Jack Cavanaugh - Death Watch

They watched the last thirty seconds tick off in silence, Cheryl holding Josh with one hand, Sydney with the other. Hunz had reached out, consciously or subconsciously, and was touching sleeping Stacy’s foot.

9:28 a.m.

Cheryl gasped as the wall clock’s red second hand continued its sweep into the morning.

“Welcome back to the living,” Hunz said.

Stacy woke.

“Mommy?”

“I’m here, honey,” Cheryl said. “I’m here.”

The last thing Sydney told Cheryl before leaving the hospital was that she would return in a month to assist in the birth of the baby. Hunz told Cheryl he’d try to arrange to get some time off to look after Stacy. He said she was going to need a playmate to help her adjust to the fact that she would have to share her mommy.

“Hunz, wake up!” Slicing through the upper atmosphere somewhere over Colorado, the Dassault Falcon streaked toward California and, for Hunz Vonner and Sydney St. James, a day of reckoning at KSJM studio.

“It’s Josh at the hospital,” Sydney cried.

Hunz sat up, groggy. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s Cheryl,” Sydney said.

They were two hours into the flight. Hunz had fallen asleep shortly after takeoff. Not having slept much the last two days, he was exhausted. Sydney alternated her time between looking out the window—amazed at how peaceful the world appears at thirty thousand feet—and worrying about the scene that awaited her in Helen Gordon’s office. No matter how she played it out in her mind, it was ugly.

The chirp of her cell phone had startled her. Hearing the sound of Josh Leven’s voice on the other end startled her even more. With the cell phone in one hand, she shook Hunz awake with the other.

“What is it?” Hunz said, awake now.

“Josh wouldn’t say. All he said was that he could only get through this once, so he wanted us both to listen.”

In the time it took Sydney to rouse Hunz, a hundred scenarios flashed through Sydney’s mind. The one that kept surfacing to the top was Death Watch. Had they mistimed it? Had something gone wrong?

She held the phone between them so that both she and Hunz could listen.

“Josh? Hunz is here now. What happened?”

“It’s a girl!” Josh shouted.

“She’s not due for another month!” Sydney cried, happy and relieved at the same time.

“The kid didn’t want to wait that long,” Josh said. “Cheryl went into labor not ten minutes after you walked out the door.”

Sydney and Hunz exchanged happy glances.

“Everyone’s healthy?” Hunz said.

“Cheryl’s fine. The baby’s fine. Stacy’s fine, though she thinks the baby is some kind of toy doll. I’m the only one who may not survive.”

“Well, you gave us quite a scare,” Sydney said.

“Did I? Sorry. I guess I’m not very good at this. It’s a lot harder than reporting sports scores. I gotta go. Cheryl gave me a whole list of people to call. You were at the top of the list.”

“Good luck,” Hunz said.

“Yeah, I’m gonna need it. How am I going to do this? I don’t know these people. All I can think of is: ‘Hi, I’m Josh Leven, sportscaster for KSMJ-TV. You don’t know me, but Cheryl just had a baby.’”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Sydney said.

Slumping back against the plush leather seats, Sydney and Hunz basked in the good news.

“Well, that was unexpected,” she said. “I was looking forward to being there for the birth.”

“He didn’t tell us the baby’s name,” Hunz said.

“What’s the female version of Hunz?”

Either Hunz didn’t hear her, or he pretended not to.

“You know, I’m new to all this,” he said, “but you have to admit this morning has been amazing. I can’t help thinking that God had it planned this way from the beginning.”

Sydney listened.

“A mother is saved and that same morning she gives birth to a child, possibly the first child of a death watch survivor in the history of the world,” he said.

Sydney smiled. “I’m just glad Cheryl’s baby has been born into a world that doesn’t have to live in the shadow of Death Watch.”

“Give me a break!” Sydney cried. “It’s three thirty in the afternoon!” Traffic on the Hollywood Freeway was the worst Sydney had ever seen. A tractor trailer had overturned just before Silver Lake Boulevard, blocking three lanes of traffic. Everything was at a standstill as motorists were funneled down an exit ramp, through a five-block maze of city streets, then back onto the freeway.

At least that’s what the radio reports said was happening. From Sydney’s vantage point, it was a parking lot. Inching was considered progress.

After landing at Los Angeles International Airport, she’d dropped Hunz off at his hotel. He wanted to change clothes before meeting with Sol Rosenthal. Having arranged to meet Helen in her office at 3:30 p.m., Sydney thought she had time to run home and freshen up. The circumstances behind the flight to Chicago hadn’t exactly given her time to pack a suitcase. And now, here she was, sitting motionless on the freeway when she was supposed to be in her assignment editor’s office.

She had no other option than to pick up her cell phone and dial the station. It was a call she dreaded making. Punching the speeddial number for the station, she held the phone to her ear. It was dead. She checked the display. Dead. She pushed the ON button. The display flashed just long enough to see an empty battery icon. She hadn’t had time to pack, and neither had she had time to charge her phone.

In frustration, Sydney St. James banged the steering wheel with the palm of her hand.

It was after four o’clock by the time Sydney reached the station. As she hurried past the receptionist—who silently warned her with a shake of the head that what she was walking into wasn’t good—Sydney looked around, hoping to see Hunz. Just knowing he was nearby would provide a measure of comfort. Instead, she ran into Cori Zinn.

“What did you do to Josh?” Cori shouted at her.

“Cori, I don’t have time for this. I’m late for a—”

“He flies off to Chicago with some pregnant woman—”

“Cori, really, I don’t have time—”

“—calls the station using the death watch ruse as an excuse to spend more time with her—”

“Cori, listen to me.”

“—and then, he calls me a couple of hours ago all excited to tell me he’s at the hospital helping this woman deliver her baby!”

Sydney smiled. She couldn’t help herself.

“I blame you for this!” Cori shouted. “You turned him against me! You brainwashed him by introducing him to that Chicago bimbo!”

Helen stepped out of her office. She made eye contact with Sydney.

“As delightful as our conversations always are,” Sydney said, stepping around Cori, “I’m afraid we will have to pick up later.”

Only when Cori saw Helen did she let Sydney pass.

“This isn’t over between you and me,” Cori hissed.

Helen disappeared into her office. Sydney followed.

“Our meeting was at three thirty,” Helen said.

Sydney closed the door behind her. “Helen, I tried calling. My cell’s dead. There’s an accident on the freeway. A tractor trailer.”

Even as she spoke, Sydney hated the sound of what she was saying.

There are no excuses in journalism. Professor Puckett. Journalism 101.

Helen wasn’t listening. She arranged stacks of file folders on her desk.

Not knowing whether to stand or sit, Sydney opted for standing.

Helen busied herself awhile longer. The phone rang. She took the call.