Chapter 2
Fourteen years later . . .
June 10th was just like every other night for Judy Miller, just like every other night of work, just like every other week, of every other month, of every other year. After 35 years as a nurse, most of which were in the Emergency Room, Judy Miller had seen it all. Ready to retire, but another 10 years to go to put her kids through college, she continued to pick up extra shifts to earn money. She worked in one of the poorest areas of Chicago which inspired the hospital to pay really well for employee retention and recruitment. Judy loved her job, but it was becoming just that--a job.
The ER was never predictable, but sometimes the patients were. Abdominal pain in bed 1, probably gas and then home soon. Flu symptoms in bed 2, isolation precautions, likely admission. A stab wound to the leg in bed 3, another "accident" which probably meant something illegal, and so on. She could read their stories in their faces before ever opening the chart. Very little shocked Judy Miller.
On June 10th, the night was very quiet, which made it quite hard to stay awake. Time ticked by very slowly and Judy found herself dreaming of her upcoming vacation. Two weeks off; one week in the bahamas, a present to herself after finalizing her divorce, and another week tending to her garden and tackling the belated spiring-cleaning she had been putting off for some time. Yes, it was a vacation quite deserved and she just had one week left of work, three 12 hour shifts and then freedom.
Judy's dreaming and planning was interrupted at 2:30 in the morning when another stretcher rolled into the ER, everyone flying around the victim in a flurry of urgency. Judy awoke from autopilot and jumped in to help. Another punk kid tyring to steal a car, probably without any idea of how to even drive one. Now, he was laying on a stretcher, bleeding after a near and potentially fatal wreck. Doctors and nurses were working around him trying to stabilize his blood pressure. He was intubated in the ambulance and a chest tube was inserted the moment he rolled through the door.
Judy could see he was young, a teenager close to her son's age. He was unconscious and covered in blood, a site she hoped, as a mother, she would never have to see. The clothes that were cut open to care for him were old and worn. She was searching his body for some identification. No wallet, no keys, no phone. How would she contact his family? She had seen so many troubled teens come into the Emergency Room with no family or a family that didn't care. She wondered what his story was.
"I can't find any identification, Dr. Abrahms."
"Check in bed 15. His friend was brought in with mild injuries."
Triaged by another nurse, Judy went to bed 15 to meet the friend that she hoped could give her some information. He was sitting on the edge of the stretcher, trying to see what was going on down the hall.
"Mr. Dean, please sit still. Your arm is dislocated and we need to set it," said the nurse, trying to coax him into compliance.
"What's going on? Is he OK? We weren't trying to hurt nobody. Oh God, please let him be OK!" He looked just as rough as the first boy, probably living on the streets, as was the norm with so many teens around there. Judy saw a scared little boy inside a teenage body, ridden with grief for his friend who may not make it. She grabbed his chart before entering the room.
"Corey? Hi, I'm Judy, one of the nurses here at St. Gregory's. I know you're worried about your friend, and so are we. We need to know his name so we can contact his family and let them know he's here." Corey looked apprehensive, torn between saving his friend from possible death or certain punishment. He looked down towards the floor, grimacing in pain, but afraid to say anything. Judy, having had to coax many a truth from her own kids, placed her hand on top of his.
"I know you're scared. I realize you're worried about getting in trouble, but saving a life is far more important. You are a young man with a bright future ahead of you. Make this the start of that future and save his life." He sighed.
"His name is Tyler Roe. He's my only friend. Please, save him." His voice was so tiny, so weak, so defeated. She knew this boy down the hall, fighting for his life, was special to someone. Maybe only one.
"Do you know how we can reach his family?"
"Nah, his mom's some kinda junkie and his old man ran off a long time ago. He ain't got nobody." Corey wiped tears from his eyes, fighting back emotions. Judy felt sadness flood her body thinking about Tyler and how alone he was. No boy should ever be alone. A knock on the glass door reminded her of the officer waiting outside.
"Now Corey, we're gonna take good care of Tyler. We'll do everything we can to save him. But you realize you're both in a lot of trouble."
"Yes, ma'am."
"There's an officer waiting outside. He's gonna ask you some questions. He'll also take fingerprints from you and Tyler. Who is an emergency contact for you that we can call?" He was hesitant. Who was responsible, or NOT very responsible, for this boy?
"Uhh, I have an aunt but I don't know her number. Her name's Carol. She works at that gas station on 5th and West Terra."
"What's her last name?"
"Don't know. She's been married so many times. I don't see her that often." Judy began to realize that neither of these boys had anyone. Where were they staying? When was the last time they ate? Did they even go to school?
The officer stepped in. "Hi Mr. Dean. I'm Officer Davis. I need to get your fingerprints and a statement. When the doctor releases you, you'll come down to the station with me."
Judy stepped out. Dr. Abrahms was still working on Tyler. He was ready to transfer him to the Intesive Care Unit in critical condition. The boy was alone, not even aware that he was near Death's door with only one person in the whole world to mourn for him. Judy saw Corey's doctor looking through his chart.
"Larry," they had worked together a long time, "the patient in room 15 really needs to be admitted. I know it's just a dislocated shoulder and some cuts and bruises, but you really need to keep him here over night.
Dr. Cook sighed. "Judy, you know the protocol. I'll keep him for a couple hours to make sure he's OK, but then I'm gonna have to discharge him."
"I know what usually happens, Larry, but he's got a special situation. His friend probably won't make it through the night. If that boy dies, he needs someone there that cares about him. Besides, this boy probably hasn't had a place to sleep in a long time. Can't you keep him here for something?" Judy pleaded.
"This isn't a homeless shelter. The hospital's already gonna eat this whole stay because I'm sure he doesn't have insurance. I'm working for free right now. And to top it all off, if we keep him here, that's one more bill his family won't be able to pay hanging over their heads. Nice try Judy." She felt her temper rising.
"Oh, come on! We've always worked together well. Do me a favor. Do this for ME, if not for any other reason. You've got kids. You've got grandkids." She glared at him with an intesity that he had seen far too many times. She was right about most things and usually got her way. He stared back but couldn't keep it for long.
Dr. Cook laid his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired. He was close to retirement and had very little fight left in him. "Alright Judy. For you."
The sound of the ventilator became a rhythmic lullaby to Corey. He was no longer flooded with emotion, but numb, cold to his very bones. A nurse noticed him shivering as he stared blankly at his friend. He was admitted to the Medical Unit down the hall, but instead, sat loyally by Tyler's side with his right arm in a sling. No comfort from a family awaited him. There was no one longing for his return or safe keeping. How very alone he felt, knowing his fate was not a pleasant one. He could imagine what it would feel like, locked up with others who had true evil intentions in their hearts, not good kids who made dumb mistakes.
The nurses in the ICU hustled quietly around the unit, taking care of others in their most vulnerable state. A warm blanket was offered to him, but he refused it. Maybe when he got out of jail, or prison (he wasn't quite sure which it would be), he could do something productive with his life. He wasn't smart enough to go to college, wasn't talented enough to achieve an admired status, but maybe he could work in the kitchen, or housekeeping, or maintenance. Every department seemed to genuinely care for each patient, regardless of their role in care. Tyler couldn't ask for a better place to be, if only he could wake up and see how well everyone took care of him. Corey knew Tyler had a family somewhere, a family that should be right by their son's side.
Corey didn't feel sorry for himself. Even if he had stayed at home, his mother's abusive boyfriend would have just beat him senseless for getting in trouble. He recalled many nights, lying terrified in his "room" which was really a large closet in the apartment where his mother lived. He would pray for someone to find him, rescue him, before anyone came home. The people that would come in and out of the apartment were not the type of characters that children should ever be exposed to. His mother genuinely loved him, or so he thought, but was caught up in a life that she could not escape, to the point where she eventually shut him out, too. He was becoming a burden on her, always dragging him with her for another handout, another chance for drugs, another trick to turn to score money. He was left in the car many times, sometimes 20 degrees outside with a sheet to cover up with. He wondered how he survived. For all he hated his mother for, hated his life for, he had one memory of her from when he was very young. She was much younger then, too. Most of the memory was blurry now, but the song she sang him was not. He couldn't remember all of the song, but a line of it was forever imprinted in his mind, " . . . all the pretty little horses." In the moments he thought of that song, he remembered feeling so very loved. Even though those times gave way to the nightmare that became his life, he had one thing to hold on to. No, Corey didn't feel sorry for himself. He knew he was loved, even for just a moment, and he knew if his family were there, he would be wishing they weren't.
It was Monday morning, and as usual, James called Detective Ford at 08:00am, just like he did every week for the past fourteen years. "Anything?"
"No, James. Nothing over the weekend. But we'll keep looking. How's Susan doing? Starting her Junior year in High School this fall, isn't she?" He tried to ask about the family when he could muster the courage, but his guilt often imprisoned him. He had found Ian's clothes with blood on them years ago and was very sure the little boy was gone, but there was no hard evidence to support his assumption. Still, he searched the databases for missing persons, deceased persons, bodies found, people arrested, hoping a resolution would one day come.
"Yeah, Susan's going on her third year of high school. It seems like she just started kindergarten yesterday." He chuckled at the memory of her blonde pigtails and Toy Story lunch box.
"Well, that's good. She's a good girl," an awkward pause,"well, take care James."
"Alright, Ralph. Hopefully, I'll talk to you later today." It was the same ending every week. James hoped he would hear something any minute. He never would believe that Ian was gone, even though Annie had given up long ago. There was a feeling he couldn't shake, a yearning that wouldn't yield. His son was out there, and until there was a body, no one would convince him otherwise.
Judy Miller was back to work. She was relieved to find that Tyler was still alive and Corey actually did have a medical reason to stay, he had developed a high fever. He was no longer allowed to stay by Tyler's bedside, but was instructed to stay in his hospital room. Judy went to see him. She had brought clothes for him that her son no longer wanted, some magazines, a portable DVD player and some movies. She knew nothing would go missing since he had no visitors and would be escorted to the city jail on discharge to await the hearing for his crime. Still, even if he ran off with everything, she wouldn't be upset. An affection was growing in her heart for this boy she barely knew. The nurturing side of her had wild ideas of taking him home to live with her, raising him to be a responsible member of society. It must be the nurse in her that cares about total strangers so much that she would alter her life to help them. This story was not uncommon, yet unusual all the same. It gave new insight into her career, new life into her job.
Tyler was not doing well. There was swelling on the brain that the doctors were trying to relieve. He was still on the ventilator, although, that was to be expected after less than 24 hours of his critical admission. He was on multiple medications to support his blood pressure and had recieved a few units of blood already. Judy knew the only thing she could do for him was to comfort him, so brought a blanket that her mother had made for the Children's Home and layed it over his bed sheets. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Fight, Tyler," she whispered in his ear. She stared at him intently, looking for a sign, but there was none. He needed a miracle, one that Judy found herself praying for. Maybe there would be someone that could save this boy, maybe there was chance for him that he hadn't had before. Maybe.
It was midnight, late to be getting a visitor, but the news was much too urgent. The air was comfortable and cool after a long hot day. The wood paneling in his office could feel like prison bars, but he held himself captive in his cell until he was sure he had the answers. Now, it was off to deliver a rare gift that he was now responsible for. It was darker than usual outside, the moon hidden behind the overcast sky. The breeze was inconsistent, gusting around him, then settling into an eerie quiet. On most nights, this type of setting would have given him the creeps, but he hardly noticed.
He approached the front door of the large farmhouse. It was a beautifully renovated home that was lucky enough to be purchased by a man with lots of money. The front door was painted red, typical for this area. The wrap-around porch creeked as he ascended the stairs. He hoped that no one would greet him with a gun, or any type of hostility for that matter. The knock on the door was quiet at first, but he waited several minutes with no response. He tried to be patient, but this was no time for formailities, he decided. His fist pounded the front door until he saw a light turn on through the front window.
The homeowner opened the front door. It took nothing but a short silence for reality to set in. There was no time to waste. There may not be enough time at all.
