Monday 2:30 AM Crashdown Café.
After checking with the deputy and SWAT team member on duty at the bank and discovering that, unsurprisingly, no one had discovered a way to either get into or out from the vault, Jim Valenti had briefly reviewed the plan of action for the opening at 7:30. All police forces would be in place by 7:00, as would Mr. Larrabee, the bank Vice President. When the clock hit 0730, the combination would be entered, and the door would be opened. The sheriff grimly feared what they would find when that door was opened, his thoughts had been a nightmare since the shotgun blast had hit the camera, made worse by the loss of telephone contact.
Looking into the Crashdown, he saw about a dozen people. A couple of deputies and SWAT team members seemed to have finished breakfast and were trying to pay their bills, with the cook and waitress steadfastly refusing their money.
Sitting in the large booth in the corner were the four parents. Jeff Parker had the look of someone who was enduring the tortures of Hell, and his tearful wife Nancy sat gazing into the distance, lost somewhere in her own mind, while clinging desperately to her husband’s arm. Diane and Philip Evans sat across from them, looking no better. Philip had his arm around his wife, whose body seemed to shake periodically in small quiet sobs, tears tricking gently down her cheeks to fall on the table below.
As he entered he saw there were four teenagers sitting in the café, in two different booths. Maria DeLuca and Alex Whitman sat beside each other at one booth, while on the other side of the room Isabel Evans and Max Guerin sat together. All four were grim-faced, tearful and clinging to one another for support, while apparently ignoring the other couple across from them.
He walked over to the terrified parents and told them that all was ready, that the hostages were their number one priority, and that the every effort would be made to get them back safely, but in his own mind the security video played and replayed the assault on Liz Parker, and the picture of Max Evans unmoving and unconscious, with blood trickling from his scalp.
Finally he walked away, thinking that if he could not really reassure himself about the two teenagers, he probably couldn’t reassure their parents much either. He sat on a stool at the counter and the waitress poured him a cup of coffee and took his breakfast order, her own face a mask of sadness.
He drank his coffee and looked curiously at the two pairs of teenagers. Isabel and Max Evans had befriended Michael Guerin years ago, and it was probably their influence that kept the boy out of trouble, or at least out of all but the minor trouble that he would occasionally cause with his truancy and “loner” attitude. What Social Services had been thinking when they gave a kid to the likes of old Hank, Valenti could only guess. Given Hank for a foster father, it was a miracle the kid was as relatively normal as he was. Why Michael would be the one that Isabel Evans, the girl that Kyle described as “the Ice Princess of West Roswell High,” chose to be with to comfort her at this time, Valenti didn’t know, but she clung to Michael with tears filling her eyes, while the boy’s own face looked like his world was ending.
Maria DeLuca and Alex Whitman were a pair much easier to understand. Those two and Liz Parker had been friends, practically forever. He watched as Maria stared at the Sunday paper beside her with the pictures of McMillan and Garber.
Due to their ages and the nature of their situation the newspaper editor (A Kiwanis member with both Jeff Parker and Philip Evans, the Sheriff recalled) had withheld the names of the two teenage hostages, although in a small town like Roswell the rumor mill would identify them soon enough. Valenti drank his coffee and tried unsuccessfully to not feel totally helpless.
The Vault (M/L, Mature) (COMPLETE)
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“The two suspects cut off their ankle monitors and WALKED AWAY from the Sexual offender halfway house in Albuquerque,” Maria DeLuca read out loud angrily from the newspaper, prompting the Sheriff to look up quickly from his breakfast to the booth with the two teenagers.
As Alex Whitman tried to comfort her and calm her down, she started to cry in rage, “Why in HELL were these guys allowed to WALK AWAY from a halfway house? Why in HELL were they in a HALFWAY HOUSE to begin with???”
Despite Whitman’s best efforts, Maria was becoming louder, more and more tearful, more and more enraged, and finally Alex could only hold her tenderly as she sobbed loudly, unable to control herself, and on the verge of total hysterics.
As Valenti started to get up to speak with her, he noticed Michael Guerin abruptly stand and move over to the other booth to sit on the bench across from her. Guerin reached out and touched her forearm, and as she looked up at him he stared into her eyes. Guerin’s face was a kaleidoscope of tenderness, pain, and rage.
He said to her, so softly that the Sheriff could barely make it out, “They won’t walk away this time, Maria. You have my word on that.” Something seemed to pass between the two of them, as both stared at one another, both nodding their heads almost imperceptibly. Although he couldn’t really explain why, Valenti felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck.
As the sheriff continued toward the booth, Isabel Evans also got up and joined the other three, pushing Guerin over so she could sit across from Maria. Both girls looked at each other then reached out to take one another’s hands. Again their eyes seemed to lock onto one another, almost as if unspoken thoughts were being shared. Maria and Isabel’s faces both had a grim tight-lipped expression of determination, and their hands squeezed together briefly. Surprisingly, Maria quieted down, looking calmly at both Michael Guerin and Isabel Evans, while Alex Whitman seemed to stare wonderingly at each of the other three teenagers in the booth as if he did not quite comprehend what had just passed between them.
As Valenti came up to the table he spoke softly to the four, “Look we are all upset by this, we are all hurting right now…., but it’s important that nobody does anything stupid.” He looked at Michael and said softly, “This is bad enough without anyone trying to take the law into their own hands.”
He watched the boy’s face as he waited for the words to follow the expression of rage he read there. Isabel’s hand went quickly to Michael’s forearm, and he looked first at her and then sat back to the sheriff as if deferring to Isabel to voice his thoughts. The shadows seemed to play tricks with his eyes for Sheriff Valenti briefly thought he saw Isabel’s eyes darken, the pupils almost looking like black almonds. He blinked and the eyes again looked normal, but they stared out piercing into him, making him think somehow of the remorseless eyes of a bird of prey. Shaking his head and vowing to try to get some more sleep before morning, he tried to tell her that he understood their anger and helplessness, but before he could form the words Isabel said in a soft voice that sounded far older than her years, “You’ll have your chance to make the law work when the vault opens, Sheriff. We won’t be there. I’m not sure I will ever go in that building again. But those monsters must never hurt another person. No family must ever again go through what my family has gone through, what the Parker’s have gone through. No one must ever again sit and cry for their friends or their children because of those two.”
Again the Sheriff felt the hair stand on the back of his neck, as he stared into Isabel’s unblinking eyes. He looked at her face and saw determination and a quiet fury. He thought to himself ‘God, there is fire under that ice’.
“Miss Evans,” he said, “I’ll do everything I can to get your brother and Miss Parker back, and to bring those two to justice.” Her expression didn’t change. Finally Michael Guerin said, “We know it’s not your fault these men are here, Sheriff. But it’s going to end here, one way or another. We hope you and your men can stop these guys once and for all.”
Three sets of eyes looked up at him unblinkingly, as Alex Whitman looked from one to another in the booth, then he too looked up at Valenti. As the Sheriff turned and walked away the vision of Isabel Evans looking at him with grim determination was seared into his mind, concerning him more than even Michael Guerin. He could easily envision Guerin doing something rash, something hot-headed, something foolish, but the look of icy determination from the girl was somehow far more chilling in a manner the Sheriff couldn’t quite understand.
It was silly, really, to feel that intimidated by the gaze of a young girl, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that behind her eyes was a deadly fury that was only barely restrained.
As Alex Whitman tried to comfort her and calm her down, she started to cry in rage, “Why in HELL were these guys allowed to WALK AWAY from a halfway house? Why in HELL were they in a HALFWAY HOUSE to begin with???”
Despite Whitman’s best efforts, Maria was becoming louder, more and more tearful, more and more enraged, and finally Alex could only hold her tenderly as she sobbed loudly, unable to control herself, and on the verge of total hysterics.
As Valenti started to get up to speak with her, he noticed Michael Guerin abruptly stand and move over to the other booth to sit on the bench across from her. Guerin reached out and touched her forearm, and as she looked up at him he stared into her eyes. Guerin’s face was a kaleidoscope of tenderness, pain, and rage.
He said to her, so softly that the Sheriff could barely make it out, “They won’t walk away this time, Maria. You have my word on that.” Something seemed to pass between the two of them, as both stared at one another, both nodding their heads almost imperceptibly. Although he couldn’t really explain why, Valenti felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck.
As the sheriff continued toward the booth, Isabel Evans also got up and joined the other three, pushing Guerin over so she could sit across from Maria. Both girls looked at each other then reached out to take one another’s hands. Again their eyes seemed to lock onto one another, almost as if unspoken thoughts were being shared. Maria and Isabel’s faces both had a grim tight-lipped expression of determination, and their hands squeezed together briefly. Surprisingly, Maria quieted down, looking calmly at both Michael Guerin and Isabel Evans, while Alex Whitman seemed to stare wonderingly at each of the other three teenagers in the booth as if he did not quite comprehend what had just passed between them.
As Valenti came up to the table he spoke softly to the four, “Look we are all upset by this, we are all hurting right now…., but it’s important that nobody does anything stupid.” He looked at Michael and said softly, “This is bad enough without anyone trying to take the law into their own hands.”
He watched the boy’s face as he waited for the words to follow the expression of rage he read there. Isabel’s hand went quickly to Michael’s forearm, and he looked first at her and then sat back to the sheriff as if deferring to Isabel to voice his thoughts. The shadows seemed to play tricks with his eyes for Sheriff Valenti briefly thought he saw Isabel’s eyes darken, the pupils almost looking like black almonds. He blinked and the eyes again looked normal, but they stared out piercing into him, making him think somehow of the remorseless eyes of a bird of prey. Shaking his head and vowing to try to get some more sleep before morning, he tried to tell her that he understood their anger and helplessness, but before he could form the words Isabel said in a soft voice that sounded far older than her years, “You’ll have your chance to make the law work when the vault opens, Sheriff. We won’t be there. I’m not sure I will ever go in that building again. But those monsters must never hurt another person. No family must ever again go through what my family has gone through, what the Parker’s have gone through. No one must ever again sit and cry for their friends or their children because of those two.”
Again the Sheriff felt the hair stand on the back of his neck, as he stared into Isabel’s unblinking eyes. He looked at her face and saw determination and a quiet fury. He thought to himself ‘God, there is fire under that ice’.
“Miss Evans,” he said, “I’ll do everything I can to get your brother and Miss Parker back, and to bring those two to justice.” Her expression didn’t change. Finally Michael Guerin said, “We know it’s not your fault these men are here, Sheriff. But it’s going to end here, one way or another. We hope you and your men can stop these guys once and for all.”
Three sets of eyes looked up at him unblinkingly, as Alex Whitman looked from one to another in the booth, then he too looked up at Valenti. As the Sheriff turned and walked away the vision of Isabel Evans looking at him with grim determination was seared into his mind, concerning him more than even Michael Guerin. He could easily envision Guerin doing something rash, something hot-headed, something foolish, but the look of icy determination from the girl was somehow far more chilling in a manner the Sheriff couldn’t quite understand.
It was silly, really, to feel that intimidated by the gaze of a young girl, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that behind her eyes was a deadly fury that was only barely restrained.
6:30 AM Roswell Sheriff’s Department Briefing Room.
“OK, Listen up,” said Jim Valenti to the SWAT team, his deputies, and the EMT personnel. “We’ll review this just one last time, and if there are any questions at all, make sure they’re asked, answered, and understood BEFORE we leave this room.
When Mr. Larrabee puts in the code, Reynolds will give him time to get back out of the building, then turn the handle to unlock the vault when I say “now”. That’s when the power is cut to the vault, and to the lobby overhead lighting. We have all the lobby blinds closed and the spotlights set to shine directly into the vault door. We want them in darkness and looking out at the darkened lobby when deputies Reynolds and Garcia pull the door open. The two perps should be unable to really see what’s going on behind the glare of the lights. Reynolds and Garcia will stay behind the vault door, being ready to back off, to snatch hostages, or to take cover and provide supporting fire if necessary.
Any questions?”
There was no sound from the assembled law officers, just determined looks. “Officer Ortiz will now brief the SWAT team, …Enriquez?”
Dressed in Kevlar and camouflage, Lieutenant Enriquez Ortiz stepped to the blackboard. “As you can see from the diagram, we will have Johnson and Madison in these two shooting positions. Because of the geometry of the vault, there are areas to either side of the door in the safety deposit area that we will not be able to see, and outside our field of fire. I would expect the perps to move into those areas before we can get the door fully open, since it’s too massive to move quickly. If we should get lucky and we can get both perps in a clear field of fire, Johnson will cover the tall one, while Madison covers the shorter one. If they make any kind of a threatening gesture, either to the hostages or to us, take them out.
More likely, they will be behind the door, or possibly in the safety deposit box area with hostages in front of them. At that point we hold fire, and let the Sheriff try to negotiate. Worst case scenario is that all four will be back in the cash vault area here,” pointing to part of the diagram, “and that we are again in a stalemate.”
I want it understood that we are taking no chances with these guys. They have already severely wounded one person, and at least assaulted one of the hostages. If we get clean shots and there is any threat at all to anyone, we take these guys out. Any questions?”
6:45 AM Main Street, near the First New Mexico Bank Branch.
As Jim Valenti moved with the other law enforcement personnel toward the bank, his thoughts were on the upcoming operations, and he did not at first see the four civilians on the street just outside the police corridor. But then looking up, he saw them standing before him. There were two pairs of teenagers, deployed at each end of the bank parking lot, almost like military fire teams with interlocking fields of fire.
On the other side of the bank was Maria DeLuca with the Guerin kid, who appeared to be keeping his body between the bank and her, surveying the scene in front of him, almost as if analyzing it.
As he walked past the near pair he looked first into the eyes of Isabel Evans, and again felt a sudden chill as he looked at her tight-lipped determined face and her cold dark eyes. Next to her was Alex Whitman whose head briefly nodded in acknowledgement as he passed, but whose face now seemed to mirror the girl’s determination. Whatever club Maria, Isabel, and Michael had been in four hours ago, it appeared that Alex Whitman had now become a full-fledged member.
‘Great, that’s just what I needed now.’ thought Valenti, making a mental note to make sure these young people were escorted out of the area before the perpetrators were brought out.
“OK, Listen up,” said Jim Valenti to the SWAT team, his deputies, and the EMT personnel. “We’ll review this just one last time, and if there are any questions at all, make sure they’re asked, answered, and understood BEFORE we leave this room.
When Mr. Larrabee puts in the code, Reynolds will give him time to get back out of the building, then turn the handle to unlock the vault when I say “now”. That’s when the power is cut to the vault, and to the lobby overhead lighting. We have all the lobby blinds closed and the spotlights set to shine directly into the vault door. We want them in darkness and looking out at the darkened lobby when deputies Reynolds and Garcia pull the door open. The two perps should be unable to really see what’s going on behind the glare of the lights. Reynolds and Garcia will stay behind the vault door, being ready to back off, to snatch hostages, or to take cover and provide supporting fire if necessary.
Any questions?”
There was no sound from the assembled law officers, just determined looks. “Officer Ortiz will now brief the SWAT team, …Enriquez?”
Dressed in Kevlar and camouflage, Lieutenant Enriquez Ortiz stepped to the blackboard. “As you can see from the diagram, we will have Johnson and Madison in these two shooting positions. Because of the geometry of the vault, there are areas to either side of the door in the safety deposit area that we will not be able to see, and outside our field of fire. I would expect the perps to move into those areas before we can get the door fully open, since it’s too massive to move quickly. If we should get lucky and we can get both perps in a clear field of fire, Johnson will cover the tall one, while Madison covers the shorter one. If they make any kind of a threatening gesture, either to the hostages or to us, take them out.
More likely, they will be behind the door, or possibly in the safety deposit box area with hostages in front of them. At that point we hold fire, and let the Sheriff try to negotiate. Worst case scenario is that all four will be back in the cash vault area here,” pointing to part of the diagram, “and that we are again in a stalemate.”
I want it understood that we are taking no chances with these guys. They have already severely wounded one person, and at least assaulted one of the hostages. If we get clean shots and there is any threat at all to anyone, we take these guys out. Any questions?”
6:45 AM Main Street, near the First New Mexico Bank Branch.
As Jim Valenti moved with the other law enforcement personnel toward the bank, his thoughts were on the upcoming operations, and he did not at first see the four civilians on the street just outside the police corridor. But then looking up, he saw them standing before him. There were two pairs of teenagers, deployed at each end of the bank parking lot, almost like military fire teams with interlocking fields of fire.
On the other side of the bank was Maria DeLuca with the Guerin kid, who appeared to be keeping his body between the bank and her, surveying the scene in front of him, almost as if analyzing it.
As he walked past the near pair he looked first into the eyes of Isabel Evans, and again felt a sudden chill as he looked at her tight-lipped determined face and her cold dark eyes. Next to her was Alex Whitman whose head briefly nodded in acknowledgement as he passed, but whose face now seemed to mirror the girl’s determination. Whatever club Maria, Isabel, and Michael had been in four hours ago, it appeared that Alex Whitman had now become a full-fledged member.
‘Great, that’s just what I needed now.’ thought Valenti, making a mental note to make sure these young people were escorted out of the area before the perpetrators were brought out.
7:15 AM The parking lot outside the First New Mexico Bank.
Michael Guerin felt a shudder run through Maria as she suddenly leaned against him. Without taking his eyes away from the bank, without ever dropping his guard, he put a tentative left arm around her shoulder, gently bringing her closer. “I know”, he said. “I feel that way toward Max and Izzie. Closer than family.” He gave her shoulder a gentle tentative squeeze before saying, “Not that I would know much about family.”
Maria looked up at his face, and looked at her watch. “Fifteen minutes to go. One way or another, it’ll be over soon.” She gently placed her arm around his waist, and leaned her head on his shoulder. Michael’s face softened slightly for a moment, but his eyes never left the bank building.
At the other corner of the parking lot Isabel Evans stood by Alex Whitman, sharing a look of grim determination. “I’ve been friends with Liz for ten years,” Alex said softly. “I can’t believe anyone would do this to her, to her folks, to your folks.” Isabel appeared to blink away tears, but her eyes continued their scan of the building. 'One way or another,' she thought, 'justice was coming to Mr. Garber and Mr. McMillan'.
“7:15,” Alex said. “15 minutes and they’ll be able to get in there…..”
7:20 AM. Jim Valenti and the SWAT leader, watched the last minute preparations of their men. “What do you think are the chances that either of those kids are alive, Sheriff?” asked Lieutenant Ortiz. “God, I don’t know Enriquez. I’ve watched those security videos a dozen times, and the Evans kid looked like he may have been breathing, but he didn’t move. No way of telling how severe that head injury is. And I pray to God that the girls parents never see the way those bastards treated her. Even if she has survived forty hours of that, what kind of shape would she be in? To tell the truth, I’m dreading speaking to those two sets of parents far more than anything I’ve ever done in law enforcement.” “I’ll tell you Jim,” said Ortiz, “my greatest fear is that these guys are going to just throw out their guns, give up, and somehow just work the legal system again for some short sentence, and then we get to do this again in 5-10 years.” For some reason, an image of Isabel Evans and the three other teenagers in the booth at the Crashdown imposed itself on his thoughts and he said, “I hope not, Enriquez. I hope it ends here.”
Michael Guerin felt a shudder run through Maria as she suddenly leaned against him. Without taking his eyes away from the bank, without ever dropping his guard, he put a tentative left arm around her shoulder, gently bringing her closer. “I know”, he said. “I feel that way toward Max and Izzie. Closer than family.” He gave her shoulder a gentle tentative squeeze before saying, “Not that I would know much about family.”
Maria looked up at his face, and looked at her watch. “Fifteen minutes to go. One way or another, it’ll be over soon.” She gently placed her arm around his waist, and leaned her head on his shoulder. Michael’s face softened slightly for a moment, but his eyes never left the bank building.
At the other corner of the parking lot Isabel Evans stood by Alex Whitman, sharing a look of grim determination. “I’ve been friends with Liz for ten years,” Alex said softly. “I can’t believe anyone would do this to her, to her folks, to your folks.” Isabel appeared to blink away tears, but her eyes continued their scan of the building. 'One way or another,' she thought, 'justice was coming to Mr. Garber and Mr. McMillan'.
“7:15,” Alex said. “15 minutes and they’ll be able to get in there…..”
7:20 AM. Jim Valenti and the SWAT leader, watched the last minute preparations of their men. “What do you think are the chances that either of those kids are alive, Sheriff?” asked Lieutenant Ortiz. “God, I don’t know Enriquez. I’ve watched those security videos a dozen times, and the Evans kid looked like he may have been breathing, but he didn’t move. No way of telling how severe that head injury is. And I pray to God that the girls parents never see the way those bastards treated her. Even if she has survived forty hours of that, what kind of shape would she be in? To tell the truth, I’m dreading speaking to those two sets of parents far more than anything I’ve ever done in law enforcement.” “I’ll tell you Jim,” said Ortiz, “my greatest fear is that these guys are going to just throw out their guns, give up, and somehow just work the legal system again for some short sentence, and then we get to do this again in 5-10 years.” For some reason, an image of Isabel Evans and the three other teenagers in the booth at the Crashdown imposed itself on his thoughts and he said, “I hope not, Enriquez. I hope it ends here.”
7:30 AM First New Mexico Bank, Roswell New Mexico.
As the bank vault lock changed to 7:30, the bank senior teller Mr. Larrabee fingered the combination into the keypad. The LED on the lock changed from red to green and a small “clunk” was heard as the locking bolts withdrew from the perimeter of the door. Already Larrabee moved away, as the lobby overhead lights were extinguished and the halogen search lights illuminated the frame of the door.
It opened slowly under the pull of the two deputies revealing part of the interior of the safety deposit area, brightly lit by the yellowish glare of the halogens. No one was visible in the doorframe, but Sheriff Valenti knew that two-thirds of the outer vault could not be seen by the SWAT team and deputies, and was not within their field of fire. He shouted out, “I want to see the guns come out first, then I want to see you back out slowly, your hands over your head.”
Six guns were trained on the open vault door, waiting, when first the shotgun, then the rifle, were tossed through from somewhere off to the side, out of sight of the law enforcement personnel. Valenti stole a quick glance at Lieutenant Ortiz, who appeared to be shaking his head sadly.
“Raise your hands over your head and step backwards through the door!” Valenti shouted. In the harsh glare of the lights, two people backed through the door, both hands held high, but with the right hand of the male intertwined with the left hand of the female. Jim Valenti’s heart caught in his throat as he recognized Liz Parker and Max Evans.
As soon as the hostages had cleared the door, both were grabbed by flak jacket clad deputies and pulled roughly to the side, out of the line of fire from the door. There was a short cry from the girl, and the deputy who had sought to protect her by covering her with his own body found himself lifted off her as the Evans boy somehow shook off his own protector to pull the deputy bodily off the girl.
“She’s got broken ribs, don’t hurt her” he shouted. “It’s over. They’re dead.”
As the bank vault lock changed to 7:30, the bank senior teller Mr. Larrabee fingered the combination into the keypad. The LED on the lock changed from red to green and a small “clunk” was heard as the locking bolts withdrew from the perimeter of the door. Already Larrabee moved away, as the lobby overhead lights were extinguished and the halogen search lights illuminated the frame of the door.
It opened slowly under the pull of the two deputies revealing part of the interior of the safety deposit area, brightly lit by the yellowish glare of the halogens. No one was visible in the doorframe, but Sheriff Valenti knew that two-thirds of the outer vault could not be seen by the SWAT team and deputies, and was not within their field of fire. He shouted out, “I want to see the guns come out first, then I want to see you back out slowly, your hands over your head.”
Six guns were trained on the open vault door, waiting, when first the shotgun, then the rifle, were tossed through from somewhere off to the side, out of sight of the law enforcement personnel. Valenti stole a quick glance at Lieutenant Ortiz, who appeared to be shaking his head sadly.
“Raise your hands over your head and step backwards through the door!” Valenti shouted. In the harsh glare of the lights, two people backed through the door, both hands held high, but with the right hand of the male intertwined with the left hand of the female. Jim Valenti’s heart caught in his throat as he recognized Liz Parker and Max Evans.
As soon as the hostages had cleared the door, both were grabbed by flak jacket clad deputies and pulled roughly to the side, out of the line of fire from the door. There was a short cry from the girl, and the deputy who had sought to protect her by covering her with his own body found himself lifted off her as the Evans boy somehow shook off his own protector to pull the deputy bodily off the girl.
“She’s got broken ribs, don’t hurt her” he shouted. “It’s over. They’re dead.”
7:40 AM The parking lot outside the First New Mexico Bank.
Isabel saw the door open, and the Sheriff walk directly toward her. She placed a trembling hand on Alex Whitman’s forearm to steady herself saying softly” No…., oh God please no….” As the Sheriff came closer she saw his look of concern and noticed a small smile forming on his lips as he said, “They’re alive. They’ve got some bumps and bruises and the EMTs are still checking them out, but they are going to be OK. Please go to the Crashdown and tell your parents and the Parkers that I’ll be there as soon as I can, but both Max and Liz are going to be OK.”
As the Sheriff turned around and walked back toward the bank, Isabel hugged Alex and placed her head on his shoulder, letting the deep sobs of relief come, clinging to him for support. Alex too had tears in his eyes, as he held her softly.
Across the parking lot, Michael saw movement at the bank door and went to full alert, relaxing only slightly when he recognized the Sheriff. As the Sheriff walked up to Isabel and he saw her collapse into Alex’s arms he heard Maria start to scream at his side. “No….no….no…..” as she started to hyperventilate. He turned quickly to her, ignoring the bank and the other couple. “It’s OK, Maria. It’s OK. They must be alive or Isabel wouldn’t be acting like that. Let’s go talk to Izzie. It’ll be OK”.
As the four teenagers met, they hugged one another and Isabel shared Sheriff Valenti’s words with Michael and Maria. They turned and walked quickly back toward the Crashdown to spread the good news. As they walked Maria turned to Michael and said, “When I saw Isabel collapse in tears after Valenti talked to her, I was scared to death. How did you know that what he told her was good news, not bad?” Michael smiled and said, “Izzie and I have known each other a long time. I guess I can read her pretty well by now.”
Isabel looked at Maria and reached out to touch her forearm. As Maria turned she saw Isabel’s eyes twinkle as she said with a slight smile, “What Michael is trying to say is that when he saw the Ice Princess melt, rather than becoming the psycho alien bitch from Hell, he figured the news had to be pretty good.”
All four teenagers laughed despite their tears of joy, and held hands as they again quickened their walk toward the Crashdown and the worried parents of Max Evans and Liz Parker.
Isabel saw the door open, and the Sheriff walk directly toward her. She placed a trembling hand on Alex Whitman’s forearm to steady herself saying softly” No…., oh God please no….” As the Sheriff came closer she saw his look of concern and noticed a small smile forming on his lips as he said, “They’re alive. They’ve got some bumps and bruises and the EMTs are still checking them out, but they are going to be OK. Please go to the Crashdown and tell your parents and the Parkers that I’ll be there as soon as I can, but both Max and Liz are going to be OK.”
As the Sheriff turned around and walked back toward the bank, Isabel hugged Alex and placed her head on his shoulder, letting the deep sobs of relief come, clinging to him for support. Alex too had tears in his eyes, as he held her softly.
Across the parking lot, Michael saw movement at the bank door and went to full alert, relaxing only slightly when he recognized the Sheriff. As the Sheriff walked up to Isabel and he saw her collapse into Alex’s arms he heard Maria start to scream at his side. “No….no….no…..” as she started to hyperventilate. He turned quickly to her, ignoring the bank and the other couple. “It’s OK, Maria. It’s OK. They must be alive or Isabel wouldn’t be acting like that. Let’s go talk to Izzie. It’ll be OK”.
As the four teenagers met, they hugged one another and Isabel shared Sheriff Valenti’s words with Michael and Maria. They turned and walked quickly back toward the Crashdown to spread the good news. As they walked Maria turned to Michael and said, “When I saw Isabel collapse in tears after Valenti talked to her, I was scared to death. How did you know that what he told her was good news, not bad?” Michael smiled and said, “Izzie and I have known each other a long time. I guess I can read her pretty well by now.”
Isabel looked at Maria and reached out to touch her forearm. As Maria turned she saw Isabel’s eyes twinkle as she said with a slight smile, “What Michael is trying to say is that when he saw the Ice Princess melt, rather than becoming the psycho alien bitch from Hell, he figured the news had to be pretty good.”
All four teenagers laughed despite their tears of joy, and held hands as they again quickened their walk toward the Crashdown and the worried parents of Max Evans and Liz Parker.
7:43 AM The Crashdown café.
As the two sets of parents sat together sharing silent prayers for the safety of their children, the front doors crashed open as the four teenagers came running through.
Their hearts leaped as they saw the happiness on the youngster’s faces, but they only truly believed when they heard Isabel yell, “They’re both OK! The Sheriff told me that they are a little roughed up but nothing that can’t be fixed. When the EMTs are done checking them over, they’ll probably take them to the hospital to be checked out further but they are going to be alright. He said he’ll be here in ten or fifteen minutes to brief us on everything.”
Pandemonium reigned in the Crashdown. It seemed like, in the next ten minutes, every one of the fourteen people in the Crashdown hugged every other person at least several times…..
7:55 Crashdown Café.
The sheriff and one deputy entered the scene of tearful rejoicing, and announced that a preliminary briefing would be given only to the families on the status of the two former hostages. The “birthday room”, a small serving area used for kids’ parties and occasional Kiwanis meetings was chosen, and a deputy was stationed to exclude non family members as Jeff and Nancy Parker and Philip and Diane Evans entered the room with the Sheriff.
Before the door was closed, the deputy saw Isabel Evans start to enter, followed by three other teenagers. Figuring she was family, the deputy moved aside, but started to raise his hand to exclude the other three. The Evans girl’s eyes caught his, and her head moved slightly from side to side, in an appeal, or perhaps a warning, to let the other three pass. The deputy decided he wasn’t going to destroy a happy moment with an incident, and quietly ushered the four in, locking the door behind them.
“First of all,” said the Sheriff, “I want to reassure everyone that the kids are OK. Neither of them has any damage that won’t heal. I know that you were upset thinking that I withheld information from you from the security cameras on Saturday, and I want to explain what happened then and why I did what I did.
First of all, I want you to realize the frustrations and fears that we all had. When we tapped in to the security camera as I was negotiating over the phone with the gunmen, we saw in the background that Max Evans was crumpled on the floor with a head wound, his head cradled in the lap of Liz Parker. As I have been reviewing the security camera records since then it became apparent that Max received a head wound from a ricochet during the initial gunfire as the door was closing, most likely from the gunmen with the rifle firing into the back of the vault door as it was closing.
When the firing began Max had forced Miss Parker to a corner of the outer vault and was shielding her with his body when he was hit. Then we had a very unusual situation. In Law enforcement, we get courses in hostage rescue, and negotiation with criminals, but this particular situation was kind of unique. Once that door closed and the timelock activated, we had no ability to effectively negotiate. We couldn’t give them food or water, we had no ability to try to rescue the kids, we couldn’t bargain with them at all. They felt more and more trapped and desperate, knowing that every hour they were trapped was another hour we had to prepare, making any escape by them more and more unlikely.
Now all such timelocks are required by law to have a backup combination, that will over-ride the timelock, but in this case the one with the combination was Mr. Fillmore, the bank president, who was as you know shot Saturday at the very start of this situation and is even now still in the ICU unable to talk to us. Both of the perpetrators were increasingly aware that they would not get away. Eventually they realized that our inability to open the door was real, and that they were essentially imprisoned until this morning.”
The Sheriff’s mouth became tight-lipped and his look bitter. “When they realized this they became vicious and threatening, and hung up the phone. I watched the monitor helplessly as they dragged Miss Parker away from the unconscious Mr. Evans, hitting her repeatedly in the face and trunk, throwing her to the floor and tearing at her sweater and uniform. I immediately called back on the phone, begging them to leave her alone.” His nostrils flared as he continued, “Apparently that was the first they realized that there was a security camera in the vault. One of them taunted me over the telephone, hung up the telephone and fired a shotgun into the camera and mike, disabling both…. and that is the picture I have been living with from late Saturday afternoon until just several minutes ago. Fortunately, according to both Miss Parker and Mr. Evans, the noise of the blast brought Mr. Evans back to consciousness, and he was able to stop the assaults on Miss Parker before anything more happened,” the Sheriff said, glancing meaningfully and reassuringly to Jeff and Nancy Parker.
Maria DeLuca leaped to her feet in anger, steadying herself between Michael and Alex.
“What’s going to be done to them this time, Sheriff? Tell me they aren’t going to go back to the halfway house,” she said defiantly.
“Miss DeLuca,” said the Sheriff coldly, “This case will be handled precisely in accordance with the laws of the State of New Mexico. After the Crime Scene Investigators are done with their documenting, the bodies of Mr. Garber and Mr. McMillan will be autopsied, and then released to their next of kin, if they wish to claim them. If not, they will be buried by the state in the graveyard at the state penitentiary.”
Eyes widened around the room, and Maria said “Bodies….???”
Nodding his head slightly the Sheriff said, “It would appear from the initial testimony of both Max and Liz that, upon being awakened to consciousness by the shotgun blast, Max took exception to the ongoing efforts of Mr. Garber and Mr. McMillan in assaulting and attempting to rape Miss Parker, and took a five gallon pressurized water fire extinguisher off the wall with which he beat them repeatedly until he again lapsed into unconsciousness. Sometime subsequently, Max regained consciousness. Garber and McMillan did not.”
Jim Valenti looked out at a suddenly quiet room, seeing tears coming down the eyes of the Parker’s and hearing Nancy sobbing quietly. Slowly both embraced Max’s parents. The four teenagers were huddling together, Maria, Isabel, and Alex looking into one another’s eyes. Guerin seemed to stare off at a wall of the room, his eyes seeming to focus on something far away, his head nodding almost imperceptibly.
As the two sets of parents sat together sharing silent prayers for the safety of their children, the front doors crashed open as the four teenagers came running through.
Their hearts leaped as they saw the happiness on the youngster’s faces, but they only truly believed when they heard Isabel yell, “They’re both OK! The Sheriff told me that they are a little roughed up but nothing that can’t be fixed. When the EMTs are done checking them over, they’ll probably take them to the hospital to be checked out further but they are going to be alright. He said he’ll be here in ten or fifteen minutes to brief us on everything.”
Pandemonium reigned in the Crashdown. It seemed like, in the next ten minutes, every one of the fourteen people in the Crashdown hugged every other person at least several times…..
7:55 Crashdown Café.
The sheriff and one deputy entered the scene of tearful rejoicing, and announced that a preliminary briefing would be given only to the families on the status of the two former hostages. The “birthday room”, a small serving area used for kids’ parties and occasional Kiwanis meetings was chosen, and a deputy was stationed to exclude non family members as Jeff and Nancy Parker and Philip and Diane Evans entered the room with the Sheriff.
Before the door was closed, the deputy saw Isabel Evans start to enter, followed by three other teenagers. Figuring she was family, the deputy moved aside, but started to raise his hand to exclude the other three. The Evans girl’s eyes caught his, and her head moved slightly from side to side, in an appeal, or perhaps a warning, to let the other three pass. The deputy decided he wasn’t going to destroy a happy moment with an incident, and quietly ushered the four in, locking the door behind them.
“First of all,” said the Sheriff, “I want to reassure everyone that the kids are OK. Neither of them has any damage that won’t heal. I know that you were upset thinking that I withheld information from you from the security cameras on Saturday, and I want to explain what happened then and why I did what I did.
First of all, I want you to realize the frustrations and fears that we all had. When we tapped in to the security camera as I was negotiating over the phone with the gunmen, we saw in the background that Max Evans was crumpled on the floor with a head wound, his head cradled in the lap of Liz Parker. As I have been reviewing the security camera records since then it became apparent that Max received a head wound from a ricochet during the initial gunfire as the door was closing, most likely from the gunmen with the rifle firing into the back of the vault door as it was closing.
When the firing began Max had forced Miss Parker to a corner of the outer vault and was shielding her with his body when he was hit. Then we had a very unusual situation. In Law enforcement, we get courses in hostage rescue, and negotiation with criminals, but this particular situation was kind of unique. Once that door closed and the timelock activated, we had no ability to effectively negotiate. We couldn’t give them food or water, we had no ability to try to rescue the kids, we couldn’t bargain with them at all. They felt more and more trapped and desperate, knowing that every hour they were trapped was another hour we had to prepare, making any escape by them more and more unlikely.
Now all such timelocks are required by law to have a backup combination, that will over-ride the timelock, but in this case the one with the combination was Mr. Fillmore, the bank president, who was as you know shot Saturday at the very start of this situation and is even now still in the ICU unable to talk to us. Both of the perpetrators were increasingly aware that they would not get away. Eventually they realized that our inability to open the door was real, and that they were essentially imprisoned until this morning.”
The Sheriff’s mouth became tight-lipped and his look bitter. “When they realized this they became vicious and threatening, and hung up the phone. I watched the monitor helplessly as they dragged Miss Parker away from the unconscious Mr. Evans, hitting her repeatedly in the face and trunk, throwing her to the floor and tearing at her sweater and uniform. I immediately called back on the phone, begging them to leave her alone.” His nostrils flared as he continued, “Apparently that was the first they realized that there was a security camera in the vault. One of them taunted me over the telephone, hung up the telephone and fired a shotgun into the camera and mike, disabling both…. and that is the picture I have been living with from late Saturday afternoon until just several minutes ago. Fortunately, according to both Miss Parker and Mr. Evans, the noise of the blast brought Mr. Evans back to consciousness, and he was able to stop the assaults on Miss Parker before anything more happened,” the Sheriff said, glancing meaningfully and reassuringly to Jeff and Nancy Parker.
Maria DeLuca leaped to her feet in anger, steadying herself between Michael and Alex.
“What’s going to be done to them this time, Sheriff? Tell me they aren’t going to go back to the halfway house,” she said defiantly.
“Miss DeLuca,” said the Sheriff coldly, “This case will be handled precisely in accordance with the laws of the State of New Mexico. After the Crime Scene Investigators are done with their documenting, the bodies of Mr. Garber and Mr. McMillan will be autopsied, and then released to their next of kin, if they wish to claim them. If not, they will be buried by the state in the graveyard at the state penitentiary.”
Eyes widened around the room, and Maria said “Bodies….???”
Nodding his head slightly the Sheriff said, “It would appear from the initial testimony of both Max and Liz that, upon being awakened to consciousness by the shotgun blast, Max took exception to the ongoing efforts of Mr. Garber and Mr. McMillan in assaulting and attempting to rape Miss Parker, and took a five gallon pressurized water fire extinguisher off the wall with which he beat them repeatedly until he again lapsed into unconsciousness. Sometime subsequently, Max regained consciousness. Garber and McMillan did not.”
Jim Valenti looked out at a suddenly quiet room, seeing tears coming down the eyes of the Parker’s and hearing Nancy sobbing quietly. Slowly both embraced Max’s parents. The four teenagers were huddling together, Maria, Isabel, and Alex looking into one another’s eyes. Guerin seemed to stare off at a wall of the room, his eyes seeming to focus on something far away, his head nodding almost imperceptibly.
Philip Evans looked at the Sheriff and said, “Should Max have a lawyer with him during his questioning, Sheriff?” As he watched, he saw the eyes of Nancy Parker and Diane Evans open wide in alarm.
“You are a lawyer, Philip. You know that this will have to go to a coroner’s inquest jury because that’s the law. The county prosecutor will make the call, after getting their decision as to whether or not the deaths were justified but here on the law enforcement end, we sure don’t see any crime.
Hell, the SWAT team was so happy at the outcome of this their driver went off and bought a case of beer for the rest of the team to celebrate with. One of the team members was giving Max a beer, even knowing he was only sixteen, when an EMT yelled at him that he shouldn’t give alcohol to someone with a concussion.
These guys were escaped sex offenders, had committed assault and battery of two people just to get the guns they used to rob a bank, then shot the bank president in the stomach with a shotgun in the process. Their intentions toward Miss Parker were certainly clear. Nobody in my department or the SWAT team is going to shed a tear for these vermin….. But as I said, it’s the county prosecutor’s call.
If you want a lawyer to talk to Max before he’s questioned, no problem. I’ll personally go in and tell him to not say another word. I realize he and I had a few issues a month ago, but today he’s my savior. I’ve haven’t slept for two days dreading the speech I was going to have to give you two families once we opened the vault, ….I had no idea how I could possibly tell you what I was certain we were going to find.
When Max and Liz stepped out of the vault this morning alive……,” the tears started trickling down Valenti’s face, and he rubbed them away, swallowed and went on, his voice cracking slightly, “The routine in these cases is for the hostages to be taken to the emergency room for examination, and we have a police photographer who will document bruising and other visible injuries. Both hostages have encountered significant violence, brutality, death, and threat of death. We do have stress counselors available on contract to the department who can assist them in coping with psychological residuals of the incident if necessary. We know you want to see your kids, to hold them in your arms as soon as possible, and we’ll see that you get do that. We would appreciate it if you could allow us to finish documenting their injuries before you talk to them about what happened, and we’ll try to get that done expeditiously. We don’t control the workload at the hospital, however, and while they will give us some priority there, neither Liz nor Max have life-threatening injuries, so they may get bumped to the back of the line if any true life or death emergencies come in to the ER. Are there any other questions I can answer?”
Jeff Parker stood up and asked, “Sheriff, could you give us some idea of the injuries to Liz ..and to Max?”
“According to the preliminary assessment by the EMTs Liz’s injuries appear confined,” the Sheriff emphasizing the last word while looking at the Parker’s, “to a large bruise involving her left cheek with a possible underlying facial fracture, several, possibly as many as four, fractured ribs, and an assortment of superficial bruises and scratches.
Max’s main injury was a grazing gunshot injury to his head that appears to have caused a concussion. He apparently was unconscious for several hours initially, and again lost consciousness after his fight with the perps. Through most of Saturday night and Sunday morning he was in and out of consciousness, but has been awake since that time. Both kids, actually, could use some serious sleep. Neither appears to have slept during the entire period, excepting Max’s periods of unconsciousness. Liz really couldn’t because of the pain of the rib fractures, Max apparently had a severe headache most of Sunday, really easing up only this morning.”
Valenti’s radio suddenly beeped, and he held it to his ear. “It seems like both kids are in the ER, and will be getting X-rays and a CT scan for Max shortly. I think you’d probably rather be seeing them now than talking to me so, unless there are further questions, I’ll let you all go.”
As Guerin went by he looked up and said with a half-smile, “Gonna have the SWAT team commander talk to his man about trying to provide alcohol to a minor, Sheriff?”
Looking back over his shoulder as he walked away Valenti said as much to himself as to Michael, “Hell, it was the SWAT team commander.”
“You are a lawyer, Philip. You know that this will have to go to a coroner’s inquest jury because that’s the law. The county prosecutor will make the call, after getting their decision as to whether or not the deaths were justified but here on the law enforcement end, we sure don’t see any crime.
Hell, the SWAT team was so happy at the outcome of this their driver went off and bought a case of beer for the rest of the team to celebrate with. One of the team members was giving Max a beer, even knowing he was only sixteen, when an EMT yelled at him that he shouldn’t give alcohol to someone with a concussion.
These guys were escaped sex offenders, had committed assault and battery of two people just to get the guns they used to rob a bank, then shot the bank president in the stomach with a shotgun in the process. Their intentions toward Miss Parker were certainly clear. Nobody in my department or the SWAT team is going to shed a tear for these vermin….. But as I said, it’s the county prosecutor’s call.
If you want a lawyer to talk to Max before he’s questioned, no problem. I’ll personally go in and tell him to not say another word. I realize he and I had a few issues a month ago, but today he’s my savior. I’ve haven’t slept for two days dreading the speech I was going to have to give you two families once we opened the vault, ….I had no idea how I could possibly tell you what I was certain we were going to find.
When Max and Liz stepped out of the vault this morning alive……,” the tears started trickling down Valenti’s face, and he rubbed them away, swallowed and went on, his voice cracking slightly, “The routine in these cases is for the hostages to be taken to the emergency room for examination, and we have a police photographer who will document bruising and other visible injuries. Both hostages have encountered significant violence, brutality, death, and threat of death. We do have stress counselors available on contract to the department who can assist them in coping with psychological residuals of the incident if necessary. We know you want to see your kids, to hold them in your arms as soon as possible, and we’ll see that you get do that. We would appreciate it if you could allow us to finish documenting their injuries before you talk to them about what happened, and we’ll try to get that done expeditiously. We don’t control the workload at the hospital, however, and while they will give us some priority there, neither Liz nor Max have life-threatening injuries, so they may get bumped to the back of the line if any true life or death emergencies come in to the ER. Are there any other questions I can answer?”
Jeff Parker stood up and asked, “Sheriff, could you give us some idea of the injuries to Liz ..and to Max?”
“According to the preliminary assessment by the EMTs Liz’s injuries appear confined,” the Sheriff emphasizing the last word while looking at the Parker’s, “to a large bruise involving her left cheek with a possible underlying facial fracture, several, possibly as many as four, fractured ribs, and an assortment of superficial bruises and scratches.
Max’s main injury was a grazing gunshot injury to his head that appears to have caused a concussion. He apparently was unconscious for several hours initially, and again lost consciousness after his fight with the perps. Through most of Saturday night and Sunday morning he was in and out of consciousness, but has been awake since that time. Both kids, actually, could use some serious sleep. Neither appears to have slept during the entire period, excepting Max’s periods of unconsciousness. Liz really couldn’t because of the pain of the rib fractures, Max apparently had a severe headache most of Sunday, really easing up only this morning.”
Valenti’s radio suddenly beeped, and he held it to his ear. “It seems like both kids are in the ER, and will be getting X-rays and a CT scan for Max shortly. I think you’d probably rather be seeing them now than talking to me so, unless there are further questions, I’ll let you all go.”
As Guerin went by he looked up and said with a half-smile, “Gonna have the SWAT team commander talk to his man about trying to provide alcohol to a minor, Sheriff?”
Looking back over his shoulder as he walked away Valenti said as much to himself as to Michael, “Hell, it was the SWAT team commander.”
Roswell Hospital Radiology Department 8:30 AM
The lighted sign saying “X-ray room in operation, do not enter” went out as Maria and the Parkers arrived at x-ray exam room two.
When Liz Parker emerged following the X-ray tech, Maria went into full-squeal mode, as she and the Parkers closed in together to embrace the hospital gown clad teenager. “RIBS! RIBS! RIBS!” Liz exclaimed loudly, causing her parents and Maria to jump back in alarm.
Liz quickly grabbed their hands and smiled at them saying “I’m OK, really, but hugging has been pretty painful the last two days.”
When Maria looked at her strangely, she suddenly blushed and said, “….Uhh, I mean breathing or moving or anything has hurt a lot, but the ER doctor said he’ll give me some medication that will let me move around easier. Uh…but first they need this x-ray and a CAT scan of my abdomen, you know, ..to uh look at my spleen.”
‘Nice recovery, Chica,’ thought Maria, looking knowingly at Liz.
Jeff and Nancy seemed to sort of hover with uncertainty, gripping their daughter’s hands and trying to get as close as possible to her, without getting too close and causing her further pain. Nancy reached up to softly touch her daughter’s discolored and swollen left cheek.
“The x-ray technician said she believed I have a non-displaced fracture of the zygoma, a facial bone, but that it probably won’t need surgery or anything and shouldn’t cause any problems. She says it’ll look terrible for a few weeks, though. And I have a few cracked ribs, but I already knew that. As soon as Max gets out of the CAT scanner I can get my CAT scan. If everything is OK, the police photographer said she’ll take some pictures of my injuries, and then I can go home.”
Jeff Parker looked into his daughter’s eyes and said, “Those men……did they….”
“No Daddy”, Liz replied, reading the fear in his eyes. “Max stopped them. He’d been unconscious for two hours and I thought he was dying, but when he heard me fighting them, when he heard me screaming, he woke up….and when he woke up…….” Liz stared into the distance.
Her parents huddled closer, afraid to touch her, but unable to pull themselves away from her.
Maria looked at Liz and thought, ‘Bet it was a hell of a surprise for those two bastards. I wonder if they even lasted long enough to know what hit them,’ She found herself wondering for a moment if she hoped they knew what hit them, or hoped they didn’t. Eventually deciding she really didn’t care one way or another, she went back to grinning at her best friend.
In the CAT scan room Philip and Diane Evans peeked through the leaded glass at their son, seeing the hair matted with dried blood along his left temple. The CAT scan tech yelled at Max for the third time to stop talking and keep still, interrupting his reassurances to his mother that he was alright, “…..really, Mom.”
The radiologist looked at the digital image on the screen and smiled reassuringly. “No evidence of a fracture. One small area that looks like a mild cerebral contusion, but nothing life-threatening….. It’s kind of the ER doctor’s call if he ought to be held for observation for awhile, but this doesn’t look too bad.”
As Max was pulled out of the CAT scanner his parents clustered around him hugging him tenderly, tears in their eyes. The technician wheeled him back to the ER, and as he passed Radiology Exam room two the connection flickered into existence momentarily, despite the closed door and lead walls. For a few seconds he felt her with him and then it flickered away again. “I sure hope Liz Parker’s going to be OK too,” said his Mother. “She will, Mom,” he said softly, a smile on his face. “She will.”
The lighted sign saying “X-ray room in operation, do not enter” went out as Maria and the Parkers arrived at x-ray exam room two.
When Liz Parker emerged following the X-ray tech, Maria went into full-squeal mode, as she and the Parkers closed in together to embrace the hospital gown clad teenager. “RIBS! RIBS! RIBS!” Liz exclaimed loudly, causing her parents and Maria to jump back in alarm.
Liz quickly grabbed their hands and smiled at them saying “I’m OK, really, but hugging has been pretty painful the last two days.”
When Maria looked at her strangely, she suddenly blushed and said, “….Uhh, I mean breathing or moving or anything has hurt a lot, but the ER doctor said he’ll give me some medication that will let me move around easier. Uh…but first they need this x-ray and a CAT scan of my abdomen, you know, ..to uh look at my spleen.”
‘Nice recovery, Chica,’ thought Maria, looking knowingly at Liz.
Jeff and Nancy seemed to sort of hover with uncertainty, gripping their daughter’s hands and trying to get as close as possible to her, without getting too close and causing her further pain. Nancy reached up to softly touch her daughter’s discolored and swollen left cheek.
“The x-ray technician said she believed I have a non-displaced fracture of the zygoma, a facial bone, but that it probably won’t need surgery or anything and shouldn’t cause any problems. She says it’ll look terrible for a few weeks, though. And I have a few cracked ribs, but I already knew that. As soon as Max gets out of the CAT scanner I can get my CAT scan. If everything is OK, the police photographer said she’ll take some pictures of my injuries, and then I can go home.”
Jeff Parker looked into his daughter’s eyes and said, “Those men……did they….”
“No Daddy”, Liz replied, reading the fear in his eyes. “Max stopped them. He’d been unconscious for two hours and I thought he was dying, but when he heard me fighting them, when he heard me screaming, he woke up….and when he woke up…….” Liz stared into the distance.
Her parents huddled closer, afraid to touch her, but unable to pull themselves away from her.
Maria looked at Liz and thought, ‘Bet it was a hell of a surprise for those two bastards. I wonder if they even lasted long enough to know what hit them,’ She found herself wondering for a moment if she hoped they knew what hit them, or hoped they didn’t. Eventually deciding she really didn’t care one way or another, she went back to grinning at her best friend.
In the CAT scan room Philip and Diane Evans peeked through the leaded glass at their son, seeing the hair matted with dried blood along his left temple. The CAT scan tech yelled at Max for the third time to stop talking and keep still, interrupting his reassurances to his mother that he was alright, “…..really, Mom.”
The radiologist looked at the digital image on the screen and smiled reassuringly. “No evidence of a fracture. One small area that looks like a mild cerebral contusion, but nothing life-threatening….. It’s kind of the ER doctor’s call if he ought to be held for observation for awhile, but this doesn’t look too bad.”
As Max was pulled out of the CAT scanner his parents clustered around him hugging him tenderly, tears in their eyes. The technician wheeled him back to the ER, and as he passed Radiology Exam room two the connection flickered into existence momentarily, despite the closed door and lead walls. For a few seconds he felt her with him and then it flickered away again. “I sure hope Liz Parker’s going to be OK too,” said his Mother. “She will, Mom,” he said softly, a smile on his face. “She will.”
Roswell Hospital ER 11:30 AM
The ER doctor suggested that Max be kept overnight for observation, prompting repeated objections from him.
“Look, I wasn’t hospitalized when I was unconscious, or for 36 hours when I had a splitting headache. Now that I’m feeling fine, …..NOW you want to hospitalize me? I’ve been locked up for almost two days already. I just want to go home!”
Eventually, the doctor relented, on condition that one of his parents awaken him throughout the night to check his responsiveness. His parents were given a head injury worksheet with the telephone number of the ER, which they were to call if he showed any abnormalities. His head wound was cleaned and dressed, but not sewn shut because too much time had passed. He was to keep his wound clean and dry, until rechecked by his own family physician in 2 days. The ER doctor told him he might have a fairly substantial scar, but since it was all within his hairline, it really wouldn’t be visible. He advised him jokingly to try not to go bald in the future. The police photographer took a photo of the head injury after it was cleaned, but before it was bandaged.
Feeling more relief than they had felt since Saturday morning, Philip and Diane took their children home.
Treatment of Liz Parker took a little longer.
The facial fracture was seen by the on-call plastic surgeon, who indicated it was not displaced, despite the swelling and bruising that was readily apparent on the left side of her face.
The rib x-rays showed three certain and one possible fracture on her lower left chest, but the abdominal CAT scan did not indicate any internal injuries underlying these fractures. The fractures themselves were not displaced, but were very painful with overhead movement of her left arm, deep breathing, or twisting of her trunk.
The ER physician talked to her about her assault, and recommended that she see a stress counselor within the next several days. The bruises and scratches on her torso were documented by the police photographer as a supportive policewoman explained each step. All of the scratches were cleaned, and she got a tetanus shot because she was overdue for one. She was given a prescription for pain medication to “take the edge off” but warned by the ER physician that there was really no good way to treat the pain of broken ribs since, when the ribs weren’t moving there was little pain, but when they were moving, the pain would sometimes (but not always) be severe. Medicating her for her most severe pain, he said, would cause her to be almost comatose when she had no pain, with risk of pneumonia, but small amounts of pain medications would take the edge off without threatening her.
Both Max and Liz were fed by their parents. Since neither had slept much since early Saturday morning, both parents independently decided that they were to go to bed early. Although neither teenager had been tucked in by their parents in recent years prior to today, both were put in their beds by their parents, with orders to stay there until Tuesday morning.
Tuesday 2:00 AM The Evans residence.
Max was awake, telling his mother who he was, what day it was, how many fingers she was holding up, and who the President of the United States was.
Max had been awakened by one or the other of his parents every hour, on the hour, for the last 12 hours, answering practically the same questions. The only variation in the routine appeared to be the number of fingers held up, and Max decided that in general his father preferred to hold up more fingers than did his mother.
He was impatient with this routine, sure in his own mind that Liz was in agony with every breath, but unable to do much about it while being checked hourly by his parents. But it was finally 2:00 AM and the head injury worksheet would now permit his parents to wait two whole hours before the next round of describing digits, time enough he believed, to see Liz, and do something about her pain.
His mother tucked him in (for the fourth time that night), kissed him softly on the cheek (for the fourth time that night), and returned to her own bedroom (for the fourth time that night) where she reset the alarm clock for 4:00 AM, which would be her husband’s turn. Before she had made it back to the master bedroom, Max was out of his window and trotting downtown toward the Crashdown and Liz Parker.
The ER doctor suggested that Max be kept overnight for observation, prompting repeated objections from him.
“Look, I wasn’t hospitalized when I was unconscious, or for 36 hours when I had a splitting headache. Now that I’m feeling fine, …..NOW you want to hospitalize me? I’ve been locked up for almost two days already. I just want to go home!”
Eventually, the doctor relented, on condition that one of his parents awaken him throughout the night to check his responsiveness. His parents were given a head injury worksheet with the telephone number of the ER, which they were to call if he showed any abnormalities. His head wound was cleaned and dressed, but not sewn shut because too much time had passed. He was to keep his wound clean and dry, until rechecked by his own family physician in 2 days. The ER doctor told him he might have a fairly substantial scar, but since it was all within his hairline, it really wouldn’t be visible. He advised him jokingly to try not to go bald in the future. The police photographer took a photo of the head injury after it was cleaned, but before it was bandaged.
Feeling more relief than they had felt since Saturday morning, Philip and Diane took their children home.
Treatment of Liz Parker took a little longer.
The facial fracture was seen by the on-call plastic surgeon, who indicated it was not displaced, despite the swelling and bruising that was readily apparent on the left side of her face.
The rib x-rays showed three certain and one possible fracture on her lower left chest, but the abdominal CAT scan did not indicate any internal injuries underlying these fractures. The fractures themselves were not displaced, but were very painful with overhead movement of her left arm, deep breathing, or twisting of her trunk.
The ER physician talked to her about her assault, and recommended that she see a stress counselor within the next several days. The bruises and scratches on her torso were documented by the police photographer as a supportive policewoman explained each step. All of the scratches were cleaned, and she got a tetanus shot because she was overdue for one. She was given a prescription for pain medication to “take the edge off” but warned by the ER physician that there was really no good way to treat the pain of broken ribs since, when the ribs weren’t moving there was little pain, but when they were moving, the pain would sometimes (but not always) be severe. Medicating her for her most severe pain, he said, would cause her to be almost comatose when she had no pain, with risk of pneumonia, but small amounts of pain medications would take the edge off without threatening her.
Both Max and Liz were fed by their parents. Since neither had slept much since early Saturday morning, both parents independently decided that they were to go to bed early. Although neither teenager had been tucked in by their parents in recent years prior to today, both were put in their beds by their parents, with orders to stay there until Tuesday morning.
Tuesday 2:00 AM The Evans residence.
Max was awake, telling his mother who he was, what day it was, how many fingers she was holding up, and who the President of the United States was.
Max had been awakened by one or the other of his parents every hour, on the hour, for the last 12 hours, answering practically the same questions. The only variation in the routine appeared to be the number of fingers held up, and Max decided that in general his father preferred to hold up more fingers than did his mother.
He was impatient with this routine, sure in his own mind that Liz was in agony with every breath, but unable to do much about it while being checked hourly by his parents. But it was finally 2:00 AM and the head injury worksheet would now permit his parents to wait two whole hours before the next round of describing digits, time enough he believed, to see Liz, and do something about her pain.
His mother tucked him in (for the fourth time that night), kissed him softly on the cheek (for the fourth time that night), and returned to her own bedroom (for the fourth time that night) where she reset the alarm clock for 4:00 AM, which would be her husband’s turn. Before she had made it back to the master bedroom, Max was out of his window and trotting downtown toward the Crashdown and Liz Parker.