Chapter 6 - The Trap of Desperation
I reached him a second before Claire did.
I dropped to my knees on the cold concrete, my hands grabbing his broad shoulders, rolling him onto his back.
Daniel’s face was deathly pale, smudged with soot and grease, his lips tinged with a faint, terrifying shade of blue. His forehead was burning with fever, his skin clammy and drenched in sweat. A deep, jagged gash ran along his right forearm, wrapped clumsily in a rag soaked through with dark, dried blood.
“Danny! Danny, look at me!” I shouted, shaking his chest.
For two agonizing seconds, there was nothing. Then his chest hitched. He let out a harsh, rattling gasp, his eyelids fluttering open. His hazel eyes were clouded, unfocused, darting frantically around the dim storage unit before locking onto my face.
“...Dad?” he croaked, his voice little more than a sandpaper rasp.
“I’m here, son. I’m right here.” Tears burned my eyes as I gathered his head against my chest. “You’re okay. We found you.”
Claire fell to her knees beside us, throwing her arms around his neck, sobbing uncontrollably. “Danny! Oh God, Danny, you idiot, you beautiful idiot, why did you do this?”
Daniel flinched as if struck. His hand rose weakly, his grease-stained fingers curling into Claire’s coat.
“Claire...?” A tear cut a clean track through the soot on his cheek. “Ethan... where’s Ethan? Did he... is he gone?”
“Ethan is alive!” Claire cried, pulling back so Daniel could see the fierce truth in her face. “He’s at St. Jude’s, Danny! Michael got him there in time! They stabilized him! The doctors gave him the glucose drip! He’s safe! He’s going to be okay!”
Daniel stared at her, processing the words through a haze of shock and delirium. Then his body seemed to lose whatever microscopic shred of tension had been holding it together. He slumped heavily against me, a broken, shuddering sob tearing out of his chest, so deep and raw it sounded like tearing metal.
“He’s alive...” Daniel choked out, burying his face in his wife’s neck. “He didn't die... I didn't kill him...”
“No, Danny, no,” Claire wept, kissing his forehead, his temple, his soot-covered cheeks. “He’s alive. You didn't kill him.”
Marcus hurried over with a first-aid kit from his truck and knelt beside Daniel’s injured arm. He peeled back the blood-soaked rag, wincing at the sight of the deep laceration across the muscle.
“What happened here, Dan?” Marcus asked urgently. “Where’s Griggs?”
Daniel swallowed hard, trying to catch his breath. “Griggs... Griggs took the trailer down to the terminal around one o’clock. We were cutting out an industrial valve from the sub-vault... the support beam buckled. A section of iron pipe broke loose and clipped my arm. Severed an artery.”
I looked at the pool of dried blood beneath the tires. He had lost an immense amount of blood before managing to crawl back here.
“Griggs panicked,” Daniel whispered, his voice fading in and out. “He didn't want to call 911 because of his warrants. He threw five thousand dollars on the floor... told me to drive myself to a clinic, and he took off. I made it back to the truck... but I started seeing double. I couldn't steer. I remembered I had the spare key to this locker... I stumbled in here to get Marcus’s pressure bandages... but my phone battery died, and the world just... went black.”
He looked up at me, his gaze swimming with agony.
“Dad... the phone died. I couldn't call you to check on Ethan. I lay here on the floor watching the clock on the wall... praying to God that if Ethan was dying, He’d take me instead. I couldn't get up. My legs wouldn't work.”
“Hush now,” I said, tightening my grip on him, feeling the rapid, thready beat of his pulse. “You don’t have to explain anything right now. You’re done carrying this alone. You hear me, Daniel? You are done.”
Marcus pulled his phone out. “I’m calling the squad. He needs a surgical closure on that arm and two units of whole blood immediately.”
“Wait,” Daniel whispered, his hand reaching out toward the concrete.
I looked down. Scattered near his hand were the shattered fragments of a glass medical vial.
“What was in that vial, Daniel?” I asked.
Daniel’s eyes welled with fresh tears. “It was Ethan’s last emergency dose of liquid carnitine. I had it in my jacket pocket. I was trying to save it... in case the hospital didn't have it in stock. When I fell, it broke. I couldn't even protect the one thing he needed.”
Claire grabbed Daniel’s face between both her hands, forcing him to look directly into her eyes.
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“Listen to me, Daniel Vance,” she said, her voice ringing with absolute authority. “Ethan doesn't need a martyr. He needs his father. And you are coming home.”
***
