Summary: A tragic happening for a certain really important character Genre: Romance/Drama Rating: T to be on the safe side (don't have all of it written yet ) Disclamairs: The usual, I don't own any of the characters, etc, etc.... No working title yet, but it is in chapters, so let me know what you guys think! Part 1 It was one of those fall mornings that defied the fact that it was the middle of November. The sun shone warmly down, and the outside thermometer read 62? Yep, 62 alright. Mac smiled and shook his head as he settled on the couch for a late, late breakfast. Or was it an early lunch now? He shrugged and decided he figure out which later. The most remarkable thing about this morning, well, two things really: a) this was the 3rd day of 60+ degree weather in row and b) he had actually slept in. Granted this was in large part due to a couple god-awful back-to-back shifts that had only finally ended at 0300 this morning. Say what you will about the beautiful weather, the practical truth was that any unexpected non-cold meant trouble would find a way to come right along with it. It happened every spring too, when people poured outside to enjoy new warmth, and existing feuds and old enmities collided suddenly and violently. Mac propped his feet up on the coffee table and flicked on the TV. The news lady was reporting on the number of violent crimes in the past 48 hr, trying to look shocked, saddened and wise all at the same time but just coming off as bored. Mac shook his head in disgust and changed the channel. No need to tell him about the last 48 hr. He could count on one hand, hell, half a hand, the hours of sleep he’d had in that time frame. Not that there had been anything complicated, but the sheer volume of calls had made laughingly futile his attempts to somehow fit some sleep in the equation. He had at one point only realized he been accidently successful when Danny had shaken him awake at his desk, his left arm numb from lying on it, to go to another stabbing victim. Stella would owe him big for this one. She had asked him to cover her shift and on call night, with that “pretty-please-with sugar-on-top” look that Mac found completely irresistible, and his fate had been sealed. He smiled, remembering, and dug into his breakfast. Yeah, this would be breakfast. He was only half done when his phone rang. He stared at it as it sat on the coffee table demanding to be answered; an evil omen that, considering the torture it had recently brought him, certainly deserved to be chucked out the window to a shattering death below. Mac wearily picked up the phone and looked at the ID. His misgivings about the phone’s intentions were justified when, staring back at him, was the name “Don Flack”. And Flack was working today. Heaving a sigh, Mac answered. Maybe it would just be a head’s up about a case for when he went back in tomorrow. But that would be too good to be true. “Taylor.” “Hey Mac! How are you doing?” “I was doing just fine until you called. Nothing personal.” “I know, I know. Look, I hate to call you on your day off, especially today of all things, but I’ve got multiple fatalities on this one, and it hasn’t slowed down yet.” Mac sighed. The sun was just starting to make its way across the couch. But duty called. “I’m on my way.” As Mac parked his truck, grabbed his case and stepped out to meet Flack, he had an odd sense of déjà vu. Hadn’t he just done this? Oh right, yeah, he thought wryly, he had. “What do you got, Flack?” “Armed robbery gone bad. In fact, there have been three armed robberies reported within a square mile of this place in the last 8 hr. Up until now no one’s even been touched, just straight up armed theft. This is the first one to go bad, but obviously we’re thinking it’s the same couple of guys. This one ain’t pretty.” Mac grimaced. “Is it ever?” Flack nodded assent and led the way into a small convenience store. “Mr. and Mrs. Velasquez and Marcus Jimenez,” he motioned towards the three bodies lying on the floor. “The Velasquez’s owned and ran the store and Mr. Jimenez appears to have been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Best we can figure, Mrs. Velasquez was behind the counter when the perps came in and her husband was taking inventory in the back. His clipboard and record sheets are still back there. There was obviously a struggle of some sort which ended with this,” Flack gestured across the scene. “We’re reviewing the security camera recording now.” Mac nodded, frowning. “And this happened this morning?” “Probably a half hour before I called you.” “Unusual to hit a place mid-morning.” Flack shrugged, “Hey, there’s been nothin’ usual about the last couple days. ” Mac smiled wryly, “True. Any witnesses?” Flack just looked at him, “Come on. What do you think?” ” Shaking his head, Mac inspected the scene more closely. The owner had been shot in upper abdomen at point blank range, and apparently at an upwards angle based on the entrance wound. “You’re definitely right about the struggle,” he told Flack. “It looks like they were wrestling for the gun when the owner got shot, his wife came around the counter to help him and gets shot in the chest, and Mr. Jimenez there looks like he was killed as collateral damage. Let me know if you get anything off the security tape. I’m going to start processing.” Flack nodded and headed to the store’s small, back room. Mac was just finishing photographing the scene when he heard a voice behind him. “Want a hand?” He turned his head and looked up. Stella was standing, framed in the doorway. “I thought you were on another call.” “I was. Turned out to be a pretty obvious suicide though. Autopsy should say for sure, but I’d be shocked if it were otherwise. So I cleared there and headed here to bail you out and let you finish having a day off.” She looked apologetically and somewhat sheepishly at him, “Heard about yesterday. Sorry Mac. I owe you one.” Mac propped his camera on his knee and looked up at her. “One what?” Stella gestured, “You know, a day off, a favor, whatever you like!” A slow smile spread across his face, “Whatever I like?” “Now, you know what I meant…” Mac stood and held up his hand, “No, you said, whatever I like.” Stella looked at him giving her that quiet little mischievous grin and shook her head, bemused. “All right. But,” she pointed at him, “You can’t wait for ages to make up your mind about what it is.” Mac turned and looked back over his shoulder at her as he knelt back down, “Don’t worry.” Stella shook her head and smiled as she knelt down next to him. He had something up his sleeve, but she knew there would be no dragging it out of him. When he wanted to be, Mac could be the most obvious and obtuse person all at the same time. “So fill me in here, Mac. What do we got?”
Thanks!! I've got roughly the first 3-4 parts complete right now. I'll post the next as soon as allowable.
Great first chapter. I felt like I was in an actual episode. Loved the little SMACKed moments. Update when you have a chance. And take your time; good things are always worth the wait. :thumbsup:
Wow!!! Thanks a lot!! :hugegrin: Ok, continuing where we left off................ Part 2 An hour and a half later, most everything was bagged and recorded. Flack walked back in the store. “Security tape pretty much confirmed what we thought went down. And I’ve been asking around. Most everybody remembers hearing the shots, but the closest we have to a description is two guys in their late teens/early twenties wearing dark hoodies and baggy jeans.” He rolled his eyes, “Fits nearly every guy in that age range walking around here.” Mac looked up, “Maybe we can get more off the tape.” Flack looked skeptical, “Maybe. It didn’t look too promising when I just watched through it.” Mac shrugged, “We can but try.” He turned as Stella spoke from behind the counter where she had lifted a print from the cash register. “Last one! I should be all set here, Mac, if you want to get going.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah I’m sure. You get home and enjoy your day.” Mac nodded, “Ok. Call me if you need anything.” Stella walked with him out to his truck, “Thanks again, Mac.” He smiled, “No problem.” He opened his door, “See you tomorrow.” “You know it!” Stella turned to go back to the convenience store. “Hey?” She turned, “Yeah?” “Dinner.” Stella blinked. “What?” “Dinner. You owe me dinner.” He had that look again. She walked back over to his truck, intrigued. “Ok. Where?” He shifted ever so slightly, “How about my place?” Stella felt her mental jaw drop, “Mac Taylor, are you asking me on a date?” He smiled, “Maybe.” She looked at him leaning easily on his truck, the only piece of formal work clothing he was wearing, his NYPD issued Crime Scene jacket, was currently undone, sleeves pushed up. He had that adorable little boy smile on his face, and suddenly the sun felt 20 degrees warmer. “You cooking?” she asked. “Hey how is that fair?!” He grinned, “Is that a yes?” She opened her mouth to reply, but just then, shouts and a commotion erupted from across the street. Both Mac and Stella turned to locate the cause. “What now?” Stella queried incredulously just in time for them to see two people running in opposite directions from the small corner business, the owner right behind them, shotgun in hand, swearing a blue streak. “You’re kidding me!” Stella said, shocked. Mac bolted across the street in pursuit of the fleeing criminals, yelling at them to stop, nearly getting hit by an unobservant motorist. “Mac!” Stella shouted after him. Flack came running out, “What the hell’s going on?” “I think it’s them,” Stella called back to him as she raced after Mac. “We’ve got the one headed north, other one’s headed east!” Flack nodded, jumping into his car and shouting in turn into his radio for backup pursuit on the other suspect. Stella sprinted after Mac. He and his quarry were several yards ahead, and she saw them turn and head down an alley. Making the turn behind them, Stella saw them racing towards a tall chain-link fence that separated the end of the alley from the back lot of a large body shop. Suddenly the suspect stopped and turned, drawing a gun all in the same motion, and a single, awful shot echoed through the close alley. Stella saw Mac’s body shudder as he jerked to a stop. Time seemed to grind to a halt. She saw him look down and raise his hand to his abdomen. It came away covered in blood as he dropped to his knees. Then he was thrown backwards as two more shots rang out. “NO!!” Stella screamed, her insides twisting indescribably. She yelled desperately into her radio, “Officer down! I repeat, officer down at Seely and 147th! I need medics here immediately!” Startled at the appearance of an additional pursuer, the gunman squeezed off three more shots wildly in her direction before clambering nimbly over the fence and disappearing into a maze of wrecked cars. Stella rushed over to Mac who was lying in a rapidly growing pool of blood. He was ashen grey and his face was contorted in pain as he took rapid, gasping breaths. The shot to his belly was pouring blood and the final two had landed below his right collarbone and right-center chest. Stella tore off her jacket and desperately tried to staunch the bleeding from his abdomen. He was awake, but seemingly incapable of anything except struggling to breath. “Mac?! Mac?! Can you hear me?” Stella felt panic rise in her chest which threatened to overwhelm her, and hot tears formed in her eyes. “Dammit Mac, stay with me! Stay with me! Mac?!” She could hear sirens approaching. He slid his hand over and grasped her knee. It was like ice. She gently took her right hand off her blood-soaked jacket and took his. He gripped it tightly and desperately, and Stella could feel his struggle to live. Tires screeched to halt and Flack appeared, face stricken and horror-stamped at the sight before him. “Mac!! Oh god, Mac! Stella, what happened?! Here,” he placed his hands on the now almost drenched jacket and applied pressure. Mac groaned. “He just shot him, Don. The bastard just turned and shot him!” Absolute, white-hot rage rendered further speech impossible. But Mac’s eyes started to droop as complete exhaustion began to set in, and Stella could hear blood gurgling in his airway as his grip on her hand weakened. The world started collapsing around her.
oh no! poor mac! how long til we know what happens next? *suspense* i really liked the first bit too, hope it's not too long til part 3
I thought that was the rule for the thread.................. 'Sides, I gotta keep up the suspense at least a little bit!! :hugegrin:
OK!!! Next part! :hugegrin: I'm going to preface this and the next one with a little explanation. The previous chapter and these next two are rather personal for me. I'm a paramedic, and in one instance or another I've witnessed/done pretty much everything I've described. Not necessarily all at once contained in a single call, but I've seen the struggle for life, the terror in people's eyes, the absolute chaos, order, peace, noise and silence that exists all at the same time and attempted to convey that. Also, the most gut-wrenching call I can think of going on, is a police officer shot in the line of duty. So, sorry for the digression, but I thought a little backdrop might give it a bit more context on why I've included what I have. Part 3 He was happy, instantaneously and truly happy for the first time in long time. Despite himself, he grinned. He couldn’t help it. “So, is that a yes?” he asked. Then he began to think there was some giant conspiracy in place to destroy any and all of his plans as he realized that another attempted robbery was taking place just down and across the street from their crime scene! For a split second, he watched incredulously as a plucky store owner chased two men from his store, gun in hand and swearing in what sounded like at least three different languages. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he heard Stella say. As the two criminals instantly split ways and started fleeing, incredulism turned to a seething frustration that had been accumulating over the past several weeks. He hadn’t really realized the extent of it until now. Frustration turned to anger and boiled over. He picked one of the two thugs and tore after him without a second thought. “NYPD! Stop!” He could hear Stella behind him yelling to Flack about what was happening. Dodging a car that decided to try to turn in front of him, he felt the familiar rush of anger pouring adrenaline into his system, replacing that anger and any conscious emotion and thought with pure instinct and reaction. A small part of his brain told him he knew far better than to give in so completely, but it was too late. Embracing the exhilarating effect of his own body’s chemicals coursing through him, he sped after the fugitive. They rounded a corner down an alley and hurtled towards a tall, chain-link fence that appeared to be an exit/entrance for the back lot of a good-sized body shop. This chase could end right here, he thought. But suddenly his quarry stopped and turned, pulling a gun from the front waistline of his pants. Mac had just enough time to register the gun and try to skid to a halt before a piercing, white-hot sledgehammer hit him the gut. The only benefit of such intense pain was that it so overloaded his brain, that it was almost not pain, just an all-encompassing sheet of existence. The echo of the shot and all other sound seemed to fade into the distance. He looked down and brought his right hand to his stomach where his white t-shirt was already soaked in blood. He felt his legs give out, and he dropped to his knees unable to hold himself up any longer. Then there was a second explosion of pain by his shoulder, his chest felt like it was hit by a burning semi and he couldn’t breathe. Nothing existed but a crushing wave of agony. He realized vaguely he was looking up at the sky. The sun was no longer warm. He heard Stella scream. Her voice broke through his haze, and he wanted to cry out as his brain finally registered exactly what it was feeling. But he couldn’t. It was as much as he could do to take a breath. There was blood in the back of his throat. He reflexively tried to cough, but all he managed to do was choke on it. Then Stella was there beside him trying to stop the bleeding from his belly. He could hear her begging him to stay with her. But it was getting harder to breathe, if that were possible. He could feel his lungs filling with blood, and panic started to set in. He reached out and found her knee. Gripping it like a lifeline, he tried to focus on just surviving. Then he felt her hand slip into his, and she was his whole world. Without room for conscious thought of any kind, he knew that regardless of what happened, he was never going to let her go. Ever. Black spots danced in front of his eyes and he was dimly aware that Flack had shown up. He could feel as Don took over from Stella in their effort to staunch a seemingly endless flow of blood. Fresh spears of pain lanced his body as Don applied more pressure. He felt as though he was trying to breathe underwater. The black spots grew bigger, and he felt his eyes droop, as exhaustion beyond anything he had thought possible threatened to take over and engulf him in a bliss of blackness and unconsciousness. Then more people arrived and he could hear another woman’s voice tersely asking questions, and giving orders. He could hear her ask him his name as she knelt beside him, oddly aware that she looked a lot younger than her presence dictated. He tried to answer, but couldn’t. Stella was answering for him as the medic deftly cut his shirt off. “I’m going to have to decompress,” he heard her say. There was a sharp pain on the side of his rib cage, and ever so minutely his breathing came easier. But it was enough. He turned his head and focused his eyes. “Stella?” he managed. She took his hand in both of hers. “Stay with me,” he pleaded. She nodded, “I’m not going anywhere, Mac. You’ve got me. Come on, hang in there. You’re going to be ok.” Her voice was firm and reassuring and chased away his fear. He relaxed, and incapable of resisting any longer, finally gave in to his body’s screaming demands. Reality slipped in and out. More lancing pain as they rolled him onto a hard board and strapped him down. Sirens sounded distant in the background and every bump in the road jarred him painfully as he realized they were driving. The young medic was in the back of the truck with him, talking to him, hooking him up to various things, and somehow miraculously keeping him just this side of oblivion. Then they were at the hospital and a thousand faces and voices surrounded him. There was a final, horribly indescribable pain on the side of his chest. He let out a cry of agony, and he could actually breathe at last. And finally, mercifully, there was nothing.
Ok, sorry this took a little while.....I've got finals all next week so it might be a bit before the next one too............. Part 4 The ER room was as quiet and deserted as it had been hectic and chaotic. Discarded equipment wrappers lay everywhere, monitor cables hung haphazardly from their screens, and blood was smeared on the floor. Stella stood alone, watching, as they wheeled Mac down the hall to surgery, his last cry echoing in her ears. His dark hair was matted, and he looked almost peaceful as unconsciousness finally erased the lines of pain from his face. Then he and the trauma team disappeared as the elevator doors closed. Stella turned and closed her eyes, leaning on the wall, images from the last half hour relentlessly replaying themselves in her head… There were more sirens, and the paramedics were there. A young woman, medical bag slung over her shoulder, all but ran up. Her eyes flashed, jaw was set in a hard, angry line at the sight before her. Stella didn’t budge from Mac’s side as the medic threw herself down beside them and went to work with professional efficiency. “What happened?” she asked. “He was shot three times, close-range handgun, unknown caliber.” The medic nodded as she cleared Mac’s airway, put an oxygen mask on him and quickly cut off his jacket and t-shirt. “Sir! What’s your name? Hey! Stay awake for me! What’s your name?” Stella watched helplessly as Mac tried to answer but couldn’t. “What’s his name?” the medic asked her as she pulled out a stethoscope and listened to his lung sounds. “Mac. Mac Taylor.” She closed her eyes briefly and squeezed his hand. She could see the life slowly escaping his body as he became less responsive. The medic turned to her partner taking the stethoscope from her ears, “I’m going to have to decompress. He’s not moving any air.” Stella watched as the medic cleaned the blood off the side of his right chest and inserted a needle between his ribs, placing a catheter which instantly started trickling a steady stream of blood. Mac winced, and his hand tightened on hers reflexively, but it must have helped because he turned his head and found her eyes, “Stella?” She looked into his slate green ones. “Stay with me.” The pleading look in his eyes and tone of voice scared her to the depths of her soul. She read his fear and felt it in every fiber of his being. She had never known him to be afraid, not in all the situations they had found themselves in and gone through together. And that fear terrified her more than anything else could have. It was all Stella could do choke back her tears. He had always been there when she needed his solidarity and strength more than anything else, and now he needed her more than she had ever needed him. She enclosed his hand in both of hers, holding him tight. “I’m not going anywhere, Mac. You’ve got me. Come on, hang in there. You’re going to be ok.” Her reassurance seemed to calm him, and she could feel him relax as he closed his eyes. “Alright, we gotta go,” the medic said. She had replaced Stella’s blood-soaked jacket with trauma dressings, and Stella noted with some relief that the bleeding from his abdomen seemed to have slowed. The medics quickly rolled him onto a backboard. Stella noted that the belly shot had been a through-and-through, but there were no exit wounds from his chest or shoulder. God knows what damage those bullets had done bouncing around inside him. It was miracle he was still alive. “You coming?” the young woman asked. Stella nodded and turned to Flack as she followed the medics to the truck, “I’ll call you.” He nodded wordlessly and stared after the receding ambulance. He looked at his hands now covered in Mac’s blood. His mind flashed back to that morning four years ago when he had been caught in the explosion that had nearly killed him, and it had been Mac that had saved his life. Never in a million years had he thought their positions would reversed, with him desperately trying to save his friend who lay dying in front of him. Not ever. Not Mac. Allowing himself a few seconds to let his emotions pour through him, Flack turned, burning anger etched on his face. There was no room for anything else. He had murderous son-of-a-bitch to catch and beat to a bloody pulp. And he was going to start by tearing every last shred of information from the smirking teen sitting handcuffed in the back seat of his car. Stella jumped in the front seat of the ambulance and immediately got to business. Pulling out her phone, she dialed a number. “Danny?... “.......Yeah, it’s true. I need you and Sheldon to head over there and process the scene. I don’t want anybody else right now… “………he doesn’t look good Danny.” Her voice cracked. Clearing her throat she continued, “You might be able to get a print from the top bar of the chainlink fence. The shooter climbed over it to get away... “……yeah, Flack’s on scene. Look, I’ll call you as soon I know anything.” She looked back through the compartment divider and saw the young woman starting IVs, hanging fluid and hooking Mac up to various monitors, all the while talking to him to keep him awake. Stella could see that even though his eyes only occasionally drifted open now, his pain hadn’t lessened. Every jar in the road, every jostle of the truck brought a heart-wrenching expression of pain to his face. As the medic was radioing her report to the receiving hospital, Stella could catch parts of it. “46 year old male police officer, GSW times 3… …BP 71/38, heart rate 122… …needle decompression on scene… …ETA 5 min.” Stella turned back to the front and stared out the windshield as they sped through traffic. It was like a bad dream that right about now she should wake up from. But it wasn’t a dream, and they were pulling up at the ER entrance. The medics unloaded the stretcher, and Stella could see Mac was pale as death and barely responsive. Hurrying beside them, Stella followed as they whisked him into one of the ER rooms and a waiting trauma team immediately took over care. It was controlled chaos as the head trauma surgeon ordered immediate blood gases, portable X-rays were taken and more IV lines and monitors were hooked up. Someone handed her his gun and badge from his belt. Stella took them silently and gently wiped some of the blood off his badge with her thumb, reality settling in harder, if that were possible. “His sats are still dropping,” she heard someone say. The trauma surgeon looked up at the monitors. “We’re going to have to place that chest tube now,” he said. More scurrying as the staff rapidly set up the procedure. “Are the drugs in?” the surgeon asked. “Yes.” “Alright. Mac?! Mac?!” Mac’s eyes drifted open ever so slightly. “Mac, we’re going place a tube in your chest to drain that blood out of your lung. It’s going to hurt, but you’ll be able to breathe a lot better afterwards.” Mac’s eyes closed again. “Alright, let’s do it,” the surgeon said. Someone touched her elbow and Stella turned. A lady was there identifying herself as one the hospital social workers and asking about Mac’s information and if there was any family that needed to be notified and who his emergency contact was. Stella paused, she hadn’t really thought about it before, and she realized with a shock that she didn’t know of any of his family. She knew both his parents had died and he had never mentioned any siblings or any extended family either. “No,” she said quietly. “There’s no one.” She looked at him lying on the hospital bed, eyes closed, face still etched with pain as medical staff buzzed all around him, and her heart ached for him. Her eyes filled with tears again. Nobody should be that alone. Then she felt as if her heart had been ripped out as Mac let out a cry of pure anguish. The tears finally spilled over. Up until now he had barely uttered a sound. Collecting herself, she cuffed the tears away. “Got it!” she heard the surgeon say. Stella could see a tube coming from his right side. It was hooked up to a drainage bag that was already half full with blood. She saw Mac take a deep, shuddering breath and finally completely pass out. “Sats?” the surgeon asked. “Better, not great.” “Ok, let’s get him upstairs to surgery. We’ll intubate him then.” Stella caught the elbow of the trauma surgeon as he followed the team out of the room. "How is he?" she asked. The surgeon looked straight into her eyes and read only the strongest determination and resolve. Normally he would smooth over specifics and use certain lines such as "We're doing all we can", but he knew she would have none of that. "He's not looking good. His BP is still dropping, his right lung is completely collapsed, he's lost a massive amount of blood, and one of the bullets is dangerously close to his heart." Stella nodded, lips pressed tight together. "I'll be waiting. Thank you. Just uh, send the bullets out as soon as you've been able to remove them.” The surgeon gave her a small smile and hurried after the rest of the team. And with that, they were gone, leaving a whirlwind behind them. The ER room was as quiet and deserted as it had been hectic and chaotic.