They had been in there for four hours, working hard to save James Palmus' life. The accident had been a terrible on. Luther had seen it with his own eyes. He had touched James' bleeding head. It had happened so fast like it had never happened.
James wife sat down on the bench with his Seventeen–year–old son and his twelve–year–old daughter on both her sides. The little girl looked worried like her mother. The boy was relax, even though he had his mother's head on his shoulder.
They had arrived at the hospital as soon as they had received the call that told them Jamed was involved in a hit-and-run accident and was at the John F. Kennedy hospital.
Luther paced from the left wall to the right wall continuously. He would sit brief then go and check at the door to get a glimpse of what they were doing inside the surgery room. He had taken off his coat in the process. His white undershirt had stain of blood on it.
He seemed more worry than the immediate family. He was doing the most.
Finally, the surgeon who was doing the surgery came out of the room. He had on fresh gloves, no stench or stain of blood. He was finished with the operation, Luther thought.
Everyone raced up to him when he came out the door. Luther was already standing before him, before the others could reach him.
"How is he?" Luther asked, concern flowing through his voice. He impatiently waited for the doctor to answer.
"Stable," the doctor replied. He was a tall man. Broad shoulders, blonde hair, jawline, and a tall figure. He would have been better an athlete.
That wasn't what Luther wanted to hear. He wanted to hear that James was fine. Stable wasn't fine. Stable means he was fine and not fine at the same time. What if he'd become unstable?
"He had really been injured," the doctor told them. Luther already knew that. He wanted to hear something new. "It's a good thing his skull only cracked. But that could lead to something else. We can't tell now until he is awake. But there were other major injuries. Three broken ribs, a fractured arm, and a broken leg."
The little girl had surprisingly listened to what the doctor was saying without breaking into tears. Many twelve-year-olds wouldn't be composed the way she was upon hearing such a terrible news.
"There were many cuts. He lost a lot of blood. We controlled internal bleeding. He's going to be fine," he said exactly what Luther wanted to hear— James was going to be fine.
"Can we see him now?" The wife asked, holding her daughter closer to her.
"I'm sorry, no. You'd be able to see him when he is transfered to the recovery room. But for now, he has to stay in there, just incase there's another code blue," the doctor patiently informed them.
Another code blue? That mean there had been one or several already. He wasn't fine yet.
"When is he going to be awake?" Luther asked.
"Is he going to be awake?" The doctor asked. "That's one of two of my major problems right now. I'm surprise that he's still alive right now. Many people haven't survived such accidents. Be glad that he's in coma right now. That means he has a chance of waking up, but it's very slim."
Worry laced over everybody faces.
"What's your next major problem?" Luther asked as the wife and daughter bursted into tears. They had given up at that point. Hearing that you could lose someone isn't pleasant at all.
"The crack in his head. I've seen cracks like that lead to so many things, such as brain damage; memory loss. He could not remember anything. It's a fifty-fifty possibility." The man looked tired from working for four hours to keep James alive.
"Are you insinuating James had a brain damage?" Luther had picked that out of the doctor's statement, and he asked, worried.
The man didn't want them to worry. He had already told them a lot that had happened to James, so he had to give them every single detail. Once you start, you have to finish. Like a cult.
The doctor looked at them and nodded. "We already called a psychiatrist to check that. I'm just giving my view as a doctor. Not sure if he had a brain damage," he said. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go now."
Luther watched the doctor leave. He stared with pity at Mrs. Palmus and the children. This was going to be hard for them. If James'd die, it would be hard for them. If he'd wake up and not remember he had a family, it would also be hard for them. Either ways would be equally painful.
James wasn't careful enough. He did want to be very vigilant, but he wasn't. Luther swore to himself that someone knew that James was going to meet him. Someone didn't want them to meet. Someone had planned to kill him because he was going to tell.
Luther knew exactly who that someone was. He glanced at the family one last time after they sat back down. Luther walked fast out of the building with his bodyguards. He was going to meet that someone.
♦️♦️♦️♦️
Judging from the car he drove, Vivian didn't expect his house to be less luxurious. It wasn't the kind of large house with bodyguards at various posts, servants moving about as if it was a palace. It was a house that was maintained by a decent lone man.
She could see herself in the marble floor clearly. It was sparkling, spotless. The living room had the largest flash screen television she had ever seen. It looked like the one used in the cinemas. Large sofas, dark brown. Spider silk curtains, brownish. Glass table. Arts. A small bar. Everything. Perfection.
"You live here alone?" She asked him, slumping into the sofa. She, for the first time, saw a wrinkle in the sofa when she sat. It had been straight.
"Not anymore," Steve said, turning the AC back on.
"I mean...you're the son of a Senator, you're a business man who perhaps has rivals. Most people of your status have themselves surrounded by bodyguards and servants," Vivian said, watching his movements. She saw something she hadn't noticed. Perfection.
"I'm not part of the majority," he told her, walking over to the small bar in his living room that had a variety of wines on the shelf. He chose Frontera. "When I was in my parents' house, as a boy, I always felt caged." He poured the wine in a glass. "I don't like all those things, Vivian. All thanks to my parents." He handed her a glass.
"You're a rare breed, Steve." She sipped the wine, keeping her eyes on his perfect features.
"So are you." He sat down in the sofa opposite her, giving her all the space she needed. He didn't want her to start feeling uncomfortable. "So...you promised to explain everything to me here. I'm all ears."
She remembered she had promised him that. And now she had to tell him. She had told him she was a Muslim, but she wasn't. She was a Christian now, and Christians too didn't take promises made lightly.
"I'm going to tell you, but not everything," Vivian said.
"Why?" He asked like a child whose ice cream treat had been cancelled because of an emergency.
She drank her wine, then put the glass on the table. "You're a smart man, Steve. I'm a smart woman. I'll be useless to you if I spill all the tea right here. You'll just throw me out, wouldn't you?" She stared at him.
"I'd underestimated your intelligence at my sister's wedding," he told her with all honesty. "But you disproved me. You're a witty woman, Vivian."
"Well," Steve said after the compliment, "I'm not going to throw you out. I wasn't anticipating that. I agree with what you say. But you'll have to tell me everything eventually."
She wasn't about to promise that. She was told not to try to snitch. They probably knew she was with Steve now, so she had to be careful.
"What I'm going to tell you is, someone in your family doesn't want Rachael and Charles to get married. I don't know why, but I think something will happen if they become one," Vivian told him.
What?
"Who?"
She had to be careful. Vivian didn't know what she was even doing in his house. She didn't know why she felt at home, safe, with this man.
"Take it easy. I'm not telling you everything yet. I don't want to be kicked out. Please take me to my room already."
Vivian didn't even know who. She just had to believe that someone didn't want Rachael and Charles to get married because of something she couldn't place her hand on. She had figured that out.
"Just tell me who," Steve begged her.
"My room, please. I'm tired." She got up from the sofa even though she didn't want to.
"Just tell me, please. Please. " His cute eyes made her want to tell him everything. She thought she could trust him.
Vivian shook the thought out. "Will I be of any use if I tell you the name of the person? No. So please take me to my room. I need to take a shower. I haven't had one since yesterday. " She was bluffing
Fuck. She just told him she hadn't had a shower. Why was she being so comfortable with him?
"You look fine to me. Smell fine." He watched her blush shortly. "Let me take you to your room." He got up from the sofa, deciding not to pester her. He was going to take his time to get all the information he wanted.
He still had that one strong reason why he wanted her to be in his house. Apart from getting the information.