice as controlled as she could, knowing she needed the woman to hear her correctly the first time so that she could get back to Nick. “I’ve been in a car accident; our car skidded off the road and hit a tree. We’re on County Line Road, and my boyfriend’s still stuck in the car. He’s hurt; he’s unconscious. We need help as soon as possible, please.” She made it until the last few words without breaking down, but then her voice grew thick with tears, and she could no longer speak.

The operator was asking her questions, but her racing mind could barely comprehend them, let alone form answers. The composure with which she’d made the call dissolved into panic again, and then, as a flash of something bright caught her attention, panic turned to all-out hysteria.

The car was on fire.

Flames had burst out from beneath the hood, and the crisp winter air was poisoned with the noxious black smoke rising out of them. Claire gagged, more from her own dread than the fumes, and choked into the phone, “The car’s on fire! Please send help! County Line Road!”

It was all the information she could give the woman, and she prayed it was enough. It would have to be, because she couldn’t stay on the phone any longer. She had to get to Nick. She tossed his phone down without flipping it shut and tore back to the car. The flames were already creeping up to the windshield, and there was smoke in the interior. She sucked in a deep breath before she climbed inside and tried to hold it as she crawled in headfirst again. Knowing she had to move quickly, she grabbed Nick from behind, sliding her arms under both armpits and around his chest, and pulled.

Every bit of first aid she’d ever learned told her not to move someone who was seriously injured, but that information went out the window. She was acting on instinct, nothing else, and instinct told her that if she didn’t get Nick out of the car in the next few minutes, he was going to die.

If he wasn’t dead already.

Refusing to believe she was doing this for nothing, she pulled and pulled, gradually hoisting his torso over the center console. But then, her progress stopped. She kept tugging, but his body wasn’t budging. He was stuck.

Panting and coughing in the smoke, she leaned over into the driver’s side, trying to see where he was caught up. Then she realized: The whole front corner of the car had collapsed on him. His legs were pinned.

Maybe not, she hoped, her thoughts racing a mile a minute. Maybe it was just his left leg. His prosthesis. That could come off. If she could just get it off him, maybe she could pull the rest of him free.

Flames were licking the dashboard, as she dove for the fly of his pants, undoing it and struggling to pull them down over the socket of his artificial leg. If she remembered correctly, there was a valve on the side that released the suction. She had seen him take off his leg more times than she could count. She reached for the valve now, found it, and released it. She could practically feel the socket loosen from his stump, and when she want back to pulling on his upper half, his body began to slide again.

“Yes! Yes!” she screamed frantically, throwing the last of her strength into hoisting him over the console and across the passenger seat. “Come on!”

She hit another snag with his jeans; the stump of his left leg was free, but his right leg was still in them, and the pants were not going anywhere as long as they were wedged in with his prosthesis. “Rip,” she begged, yanking harder, “rip!” Above the crackle of flames, she thought she heard the denim start to tear, but before it could truly split, his shoe must have slid on through the bottom cuff, because suddenly, the resistance was gone.

Her muscles were exhausted, her lungs burning, her brain screaming for oxygen, but she knew she had to keep pulling if she wanted fresh air. She wasn’t leaving the car without Nick in her arms.

The smoke was rapidly sapping her of her endurance, but it was the flames that gave her the last burst of adrenaline she needed to get out. Crackling and spitting, they suddenly leapt onto Nick’s body, catching his sweatshirt on fire.

“No!” Claire screamed, and before she knew what she was doing, she was reaching into the flames, swatting at them with her bare hands in a desperate attempt to put them out. She barely even felt the fire scorch her palms, but even so, she realized what she was doing was stupid. Just get him out of the car… just get him out, she told herself, and she resumed pulling, with hands that were now raw and blistered.

One more big pull did the trick, and soon, Nick was sliding out into the snow. She didn’t let go right away, but continued to drag him, as far away from the car as she could get him, until she collapsed in exhaustion, coughing and choking to clear the smoke from her lungs.

Still gasping for air, she managed to roll Nick over onto his front, smothering the flames. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed when she rolled him back over, thinking absurdly of his bare legs and his face full of snow, and how cold he must be.

But that was the least of his problems, and she soon snapped back to some semblance of rational thought and realized it. Now that she had him lying flat, out in the open, she could tell for sure that he wasn’t breathing. All she could think to do was mouth-to-mouth, which she’d never been formally trained to do, but was willing to try anyway. It was either that, or let him die, and she wasn’t about to do the latter. Maybe those medical shows she’d been forced to watch with her freshman roommate in college would pay off.

She tipped Nick’s head back, brushed the snow from his face, pinched his nose shut, and forced his mouth open. Then she bent over him, as if to kiss him, and pressed her mouth down over his. She blew quickly, forcing precious air out of her lungs and into his. As she pulled away, she could taste the soot and smoke from his lips. She looked to see if his chest had risen with the breaths, but couldn’t tell. He still wasn’t breathing on his own, so she tried again.

This time, she leaned down and pressed her ear against his chest, listening desperately for even a faint heartbeat. Above the increasing roar of the fire, she couldn’t hear anything, but then she felt it… a very light, fluttering vibration against her cheek.

“Thank God… thank God,” she whispered, lifting her head. He was alive… but barely. He still wasn’t breathing, and if she didn’t keep giving him air, that precious heartbeat would stop.

Trembling all over, she crawled through the snow back to his head and knelt there, lowering her face to breathe for him again. “Come on, Nick,” she pleaded between breaths. “Stay with me. Breathe for me. Come on…”

But she was still breathing for them both when the ambulance arrived, and the EMTs hurried forth with a stretcher and pulled her off of him.

***

In the emergency room, Claire shivered uncontrollably on a gurney, despite the warming blanket the nurses had wrapped her in. She’d heard the words “hypothermia” and “shock” uttered from their lips, but that wasn’t it. It was fear making her tremble, and she wouldn’t be able to stop until she knew Nick was alive.

She’d asked about him over and over again, from the moment the paramedics had dragged her off of him and forced her into a separate ambulance, until now. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been at the hospital, but each minute felt like an eternity. Nurses bustled around her, slipping an oxygen canula into her nostrils, starting an IV in her arm, taking her temperature, attaching leads to her chest.

“I’m fine,” she tried to tell them. “Please, help Nick instead. He’s hurt; he wasn’t breathing…”

“They’re helping him next door, honey; he’s in good hands,” one of the nurses tried to reassure her. “Let’s take care of you first, alright? We’ve gotta get you warmed up and dress those hands of yours.”

“Hands?” Claire repeated blankly. She held them up… and gasped. Her palms were bright red and blistered, with sheets of grayish skin peeling away from them. Strangely enough, she hadn’t noticed until now.

“You must have a high threshold of pain. Those are second degree burns,” the nurse continued, gently taking both her wrists and laying her hands palm up on a tray draped with a sterile cloth. “We’re giving you something for the pain through your IV, but this is still gonna sting a bit.”

Claire knew they should have been hurting like a mother, but instead, they felt numb. All of her felt numb.

“I’m afraid I’m gonna have to cut your ring, honey,” the nurse broke into her thoughts apologetically. Her voice sounded faraway.

“What?” Claire asked vaguely. She could hear her, but couldn’t comprehend. Even her brain had gone numb.

“Your ring,” the nurse repeated, louder this time, and Claire realized she was talking about her Claddagh ring. Her engagement ring. It had once pointed towards her heart. Now it pointed outward… towards the wall that separated her from Nick. “Your fingers are swelling. It’s gonna cut off your circulation,” the nurse was saying.

Claire nodded without understanding. “It’s fine… cut it,” she murmured. Through a fog, she watched the nurse clamp a metal ring cutter around the band, and with a crack, the white gold snapped in two. The nurse dropped the severed pieces onto the tray with a clatter and went about carefully swaddling both of her hands in a soft layer of gauze.

Eventually, the fog around her receded, time seemed to speed up again, and Claire became aware of the fiery pain in her hands, the liquid warmth spreading through her body, the tingling burn in her legs.

“Frostnip,” her nurse told her, when she mentioned the sensation. “When the EMTs found you, you were kneeling in the snow. They said you’d probably been there for at least ten minutes before they got there, maybe longer. Jeans ain’t enough to protect your legs from the snow seeping in. You’re lucky it’s only mild.”

“What about Nick? He didn’t have jeans on. I had to pull them off him…”

The nurse gave her a sympathetic look, her brows furrowing above her dark, kind eyes. “Want me to go check and see if I can find out how he’s doing?” she offered.

Claire nodded frantically, the magic words snapping her back to alertness. “Please,” she begged.

“Alright. Sit tight,” said the nurse, rubbing her shoulder through the blanket, and she left the room.

While she was gone, a doctor came in. Claire thought he’d been in to examine her when she’d first been brought in, but the rush into the ER had been a blur, not like the vivid images from the crash, and she couldn’t remember his name or what he might have said to her then. All she recalled was the frustration and panic she’d felt when no one would tell her anything about Nick. Even now, she knew nothing. She stared at the door as the doctor looked at her hands, hoping her nurse would come bustling back through it with news.

“Your hands should heal on their own with time,” the doctor said. “I don’t think you’ll need a graft.”

He may as well have been talking to himself, because Claire was barely listening. She didn’t care about her hands. All she cared about was Nick, and she couldn’t focus on anything else while his life was hanging in balance.

“You might have some scarring,” the doctor was still rambling, “but no real deformation. All in all, you’re lucky. Smoke inhalation, hypothermia, frostbite, but none of it serious. And no injuries except for your burns and a minor case of whiplash. I’d like to admit you for the night for observation, just to be on the safe side, but you’ll probably be able to go home tomorrow.”

His words went over her head. She didn’t feel lucky. Sure, she was in a better state than Nick, but that only made her feel guilty. How could he be hurt so badly, and she escape without a scratch? Aside from her hands, she was unscathed, and the burns were her own fault. She just kept praying the doctors would be able to call Nick lucky too. Maybe he wouldn’t be as bad as she’d thought.

But when her nurse returned, her eyes looked grim.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, honey,” she said, her dark-skinned hand clamping down on Claire’s shoulder. “He’s in bad shape.”

Claire drew in a sharp breath and felt her body start to quiver again.

“Our best attending and her team are still working on him, but he’s been unresponsive for a long time. Dr. Wittig said, if you’d like to come and be with him, now’s the time.”

“You mean I can go in?” Claire asked, her voice shaking to the point that it was hardly recognizable. Something in her heart lifted, even though she knew, deep down, what this meant. Nick was dying. He was dying, and they were offering her the chance to say goodbye.

***

Claire wanted to rip all the tubes out of her body and run to Nick’s side, but of course, they would not let her. She was brought into the next room in a wheelchair, an IV pole on one side and an oxygen tank on the other, gowned in a pair of scrubs with the warming blanket still draped around her shoulders. She cradled her bandaged hands in her lap; they were shaking violently. All of her was trembling, but she knew she needed to get a grip. If they sensed she was about to have a panic attack, they’d never let her stay.

And yet, everything about the scene playing out in front of her warranted panic.

The doctors and nurses in this room moved with a sense of urgency, one injecting something into an IV line, another squeezing a bag valve mask every few seconds, while a woman in a white coat pushed repeatedly on Nick’s chest. The latter gave Claire a horrible sinking feeling, and for once, she was grateful for the wheelchair; without it, her knees surely would have buckled. She didn’t have to be a doctor or even a former patient to know what it all meant. Nick’s heart was no longer beating on its own. Only the cupped hands of the doctor kept it pumping, and if they stopped, he would die.

The “if” was about to become a “when,” Claire soon discovered, when the brown-haired doctor stepped out of the way for a nurse to take over the chest compressions and walked over to her. “I’m Dr. Wittig,” she said, and her voice held a hushed quality that made it impossible to identify the faint accent with which she spoke. She paused to glance over her shoulder, and Claire followed her gaze back to Nick, taking in the chilling sight of his ashen skin, the tubes in his chest and arms, the mask forcing air into his lungs. His body twitched every time the nurse’s muscular arms pushed down on his chest, but otherwise, it was lifeless. Watching, she felt icy fingers take hold of her heart and squeeze, until her own chest threatened to burst.

The doctor put a hand on her shoulder, a gesture meant to comfort, though it offered her no reassurance. “They lost his pulse in the ambulance,” she explained quietly. “We’ve been working to resuscitate him here for almost an hour, with chest compressions, oxygen, medications, and fluids. He hasn’t responded to any of our efforts. We’ve gone on longer than we normally would, but given his VIP status and the state of hypothermia he was in on the scene of the accident, we wanted to keep trying to revive him. However…”

Claire had sensed the “however” was coming, but in no way was she prepared for it. What little composure she had left began to slip away, as Dr. Wittig went on.

“… it’s time to face the reality that, at this point, we’re not going to get him back.”

Claire heard her words as if spoken through water; they sounded garbled, faraway. Her brain was shutting down, trying to block them out. She comprehended what the doctor was trying to say, but she couldn’t accept it. Nick couldn’t be dead. After everything… all that he’d been through, all that he’d survived… he just couldn’t be.

She shook her head, tears making the room blur and sway. “Please, no. Please keep trying,” she choked. “He’s beaten the odds before.”

But not these odds. She could hardly think clearly, but in the back of her mind, she knew the reality. Nick had fought cancer and won; he was just days away from his five-year mark, five whole years since the risky lung surgery that had saved his life and removed the malignancy from his body for the last time. He’d made it through so much… but not this. Through it all, his heart, that powerful symbol of life, had never stopped beating. And now, it had been still for over an hour.

Dr. Wittig’s grip tightened on her shoulder, though she barely felt the added pressure. She’d gone numb again. “I know how hard this must be for you, and I’m so very sorry,” said the attending in a low voice. “We’ll keep trying… until you’re ready to let him go.”

Somehow, Claire managed to nod, though she knew she would never be ready.

***

From the moment the snow-covered windshield had grayed into darkness, he’d been sinking in a black sea.

The pressure on his chest was intense and unbearable. His heart felt twisted, cramped, as if there wasn’t enough room for it to beat against his ribs. He couldn’t breathe, and his deflated lungs were screaming for air. Yet there was none. There was only water.

Once his friend, it was now his foe. It was cold as ice, and it surrounded him, making his limbs feel heavy and sluggish. In the beginning, he had struggled, but he could feel his strength and body heat leaving him. There was just too much water, and it was so cold, so deep, so dark.

And yet, miles above him, it seemed, there was suddenly light. And warmth. The surface. It beckoned to him, promising relief from the pain and the pressure that only worsened the lower he sank.

Get to the surface, he urged himself. Get to the light.

It seemed so far away, but one sweeping, downward motion of his arms was all he needed. In the next moment, he was floating upward, as if carried in the arms of the water itself. It propelled him gently, slowly, yet steadily, and as he rose, he felt the warmth seep in to his fingertips and toes, felt the pressure on his chest lighten, felt the pain in his body melt away.

It was lighter now, and the water was no longer dark and impenetrable, but beautiful, translucent blue. He could see the light waves streaming through it, illuminating the path he must take to reach the surface. They were brighter than the sun’s rays, and yet, he could gaze straight up through the water without them hurting his eyes.

In fact, nothing hurt anymore.

The salt water didn’t sting. His limbs felt light and free, and the burning pain in his lungs had lessened to a dull ache, a reminder of the relief the surface would offer. He was beginning to feel it already, even without air. Suddenly, he didn’t need to breathe.

He was nearly there, to the surface, the light, the heat, his journey complete.

The struggle was almost over.

***

A comforting scent, the clean smell of soap and lightly perfumed lotion, wafted into Claire’s nostrils as her nurse from before leaned down and murmured close to her ear, “Would you like to move closer to him?”

Unable to speak, Claire just nodded. She tried to brace herself for the shock of seeing Nick’s lifeless body up close as the nurse pushed her wheelchair forward. There was room for her next to his gurney now; somehow, the room was less crowded. She noticed that the flurry of activity had dwindled. Now there were only Dr. Wittig and two of the nurses who’d been there before.

Dr. Wittig stood back, watching the monitors, grim-faced, and after a moment, she whispered something to the female nurse who was still squeezing the bag attached to the oxygen mask. She stopped bagging long enough to push another injection into one of the IV lines, then went back to it, the bag hissing each time it forced air down Nick’s windpipe. And through it all, the male nurse kept up his steady, unyielding compressions, pushing vigorously on Nick’s chest. Every time he did, the line on the heart monitor jumped, but in between, it fell flat again.

“Can’t you shock him?” Claire found the voice to ask, watching the heart monitor desperately. “Why aren’t you shocking him?”

The doctor shook her head. “There’s no rhythm to shock. Defibrillation only works when the heart is fibrillating… fluttering. Nick’s heart is past that state, and the chest compressions haven’t generated any kind of rhythm. He’s in full cardiac arrest.”

Her last hope snatched away, Claire could only cry. The tears spilled from her eyes, and she swiped at them with the back of her bandaged hand. Nick wouldn’t want me to cry, she thought. Her crying was his cue to lose it too. And she couldn’t have him losing it. He needed to fight. She had to hold it together and be strong for him so that he could be strong too.

“You can talk to him,” her nurse urged gently in her ear, as if able to read her thoughts. “I don’t know if he’ll be able to hear you or not… but most people find some comfort in being able to say goodbye.”

I’m not ready to say goodbye, thought Claire, but, swallowing back her tears, she knew she had to say something. She would never forgive herself if she didn’t. “I’m here, Nick,” she murmured, her voice cracking hoarsely. Ignoring her bandages, she clumsily took his hand in hers. His skin felt dry and cold to her exposed fingertips, as if death had already claimed him. She wasn’t sure if it was hypothermia or simply a lack of blood flow that made his hand feel so cold, but she felt the urge to warm it. She wrapped his limp hand in both of her own and squeezed as best she could, though it stung terribly to do so.

She welcomed the pain. In some insane way, the burning in her hands made her feel as if she were doing something for him, taking away his hurt and channeling it into her own body. Folding her hands around his stiff fingers, she prayed to God that wherever her Nick truly was, he wasn’t in any pain. He’d been through too much of it already.

They’re just torturing him now, she realized, watching the nurse’s strong arms keep pumping his chest, jostling his body each time. She knew now that Nick was beyond feeling… but it still made her cringe to watch it.

It was time for him to stop.

It was time for them all to stop, she decided, fresh tears streaming down her face. This time, she did not try to brush them away. To do so would mean letting go of Nick’s hand… and she wasn’t ready to release her grip on him just yet. But let him go?

It was time.

Yet as she sat there, watching the heart monitor spike and fall with each false beat of Nick’s failing heart, she still couldn’t find the words to say goodbye.

“Please, Nick,” she begged, her voice thick with phlegm and tears. “Please don’t leave me. I need you here with me. I’ve always needed you. What am I going to do without you?” Ignoring the pain from her burnt palms, she bore down on his hand fiercely and leaned closer. “I love you. You’re… you’re the Stumpy to my Ren…” Her voice broke. The insane urge to laugh only brought more tears. “Please… please come back to me. We’re meant to be together, Nick. Don’t leave me alone…”

***

Mere feet from the surface, he tipped his head back, anxious to feel the warm glow of the light on his face. It was so close… just with reach… another foot or so, and he’d be able to stretch his arm up and poke his fingertips through the water, into the open air. He imagined a warm hand waiting there to grasp his own and help him the rest of the way. He could almost hear its owner calling to him now, calling him home. The voice was like music, melodic and reassuring.

And then, suddenly, there was another.

Another voice was calling to him, not in harmony with the first, but in utter dissonance. It came from below, from the darkness and the cold. Looking down, he saw nothing but black. Remembering the pain that had plagued him down there, he ignored the voice. It would offer him no comfort, only hurt. He was tired of hurting.

He looked towards the light again, eager to hear his savior’s voice once more, but the second voice had gotten louder, stronger.

“Please, Nick,” it begged, and as he dipped his head again, straining his eyes to see into the murky depths, he realized it sounded oddly familiar. “Please don’t leave me…”

Claire? he thought, and his body froze. The water was still warm, but just below the surface, he hovered, not quite ready to break through. He wanted to… but how could he ignore her voice? Especially when she sounded so… desperate.

He looked down again, and suddenly, there she was. She was far below him, and in the dark water, he could only see her white face, wisps of red hair floating all around her. She looked like a ghost, her mouth an open hole. Out of it floated her distant pleas.

“I need you here with me. I’ve always needed you…”

And he’d always been there for her when she needed him. But going to her now would mean returning to the crushing pressure of the dark, icy water, and the feeling of drowning. He wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone…

“What am I going to do without you?”

And yet… if he could take it away from her and bear it himself, wouldn’t he?

“I love you.”

That was love, wasn’t it? Sacrificing for the sake of the other? Doing anything in his power to keep her from hurting?

He loved her; that much he knew was true. The emotion was as strong as the sensation he got from the light on the surface, the feeling the comforting voice above gave him. He tried to block them both out as he looked down at her again, focusing all of his concentration on her face.

Emerging from the depths, he could now see her pale hand, stretching upwards like an apparition, the flailed fingers reaching for him.

“Please… please come back to me. We’re meant to be together, Nick,” her voice drifted up to him again. “Don’t leave me alone…”

Invisible bands seemed to tighten around his chest, as he let himself sink.

***

This time, this place
Misused, mistakes
Too long, too late
Who was I to make you wait?
Just one chance, one breath
Just in case there’s just one left…


The gurney rattled slightly with every chest compression, as Nick’s body was slammed relentlessly against it. The bag valve mask hissed, pushing air out and re-inflating after every squeeze. In the eerie silence that had descended upon the trauma room, the rhythms of life support were muffled only by the sniffling sounds of Claire’s crying.

She clung to Nick’s hand, her words dissolved into whimpers. She couldn’t find the voice to say what she needed to. Goodbye.

The only other human sound in the room was the panting of the male nurse, who was beginning to tire. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, yet he never stopped pumping on Nick’s chest, trying in vain to revive him. Later, Claire would remember his unyielding effort with gratitude, but in that moment, the only emotion she felt was anguish.

It was as if a part of her own heart were being ripped from her chest… and in a way, it was. In losing Nick, she was losing her other half. She knew that now. If only she’d taken the opportunity to tell him so. All of her earlier reservations about moving too fast with him seemed preposterous to her now, and her biggest regret was that the ring they’d cut off her swollen finger had been put on it by Jamie, and not Nick. If she hadn’t been so stupid, they would have had more time. They could have made the most of it, loved one another as if there was no tomorrow.

As it was, tomorrow would come, but Nick’s eyes would never see another sunrise.

Remembering the dawns they’d shared together, from lazy mornings in bed to sunrises on the boat, Claire began to sob. And as she did, bowed over Nick’s limp arm, still clinging to his hand, something in the room changed.

She didn’t know what it was right away, but an instinctive part of her sensed it. It wasn’t just that the fatigued arms of the nurse began to slow… or that the gurney shook less… or that the bagging seemed to lag. It was something else, something more, but she didn’t realize what until a sharp intake of breath drew her head upwards.

“Hold compressions,” Dr. Wittig directed, speaking for the first time in minutes.

It’s over, realized Claire, as the nurse stopped his pumping motion. Her tear-filled eyes drifted to the heart monitor, waiting for its signal to plummet for the last time.

***

The pressure had returned, suffocating him, nearly crushing his ribs. His lungs were crying out again, but then, so was Claire.

In the depths of the water, he couldn’t see her tears, but he could hear her weeping. Her hand was still outstretched, waiting for his fingers to grasp it. He wanted to, desperately, but he was still feet above her, and the pain was almost unbearable.

His thoughts went back to the surface, to the warmth and the light and the comforting voice that promised him relief from his agony. He longed to swim upwards and leave the pain and the cold behind forever. But that would mean leaving Claire behind too. Somehow, he knew she would not follow him.

Below him, she didn’t move, just floated, her hand reaching for his.

I don’t think I can make it, he thought miserably, writhing with the wrenching pain in his heart. It felt like someone had plunged a screwdriver into his chest and was twisting and twisting it, making it tighter and tighter.

But from here, he could feel Claire’s pain too. It seemed to radiate through the water in waves to him, not the same kind of crushing pain he felt, but an unbearable heartache just the same. Instinctively, he knew he could end it for her, if he could just descend a few more feet and take her hand.

Squeezing his eyes shut against the blinding pain, he let his body plummet.


On my knees, I’ll ask
Last chance for one last dance
‘Cause with you, I’d withstand
All of hell to hold your hand
I’d give it all, I’d give for us
Give anything, but I won’t give up…


***

The line would stay flat now.

Claire couldn’t bear to watch, and yet, she couldn’t turn away. Subconsciously, she knew she needed affirmation before she could accept it.

Time seemed to stand still. The impending flatline hadn’t happened yet. Instead, the once steady series of peaks had transcended into turmoil. The line jumped and dipped randomly, with no apparent pattern, and when the female nurse reached over to turn up the volume on the monitor, the room was filled not with the shrill whine of a flatline, but a series of rapid, chaotic beeps.

The alarm seemed to energize Dr. Wittig, who suddenly snapped back into action. “V-fib… that’s a shockable rhythm!” she exclaimed, sounding utterly amazed. “Charge the paddles! Resume compressions!”

With renewed strength, the male nurse went back to pushing on Nick’s chest, and the woman returned to bagging, while Claire’s nurse rushed for the crash cart. Out came the defibrillator paddles, and a faint buzzing sound filled the room as they were charged with electricity.

“Charging to two hundred…”

The nurse placed large pads on Nick’s chest and left side and raised the paddles.

“Clear!”

***

He opened his eyes. Though the water was dark, he could see her clearly now. She was right below him, her fingertips mere inches away. Twisting his body in the icy water, he used the last of his strength to extend his sluggish arm towards her.

As their hands joined, there was an explosion of electricity.

***

Claire cried out as Nick’s body jumped violently with the surge of electrical current from the defibrillator. He crashed back onto the gurney, and the nurse began compressions again. Claire’s eyes flickered to the heart monitor, watching it intently between compressions, hoping for a peak of the line not induced by the nurse’s hands, a wave that signaled life.

For two whole minutes, they waited. The room was deathly silent again, the tension broken only by the rattling of the gurney, the hiss of the bag valve mask, and the forced blips of the heart monitor.

Come on, Nick, Claire prayed silently, taking Nick’s hand again and squeezing with all her might, trying to give him the strength to pull through.

***

Holding onto his hand, squeezing tightly, she pulled him through the dark water. Down, down, further into the depths, she pulled him. There was still an uncomfortable pressure on his chest, but now that he was with her, it was no longer unbearable. Somehow, her touch had lessened the pain. He could take it now, he thought.

He could make it.

***

He has to make it, Claire thought desperately, but there was still no sign of life from Nick.

“Hold compressions,” Dr. Wittig said again, and everyone in the room stilled, their eyes turning to the heart monitor. They waited, watching as the line leveled out… and then rose.

Claire gasped and stared at the monitor unblinkingly.

With a another blip, the signal descended and climbed again… and again… slowly, irregularly, at first, and then faster and steadier.

“Normal sinus rhythm,” whispered the doctor, gazing at the monitor with a look of astonishment, as if she couldn’t quite believe it. Then, seeming to snap to her senses, she turned to the nurse who had been giving Nick oxygen and barked, “Keep bagging! We don’t want him to arrest again.”

They sprang back into action around her. The doctor thrust her stethoscope into her ears and pressed it to Nick’s chest, calling out things to the male nurse as she listened. He scribbled notes on Nick’s chart, while the female nurse went back to bagging.

In their midst, Claire sat still, unable to take her eyes off of Nick. A million thoughts ran through her head, a million things she wanted to say, but she could not yet find the voice to say them. Overwhelmed with her relief and gratitude, she could only cry, his still form blurring before her eyes. There was still no sign of consciousness from him, but his pale chest rose and fell steadily with the bursts of air being forced into his lungs, and inside it, his heart beat life into his body again. He was alive… and to Claire at that moment, that was all that mattered.

Still overcome by what she had seen in this room, she would stay there by his side for as long as she could, gripping his hand and refusing to let go.


I love you
I have loved you all along
And I forgive you
For being away for far too long
So keep breathing
‘Cause I’m not leaving you anymore
Believe it
Hold onto me and never let me go

- “Far Away” by Nickelback


***