* * *
She couldn't stop staring at her ring. It glinted in the light of the setting sun as she gripped the steering wheel, scattering tiny rainbows all over the interior of her car. She drew a small circle on her lips with the fingers of her right hand and swore she could still feel the lingering warmth of Jim's kisses. Her mind was in a thousand places at once, clinging to every detail of the last few hours, committing to memory the feel of his hands on her face, the look in his eyes, so open and grateful and unashamedly smitten. She thought of the huskiness of his voice, the way it broke as he asked the question she'd been more desperate to hear than she'd realized. She could still picture the unmistakable sheen of tears in his eyes, actual tears, when she'd said yes. And that had made her cry too.
He'd promised to take her out someplace extra nice for their first anniversary, since they now had two reasons to celebrate. After one last kiss that said "thank you" and "I love you" and "I'll see you soon," somehow all at the same time, she'd rushed home to change into the black cocktail dress she'd recently bought on impulse, a silent acknowledgment of her hope for a night like this. He'd agreed to give her enough time to beautify herself, but only after insisting that it was totally unnecessary. To her, it was necessary. She wanted him to see the physical expression of the way he made her feel inside, to know that it was just for him, all for him.
As she drove home that late afternoon, her mind was on rings and anniversaries and the many interpretations of the word "celebrate" and everything but on the road, which was why she didn't see the red sports car poised to make a left turn as she raced to beat the light. There was a loud screech of tires from the across the intersection and then a flash of red in her peripheral vision as the car skidded into the side of her little blue Yaris. The force sent her spinning out of control and directly into a lamppost on the other side of the road. She was startled, but not scared. There wasn't enough time to be scared.
Her last thought before losing consciousness was that she wouldn't get to see the look on Jim's face when she answered the door in her little black dress.
* * *
He waited outside her apartment in his car, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and bobbing his head to the rhythm of a song he didn't recognize on the radio. He'd been buzzing with nervous energy all day, asking the question over and over in his head, until she was there in front of him and he was asking it out loud. And now he was sitting in his car outside Pam Beesly's apartment and she was going to marry him and this was real.
After what he thought was a reasonable amount of time, he'd driven to her apartment to pick her up, but she wasn't home when he arrived. He gave her a half an hour or so, wondering if she'd made some kind of surprise detour on the way home. He was about to call her cell phone when his own started ringing.
He looked at the area code and swallowed hard. He told himself there was no reason to be nervous. Pam's parents seemed to genuinely like him, and this news--which he was sure Pam had shared by now--was expected. He'd taken Mr. Beesly aside last Thanksgiving, shown him the ring and asked for his blessing, which Pam's father had given in exchange for a promise to take good care of her. It was the easiest sale Jim had ever made.
Still, his hand trembled a bit as he flipped open his phone, knowing for certain for the first time that his future in-laws were on the other end.
He tried to affect a casual tone as he answered, "Hello?"
"Jim, thank God," Pam's mother said in a shuddering voice.
He knew immediately that something was wrong. Mrs. Beesly explained that she'd gotten a call from the hospital not long after Pam been brought in to the ER. He covered his mouth with a shaking hand as he listened to the details of the accident, unable to speak, unable to move. His eyes stared blankly out of the windshield of the car and he heard himself reassure Pam's mother that he'd take care of everything until they could get there. His voice sounded distant and unfamiliar. And she must have heard it too, because then she was the one reassuring him.
He drove to the hospital so fast that he almost caused a few accidents himself on the way.
He blamed himself. How could he not? He was the one who had let her drive home. She didn't need to get all dressed up on his account; she was already perfect. And he'd let her think she was something less, not enough. It was all his fault. Why hadn't he gone with her? Tonight of all nights, when being apart from her was the last thing he wanted. Maybe they'd both be in the emergency room right now, but at least they'd be there together.
He felt like he was floating out to sea, pulled by the tide away from the beach of their happily ever after, out into the deep, dark blue. His thoughts became a silent mantra: Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay. He ran through every tragic scenario in his head and came to the conclusion that as long as she survived somehow, he would be okay, they would be okay. He made mental bargains with every deity he could think of, promising to be a better person, to be nicer to Dwight, to maybe visit church or a temple and light a candle or something. Then again, if the devil had appeared in the passenger seat and offered him a guarantee of Pam's safety in exchange for his soul, he would have made that deal in a heartbeat, too.
After hastily parking in what he was pretty sure was an illegal spot (he was pretty sure he didn't care), he burst through the double glass doors of Mercy Hospital and found the emergency room admissions desk. A small group of nurses and administrators sat behind it, calmly answering questions, handing out forms on clipboards and peering intently at computer screens. One of them talked quietly on the phone behind the counter. Her curly brown hair and hazel eyes did little to push the image of Pam, possibly lying broken on a hospital bed somewhere not far away, out of his mind. She seemed to notice his agitation and ended her call.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"My girlfriend... no, my fiancée... was in a car accident. She was brought here, but I don't know where she is now."
"What's her name?" the woman asked. Her demeanor was one of detached, professional compassion.
"Pam. Pamela. Beesly."
Jim pulled at his tie and tried to calm himself. As the woman's fingers few across the keyboard, he leaned forward, his forearms resting on the counter above her. The position was familiar, comfortable. He knew it was irrational, but somehow the simple act of leaning made him feel closer to Pam.
The woman at the desk interrupted his thoughts with an answer to his query.
"It looks like Miss Beesly has been moved to the observation unit. Exam room three. You can go see her if you like. Just go back the way you came in, take a left at the end of the hall and follow the signs."
"Is she okay? Is she awake?"
"She's conscious. That's all I can tell you right now. The doctors are running some tests. They should know more soon."
She gave him a polite smile that unmistakably conveyed the conclusion of their conversation.
As he made his way through the labyrinth of corridors and hallways that made up the emergency department he was reminded of a recurring dream from years ago, back when Pam was still with Roy. In the dream he was in a clouded forest of paper boxes, stacked one on top of the other, so high he couldn't see where they stopped. As he followed the winding path through the box-trees, her laughter would echo through the mist and he would catch a glimpse of her hair or her hand or the sleeve of a powder-blue cardigan, always at the edges of his vision, always out of reach. Yeah, he'd never been a very subtle dreamer.
He hadn't thought about that dream in a really long time.
The signs led him to the observation unit until he turned a corner and found her room. The door was closed and he stood there awkwardly for a moment, debating whether to knock or just go in. He breathed out sharply and knocked.
"Come in." Her voice sounded normal. That was a good sign.
When he walked in she was sitting on the exam table, ankles crossed, feet swinging underneath her. She was still in her work clothes and the bright green of her sweater clashed against the violet bruises starting to bloom beneath her collarbone. Her hair was a messy tangle, crowned by a white gauze bandage. A sling was draped over her shoulder, supporting her right arm, and he could see a few red cuts marring the skin on her forearms. On the fourth finger of her left hand, the ring he'd given her shined like a beacon. She was beautiful. She was okay.
"Seriously, Beesly. You can't go around scaring people like this. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
All things considered, it wasn't so bad. She was alive, she was awake and she was smiling at him. He felt his breath fill his lungs for the first time since he'd spoken to her mother on the phone. If he wasn't afraid of making her injuries worse, he'd have wrapped her up in his arms and kissed her senseless. She was okay.
"Hey," she said. "What are you doing here?"
His forehead creased, but he shook it off.
"I'm... I... was worried... about you. Are you okay?"
She blushed and lowered her head. It was a demure gesture, one he hadn't seen from her in ages. He'd forgotten how endearing it was.
"Well, I won't be making the Olympic team this year," she said, pointing to her suspended arm. "But seriously, I'm okay."
"You do realize you've just blown our country's only chance to medal in skeet schruting. I hope you can live with yourself."
They shared a laugh, but it didn't last. The air contorted into a rubbery kind of tension that stretched around them and between them and filled up the empty spaces in the room.
After a while, she spoke, her voice timid and small.
"Hey, Jim?"
"Yeah?"
"Would you... um... mind staying with me for a little while?"
She blushed again, as if she was embarrassed to ask, as if there was a chance he might actually leave her side.
"Of course." He swallowed the tickle that was forming in the back of his throat. She was okay. "So what did the doctors say?"
"It's just a few cuts and bruises. And they took some X-rays of my collarbone. And I think they're going to do CT scan, just as a precaution. Nothing to worry about, though. Unless I start acting like Dwight or something. In which case, you have to promise to bring me back here. Like, stat."
He wanted to laugh with her again, but found he couldn't. The dark thoughts that had consumed him all the way here, and that odd feeling of being dragged out to sea, still haunted him. He tried to put those images out of his head and be thankful for small miracles. She was okay.
"Somebody's been watching a lot of ER."
She spoke again, her tone still halting and shy. "Oh, and could you do me just one more favor?"
"Absolutely," he said, and he meant it. He wanted nothing more than to do things for her, to be needed by her. He wasn't a doctor, but he could take care of her in other ways. He was good at it. And he had to do something to counteract the feeling of helplessness that threatened to pull him under.
She squirmed a bit, becoming visibly uncomfortable beneath his intense gaze. He was instantly transported back to the deck of the boat on the night of the booze cruise so long ago. The look on her face that night--just before she'd gotten cold and left him out there to wallow in his cowardice--was the same as the one she wore now.
"Um. Do you think you could have someone call Roy and tell him I won't be home for dinner?"
And suddenly everything was the opposite of okay.
Story Notes:
I realize that I'm dealing with one of the biggest clichés in fiction here, but I had this idea and I just couldn't resist. The title comes from the Killers song, just because I happened to be listening to it while I was writing.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Major, major thanks to the lovely and talented EmilyHalpert and pampongchamp for their excellent beta help and for filling in the gaps in my medical knowledge, because I am completely clueless in that area. This is so much better than it could have been, all because of them.
Chapter End Notes:
Sorry about the cliffhanger. The next part should be coming within a few days, so I hope you'll stay tuned.
Blanca is the author of 7 other stories.
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