Core Beliefs - Chapter 59 - Gone Wrong

Core Beliefs – Chapter 59 - Gone wrong.

On Tuesday, April 10th, Charlie and Charley landed in Kansas City. Joe and Cynthia had no trouble spotting the two. The pair spent two days in Kansas City relaxing. Charlie and Cynthia, often to themselves, talking and laughing.

It tickled Charley that the two liked each other.

The foursome spent hours in the den talking about their time on the island. Joe and Cynthia often shook their heads in wonder at the paradise the young lovers described.

Friday, Charley and Charlie packed and headed for Wichita and the silo.

The following week, Charlie received a call from her mom and dad. They were relieved of duties at the camp and had a four-month sabbatical. They wanted to see her before heading back to New Zealand.

“I’ll get them here,” Charley said.

True to his word, he arranged first-class tickets.

The two weary doctors arrived on the afternoon of April 20th. Charley, Joe, Cynthia, and a very impatient Charlie waited in the terminal to meet them.

The reunion was loud and joyful. Charley introduced his folks. The Morgans slathered affection on Charlie. Joe and Cynthia watched.

Charley collected the luggage; this time happy to get the bags.

Driving to the house, Annabel bubbled, describing the dramatic psychological shift in the camp over the past months. Though conditions remained deplorable by any worldly standards, from the refugees’ viewpoint, the conditions at the camp had improved.

Charley wheeled the crowded car into the drive. The sun had barely set, but clearly, further conversations would wait. Harry and Annabel had nodded into silence. Jet lag had brought them to a halt.

Following a good night’s sleep, Charley and the Morgan clan climbed into his truck and headed to Wichita. Again, Armonia House made an impression. Charlotte put the good doctors in the special suite. Annabel said she felt like royalty.

Charlie stayed at the house with her parents for the next few days, often in the garden, reflecting on their lives and the improbable journey each had experienced.

***

In the meantime, Charley plunged back underground at the silo.

Suchet and Chris worked feverishly on a project. Whatever the experiment was, it had both men overly excited. Seemed to Charley that neither Chris nor Suchet had slept much in the last week.

It amused Charley to watch the highly intelligent men bump into each other as they rushed about. At other times, they inverted words and phrases as they jabbered scientific gibberish. Charley wondered if their minds were running that much faster than their bodies.

Monday the 23rd, Suchet and Charley placed components for the mystery experiment in the great room.

The twins, Iyla and Kamna, helped, thoroughly enjoying being able to participate. Iyla and Kamna had strung the power, data, and video cables.

The girls giggled, chattering in Hindi as they made the final connections and left for the control room.

***

Back in the control room, Chris and Suchet hurried through their checklist.

It seemed to Charley that the two scientists were rushing the process, but he’d seen these men do so many amazing things that he didn’t comment, not wanting to interrupt the flow.

Kamna and Iyla connected the last of the video cables to the recording units in the control room, and a view of the great chamber, with the device, materialized on the main monitor.

***

Three in the afternoon, Suchet looked at Chris and said, “Activate.”

“No warm-ups, no test runs, no pre-event briefing, just activate?” Charley thought.

Chris hit the Enter key on a computer keyboard. The lights and the power in the great room started to fluctuate. The sensors registered the high molecular activity in the vast chamber.

Lights started flickering and flashing in the control room.

“Kill the power,” Suchet yelled.

It was too late. Everything went pitch black.

“Do we have any flashlights?” Charley asked from the darkness.

“I don’t think so,” Chris said.

“This was not what I expected.” Suchet’s voice conveyed more nervousness than Charley ever remembered hearing.

“We now have a dilemma as to how to get out,” Suchet said. “We cannot see, and without power, the main door has us sealed in.”

“Do you have laptop computers here?” Kamna asked.

“Yes, we have one,” Chris said.

“Phones,” Charley asked, “mine has a flashlight function.”

“Let’s turn the laptop on,” Iyla said.

Charley could barely tell the girl’s voices apart.

“The light from the screen will help some,” she added.

Charley pulled his cell and flicked it to life. The first thing he noticed, the battery was low. The second thing he noticed, there was no signal. Obviously, the cell repeaters throughout the facility had also lost power.

Chris stood and felt his way along the table he had been sitting at and reached the desired desk.

“Here it is,” he powered on the laptop. In a few seconds, a ghostly glow cast from the screen into the room. It provided enough to make out where each person stood and the location of the furniture. It took a bit for the boot process to complete. Chris noted that the computer had only a quarter of a charge. No more than sixty minutes.

“We need a plan to get out,” Chris said.

“We can find our way to the door, even in the dark, but we need tools to open it,” Charley said.

“What tools are you talking about?” Suchet asked.

“Is this door’s design the same as the one on the island?” Charley asked.

“Similar,” Chris said, “except it’s much heavier and has hydraulics. Doug and Ellie did the design on it.”

“I know what I need,” Charley said. “Some tools are in the assembly room, and the rest are in one of the storerooms.”

“Do we have another laptop computer?” Suchet asked.

“No,” Chris said. “This is it, and we now have about fifty-five minutes of power.”

“Do you need help carrying the tools?” Suchet asked.

“Yes,” Charley said, “there’s too much for me.”

“Then I suggest we all go together and help,” Suchet said.

They headed out using the pale light of the computer to navigate. The assembly room was located farthest from the complex’s entrance and was the first stop.

“Do you smell that?” Iyla asked.

Everyone sniffed. A heavy, acrid odor pierced everyone’s nostrils. A burning sensation began to sting the eyes and nose. Kamna coughed violently.

They reached the room, and Charley grabbed tools, handing some to Chris and Suchet. Chris passed the computer to Iyla.

“Let’s get out of here,” Charley said. “Get to higher ground.”

They hustled out and up the tunnels. The computer’s power faded.

The air seemed better by the time they reached the storeroom. Charley quickly located the tools he wanted.

With Chris urging them on, they hustled another two hundred feet up the passage to the massive door.

In the faint glow of the computer screen, Charley examined the mechanism. Ten feet in diameter, the backside of the door was titanium. The hydraulics were twelve feet long, six inches in diameter, and made of steel. At the top of the door, large rollers set in channels held the arrangement in place. When the hydraulics withdrew, the door coasted back, following the channel tracks, into the docking space in the sidewall.

Charley knew that on the opposite side of the door, tons of concrete covered the surface. Unlike the door on the island, this one had been conceived and designed to prevent unauthorized access.

Kamna coughed again, reacting to odors migrating from deep within the facility.

Charley grabbed the wrench set and started undoing nuts and bolts as fast as he could. It took a straining effort to break nuts free.

“If we get the cylinders free, then we can pull the door open enough to get out,” Charley said.

Other bolts and brackets also had to be removed. Chris and the others watched as Charlie worked like a maniac.

“Please, can we help?” Suchet asked.

“Thanks, but there’s not enough room or tools,” Charley said.

The low-battery beep warned that the computer was about to die. Charley pointed to the hammer, screwdrivers, crowbar, and tool pouch.

“Everyone grab a tool,” he commanded. “Remember which one you have.” They complied, and as Kamna grabbed the hammer, the computer died.

A deathly quiet permeated the blackness. Then, the sound of gulping breaths and a soft sob from one of the girls echoed into the space.

“It’s going to be okay,” Charley said. “I know what to do. It’s going to take a while, so be patient. When I ask you for a tool, bring it to me. You can follow my voice and always hand me the tool with the handle towards me. That way, I know what to expect. Don’t let go until I say I have it,” he emphasized the words. “Everybody clear on that?”

An affirmative echoed from the group.

Charley resumed work, asking for tools as needed. He had the others stand back. They could tell he strained, and on occasion, they would hear a gasp.

“Charley, are you okay?” Chris asked.

“Yep,” Charlie replied, “let’s keep going.”

He called for another tool and continued.

Charley spent much of the time with his eyes closed, visualizing the door in the cave. He matched his memory with what his fingers felt and, point by point, found what he expected.

Now, he came to the unknown. The hydraulic cylinders were large, and though he had removed the retaining bolts and nuts, he still had to drive the pins from the hinges. The pins were over an inch in diameter and ten inches long; they had no head and no thread. Originally driven into the hinges by Doug, they would have to be driven out.

Charley asked for the large hammer.

“Here,” Kamna said,

They fumbled toward each other, and finally, Charley grasped the handle of the fourteen-inch, four-pound sledge.

“The large screwdriver, if you please.”

“I’ve got it,” Suchet said.

Charley navigated back to the door. He sank to his knees. The only way to access the bottom pin was from below. He positioned the screwdriver on the bottom of the pin. Very little room remained to swing. He took a couple of light swings to make sure he had the range and could hit the screwdriver.

After making solid contact, he picked up the pace, swinging with more force until he had every bit of strength going into each stroke.

He missed. The hammer pounded across his knuckles. Charley grimaced but didn’t utter a sound.

Regrouping, he again took up the effort and once more pounded.

Charley feared that the strength in his arm and the measly four-pound hammer would not be enough.

Kamna coughed again. Panic flushed through him,

‘Got to get them out, can’t let them suffocate down here!’

Charley poured every ounce of his strength into the hammer’s thrust.

The pin only moved slightly, but it moved. Charley felt the hinge’s bottom. The pin had edged up a quarter inch.

He renewed the effort double-time, and with each stroke, the pin inched up. Again, he missed. The hand holding the screwdriver bore the brunt of the blow. Charley bit his lip, stifled a cry, collected himself, and continued.

He routinely stopped and, by feel, determined how much of the pin remained in the hinge. When only a half inch held the hinge together, he stopped.

“I need to rest for a second, but we’re ready to start on the top pin.”

Charley’s heavy breathing overrode that of the others. No one spoke. It took a few minutes for Charley to return to a more normal rhythm. He climbed to his feet, re-gripped the hammer, and located the upper hinge pin.

Harsh coughs erupted from Kamna, and even Chris added a choked wheeze.

Charley had more room to swing the hammer, but the upper pin had been set at seven feet off the floor, so Charley had to whack up over his head to hit the screwdriver. The large hydraulic cylinders made it impossible to position his body, but overall, this promised to be easier.

His left hand ached and throbbed as he tightened his grip on the screwdriver, and the hammer became increasingly slick as more sweat and blood accumulated on the tool’s grip. He started with trial swings to get the distance. As he picked up the pace, he felt the pin give.

Getting excited, Charley swung harder, smashing the head of the hammer into the butt of the screwdriver. Tingles raced through his fingers, up his arms. He unleashed another swing using all his strength.

The hammer, with all its force, slammed into the back of his hand, crushing his knuckles and pulverizing the skin. The screwdriver flew from his grip. Excruciating pain throbbed. Electrical jolts shot the length of his arm. He doubled forward and groaned.

“What happened?” Suchet’s panicked voice filled the lightless cavern, “You are hurt. I can tell. You must let us help.”

Charley slobbered as he knelt by the door. His nose dribbled snot and sweat, and his head pounded like someone was hammering between his temples. In the pitch-black, sparkles danced in front of his face. He quickly collected himself and fought to gain control over his pain.

“I slipped. Whacked my knuckles. It knocked the screwdriver out of my hand. See if you can find it.”

He tried to make his voice as normal as possible and soon heard people shuffling to locate the screwdriver.

“Here, I have it,” Chris said. “Give me the hammer, and I’ll take a turn.”

“Not necessary,” Charley said. “I’ve almost got it. Bring the screwdriver over, hand it to me, handle first if you please.”

Chris did as instructed. Charley had mastered the pain. He figured the sooner he finished, the better.

“I want you to all back up fifteen steps,” Charley said. “When the pins come out, the cylinders may move, and I don’t want anyone close. I know where they are and can position myself.”

He knew he had lied, but there was no need for them to know. It was the only way to get this part done.

Positioning the screwdriver against the bottom of the pin, he drove it up, feeling pain and jolts with each hammer blow. Only a small section of the pin held the hinge in place.

He knelt and returned to the bottom hinge, lined up the screwdriver, and took two practice swings before throwing all his strength into the blow. The pin flew out, and the hinge started to part. He pulled the screwdriver down as fast as he could, but it lodged and pinched between the two hinge parts.

He realized he had enough room to drive down on the top edge of the screwdriver handle. He tapped firmly. The screwdriver moved down stroke by stroke, popping clear. The hydraulic remained wedged in the hinge.

“One down.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “We’re almost done.”

Charley ran his right hand along the massive cylinder. Thousands of pounds of force were constrained internally within the mechanism. He knew it could spring free at any time.

Locating the top hinge, he guided the screwdriver to the pin and began driving the last half inch. It popped free, and this time, he jerked the screwdriver out quickly.

Metal creaked and groaned, pings echoed, and a loud clank reverberated through the black chamber.

Charley felt the bottom hydraulic explode from its mount, slamming into his legs near his knees, knocking his feet from under him.

In his mind, that was okay. He had fallen before and felt sure he’d just get back up.

The top hydraulic snapped free.

Charley heard it, but his body was under assault by the lower cylinder. He had no time or space to react. The upper hydraulic slammed into his head, hammering him against the door.

The massive door, freed of its restraints, moved.

The team members stood safe and clear.

The door rolled back, following the laws of gravity.

The others saw light from the silo first.

Kamna cheered, Suchet clapped his hands, and Chris shouted, “Well done.” Iyla screamed.

In the reflected light, they all saw the door wedging back, crushing Charley. Blood flowed from grim wounds. Charley’s body was trapped awkwardly, with one leg twisted at an unnatural angle between the door and the hydraulic cylinder.

Suchet and Chris rushed forward. Suchet reached Charley first. He stretched his hand into the wedge formed by the door and the hydraulic cylinders. Charley’s body remained pinned in the mass of metal.

“He’s alive.” Suchet exhaled the two words with relief.

“Get him out,” Iyla barked. “We must free him from the door. It is crushing him.”

“You two!” she said, pointing to the men, “Push the door while Kamna and I try to get him out!”

Suchet and Chris rammed their shoulders against the massive door. Grunting with maximum exertion, they managed to shift the door enough for the twins to squeeze into the gap and, between the two of them, tugged Charley free and into the tunnel.

Chris and Suchet released the door, springing out of the way as it collapsed back into its resting place.

“His leg is broken,” Iyla said, “and his hand badly injured. But his head is the worse, I cannot help him. We must get him to the hospital!”

“Get him into the Silo,” Chris said. “Let’s all lift him together.”

“He may feel pain, but I doubt it.” Iyla visibly shook. “I think he is very unconscious.”

The four of them carefully lifted Charley and shuffled into the silo until they reached the elevator.

“I’m not comfortable moving him further,” Suchet said. “I think we should call an ambulance and get trained people.”

The gas generator had kicked on when the power failed, providing emergency power for the silo, but it had never been tied into the new sections of the complex.

Chris took the elevator to the top, called 911, and waited for the ambulance.

Iyla and Kamna tended to Charley with towels fetched by Suchet. It took thirty-five minutes for the ambulance to arrive and ten more to get the stretcher and medical gear to the fifth floor of the silo.

“What happened? Did he fall?” One of the paramedics asked.

“Yes,” Kamna answered.

The EMS team eased Charley onto a backboard, restrained his head, put an air cast around his leg, and had him on the elevator in fifteen minutes.

Suchet raced through the facility, shutting things down. Once clear, Chris shut down the generator and locked the doors.

The four climbed into Chris’s truck and headed for the hospital.

Cell signal restored, Suchet called his wife.

Chris called Charlotte and said, “Charley’s hurt! Hurt bad! We’re getting him to the hospital in Wichita ASAP.”

Charlotte hung up and paced quickly to the garden. Charlie and her parents sat next to a fountain, laughing and talking about New Zealand.

“I need to talk to you,” Charlotte’s words were matter of fact and calm. “Charley has been injured in an accident. He is on his way to the hospital. That is all I know. I suggest we get our wraps and go.”

Charlie leaped from her seat and dashed to the house, her parents following. Charlotte rushed to the car, dialing Joe.

“Joe, Chris says the injuries are bad,” Charlotte hushed softly into the phone. “I don’t know anything more. You can call Chris on his cell.”

“We’re on our way,” Joe said.

Dr. Morgan sat next to Charlotte, staring out the windshield. In the seat behind him, Charlie pounded the heels of her fists against the back of her father’s headrest. Annabel gently rubbed a hand across the back of Charlie’s shoulders.

Charlotte slipped the phone into the hands-free cradle and dialed.

“Matt.”

“I heard,” he said. “Chris called a minute ago. We’re on our way. Where are you?”

“I’m driving Charlie and her folks to the hospital.”

“Stay with Charlie, my dear. Keep her safe.” Matt’s voice cracked a little as the words faded.

“I will.” Charlotte brushed a pool of moisture from the corner of her eye.

She squealed the tires of the car to a stop at the ER entrance.

Charlie flung the door wide and sprang onto the sidewalk. The twins waited, their clothes blood-stained.

“This way,” Kamna said, hurrying with Charlie into the building.

Iyla waited by the car as the Morgans got out. “ER, critical care. I’ll show Charlie’s mom and dad the way.”

Charlotte nodded and pulled away.

In the emergency care waiting room, Charlie found Chris. Suchet slouched in a corner with his hands covering his face.

“How is he?” Charlie fought to keep from disintegrating into a raving lunatic.

“The doctor is with him.”

***

A half-hour passed, and no new news had everyone edgy.

“He’s coming,” Charlotte said.

An ER doctor had emerged and was making a beeline for them.

“You’re with Charles Lehman?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said, “friends. Close friends.”

“Here is the situation,” he said. “There are the obvious injuries from a fall: fracture of the right leg, crushed hand, and broken ribs, but my biggest concern is that he has severe head trauma, and we are not equipped to deal with it. We’ve got to transfer him, but he has to be stabilized first.”

Charlotte heard ‘head trauma,’ and the ‘not deal with it.’

“Doctor,” she said, “one of the world’s premier neurosurgeons is on her way, Dr. Ling Lehman. Since you are concerned as to how to deal with this, would you allow Dr. Lehman to consult with you?”

Harry Morgan spoke up, “Listen, my good sir, I am Dr. Harry Morgan, MD, and this is my wife, Dr. Annabel Morgan, MD. We recently worked with Dr. Lehman in Africa, and she is brilliant. I would suggest you take advantage of the woman’s skills while there is time.

That was all the doctor needed. “When will she be here?”

“They are on their way, but I don’t know the arrival time. I can call her?”

“Get her on the line. Let me talk to her.”

Charlotte hit speed dial. Matt answered the phone as they boarded the plane. “Matt, please put Ling on.”

There was only a second’s delay before Ling said, “Yes, Charlotte?”

“I’m going to give the phone to the ER doctor here at the hospital. Charley has head trauma, and the doctor could use your help.”

Charlotte passed the phone. The introductions were quick. The doctor walked away with the phone to his ear, disappearing into the emergency room.

Charlie started shaking where she stood. Annabel rose from her seat, clutching her daughter as she sank to the floor. Chris stepped between Iyla and Charlotte, scooped Charlie into his arms, and carried her to a set of empty chairs in the waiting room.

Harry strode to the nurse’s station. “We have a transient loss of consciousness. May I have a few towels or washcloths?

“A what?” one of the nurses asked.

“Fainting,” the other nurse said. “Someone fainted. I’ll get them and a cold compress.”

She disappeared and in seconds returned with the items, following Harry to where Charlie splayed on the seats.

“I’m an MD,” Harry said as he took the dampened towel and compress. “I think I can handle it, but I’ll not hesitate to seek your assistance if the situation changes.

He wrapped the cold compress in the damp cloth and gently stroked Charlie’s forehead.

***

The emergency room doctor listened as Ling asked questions and followed his answers with instructions. It only took about ten minutes before they began chilling Charley with cold packs and reduced his oxygen levels. They started a new IV and two injections, as specified by Ling. Thirty-five minutes later, the doctor walked back to the waiting room and found the group. He recognized Charlotte as the one who had spoken with him earlier and handed her the cell phone back.

“We’ve done everything Dr. Lehman has recommended. She says she’ll be here in two hours. If you’ll excuse me, I have other patients.”

“Harry Morgan, MD,” Harry stood, “is there anything we can do to help?”

“I think the rest of this I can handle,” the doctor smiled, “It’s typical scratch and dent stuff.”

The Morgans huddled around Charlie as she regained consciousness. Chris asked Iyla to grab Charlie a Coke.

Charlie sipped it slowly, color returning to her face.

Suchet still slumped in the corner with his face in his hands. His wife, Pavitra, sat next to him, trying to console him.

Chris pulled Charlotte to one side, explained what had happened, and nodded toward Suchet. Charlotte understood. She strode to Suchet, Chris, and the twins, who stood beside her. They arranged chairs to face Suchet and sat.

“Suchet,” Charlotte called to him, “Suchet, please look at me.”

He remained with his hands covering his face and shook his head. She heard him mumble between sobs, “It is my fault. I caused it all. This would not have happened if I had been more careful.”

Pavitra trembled, near tears.

“Suchet,” Charlotte said again, this time a little stronger. “You were not alone, and you cannot carry this alone. Chris was there, and he is as responsible as you.”

Suchet wept but glanced up. “It was my experiment, my calculations, my design, my failure.”

“You have never had an experiment fail before this one?” Charlotte spoke quickly.

“Yes, but no one was ever hurt.”

“I know you feel this is your fault, and part of it is, but you have to remember that Charley chose to open the door by himself. He refused help, and I think he was aware of the dangers.”

“But I put us all in that situation,” Suchet moaned. “We were all going to die from toxic gas.”

“And Charley got you out,” Charlotte replied. “Think with me. Do you owe him some manner of courtesy and respect for what he did?”

Suchet peered at her with bleary eyes and nodded, “We owe him our lives.”

“Suchet,” she spoke very softly, “do you think Charley would want you to be feeling sorry for yourself at a time like this?”

Suchet hung his head and shook it. After a minute, he raised it. “Charley is a man,” he said. “He would be looking for what needed to be done and not worrying about fear or shame.”

“I think you are beginning to understand, my friend,” Charlotte replied. “We cannot change the past, but we can learn from it. Suchet, you will always be part of this family; nothing will change that. Charley’s folks will be here soon. You will need to be strong, as Charley would want you to be. This, you do for him.”

Suchet straightened and gazed at Charlotte, “I do not deserve this kindness.”

“Suchet,” she said, “we all have times when we need to be restored, not because we deserve it, but because we are loved.”

He leaned back into his wife’s arms with his girls beside him.

They remained that way for several minutes. Charlotte knew he was better when he took a deep breath and said, “I vow that this will never happen again.” His face was stern, but not angry.

“Good,” Charlotte said, “now, come and be with your family.”

They walked to where the Morgans sat.

Suchet explained how Charley got hurt. Chris added that he was there and should have stopped the experiment but failed to act.

Charlie hugged Suchet. “Suchet, I know you would never let anyone get hurt if you could help it. This was an accident.”

She was shaking again, tears coating her cheeks. Chris supported her to a chair.

An hour later, Ling and Matt hurried into the hospital. Harry Morgan greeted Ling and took her to the nurse’s station. Two minutes later, the ER doctor was out, and Ling was gone. Matt asked those there if they knew when Joe and Cynthia would arrive.

“It should be about thirty minutes,” Charlotte said.

Matt calmly asked, “Can someone share with me what happened?”

“I will,” Suchet said.

“I will,” Chris said.

“We were there,” Iyla and Kamna both added, “and we have something to say.”

People listened as they recounted the experiment and the desperation with the door. They described the noxious gas that caused them to cough and gasp, how Charley understood how to get the door open, how he worked in total darkness, and refused to let anyone help.

“In the end, it was the door that pinned him, and we think caused most of his injuries,” Chris said, “although I think he had mangled his hand earlier with the hammer and kept working despite it being shattered.”

“Mr. Lehman,” Charlie begged, “please, I would rather die than lose Charley. Help him. Please!”

Matt gazed into her eyes and saw the same fear and desperation he’d felt when Ling had been sick. He searched his heart, and a sensation vibrated through his being as he recognized the source.

“Charlie, I believe you are here for a reason, and that Charley is here for a reason, and I believe with all my heart that those reasons do not end here tonight. The best neurosurgeon in the world is with him, and if anyone can heal him, she can.”

He smiled, took her hands, and spoke to her mind, “I truly believe this with all my being.”

Charlie trembled but smiled. She struggled to her feet and hugged Matt with what strength she had.

Twenty minutes later, Joe and Cynthia arrived. Matt led them to a quiet area and explained everything.

“Ling is with Charley now,” he finished.

Joe and Cynthia rose and walked to the rest of the group.

Suchet looked at Joe and Cynthia, miserable as he begged for their forgiveness.

“Suchet!” Joe barked.

The scientist snapped straight and stared.

“You do not need to be forgiven. You could not have foreseen what would happen, and most importantly, you are, and always will be, our friend, a part of our family.”

For the first time since the accident, anguish disappeared from Suchet’s face. “My world is blessed with each of you,” he gazed about. “I cannot express the feelings in my heart for your love and kindness. Forgive me. Charles is precious to me, and the thought that I caused his hurt has my soul in agony.”

His words were honest, and his eyes were windows to his soul. Everyone sensed the pain in his words.

Ling exited the ER at 10:20 p.m. and walked to the group. Suchet offered his seat. She surveyed the faces about her, particularly Joe’s, Cynthia’s, and Charlie’s.

“He is stable,” she began. “We were able to get x-rays but not a CT scan. There are bone shards in the brain and some bleeding. I have relieved some of the pressure, but there is still significant trauma, and they don’t have adequate facilities here. We need to get him to the clinic in St. Louis as fast as possible.”

“My love, it will happen,” Matt said. “Tell me what you need, and it will be done.”

Ling got a notepad from the front desk, composed a list of some twenty items, and handed it to Matt. He smiled, kissed her, and she was gone again.

“Joe, you handle arranging a local ambulance to the airport. Chris, I need you to get Doug and Ellie routed to St. Louis. Suchet, reach Clarence on the island and have him stand by. Charlotte, we will need to contact the chartered flight Ling, and I flew to get here. See if it can carry us back to St Louis tonight.

There was no hesitation, no questions. Each person began executing Matt’s instruction.

Charlie and her parents sat with Pavitra and the twins as things began to unfold.

Matt made three more calls. One to Marcus Corush, one to Melissa Kyle, and the last to Bernadette.

It seemed Ling had already called Bernadette, and she was on her way to the clinic, as were the rest of the staff. There were already people there looking after other patients, so it wasn’t like a cold start.

People began reporting, and within 30 minutes, they had arranged everything except the most important item. Matt waited confidently. The call came. Marcus advised that a life-flight plane was enroute and that an ambulance would be standing by upon arrival.

Matt thanked him and relayed the information to Ling’s mind. ‘Everything is ready, and we can move in one hour and twenty-five minutes.’

“We will be moving Charley by plane to St Louis in less than two hours,” Matt said to those in the waiting room. “Not everyone can go.”

“Charlotte, you have your children to care for, and I have things for you to do here.

“Chris and Suchet, you have things here to fix.” They nodded their understanding.

“The life-flight will only hold three people other than the crew and patient. I am recommending that Ling, Cynthia, and Charlie go with Charley.” Matt said. “Harry, Annabel, Joe, and I will go on the charter.”

“Chris,” he placed a hand on Chris’s shoulder, “We will need a satellite link to Clarence, and we will have to patch it by internet to the clinic. Use the old control room.”

Matt’s phone buzzed. “The plane’s fifteen minutes late due to weather, but should arrive at 1:20 a.m. It’ll take twenty minutes to refuel and be cleared for takeoff.”

Matt calculated schedules and spoke to Ling’s mind, ‘We want to roll to the airport at 1:35 a.m.’

Joe notified the ambulance to be standing by at 1:15 a.m.

At 1:00 a.m. Ling started prepping Charley for the trip, supervising transfer to a gurney. She had already verified that it rolled smoothly and truly. During the transfer, she gently held Charley’s head to make sure there were no jarring movements.

Into the ambulance and on to the airport with Ling on board, ordering the driver to do whatever was needed to avoid any jars to the patient.

Chris drove Cynthia, Joe, the Morgans, and Charlie to the airport. Matt rode with Suchet.

***

No one knows what Matt and Suchet talked about, but Suchet seemed stronger and more hopeful when they arrived.

The Life Flight was a twin-engine Raytheon 1900. A door in the side near the tail opened to allow the patient to be transferred into the plane. The ambulance crew carefully shifted Charley’s litter to a lift. Ling supervised, shouting directions as the lift raised Charley up and into the fuselage.

“Do not bump or jar him in any way!” She shouted as she dashed to the cabin door and raced down the narrow aisle. The medical team had just taken hold of the litter. They froze; eyes focused on her.

The plane had one patient bed on the left and a couch facing it, opposite the bed. Forward were two passenger seats and a tech seat facing the rear, with a monitoring console.

The patient bed had four thin cushions that divided the bed into sections, allowing the med team to adjust the elevation of the head, chest, knees, and feet. Above the bed, another console arched over with monitoring equipment, oxygen, examination lights, and other medical equipment.

Ling looked over the arrangement. “We will leave him on the stretcher and secure it to the bed!”

The three-man medical team cleared the bed of cushions and made quick work of securing Charley and the IV bags.

Ling insisted they load the cold packs and place them around Charley. The techs hooked their monitoring equipment to Charley and added a harness across his chest and another above his knees.

Once the equipment was connected, two members of the medical team took the front-facing passenger seats, and the third slipped into the rear-facing seat in front of the monitoring console.

Cynthia and Charlie boarded the plane.

“We’re good,” the monitoring tech said to Ling as he pushed buttons on the console, confirming the status of the assorted sensors and equipment.

“What’s your O2 level?” Ling asked.

“3.0ml,” the tech replied.

“Drop it to 2.8 and stabilize.”

“Cerebral hypoxia?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ling said.

“Get buckled in; Ling told Cynthia and Charlie as they settled onto the couch facing Charley.

“We’re clear for takeoff.” The tech at the monitoring station said.

***

Matt, Joe, and the Morgans boarded a twin-engine Cessna and left a few minutes after the Life Flight. The Cessna flew faster than the medical plane, and 30 minutes into the flight, it passed it.

***

It was 2:20 a.m. when the pilot of the Life Flight advised, “Get buckled up and stay buckled. We’ve got to go through some turbulence. No way around or over.”

A severe shudder buffeted the plane before it lurched violently down.

Horrified, Ling saw Charley’s head rise from the litter and thud down. She snapped open her seatbelt and stood in the aisle, slipping her hands under Charley’s head and raising it from the pillow.

“Get in your seat!” The tech at the monitor console shouted,

“I can’t; this bouncing will kill him.”

Alarm filled Cynthia and Charlie’s faces.

A split second later, Charlie stood next to Ling, helping. The tech again screamed at them to sit down.

The plane hit another pocket. The women wedged themselves against the litter to keep from falling, barely keeping Charley’s head from banging down again.

Charlie shouted at the crew, “Tie us, quick, find something to tie us tight.”

Cynthia hunched forward, air-sick, her face buried in a bag.

One of the medical team twisted in his seat and yelled, “What’s the deal?”

Ling shouted over the noise of the engines. “Bone slivers are lodged against a major artery in his brain. If they puncture it, he will be dead in minutes!”

“Give me a second.” He climbed from his seat and opened the overhead. Rifling the bin, he found a nylon strap. Weaving down the aisle, he fastened one end to a bracket in the ceiling that held the console over Charley’s litter.

“Once I tie you in,” he said, “that’s it. Do you understand? You’re stuck here until we get through the storm.”

“Do it!” Ling nodded. “I’m not letting go of this man.”

The tech knotted the strap around her waist and tied the other end off on the bracket.

The plane hit the worst air of the trip, pitching Charlie into an overhead rack. She slumped for a second and then, with blood trickling down the side of her face, determinedly scrambled back to Ling and Charley.

Cynthia couldn’t do anything but bury her face in the barf bag.

Another tech staggered down the aisle as the plane pitched side to side and appraised Charlie, “Let’s get you seated and treated.”

“No! I’m not leaving him!” She screamed. “Tie me in!”

He tottered up the aisle, mumbling, “Crazy woman.”

A few seconds later, he returned with four seatbelts. He pulled the buckles off. The plane lunged down. Charlie kept her balance and, with Ling, kept Charley’s head cushioned in her hands.

The tech strapped Charlie in the same way the other tech had done to Ling. He knelt in the aisle and glanced up, “Lean against me. I’ll try to keep you wedged here.”

The other tech did the same for Ling.

Through the raging skies, they flew, and despite jolts, lunges, dips, and bumps, the four worked together to hold Charley’s head in a way that kept him from suffering any more impacts.

Ling gazed at Charlie. The gash on her head was nasty but not threatening. She spoke to her through her mind, ‘Hold on, dear one, and believe.’

Inspired by Ling, Charlie started repeating the phrase, “You will live, Charles Lehman. Do you hear me? You will live Charles Lehman.”

Cynthia looked up and saw the words mouthed by Charlie. For the first time since that horrific phone call, she felt hope. As the eyes of Mother and adopted daughter met, Cynthia nodded and smiled at Charlie.

Ling heard the words from Charlie’s mouth, but she also heard something else that poured from Charlie’s heart. ‘Please, God, don’t take him. I cannot live without him.’

It was a silent prayer, but it was powerful, and Ling joined it in her own heart.

Almost an hour passed before the pilot came on the intercom. “We’ve cleared the storm. We’ll be landing in twenty minutes.”

The techs scrambled to their feet and untied Ling’s strap.

Charley refused. She believed that if she held Charley, he would be okay. She remained standing the rest of the flight.

The plane touched down hard. Charlie cushioned her love’s head, protecting him with all her strength.

The ambulance waited as the plane taxied to the hangar. The medical team transferred Charley’s litter to the ambulance gurney. Ling started to board the ambulance.

“No passengers allowed,” one of the ambulance crew said.

“Get me your dispatcher!” Ling barked, red with rage.

The driver stepped out. “What’s the problem?”

“We are all getting in this ambulance,” Ling said, “and going to my clinic so I can treat this man. If anyone interferes, I will buy your dinky company in the morning and have all your asses on the street! Is that clear enough!”

The driver radioed dispatch. The dispatcher’s voice carried to the rear of the ambulance. “If she doesn’t fire your ass, I will. Get them loaded and follow the lady’s instructions to the letter. Is that clear enough for you?”

4:06 a.m., they left the airport, rolling through the streets of St Louis, and headed for the clinic. It should have been a normal forty-minute drive, but at Ling’s insistence, they took it slower, avoiding bumps and dips.

The clinic staff, including Bernadette, met them at the door to the ambulance entrance. Matt, Joe, and the Morgans stood to the side.

When Annabel saw Charlie’s face, she rushed and pulled her into her arms.

“It’s time for me to do all in my ability to help him,” Ling said. “Go with your families and be together.”

Bernadette and the staff had already wheeled Charley into the elevator. Ling turned and disappeared into the stairwell.

Cynthia, pale, with drawn lips and red eyes, shuffled to the Morgans.

“Charlie was amazing, and I don’t think my boy would have made it if not for her courage and determination. She’s a wonderful daughter. We love her like our own.”

The last words were a bit odd to Harry and Annabel, but the glowing praise reached their hearts.

Harry looked at Charlie’s head, “We must tend to this.”

They took the elevator to the third floor waiting room. Harry flagged one of the staff and asked for the supplies to treat Charlie, and though his little girl protested, Harry soon had the wound cleaned and closed with steri-strips.

***

In the surgery, Charley lay sedated under the bright operating lights. Each member of the surgical team knew their role. They placed the neuroimager on Charley’s head. The three screens showed Ling what she feared. New blood pooled in critical areas, and surgery needed to happen fast.

Charley’s breathing had degraded, becoming erratic and weak. His heart struggled to keep a regular rhythm. Ling wasted no time.

“All ready?” she asked.

“Ready,” the reply returned by the team.

Thanks to the Imager, Ling operated with precision, reducing hemorrhaging, opening a small section of the skull, and skillfully searching for the bone slivers. She found one easily, but others were deeper, making removal more precarious. Ling would have to damage brain tissue to remove the fragments. Totally focused, she probed until each was located and extracted. In addition to the chips, there were ruptured arteries to deal with.

Methodically, Ling applied her accumulated skills and did everything in her power to fix the damage. Four hours later, she closed the skull. Bernadette carefully wrapped Charley’s head, and they wheeled him to recovery.

Ling hadn’t slept for almost 30 hours and staggered to the hall and slumped in a chair where Bernadette found her asleep.

With the help of another nurse, they carried her to a small daybed in her office. Bernadette hurried to get Matt and brought him to the room. Matt placed his hand on Ling’s chest, closed his eyes, and held his breath for a few seconds.

He smiled at Bernadette, “She’s fine but needs sleep. Will you come and tell the family what you can about the operation?”

They walked to the waiting room, and Bernadette recapped the surgery.

Joe asked the first question, “Will he be alright?” Bernadette looked at Matt, and he nodded for her to go ahead.

“There was a lot more damage than expected. He’s now stable, although we had strong fears and moments of great concern during the surgery. How this will affect him, I cannot say.

“I think that when Dr. Lehman wakes, she will be able to tell you more. When the patient wakes, we will probably learn the most.”

“What about the broken bones and wounds?” Harry asked.

“We only worked to save his life and didn’t get to those,” Bernadette replied.

Matt thanked her and excused her to attend to her patients.

“My friends,” he said, “We now have the chore of waiting. I suggest we find a comfortable place and be patient. This could take some time.”

Matt noted the clock on the wall said 10:30 a.m. Tuesday.

One by one, people found a place to sit, stretch, or sleep. Charlie sprawled on the floor and fell asleep in minutes.

Joe and Cynthia huddled with the Morgans. Cynthia recounted Ling’s and, particularly, Charlie’s actions on the flight, but soon they were all asleep as well.

Matt strolled to Ling’s office and sat in her office chair, watching her sleep, wishing her sweet dreams. After a while, he drifted off as well.

***

Ling stirred and realized she was on the bed in her office. She lifted her head and saw Matt in her chair, head back, arms folded across his chest, and eyes closed. The heavy drapes over the windows were pulled closed, leaving the room dark. Ling peeled back the edge of the curtain. Bright sunlight blazed through the slit. She glanced at the clock, 2:57, obviously in the afternoon. Ling circled her desk and bent to Matt, kissing him gently on the cheek.

He awoke and smiled, “Hello, my love.”

“Hello, my reason to live,” she whispered.

Matt stretched and stood; Ling’s body silhouetted in the doorway as she left the office. He followed her to the recovery room, where Charley rested in his bed, Ling checking him over.

“He’s stable,” she said. “The anesthetic should have worn off by now.” She flipped through two pages on Charley’s chart. “I don’t like this.”

Ling mentally reviewed everything that had been done in the surgery. “Charley should have revived hours ago.”

She paced from the room, down the hall, to the staff desk. Matt followed and listened as she conferred with two nurses and a doctor.

“Let’s get him hooked up on a neuroimager,” she said.

In minutes, the staff wheeled Charley into a room with an Imager.

Ling slipped into the waiting room and spotted Charlie alone in a corner, slowly rocking, her eyes clamped shut, her arms gripped across her stomach, her furrowed forehead and tight lips reflecting her fears.

“Come with us,” Ling whispered to her.

Matt joined Ling, and they pulled Charlie to her feet, and the three disappeared down the hall. Ling noticed the nice job done on Charlie’s head wound. “Your dad fix you up?”

Charlie smiled, “Yeah, just like when I was a kid. I was a tomboy and always came home scraped, cut, or bruised.”

They turned into the treatment room. Charlie spotted Charley on the bed and froze, hesitant to take another step.

“I need your help,” Ling whispered to her.

“Name it. I’ll do it,” Charlie said.

Ling showed Charlie the neuroimager, and together, they carefully slipped it over Charley’s cranium.

Matt started the computers and turned on the monitors. Charlie glanced at the images as they flashed onto the screens.

“Charlie,” Ling said. “This is the inside of Charley’s head, and what you see is what is going on in there. He’s in a state of post-trauma shock. His neuro levels are very low. What we need is some stimulation.”

Charlie stared at the monitors. She hadn’t caught up with the stimulation part of Ling’s lecture. Ling glanced at Matt and winked.

“Charlie,” she smiled, “I have found from personal experience that there is no stronger stimulus than love.”

Charlie twisted her face toward Ling, listening intently.

“I want you to plant the most meaningful, deepest kiss of love that you can on Charley’s lips,” Ling said.

Charlie stood, mouth open, sure she had heard wrong. “You want me to kiss him?”

“Only if you can do it with all your heart and all your love,” Ling smiled.

Charlie glanced at Matt.

“It worked for me.” He chuckled softly. “Do it. Let’s see what happens.”

Ling and Matt backed away. Charlie gazed at Charley. She stared at the bruises and cuts on his cheek, the blood-stained bandage on his hand, the splint on his leg, and the lips she had kissed so many times, always thinking that she could kiss them again anytime she wanted.

She choked. The palm of her hand pressed to her chest. Just below her neck, she felt it, hanging by its beautiful gold chain, the necklace, the necklace Charley had given her for Christmas. She rarely took it off, and now she drew it out and gazed at it. Two hearts interwoven, one set with diamonds and the other a simpler style in plain gold. It blurred as tears welled in her eyes. She knew what it symbolized. This man was her everything. Charlie placed her lips on Charley’s.

Ling and Matt held hands and watched. Their gaze flicked from Charlie to the monitors. Nothing happened. The neuron levels seemed unaffected. Ling worried she’d pushed too hard, too fast, and feared this failure would be a discouragement for Charlie and the family.

“Look,” Matt whispered.

Ling caught the end of a massive neuro flash in the patella region.

Charlie still kissed Charley, pouring her heart into him, trying to tell him how much she loved him.

There was no missing the next flare of neurons. Ling watched Charley’s brain flash in a pattern she had seen before. She stepped close to Charlie and whispered, “You’re reaching him. Don’t stop.”

Charlie poured herself into the kiss. A tear dropped from her eye onto Charley’s cheek. Again, the screens sparkled with intensity and power.

Ling observed the level fade and said, “Rest a bit. These things take time.”

“You may have just called him from the dead,” Matt said.

“All that is in a kiss?” Charlie stared at him.

“There is more power in love than in any force the world has ever known,” Matt smiled.

The three sat and watched as activity ramped and flicked across the monitors.

“The signs are getting stronger,” Ling said.

The activity levels in critical areas controlling speech and cognitive abilities had not responded with the same robustness as other areas. Ling knew these were where the greatest damage had occurred and remained her greatest concern.

“Let’s get Joe and Cynthia in here to watch so we can get something to eat,” Matt said.

“I’m not hungry,” Charlie protested. “I’ll stay. I’m not hungry.”

“They are his mother and father,” Matt said. “Shouldn’t they also have some time with their son?”

Reluctantly, Charlie walked out with Matt and Ling.

Doug and Ellie conversed with the family, catching up on Charley’s status. Matt was pleased to see the new arrivals.

“Please, everyone, sit,” Ling said.

She updated the group on Charley’s status and asked a staff member to escort Joe and Cynthia to him.

“I know you’re determined to stand watch for Charley,” Matt looked around, “but it’s going to be awhile before Charley wakes. He’s stable, not in danger. I’m inviting you to break with me and get some food.”

Many had not eaten in the last twenty hours other than snacks from the clinic fridge and pantry, and with but a little coaxing, they agreed to go.

“There’s a nice cafe about two blocks away. If any changes occur with Charley, the staff will call me,” Ling said.

At the cafe, they ate until full before making their way back to the clinic. Matt brought meals for Joe and Cynthia.

The night passed with people taking turns sitting, watching, and speaking to a sleeping Charley.

Doug told stories of when they were kids. Joe talked about when Charley played baseball. Cynthia repeatedly told him how much she loved him and how proud she was of him.

Charlie told him of her love for him and kissed him once more. Doug and Ellie were in the room and witnessed as the monitors erupted in response to Charlie’s expression of love.

***

Matt and Ling returned to the facility about midnight, after Matt had taken the Morgans to his and Ling’s home and checked on Timmy, who Susan, Ling’s mother, was watching.

“Should we try to reach him?” Matt asked Ling,

“I think it is worth the risk,” she said.

Matt and Ling approached Charley’s bed and stood on opposite sides. Both placed one hand gently on his brows. They gazed at each other and simultaneously nodded.

They had not discussed or rehearsed any part of what they would do, but both sent identical messages to Charley with their minds.

“You are loved. You are needed. Come home.”

They repeated the thoughts, and as they did, the monitors pulsed and flashed. The scope of activity became the strongest yet.

Charley’s fingers twitched, and his eyes fluttered. He went quiet. It looked as if he was slipping away again.

Charlie rushed to his side, took his good hand in hers, and all but yelled.

“Don’t you leave me, Charles Lehman; do you hear me? Don’t you even for a second think about leaving me!”

She repeated the phrase. The monitors again flashed, and new patterns emerged.

“He’s here!” Ellie exclaimed.

Charley opened his eyes, then blinked and clamped them closed.

Ling stepped to the door and dimmed the lights.

***

Charley opened his eyes again and glanced about. He saw everyone but couldn’t make out their features. Finally, his eyes rested on Charlie. He froze his gaze on her. A fuzzy image was all he saw, but he knew who it was. He tried to speak, but his lips and vocal cords wouldn’t cooperate. He sputtered, attempting to say hello, but it came out more like “a yoe.”

“It’s okay, Charley,” Ling said, “we can work on that later.”

After several minutes, Ling asked everyone to leave the room so she could do a more comprehensive exam. She stepped through a battery of tests and reflexes. It was during these that Charley grimaced. His leg and hand had not been treated other than with bandages and splints. Ling realized no painkillers had been administered since the hospital in Wichita.

Ling reached Bernadette and told her what she needed. In less than a minute, Bernadette hurried in with three syringes and a new IV bag. Ling placed the injections. Charley winced, but in a few seconds began to relax. Bernadette attached the IV and programmed the dosage. Once done, Ling sat next to Charley.

“Oh, Charles,” she said, “I’m so sorry I forgot that you are suffering from so much more than what I treated.”

Charley slipped into sleep, but this time, the activity levels on the monitors remained higher.

Ling stepped from the room and asked Doug and Ellie to watch Charley.

“We have to get the leg, hand, and ribs fixed,” she said to the gathered family and friends. “I’ve given him painkillers and an IV to help him sleep, but we need to get this fixed soon.”

“Call mom and dad,” Charlie said. “For the last twenty years, they’ve been fixing bones and wounds of every type imaginable. Please, let them help.”

“I think they would do an excellent job if they’re willing.”

Matt phoned the house. Susan answered the phone. “Hello, Susan. Could I speak with the good doctors?”

Annabel came on. “Hello, Mr. Lehman. Are things going well there?”

“They are Annabel, but we have a problem and a need. We are hoping you and Harry could help?”

“How may we assist?”

“We need bones set and wounds fixed. Do you think you and Harry could do this?”

“Mr. Lehman,” Annabel stated boldly, “We are ready and at your disposal.”

“I’m sending someone to pick you up.”

Ling listened to Morgan’s response, “We need to get X-rays and a CT scan before they get here.”

Poly Borden, an LPN, had come on duty. “Poly,” Ling said, “We have a compound fracture of the right leg, a crushed and broken hand, and at least two ribs broken. We need the materials and tools a surgeon might use to treat these. You know who to call. If they can’t have it here in thirty minutes, I want you to go and pick it up.”

“I’ll get it done,” Polly turned for her station.

Even though it was 2:00 in the morning, Poly composed a list of supplies, picked up the phone, and five minutes later left to get them. She returned before 2:30 with sealed boxes of sterile surgical supplies.

Minutes later, the Morgans arrived and started reviewing the X-rays and scans.

Harry looked at Annabel and said, “Piece of cake, shall we get to it?”

Annabel smiled, “You do the Leg, and I’ll do the hand, then we can arm wrestle for the ribs.”

Their attitude and cavil approach had everyone smiling, and spirits rose.

Poly and Steve Adley were going to assist. Ling would observe and fetch anything the doctors might need. Two nurses and an anesthesiologist wheeled Charley into the surgery.

The two doctors showed why they were a team. Smoothly and seamlessly, they worked, opening Charley’s leg, aligning bones, and shaping and securing metal plates with screws. Harry stitched the incision closed. Humming as they worked, they wrapped the leg and applied a cast.

Annabel advanced to the hand. It was a bloody, swollen mess. She took her time carefully cleaning each joint.

The X-rays showed eight bones broken or dislocated. The doctors patiently aligned each finger.

To Ling’s surprise, Annabel asked for traditional plaster and gauze. The clinic kept plaster on hand, but it was usually used for molds. Ling fetched two bags from stores. Harry started cutting 1/2-inch-by-6-inch gauze strips.

“Mix a smidgen for me, dear,” Annabel said. “Just a little at a time and make it a bit thin. This will take a while.”

She covered the hand with antibiotic ointment and a thin layer of sterile gauze. Then, finger by finger, she wrapped the plaster-soaked gauze into a serpentine pattern about each digit. Ling watched, fascinated, as each strip became part of an elaborate weave.

Two hours later, the task was finished. Each finger on Charley’s hand was carefully and smoothly coated with a small, light, but strong cast.

The two doctors manipulated the ribs and wrapped Charley’s torso.

Ling walked to the Morgans as the nurses wheeled Charley out. “I’ve seen many very good doctors, but I have never seen artists the likes of you two. It’s a privilege to watch you work. Thank you. We could not have found better surgeons in all of St. Louis.”

11:00 the next morning, Charley awoke from his drug-induced sleep. Joe and Cynthia sat by his bed. He tried to speak. Only jumbled sounds came out. He became frustrated due to his inability to speak. Joe pushed the call button for help. Bernadette hurried in, followed by Ling.

“Charley, calm down,” Ling had to repeat the phrase four times before he stopped.

“The part of your brain that controls speech is damaged. You should, for now, try to write your thoughts.” She picked a pad and a pencil from a nearby end table and handed them to him. He started scribbling slowly. “Hi, I’m hungry.”

Joe and Cynthia laughed. Charley didn’t laugh. It hurt to laugh.

“Bernadette, would you mind getting something?”

Bernadette left and returned in thirty seconds with three cups of applesauce. Cynthia spoon-fed her son. He drank ice water, then sipped some Sprite.

Ling went to the lobby. “He’s awake. When Joe and Cynthia finish, others can visit.”

The afternoon went quickly, but no improvement appeared in Charley’s speech. Ling perceived other signs associated with brain injury, and it concerned her.

Joe and Cynthia gave way to Doug and Ellie. Charlie had gone to Matt’s house to clean up. About 8:00 p.m., she received a call from Ling.

“Charley’s awake. Soon, he’ll ask for you. You might want to come as soon as you can.”

Susan called a cab for Charlie.

Ling called Matt, who had left on an errand. She relayed her concerns.

“I feared it might come to this,” Matt said. “Things are ready to proceed.”

Matt arrived about the same time as Charlie. Ling gathered everyone in the lobby. A sleeping Charley was watched by the RN, Steve.

“Charley’s injuries are worse than we feared,” Ling said. “I am speaking primarily to his family, but I want the rest of you to hear as well.”

“Joe, Cynthia, and Doug,” Ling eyed them, “the damage to his brain will not heal on its own. If left as is, he will have severe speech problems and balance issues, and his cognitive abilities will diminish over time. I wish this were not so, but it is the current reality.”

Ling waited for this to soak in.

Cynthia slumped, her face in her hands.

Charlie sat stunned. She stared around the room before her eyes steeled on Ling. “I don’t care! No matter what, I’ll never leave him!”

“There is an alternative,” Ling said. “If Charley will accept it, we can treat him the same as we treated Matt, and later, myself. If this is done, he has a chance to recover. There’s no guarantee, but there is greater hope. I emphasize this decision is Charley’s to make and only his.

“No matter how we might want to force this potential cure on him, we cannot. We will not supersede his right to choose.

“When he wakes, I would like Joe and Cynthia to join me to present this option.”

Two hours passed before Bernadette advised that Charley had roused from his sleep.

Joe, Cynthia, and Ling stood around the bed. Ling handed Charley the notepad.

“Charley,” she said, “you will understand what I am saying, but you won’t be able to talk, so use the pad and pen.”

He wrote, “Okay.”

Ling took a deep breath and began speaking in a clear, moderate tone.

“The injuries to your brain are severe. You will not recover from them if only regular medicine and treatments are used. Your memory and cognitive abilities will diminish, and your health will eventually decline. Do you understand what I have said?”

Charley took a minute and wrote on the pad, “I think so.”

“Good,” Ling said. “Now, here is your other option. We can treat you with the same DNA treatment Matt and I received. There is a chance you will make a substantial recovery.

“As you know, this treatment does not stop with the brain. It will affect your whole body. I need you to tell me if you want it or not.”

Charley closed his eyes, tore off the old sheet of paper, and started on a new sheet. “NO! I need Charlie. Now!”

“Are you sure?” Ling asked.

Charley wrote quickly. “YES! NOW!”

Ling walked to the waiting room. “Charlie, he needs you.”

She rose and followed Ling. Charley smiled as she stepped to his bedside.

Charley wrote, “Tell her.”

Ling repeated the offer to treat Charley with the DNA and what it could mean to him.

Charlie wondered why he even hesitated. It would make him whole. She needed him whole.

“You are going to have the treatment, right?”

Charley wrote, “Not without you!”

“But I’m not hurt. I don’t need it. You need it!”

Charley shook his head. He scribbled more words on the pad. It took longer to get it down. He turned the paper around, and Charlie gasped.

“I want to go through my whole life with you. Marry me and join me. We can live together, always!”

Tears flooded Charlie’s eyes. She reached out and took Charley’s good hand and placed her other hand along his face.

“You’re my love, and if you want this, I will do it. I will marry you whether you are healed or not, and I will love you forever. If you want us to do this together, I will do it no matter the consequences. I cannot live without you, Charles Lehman.”

Tears tracked across her cheeks. She wasn’t alone. Cynthia quietly sobbed, held in Joe’s arms.

“This is your decision,” Ling said, looking at the two. “To do this together?”

They both nodded.

“It will be a few days before the treatment is ready.” With a broad smile, Ling said, “I guess someone better start making wedding plans.”

The room transformed. Hugs and laughter abounded. Ling left Charley’s parents and fiancé laughing and sobbing in joy. Matt waited for Ling in the hall. He looked into her eyes. She gave him a nod. He stepped to her and lifted her into his arms. They kissed, and he asked, “Do you know how much I love you?”

She smiled, “Yes, I do.”

Matt smiled, “Happy Birthday, my love. You have about five minutes left.”

In the hustle and rush of the past few days, Ling had lost track. This was the 28th. Matt smiled and promised they would celebrate later.

Ling kissed him hard and passionately and slyly said, “I know what I want, and it better be in my bed tonight.” They separated and laughed. Matt pulled out his cell phone and made a call.

Thirty minutes later, Melissa Kyle walked into Charley’s room. A host congregated, all congratulating the two lovers.

“I hate to interrupt,” Melissa said, “but I must draw some blood and tissue samples from our patients.”

Everyone cleared the room so she could do her work, and in ten minutes, she had what she needed.

“There is no need to fear,” Melissa looked at Charley and Charlie, “you are both ready and able to face this. It will change your lives, but for you, I think it will be all the better.”

She left and took the elevator to the basement. Using a key held only by her, Matt, and Ling, she unlocked a heavy steel door and entered the state-of-the-art genetics lab. All the equipment used to bring Matt back from the dead had been relocated to the clinic, along with some improved systems.

Although it approached 2:00 a.m., Melissa started processing the samples and deciphering the DNA code for both patients.