Broken Strings (A Rock Star Novel) (7 page)

Chapter Seven

Brand

Gabby’s mouth is moving but
I’m not hearing a word of it. The moment I hear her say
Brand
, the rest
of my brain shuts down. I wish she would stop talking so my mind can catch up
to what she is saying. It must be bad because she’s still wearing that grim
expression. He can’t be dead because I heard the word alive; or at least I
think I did.

A hand touches my arm
tenderly. Gabby is looking at me with a different expression this time. She’s
sympathizing.

“I can take it,” I hear
myself saying. “Just tell me how bad and don’t hold back.”

She gives me a weird look,
then says: “I just did. You didn’t hear a word I said after Brand, did you?”

I shake my head. I’m having
trouble finding words, my mind flashes back to thoughts of my little sister.

“Give me a minute and I’ll
take you to him June.” She says, turning back to the doctor.

They chat for a minute before
Gabby turns back to me.

 She takes my hand and I let
her lead me to one of the nursing offices. I’ve done this before, too many
times. It’s much better to break the news to the family under controlled
circumstances, and not in the trauma room where grieving family members tend to
get in the way of the doctors who are trying to treat their loved one.

I let her lead me to a couch
and she goes back and shuts the door. Immediately everything goes quiet, and
with nothing competing for my attention I am able to start processing what is
happening.

“Tell me again,” I say to
Gabby.

She sighs, and tells me
everything she knows. Apparently Brand was doing some investigative reporting
for one of the non-music websites he sometimes writes for and they had asked
him to check out a story in the housing projects in west Oakland.

Not a friendly place to be
in, especially if you’re white and live above the poverty level. A couple guys
took offense to some question he’d asked and pretty soon a knife came out and
Brand was stabbed four times before being dumped into the street.

Lucky for Brand a cop car on
patrol happened by not five minutes later and he was taken to the hospital in
time; hopefully.

My brain is still having a
hard time processing this. It’s too familiar. History is repeating itself; at
least for me it is. I close my eyes for a minute in an effort to think but I am
suddenly bombarded with images from the past. I see bloody clothes, blood in
the street, and a knife lying in the gutter.

Suddenly from nowhere an
ashen face jumps out at me like some kind of evil Jack-in-the-box. It’s a cold
lifeless face and it keeps bouncing in and out of my range of vision; a cruel
reminder of how easily someone can be snatched from you. I open my eyes. It’s
the only way to make the images stop.

Then my sister’s face pops
into my head. I remember every detail of that night right down to the smell of
blood and the coppery taste in my mouth. She was taken from me one night long
ago and every time something like this happens I have to relive her death.

Gabby is looking at me again,
worry etched in the lines at the corners of her eyes. “You’re really not okay
are you June? You’re remembering Camille aren’t you?”

She alone knows of my past
trauma. My heart is pounding painfully against my ribs and I have to remind
myself that Brand is alive; the circumstances are different. History is not
really repeating itself, it just feels that way.

“I need to see him Gabby.”
I’m not sure I want to see him, but I have to. Otherwise the moment I leave the
hospital my head is gonna convince me that he really
has
died and
history
has
repeated itself. One more time a person I am close to gets
ripped away from me…

I feel something hot and wet
on my hands. I look down and am surprised to see tears there. I’m crying and I
didn’t even realize it. That’s how far out of touch with reality I am. I had no
business getting romantically involved with Brand; stupid. Just plain stupid of
me!

“Doctor Carmichael will send
for us when Brand is ready for you June, you know how it goes. Can’t have a
grieving girlfriend getting in the way. Not that you would get in the way,” she
says rapidly, “seeing how you work here and all, but you know how it is…”

We both sit in silence
waiting for the doctor to send for us. I find myself counting tiles on the
floor and ceiling. I have to keep my eyes open otherwise the other images are
going to swallow me alive. I stand up. I can’t sit still any longer. They’ve had
enough time. I should be let in now.

I’m just about to protest
staying here any longer when Doctor Carmichael himself walks in. That’s usually
not a good sign.

“He’s prepped and ready for
surgery. You have three minutes.” The doctor announces.

“So he’s conscious then?”
Gabby asks.

“In and out,” replies the
doctor over his shoulder as he heads back out of the room. I really do hope he's
conscious. I just want to wish him well and I want him to know I’m here for
him. He should know he’s got someone on his side rooting for him.

The instant I walk through
the doors to Trauma One I'm overwhelmed. The place is a war zone, either that
or some twisted party for vampires and zombies. The entire room is festooned
with the bloody evidence of a tremendous struggle that has taken place here.

There’s bloodied gauze,
wraps, 4x4’s, abdominal dressings, padded dressings, and shredded clothes all
over the floor. There’s plenty of blood on the trauma table and floor as well.
I can see bloody footprints all over the room. You can actually track people’s
movements by their different tracks.

As I walk in someone hastily
tries to cover his privates with part of a blanket but they’re not very
successful. He’s already been intubated, and he’s got a line in each arm and on
one IV pole he’s receiving a blood transfusion. By the amount of blood on the
floor and soaked into the linens and bandages, he’s lost a tremendous amount of
the precious fluid. He’s getting oxygen and I notice it’s maxed out for the
current delivery system he’s on.

I take his hand as I lean
over his face. “Brand…Brand, I’m here. Can you hear me, I’m here for you.
You’re going to be fine. Doctor Carmichael is the best ER doc there is.”

He opens his eyes when I
start speaking, but he looks confused. I get the idea that he’s not sure what
happened to him or where he even is. It’s a pretty common reaction for trauma
victims. It’s a way the body has of protecting you and keeping you calm so it
can begin to heal. He looks at me and tries for a minute to talk but can’t because
of the tube down his throat.

“Don’t talk Brand. They’ve
intubated…there’s a tube in your throat so you can breathe better. They’ll take
it out sometime after surgery. I have to go Brand, so they can fix you up. I’ll
see you after surgery. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I lean down and
give him a kiss on the only not bandaged or bloody part I can find on his face.
I scrunch up my eyes. I cannot cry here, not with Brand watching.

I stand up and take a step
back, letting go his hand.

“He’ll be okay June,” says
Gabby. “We’ve both seen a lot worse make it and he will too. If you really are
intent on staying, why don’t you lay down on a cot in the lounge? You look
exhausted and it’s going to be hours before he’s out of surgery and out of
recovery. You know the drill June.”

“Yeah but I don’t think I can
sleep. Not ‘til I know Brand is going to make it; then I’ll sleep.”

“Suit yourself June. And if
you wanna talk…about anything, you let me know. I got your back.”

I go back to the nurse’s
lounge and sit on the cot with no intention of sleeping, or even lying down. I
just need to think.

About an hour later, a plan
begins to form in my mind. I get up and go to the desk and fire up the
computer. I Google the ‘Get the Dirt,’ contest. After a few minutes I locate
Guitar
Player’s
website and there’s the contest rules and guidelines. I just need
to find out the deadline.

When does the finished
project have to be turned in? I find it, and my heart sinks. In less than four
weeks the contest deadline is up. I’ve seen injuries like Brands and they take
a long time to heal, especially if there’s been abdominal injuries effecting
any of the organs there.

Those take a long time to
heal and there’s the constant danger of infection. Brand is not going to get
out of the hospital in time to finish his entry in the contest. He’ll be
crushed. He’s got a lot of his hopes and dreams pinned on this one contest that
he believes will get him his well-deserved big break. One more time, life is
just not fucking fair.

I sit there for what seems
like a very long time when an idea hits me right between the eyes.

I jump up.

That’s it! I’ll do it. I
mean, I won’t do the article for him; I’m no writer, but I’ll get the dirt for
him and bring it to him in the hospital and he can write it using my laptop.
It’s the perfect solution and I can’t wait to tell him. He has to survive
surgery first though.

Feeling suddenly deflated, I
walk back to the cot and this time I lie down not really expecting to sleep.  I
have some thinking to do here. My plan of course all hinges on my being able to
get backstage at least one more time, and that’s something that’s not going to
be very likely considering how I left things with Silas.

But…Stewart probably doesn’t
know we didn’t leave things so well. In fact he was most likely not paying
attention. I don’t remember seeing him around that night, but then I wasn’t
looking for him either. I just have to find him at the next show and talk my
way backstage. Piece of cake.

~~~

“June! June, wake up.”

I bolt upright. “What?” It
takes me a minute to realize where I am and why Gabby is waking me up. I don’t
even remember lying down or falling asleep.

“Is he out?”

“Yes, he’s in ICU in a
medically induced coma. You could see him I guess, but maybe you shouldn’t. He
doesn’t look so good and he won’t even know your there. I was just up there
talking to Doctor Carmichael. There was a lot of internal bleeding, and one of
the stab wounds actually nicked his left ventricle.

Both lungs collapsed before
the ambulance arrived so it’s not known if he’ll have any issues from the lack
of oxygen to his brain. June, it doesn’t look good. You should prepare yourself
for…well for the event that he never gets off the ventilator or regains
consciousness.”

Suddenly I can’t breathe. I
feel like someone just punched me in the stomach. At the same time my brain
seems to be refusing to process information. Gabby is talking again, going over
the medical reasons behind his treatment and the damage he sustained in the
attack and she might as well be talking gibberish.

Here I am an ER tech and I
cannot even understand any of what she’s telling me. Well, I know one thing. I
can’t go up and see Brand right now. The sight of him would just paralyze me
into inaction and that’s not what he needs right now. Someone’s gotta have his
back and since there’s no one else around it has to be me.

“June are you listening to
me?”

“Uh…sorry Gabbs, I really gotta
go. I got some things to do. I’ll visit Brand when I have my next shift Monday
night. I’m sure he’ll still be in ICU still.”

“You’re acting kinda weird
June, is everything okay? I know, bad choice of words. Of course everything is
not okay, but you know what I mean. You’re up to something aren’t you?”

“Really gotta go Gabbs. See
you at the show Sunday.”

“Okay…then you gotta tell me
what you’re up to because I know you’re up to something.”

“I don’t know…I may be and I
may not. Depends on what happens Sunday. See ya!”

I’m already hurrying down the
hall as she calls goodbye. I wave back over my shoulder as I hit the doors to
the Emergency Department practically at a jog. On my way home I focus on a way
to get Stewart to let me backstage. Of course I’ll have to find him in the
first place. I just can’t go up to the guards at the doors and tell them I need
to talk to the bands manager. I'm sure hundreds of girls try every trick in the
book to get backstage, including offers to sleep with the band’s manager or security
guards. 

~~~

Sunday…

Sunday was supposed to be
Gabby’s day to save our place in line for the show but I took over for her. I
just didn’t have the heart to be around the hospital with Brand there up in the
ICU. I would be forever wanting to go up to check up on him and it would just
make for a really shitty shift at work.

3 a.m. arrives way too early
Sunday. I throw my clothes on and run out the door. Fuelled up with coffee, I
arrive at HP Pavilion just after 5 and take my place in line. There looks to be
about fifteen or so people already in front of me, that means by the time
everybody’s friends that they’re saving spots for make it, Gabbs and me will be
probably thirty people back; not bad actually. We’ll still have a great spot to
watch the show from.