Chapter 33 - Do not go gentle, Part II

Chloe… Chloe…

He ran and ran. The rubber of his sneakers screeched and echoed on freshly scrubbed linoleum. But he heard nothing, except the awful throbbing of his heart.

"I love you, Philip…"

His heart twisted in his chest, as a sob escaped.

Oh, God, Chloe, his mind lamented, no…

"My glasses? I've always worn them…"

His lungs burned like fire, the air about him deathly still and quiet.

He ran and ran. For forever it seemed. While the world stood frozen in a pocket of suffocating time.

"Philip," she'd smiled down from her window, "What are you doing?"

"Let down your hair," he'd said, heart soaring, "I'll climb up."

The hall before him stretched on and on. And he felt like he was trudging against tar. His toned muscles screamed from the strain, but he pressed on, panic-driven. Confronted with the possibility of the unthinkable. The inconceivable. The unbearable.

"You know, I could spend the rest of my life making you happy."

She'd laughed, "Ok… I can get behind that."

The rest of my life, Chloe.

His eyes blinked furiously at the tears, as lockers raced by in a horrified blur. The rest of my life.

"Philip, there's only you…"

His mind couldn't, wouldn't consider it, while his heart heavied with dread. His breath caught in his throat, as he rounded the corner. Then, he stopped in his tracks.

What he saw almost brought him to his knees. He stumbled forward, his eyes locked onto that endless hair.

"Chloe…" he whispered in voice and mind.

His legs moved by their own accord. And then she was in his arms, as he buried his face in that lavender-scented hair, speckled with the fresh, nauseating tang of blood. The emotions came crashing down. His eyes squeezed shut, while he whispered her name over and over again, rocking her.

His angel.

The tears spilled endlessly down his face. He cried and cried.

In gratitude.

His angel was alive. And safe in his arms.

"Oh God, Chloe. Thank God," he blubbered. He ran his hands over that hair. Then, he drew back to cup her cheeks and look into her eyes. "Chloe? Baby?"

But she stood stonelike, listless. Those mesmerizing blue eyes were glazed and blank with pupils dilated to a frightening degree, staring unblinkingly at the expanding pond of thick scarlet on the gray linoleum.

"Chloe?" The pitch of his voice heightened with his alarm, finally registering the sickening wetness on his fingers, noticing the splatter of blood on her clothes and neck. His trembling hands frantically searched for wounds - her neck, arms, sides - smearing red onto his palms and arms. He let out a sigh of relief, when she appeared unharmed.

"You're ok, Chloe." He hugged her again, indescribably grateful. "Thank God, he didn't hurt you." When she didn't respond, he pulled back again, peering into her eyes. Then, he followed her blank gaze to the body on the floor.

The gun lay inches from the lifeless and pitifully slight hand. The long fingers curled in death, the palm face-up in the surrounding blood. Then, he followed the path from that hand. Up the arm. To the face. That hopelessly slender, achingly young face. Now, stark white and obscured almost entirely by thickening blood, pooling under his temple.

"My God," gasped Philip, horror-struck by his first direct encounter with not only death, but a shockingly violent one. Of his own schoolmate. "My God," he repeated. Then, he quickly gathered Chloe against him, pressed her forehead to his chest, and turned away, shielding her from the gory sight. "It's gonna be alright, Chloe. It's gonna be alright. I'm right here. I'm gonna take care of you."

With a protective arm around her, he led her to descend the stairwell, as paramedics rushed up and by with gurneys.

Craving his fifth cup of ridiculously caffeinated morning coffee, Dr. Craig Wesley hummed with faithful mug in hand, as he pushed open the door to the staff lounge. The hoots of laughter attracted his attention to the small group of nurses and residents watching morning television drivel. Craig rolled his eyes. The hospital was certainly not going to pay these people to watch television. Break or no break. He might have been known as a hard ass, but he was Chief of Staff and he intended to reign with an iron hand.

"Aw, shit," complained a second-year resident, just as Craig prepared to ream them out.

The television flashed, "We interrupt your regularly scheduled program for this breaking news update. Here's Tom Brokaw."

"Good morning. Nearly three years after the Columbine High School tragedy, it has happened again. A student opened fire on his classmates and teachers just as classes began this morning in Salem, Illinois."

"Oh my God," exclaimed a nurse.

"Here is a live feed of the scene now, as students and staff are evacuated from Salem High School, which has a student body of nearly 1,500 and staff of over 120. Police are withholding the name of the gunman and the injured, until loved ones are notified. However, sources speculate at least four dead and many more injured. Police and emergency crews are on-scene now… Here now is a live picture of a city park across the street, where parents are instructed to wait to be reunited with their children. Again, a student has opened fire on his classmates and teachers at Salem High School in Salem, Illinois. We will update you with the latest developments, as Salem and America hold its collective breath and once again come to grips with deadly school gun-violence."

His mug dropped onto the floor and shattered to pieces, as Craig bolted out of the room.

Holding Chloe close to him, Philip finally pushed passed the frantic entering and exiting traffic and reached beyond the double doors, which were all propped open to facilitate school evacuation and emergency service entrance. The bright sun made him squint, as they stepped out into the fresh morning air. He scanned the chaos smattered across the parking lot and lawn. This just can't be real, he thought.

"Philip!" called out Bo, who came running up the steps to meet them. "Oh my God, Chloe," he gasped, when he saw all the blood covering her. "Medic!" he screamed, "I need a damn medic over here!"

"I-I don't think any of it's hers," managed Philip, pulling her closer, as more emergency units ran into the building. One team finally stopped to lead the shaken couple back to an ambulance. Philip turned to his half-brother. "Go ahead. Go check on the others," he told him, realizing numbly now that Shawn and the rest of his friends were still inside.

Bo nodded and quickly disappeared into the school.

"Oh, Shawn," sobbed Belle uncontrollably, "Please help him."

Jason gently pulled her aside, as the paramedics checked for his pulse and investigated the extent of Shawn's injuries.

"Do you know, if he was shot?" asked the paramedic, while he gingerly searched for entry points, after securing thick bandages to the head wounds.

"I-I don't know," cried Belle, "It-It all happened so f-fast. All of a s-sudden…" Her face crumbled in grief. "H-He was on the ground a-and… there was so much blood. Please, please tell me he's going to be alright," she pleaded, eyes red now from all the tears.

"Do you know, if he struck his head, when he fell?"

"I-I don't know," replied a panic-stricken Belle.

After Shawn's neck was braced, the emergency team eased the boy onto the gurney. One paramedic took one last look at the bleeding and let out a breath, when he saw that it was already clotting. This was a mixed blessing. The patient had lost a moderate amount of blood, particularly from the graze to the temple and ear and the blunt trauma to the base of the skull. Now, the bleeding thickened and slowed. The disadvantage was that clotting normally occurred after some significant time had passed. And an unconscious patient was almost never a good sign. Nonetheless, initial examination revealed that the wounds were deep but not hopeless. Vitals were thready but stable. And there's was no doubt that the boy was concussed. "Let's move, people. Stat."

Philip held Chloe's hand, as the paramedics sat them down on the back of the ambulance and examined them both.

"No," he replied to the paramedic's question, "I'm ok. I checked and I don't think she's shot either." This just can't be real, he thought again, dazed, while he watched them work on Chloe, who leaned against him like a broken doll.

"Chloe!"

Philip looked up to see Chloe's parents break through the police barricades and run over.

"Oh my God," cried Mrs. Wesley, her hands covering her quivering mouth, "My baby!"

Clearly shaken, Craig stepped forward, his hand nearly reaching out to touch his stepdaughter's ashen cheek. "I-I'm Dr. Wesley from University Hospital," he managed to say to the paramedic, "What's her status?"

"Well," began the female medic, yanking off latex gloves after the preliminary examination, "Patient appears physically unharmed. None of the blood seems to be hers, although she's definitely shocky. Overall, not a scratch on her."

"Oh, thank God," wept Nancy, immediately closing the distance and hugged her daughter. "It's over now, honey. You're safe. We're going to take you home. It's all over now."

Incredibly thankful, Craig gathered his family in his arms and kissed his stepdaughter's hair. "Thank God, you're ok, sweetie."

Chloe's expression, however, remained unchanged, her eyes barely blinking.

Philip looked on with growing anxiety.

"Philip! Oh God, Philip!"

To the utter frustration of police, another stream of distressed parents broke through police lines to search for their children. Philip's parents quickly strode through the havoc and reached their son.

"Oh, darling," gasped his relieved mother and embraced her son, "Thank God, you're alright." Then, she looked down at his hands and arms. "Oh my God, your hands are bleeding. Victor, his hands are bleeding. Someone help my son!" she shrilled in hysterics, reaching out to grip the departing paramedic's sleeve.

"Mom. Mom, I'm ok," reassured Philip, "It's not mine." He wiped his hands onto his jeans and presented his clean hands to his frantic mother. After comprehension settled in, she gathered him back into her arms in relief.

"Thank God, you're alright, son," said his normally stoic father, who was dressed in his daily tailored business suit and hugged his son as well in a rare public display of emotion.

Philip closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of safety that he'd taken for granted. Until now. "I'm ok, Dad," he said, hoping to put their minds at ease. "But I gotta be with Chloe." He looked over at his angel. Her mother was leading her away, while Dr. Wesley stayed behind to help with casualties.

"Oh, darling," doted Kate, holding his cheek, "Her family's with her now. She needs to be with them, just as you need to be with us. So, we'll get you home and cleaned up and taken care of."

"But Mom-" protested Philip, rising to his feet in an attempt to go after Chloe.

"Come along, Philip," said Victor, guiding their son toward the perimeter, where the limousine waited.

Nevertheless, Philip's eyes remained on Chloe, as Nancy helped her catatonic daughter into the car.

"I've got to go with him," cried Belle, pushing against Jason's protective hold.

"We'll all go, ok, Belle?" he said trying to soothe. The girl looked like she would collapse at any moment. He held a hand out to Mimi. "Come on, Meems."

She could only nod and dazedly place her hand in his, as they all followed their unconscious friend being carried out of the room.

"Oh God, Shawn D.!"

The teens looked up, as Shawn's father ran up beside his son. The emergency team proceeded undeterred toward the stairwell.

"Oh God, Shawn. You hear me, buddy? It's Dad. I'm here, buddy. I'm here," he said frantically, fighting back tears to no avail. His child's face was so pale against the splatter of blood. Bo ran a desperate hand on his boy's forehead. He couldn't do it again. He couldn't lose another son. His eyes beseeched the medics. "How's my son? Please, tell me. How's my son?"

"Sir, we need to get him to the hospital right away. He appears to have sustained a serious concussion and needs to be transported to University to be examined further." Once the belabored paramedic unit reached sunlight, they carried their patient through the crowds, hoisted him onto a standard gurney, and loaded him into the ambulance.

"I'm going with him," said Shawn's father, as he jumped onto the rig, not long before the doors were slammed shut and sirens bellowed.

Jason pulled both girls to his side, as they watched the ambulance squeeze passed the growing mass of parents, school staff, and reporters. Overhead, several helicopters circled the scene.

"It'll be alright, dear."

Hope could only tighten her hold on her grandmother's warm hands and close her eyes. The smell. Even the smell of the hospital now made her sick. Ironic that she once regularly visited the hospital to volunteer her time alongside her grandparents. With her loving grandfather as Chief of Staff, University Hospital had once been like a second home to her. But now… She'd spent too much time in hospitals this past year. In fear. In prayer. In grief.

Now… She fought back the frightened tears. Now, another son was in danger and would arrive at this very hospital, which held such painful memories for the Brady family. Choking on a sob, she turned to her grandmother and held on. Please, God, she prayed. Please, God, don't take another child from me. Please.

She'd prayed and prayed, after Bo had called her from the ambulance. She'd been gardening and gossiping in the backyard with Gram, when the kitchen phone rang. She'd nearly broken down then, but Gram had gathered their things and hailed a cab. The Horton matriarch knew neither woman was in any condition to drive safely.

Now, they waited for Bo to arrive with Shawn. They waited. The wait was worst of all. It gave one time to conjure up all manner of nightmarish scenarios. Hope prayed and prayed.

The entrance to the emergency room swung open with a clang.

"Hope!"

With tears streaming down her face, Hope broke from Gram's comforting embrace and ran to her husband. "Oh, Bo. Shawn D…" She looked down at her child's sweet face and cried, "Oh God, my baby."

Bo held his wife tighter against him, as they kept pace with the rolling gurney bearing their son. Doctors and nurses instantly swarmed in and took over from there, after the paramedics relayed the situation and current status. Other medical staff prepared all available rooms and curtains for incoming traumas. Today would be a long day.

Not much later, Belle, Mimi, and Jason arrived with their parents.

"How's Shawn?" asked a trembling Belle.

Equally tortured, Hope rose from the waiting room chair to hug her. "He's with the doctors now."

Belle sobbed, "Oh, Shawn," and buried her face against Hope.

Mimi cried as well for her friends. Belle was like a sister to her, and Shawn was the best big brother any girl could hope for. Please, please, she prayed, let him be ok. What would we do without him?

"Hey," said Jason softly, before he drew her against him, as much to comfort her as himself. "Shawn's as strong as an ox. He'll pull through this. I know he will." He refused to consider otherwise.

A flood of doctors and nurses rushed to receive multiple casualties. The teens watched, as their teacher Mr. Woods was hurried passed into the trauma room, followed by wounded, many critically wounded, classmates.