Vacation Therapy (28 page)

Before I could say anything, Sergio asked, “Was that a dr...?” But he didn't have a chance to finish. The sky opened up.

Sergio nodded to me, and we took a few jogging steps. Not halfway across the resort, the torrential rain returned. “Maybe we should've taken the garbage bags...” Sergio shouted at me through the downpour. The wall of water drenched us.

"We have dry clothes in our room,” I reminded him. “We'll be fine."

"But how'll we get back for supper? Run back naked?"

"We can try to bring a change of clothes with us or wear our swimming trunks,” I suggested.

As if the storm heard our plans, the rain stopped, and I slowed back down to a walk. Sergio turned, jogging in place. “Coming?” He urged me to hurry up.

"I'm not running back. I'm already soaked, I can't get any wetter."

"Well, I'm not waiting for it to start up again.” He laughed. “Besides, I'm going to get the shower first and use up all the hot water.” With that, he turned, sprinted around the corner of the next building, and disappeared.

Once he was gone, I noticed how dark it really was. I strained to see. Nothing. My footsteps echoed along the corridor between buildings, but the little light from the rooms didn't illuminate the pathway very well.

The darkness seemed to be closing in on me. Was I getting claustrophobic from all of the darkness and the rain? Or was it the cold and dampness of the day settling into my bones? Too many strange things had happened to me in the dark at this place, and I wasn't going to wait and see what happened next.

Quickening my pace, I called. “Sergio, stop being an idiot and wait for me.” I listened for his footfalls. Faintly, up ahead, I heard an echo of running feet at a fast clip, and then suddenly, I heard a wet
thud
.

Rounding the next twist in the sidewalk, I searched the darkness. Something lay up ahead in the center of the walkway. As I drew near, the shape turned into a complaining Sergio, sprawled across the concrete.

"I told you not to go running around in the dark.” Extending my hand, I asked, “Did you hurt...?” I stopped in mid-sentence.

Sergio pushed himself up and wiped his hands together. “What the hell?” He shook his head, trying to clear it, and slowly rose to his knees. “I landed on something."

He stood up on shaky legs, and an object emerged from underneath.

My eyes started to focus on what he had tripped over.

A large plastic bag?

It swam into sharp focus. Two bare legs protruded from the bottom of the bag.

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Sergio scrambled over to the opposite side of the body and helped me rip the garbage bag open. As I tore through the plastic, I noticed the T-shirt and shorts. They looked just like the ones I had on. My mind raced back to CPR class.

Once the bag split open, we carefully rolled the still form over on his back. His skin was warm but clammy to the touch. His body showed no signs of life.

"Who...?” Sergio started, as the long hair fell back, revealing John's pale face, beaded with fine raindrops.

"Is he breathing?” Sergio asked. “Is he?” His words came out quick and breathy, his hands fidgeted.

"If you'd be quiet, I could...” I held my hand up and dropped my ear down to John's mouth. I strained to detect any rise or fall from his chest.

There wasn't any.

"He's not breathing. Start CPR, and I'll go for help.” I pushed myself up to my feet.

Sergio grabbed onto my ankle. “Wait! I don't know CPR.” He released my leg and bounded to his feet. “You do it.” He pointed to John. “I'll go get help,” he said, and was gone.

"Oh great.” Crouching down, I tipped his head back, opened his airway, pinched his nostrils, and blew into his mouth. Giving one more breath, I tasted alcohol and orange juice. I sat back and watched his chest fall as the air escaped his lungs. Nothing was obstructing his throat. His airway was open. As my finger traced down his chest to find his sternal notch, my hands interlaced over his breastbone, my elbows locked, and I pressed my arms down and started chest compressions.

What was the ratio? One to five? Two to fifteen? They seemed to change it each year. Who cared?
Just do it
. One, two, three, four, five. I tilted his head back. I gave him a quick breath, and returned to chest compressions. Fifteen would be better. One, two, all the way to fifteen. Breathe. After all my years in the hospital and annual re-certification in CPR, I'd never had to perform it on anyone, until now.

The strong smell of alcohol hung around John. Alcohol poisoning. I needed to induce vomiting. Yeah right. Get his heart and breathing started first. Was that compression three or four? I couldn't concentrate, my mind kept screaming, “Breathe. Breathe."

Nothing.

John wasn't breathing, and his heart hadn't started up again.

My eyes scanned the dark horizon.
Sergio. Hurry
.

I continued CPR, and tried to distance myself from what I was doing. This wasn't the John I knew. This wasn't the “live” John from the beach or from the towel. This was the mannequin we practiced CPR on at the hospital.

But John's face was right there. How could I forget about that?

His heart and lungs had stopped. He was dead.

No. Don't think that. I can't hurt him with the CPR. He's dead. I can't hurt him anymore than he already is. So, the CPR wasn't hurting him, it was the only thing that could bring him back and save his life. Breathe. One, two, three, four, five.

Footsteps echoed through the dark, and they seemed to be running in our direction.
Please be coming toward us
. My ears strained to figure out if they were coming to help or just passing by. The rain had started falling again, and with the footsteps, I lost my place in the CPR cycle.

"Keep going. Stop worrying about what's going on around you. Focus on what you need to be doing to save John."

"He's over here.” Sergio's voice directed.

"Thank you, Sergio,” I said.

Mike and another man followed close behind him, but I stayed focused on John, completing the compressions and breathing.

The man approached and tapped me on the shoulder. “I'm a doctor. I know CPR.” He moved around to the opposite side of John's body so he could face me.

"He'll take over after the cycle,” Mike informed me.

I pumped the chest and said out loud, “...fourteen, fifteen.” I gave John one last breath and looked across his still form.

The doctor was in position and ready. Mike checked for a pulse as the doctor found the proper place on John's sternum, placed his locked arms over his chest, and tensed, readying himself to start CPR.

Mike, not feeling a pulse, shook his head and said, “Nothing,” and motioned to start chest compressions.

The doctor started, counting each one out loud, “One, and two, and three, and four, and five..."

Mike waited for the fifteenth compression and then breathed into John's mouth.

Sergio and I stood back and watched the two men work. After a few cycles, my heart had slowed a little and I asked, “Is there something you want us to do?"

"...five, and six, and seven..."

Mike turned to us. “Go find Geoff, and see if he has the stretcher and the portable defibrillator unit."

"I'll do that,” Sergio offered and was off again before I responded.

As Mike and the doctor worked on John, I scanned his body. In the shadows, I didn't detect any bruising around his neck. No telltale red fingerprints appeared on his throat.

I looked further down his body and stopped at his fingertips. Something dark was caked underneath his nails. Moving closer, I noticed scratch marks along the side of his leg. I walked around to the other side, hugging myself for warmth. My damp shirt clung to my trembling body. The marks and his hand were the same. The wounds were oozing thick, dark blood at the edge of his shorts, right where John's hands would have been hanging.

John had dug his nails into his own skin. Why?

The rain increased into a full downpour. Dripping wet, they continued to work on John as I searched for Sergio's return with Geoff.

Then as suddenly as it had intensified, the rain slowed to a gentle shower and Sergio returned. Out of breath, he said, “I found Geoff. He's still looking for the defibrillator pack, but it's not where it's supposed to be."

"What?” Mike shouted.

"It's gone,” Sergio said.

"But who would have taken it?” I asked. “And there should be several."

John still hadn't responded from the chest compressions. I couldn't remember how much of a head start John had on us. How long ago had he stopped breathing? A few minutes? Seconds? Longer?

If John's breathing had stopped for over five minutes, it didn't look good for him. And there wasn't a medical facility close by, even if we could get him there under the current road conditions.

Geoff ran to our group, empty-handed. Shaking his head, “I tried the phone, mon. There's nothing there."

"Who would've taken the kit?” Mike asked as he continued checking the pulse.

The doctor stopped compressions and gently touched Mike on the arm. “Anything?"

Mike shook his head slowly.

"I think we've done everything we can. I don't think he's coming back,” the doctor said quietly.

I wasn't sure if tears blurred my vision or if it was the rain dripping from my hair. I stood up, wiped my runny nose with the back of my hand, and quickly stuck both hands into my pockets, trying to rid of them of that cold feeling of death, but their warmth wasn't coming back.

Suddenly, my whole body went cold. It was the first time I noticed the chill that was quickly settling over me.

"I'll take care of...” Geoff said, stepping forward. He removed his jacket and placed it over John's still body.

Sergio came over to my shivering form. “We need to get into some dry clothes.” He guided me in the direction of our room. “Do you need us?” he asked over his shoulder.

No one responded. Sergio pushed me toward our room before anyone could change their mind.

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Sergio guided me across the threshold of our room. “Get those wet clothes off and jump into the shower."

I stood, dripping and shivering in the entryway, numb from the rain and the quickly fading adrenaline rush. My mind still wasn't able to comprehend what had just happened.

"Here, let me help you.” Sergio stepped forward, pointed me to the bathroom, and pulled my wet T-shirt over my head. It peeled it away from my skin, and the room's air chilled me further.

He wrung out my shirt and made a small puddle on the already damp floor. He tossed my T-shirt into the bathroom. It landed with a splat. He pointed to it, like I do with Regan's toys. Did he expect me to follow it? Fetch it?

My gaze held the crumpled shirt in the center of the darkened bathroom, but my feet refused. I turned back to face him, but my eyes followed his hand movements instead.

Sergio reached forward and made as if he was going to help me unbutton my pants. “If you don't do it,” his eyes met mine, “I will.” A huge smile spread across his face. “And you don't want that,” his eyebrows rose, “do you?"

But he didn't wait for my response. He moved past me, flipped on the bathroom light, and stepped over my shirt. Reaching around the closed shower curtain, he turned on the hot water and then rifled through a pile of laundry on the floor. He pulled a towel out and felt it, trying to determine if it was the driest one in the heap. He brought it to his nose and sniffed. Satisfied, he folded it and placed it on the stool. “There. Do you need anything else?"

I continued to stand there, shivering, willing my body to move, but my feet were rooted to the floor. That's when Sergio really surprised me.

He stepped forward and gave me a hug.

I just stood there, arms hanging down at my side, my body stiff and quaking, but his body's warmth and his unexpected show of concern calmed me.

He released me as suddenly as he had hugged me, and asked, “Are you going to be all right?” One of his hands rested on my shoulder. “I don't know how you stayed so cool out there. You knew exactly what to do. You didn't panic like I did."

"But he didn't make it,” I said.

He shook me gently. “And it's not because you didn't try. He was gone, long before we found him. Hell. At least you tried to save him, that's more than I did.” His arms released me. “What did I do? Scream? Run away?” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Actually, I tripped over and landed on him for God's sake. Like that did him any good."

His humor didn't get a smile out of me.

"You didn't panic. You knew what to do. I was the one who ran away.” Disgust echoed in his voice. “I bet I screamed all the way.” He held up his arms in the air like the damsels in distress in the silent movies.

"But you ran for help, as quickly as you could. You know I wouldn't have been able to find anyone in the dark."

"Yeah, yeah,” he said. He stepped behind me, aimed my head toward the running shower, and gently pushed me forward. “Your shower is waiting. Besides, you're dripping all over the floor.” His sandaled foot rose up and tapped me in the butt.

The impetus was all I needed to get moving.

He called after me, “And I doubt housekeeping will provide service today."

I closed the door and kicked off my shoes. Steam swirled around the room and fogged the mirror.

Sergio shouted from the outer room. “And no dilly-dallying in there. I'm hungry, and I want a shower, too. So don't use all the hot water."

My shorts and underwear hit the floor with a splat, joining my T-shirt. I gratefully stepped into the hot water. It massaged my cold, tight skin, and my blood began to circulate through my arms and legs again.

My shivering stopped as my muscles warmed. I wanted the shower to rinse the taint of death off my body and down the drain.

Sergio banged on the bathroom door, causing my breath to expel sharply. “Hurry up in there. I'm freezing.” He paused for a moment, “And if you don't hurry, I may have to join you."