Sharon Sala - Going Gone

* * *

Laura moaned as pain pulled her out of her semiconscious state. Something was beeping. The plane! The alarm! The plane was going down.

I don’t want to die.

Tears rolled out from beneath her eyelids as she waited for impact. Instead, she heard the muffled sound of soft voices, a faint cry of pain and then a woman’s soft, reassuring voice. But it wasn’t until she homed in on the sharp click of footsteps coming toward her that she tried to open her eyes, because she recognized the stride.

Cameron.

Something brushed against the side of her cheek, followed by the warmth of a breath and the sweet sound of a familiar voice near her ear.

“Hey, baby,” Cameron said softly, and leaned over the bed just long enough to kiss her forehead and slip his hand in hers.

It is Cameron! He found me.

“You’re in a hospital, honey. Your plane crashed. Do you remember?”

Images flashed behind her eyelids. The pilot’s face obliterated. Marcy’s eyes frozen open in death. Dragging Dan’s body across the door to keep it closed. Her fingers curled around his hand, his presence anchoring her to reality. “They died.” The tone of her voice reflected her horror. His grip tightened.

“I know,” he said softly.

Panic shifted within her. It was hard to accept she’d been saved.

“I prayed for you to find me,” she whispered, then licked her lower lip where it had cracked from the cold.

“And we did. Lots of people were looking for you,” he said.

She finally managed to open her eyes. Cameron’s face was blurry, as if it was melting. It took her a few moments to realize she was still crying.

“I hurt.”

“I know, darlin’, with good reason. You have a concussion, three broken ribs, a buttload of stitches on your leg and you’re fighting pneumonia.”

“Am I dying?” she asked, then watched his eyes darken and a frown spread across his forehead as he leaned closer.

“No. You’re getting well and coming back to D.C. with me to live happily ever after.”

Breath caught in the back of her throat.

“With you?”

He ran a finger lightly down the side of her cheek.

“I had planned to say all this on Valentine’s Day, which happens to be next week, but sometimes plans change. I love you, Laura, more than I thought it was possible to love anyone, and almost losing you just made me more certain of that fact. You have to hang in there, baby.”

The room was spinning, or maybe it was all in Laura’s head. She grabbed hold of his wrist, trying to stop the motion so she could focus on his voice, but things were turning faster and faster, sucking her down with them.

“I’m going to pass out,” she mumbled, and proceeded to do exactly that.

“Sir, visiting hours are over,” a nurse said as she approached the bed.

Cameron lifted Laura’s hand to his lips.

“Be strong and get well, sweetheart. I’ll be back,” he promised, and reluctantly walked away.

* * *

Time dragged for Cameron as he waited between visits. Exhaustion finally caught up with him as the waiting room cleared out. The quiet washed over him as he changed his chair for the sofa. The soft leather pillowed his body when he turned and stretched out. It was just for a few minutes, he told himself, grateful to be off his feet. But at six feet three inches tall, his long legs had nowhere to go except over the arm of the sofa. He fell asleep with one arm flung over his eyes to keep out the light. He’d set the alarm on his watch, though, and when it went off, his feet hit the floor before his eyes were fully open. He turned and staggered to the bathroom.

He was still wearing jeans, which had been part of his traveling clothes, but after the first hour in the waiting room he had made a trip out to his car for a fleece jacket to pull over his shirt. The waiting room, like the hospital, bordered on cold, and he was glad for the added layer. The thought of coffee was enticing, but there was no time. He wanted to see Laura again.

There were others in line with him, waiting for the doors to the ICU to open. Even though they all shared the experience of having loved ones with critical health issues, no one seemed inclined to talk, looking instead at the floors or the walls, anywhere but at each other.

Cameron was worried. The last time he’d seen her they had put her on oxygen, and she’d slept all the way through his visit. He knew she needed rest to heal, but seeing her motionless and so vulnerable scared him. He needed to reconnect, to hear her voice and see recognition in her eyes, to know she wasn’t getting worse.

There was a nurse beside her bed when he walked up.

“Everything okay?” he asked softly.

The nurse recognized him from prior visits.

“She’s been crying out in her sleep,” she said, and injected the contents of a syringe into the IV port.

“What’s that for?” Cameron asked.

“Antibiotic. Her fever is still high.”

He frowned. “The wound on her leg was bad. Is it infected?”

The nurse hesitated. “Doctor Rector usually begins rounds about 7:00 a.m. He’ll be able to answer your questions then.”

Cameron didn’t push the issue. He knew nurses weren’t free to share medical information about their patients. As soon as the nurse left, he moved closer to the bed.

Laura moaned as he touched her forehead. Her skin was hot and dry.

“Shh, shh,” he said softly. “You’re safe, baby, you’re safe.”

Her lips were moving.

He leaned closer, caught just enough of what she was saying and sighed. She was still talking about wolves.

“They’re gone, Laura, they’re gone.”

She grabbed his arm. “Cameron?”

He took her hand. She still knew him. Thank God.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Found me?”

“Yes, we found you. You’re in a hospital in Denver. You are safe, and you will get well.”

“Stay.”

“I can’t stay, baby. You’re in ICU. But I’m right outside the door, and I’ll be back when they let me.”

Her eyes opened. “Cameron?”

“At your service,” he said.

“Sarah?”

“She’s on her way.”

“Love you,” she said, then closed her eyes.

She was already out when he answered, but it didn’t matter. He said for himself as much as for her, “I love you, too.”

The time went all too quickly, and soon he followed the other visitors out. But as they headed for the elevator, he went back to the waiting room alone. He was too wired to go back to sleep, and after digging through his wallet for some singles, he headed for the snack machines.

* * *

Sarah Doyle was holding Cameron’s last text close to her heart, counting on its truth.

Laura in ICU. I spoke to her. She knew me. Injuries severe, not life threatening. Worried about pneumonia. I’m in ICU waiting room.

Laura was all the family she had, and if she lost her, she would be as alone in the world as a person could be.

By the time her plane landed in Denver it was well past midnight, and the ground was dusted with snow. She caught a cab to the hospital and then texted Cameron to let him know she was on the ground, but he didn’t answer. She glanced at the time. One in the morning. He was probably in the ICU with Laura.

Her eyes burned from the bouts of crying she couldn’t seem to stop, and she caught a glimpse of herself in the cab window as they passed through the city.

Both sisters were blondes, and while the family resemblance was noticeable in their features, she was older and taller. Laura’s chosen path in life had gone nonprofit and led her to the Red Cross, while Sarah had gone the corporate route. And oddly enough, as Laura’s personal life had heated up, so had Sarah’s career; something she had yet to share.