From His Perspective

Chapter 4

James Cantrell sped through a red light at the intersection, staying behind the police escort. The officer drove with lights flashing and sirens screaming. Cars ahead pulled to the side of the road letting them pass. His windshield covered in rain made streetlights, headlights, and taillights blur. The rhythmic sound of wiper blades raced back and forth in a futile attempt at clearing the rain from the windshield. The rhythmic swishing sound matched the fast, unsteady, and frantic beat of James’ heart.

On the next corner, his tires surfed across wet asphalt and the back end of his vehicle swung out wide-right before James regained control. He gripped the steering wheel tight enough that he began to lose feeling in his fingers, and lost color, his knuckles whitening.

At the next intersection, he saw the cluster of police cars, fire trucks, and two ambulances. The road was blocked. The officer he followed slowed down. The siren silenced, but the cruiser’s lights continued to flash along with the lights on top of the countless emergency vehicles on the scene. Blinding white, blue and red frantically pulsed, but the only sound was the heavy downpour and occasional voices that called out.

James noted the jack-knifed eighteen-wheeler. The back end of a car protruded from underneath. He recognized the vehicle.

“Linda.” He said her name out loud as he threw his car into park. Her car was sandwiched between the rig and the trailer. The trailer was on its side, laying on top of Linda’s car.

The officer jumped out of his cruiser. He came around to James’ car and opened the door.

“Sir,” he said. “If you’ll come with me.”

Come with him? James didn’t want to go anywhere near the accident. This couldn’t be real. It wasn’t happening. He felt his body respond as if on autopilot. He climbed out of the driver’s side and followed close behind the officer. He couldn’t take his eyes off the mammoth-sized machine crushing his wife’s vulnerable vehicle.

A firefighter knelt on the trunk with his torso inserted into the car where the back windshield should have been. James couldn’t swallow. He stretched out his neck. His throat had gone dry some time ago. He knew he was breathing short, shallow breaths. He feared he might be hyperventilating. The hammering of his heart thudded like thunder that bounced around inside his chest and echoed inside his head, behind his ears. “Officer—”

“Your wife, sir. She’s still alive.”

The words came like a punch. The muscles in James’ gut constricted, tight. The implication rained over him. “My son? Officer? Matthew?”

The officer stopped walking. “He didn’t make it.”

The officer grabbed James by the arms. James didn’t realize his legs had given out. The ground had rushed toward his face. He would have hit the wet pavement if not for the officer’s reflexes. “Mr. Cantrell?”

“My son.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Right now your wife is asking for you.”

A fireman in a white helmet walked toward them.

“Does she know?” James asked. “About our son? Does she know?”

The officer said, “I don’t know what she knows, Mr. Cantrell. I just found out on the way here that your wife was still alive. She is alive and she has been asking to see you.”

The fireman reached them. The officer nodded a silent greeting and stepped back.

“I’m the chief,” the fireman said. “Dobbs. Mr. Cantrell?”

“My wife?”

“That’s him,” the officer interjected.

Dobbs said, “Sir, the accident was bad. The force of the crash sent the engine block from under the hood of your wife’s car onto your wife’s lap. Right now she is awake, and alert.”

“Right now?”

Dobbs pursed his lips. His eyes darted around. “Her lower body was crushed during the accident. Most of her midsection as well.”

“What’s that mean?”

“We’re afraid that once we take the engine block off her, because of ruptured muscles, the release of phosphate and potassium will overwhelm her system,” Dobbs said.

James shook his head. “I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.” He pushed past the fireman and the officer. Linda needed him. Their son was dead. Matthew was dead.

“Sir,” Dobbs said, snagging James by the arm.

James spun around.

Dobbs let go. “It is a condition known as hyperkalemia. The abundant release of these chemicals into the bloodstream can result in sudden cardiac arrest.”

“Like a heart attack?”

“Like a heart attack.”

“So, what? Do you have an A.E.D.? You’ll do CPR?”

“Mr. Cantrell—”

The look in Dobbs’ eyes said it all. It couldn’t be that cut and dry, that simple. There had to be hope. His wife couldn’t be as good as dead. “You have to do something. There must be something you can do?”

“Mr. Cantrell—”

James didn’t want to hear it. “I want to see my wife.”

“We’re doing everything we can.” Dobbs said, “It’s important you understand—”

“I want to see my wife.”