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lia-jones · 3 years ago

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Resistance - Evol: Chapter 2 - Fear

Time slowed down to a halt, as if he had done it himself, as if he had his evol back. He seemed to move in slow motion, blind, deaf, numb. The only thing that connected him to reality was the thumping of his heart, slowly drumming in his ears.

Ba-thump. Ba-thump. Ba-thump.

Victor wasn’t sure time had really slowed down, or if it was his thoughts going a thousand miles per hour. In the space of a heartbeat, his mind considered everything that call had meant: retribution was finally coming, they had found a way to hurt him, they had hurt his wife.

Another heartbeat. She was dead. Andrea. Please, please, don’t take her from me.

She was sprawled on the wooden floor of the hallway, the tight space full of people Victor didn’t care to identify. Owen was kneeling beside her, touching her face, crying. Someone, probably the nanny, was trying to keep him away from his mother.

Victor couldn’t hear them. All he could focus on was the heartbeat in his ears, and his wife on the floor.

Sound and color and reality returned suddenly, as if time had resumed its course abruptly, making up for the seconds lost. In another heartbeat, he was kneeling beside her, his fingers pressing against her neck, trying to find a pulse.

Please be alive. Please, please, be alive.

“Monsieur Lee?”

Victor jumped from his chair, anxious.

“How is she?”

“Monsieur Lee, my name is Dr. Fils, I am the medical director of this hospital and one of the physicians taking care of your wife. Your wife’s condition is stable, her blood pressure is normal and she is breathing on her own.”

A wave of relief coursed through Victor’s body, forcing out the breath he was holding.

“She’s alright?”

“She is still unconscious, and we are still conducting some tests to determine why she fainted. But other than that, yes, she seems to be out of danger.”

“I want you to test her for poison as well, or anything she could have somehow ingested to make her sick.”

“I will request them right away.”

“Just do it, anything you can think of. Whatever that costs the hospital, I’ll double it. Just make sure she is completely safe.” He commanded, in full CEO mode. “I also want you to reinforce security, wherever she is located. There should be at least three extra security guards outside her door at all times, at least until I provide it myself.”

“Of course, Monsieur.”

“When can I see her?”

“As soon as we’re done examining her, we will take her to a private room. I can assure you she is being taken care of by our very finest.” The doctor reassured him. “In the meantime, I invite you to wait in our waiting room on the second floor, you will be more comfortable there.”

“Is she breathing?”

“She’s pale as a sheet, check her breathing!”

“Someone get a doctor!”

He had to think fast, but all of the voices around him were a whirlwind in his mind, scattering his thoughts, mixing with his own fear and anxiety.

Think, Victor, think. She needs you.

He leaned over, trying to feel a breath, closing his eyes with relief as he felt the warm air softly touching his face. His hand touched her neck again, pressing on the same spot he had before. Her heart was still beating. She was sick, but she wasn’t dead.

And then he noticed all the people around him, and the sound of cameras going off. No, he had to protect her. She was vulnerable, and people would try to take advantage of it. He took his coat off, cradling her head on his arm as he covered her with his coat. Then he hoisted her legs with his other arm, picking her up from the floor.

“She needs medical assistance.” He spoke to one of his employees as he settled her in his arms. “Call an ambulance, I’ll take her to my office.”

He laid her down on the leather sofa, eyes observing her, trying to figure out the best step to take. What could he do to help her, how could he save her?

“Andy! Andy, wake up, please talk to me.” He patted her face softly, his other hand holding her wrist, checking her heartbeat one more time.

“Hold on tight.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “You can’t leave me just yet.”

She was still in the ER when the doctors told him he could see her. He found her sitting on the bed, still wearing the dress from the party. She looked healthy, like they didn’t have to bring her to the hospital in an ambulance. Like he didn’t hold her unresponsive body in his arms. Like it all had been a nightmare.

“Hey, handsome.” She smiled at him.

He had no words to say. He simply gathered her in his arms, holding her as tight as he could, his lips resting on her temple. Her warm temple. She was alive.

“It’s ok, Victor, I’m fine. It was all just a scare.”

“I will be the judge of that.” He lifted a brow at her. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling fine, I really don’t know what happened.” She caressed his chest, trying to soothe him. “I was going to get Owen, that’s the last thing I remembered. When I woke up, I was here. How’s Owen? Is he here with you?”

Victor backed up slightly to look at her, holding her arms, trying to figure out in her expression anything that could indicate that she was still unwell.

“He’s in the hotel, with the nanny. I spoke to him a while ago, he was going to bed.”

“Was he scared?”

“A little. I managed to calm him down. According to the nanny’s last text, he’s sleeping soundly as we speak.”

“That’s good.” She let out a sigh of relief. “That boy has been through enough already.”

“Do you remember anything out of the ordinary? Did someone talk to you, touch you, or do something to you?”

“No, nobody talked to me.” She looked him in the eyes, worried. “Victor, you don’t need to worry, I’m really ok. I don’t even have a headache anymore.” She flashed him a smile. “I have a stiff neck, but I guess the gurney is to blame for that.”

“The Director will hear about this.” Victor frowned. “I was told you would go to a separate room. Even if you weren’t sick, you’d probably catch something here.”

“I’m fine, leave the room for people that actually need it.” Her arms wrapped around him to pull him closer. He discreetly took her hands, releasing himself from her embrace. “Victor…”

“We are not exactly alone here.” He apologized. “When is the doctor coming to talk to you? I’ll ask a nurse.”

“The doctor will be here soon to release me, the nurse already told me that.” She squeezed his hand. “God, Victor, why are you so tense?”

Her question made him even more tense, fearing she would tell something was off. He couldn’t tell her he was concerned about his safety. He couldn’t tell her her life could be at risk. He remembered the vows made on their kitchen floor, fingers laced, eyes filled with love.

“For better or worse, we are in this together.”

Victor had never failed on his word, but this time he would have to. Whatever was happening to Andrea, it was due to his actions, to some vendetta against him, because she was the easiest and most effective target. That was burden enough. She could never know.

Like numerous times in his life, Victor would take the burden silently. Regardless of how heavy it was. Regardless of how scared he felt.

“I found you on the floor of our company, pale and unresponsive.” He snapped. “You were unconscious for over an hour. Do you think I have no reason to be tense?”

He slapped himself mentally for his icy tone. Andrea didn’t react, looking him in the eyes, a mist of determination and worry on her face. She was sick, she shouldn’t have to worry about him or his feelings. The cold feeling of guilt grew inside of him.

“Ok, that’s enough.” She jumped from the bed, closing the curtains of their booth for some privacy.

“What do you think you are doing?” He grabbed her by the arm. “You should be in-”

She turned to him abruptly, taking his face in her hands and kissing his lips. Victor wanted to pull away, tell her she should be in bed, worry about her and what could become of her if his enemies kept their promise. But the kiss took all his volition, and the cold in his heart vanished magically, giving way to the warmth she was making him feel. He forgot where he was and why he was there and he deepened the kiss, trying to make her feel as loved as he felt. They pulled away slowly, lingering on the feeling as reality trickled in, his eyes opening softly to find her gaze.

“Look at that.” She smiled softly. “It works on you too.”

He couldn’t lose her. She was the order in the middle of his chaos. She was all he had that was good. He held her hands, his fingers lacing with hers.

“The doctor will come and talk to us, and we will hear what he has to say. But in the meantime, there is no need to worry. I am well.”

She was. The fragile woman he saw before was long gone, this was his Andrea now, filling his life with love and light, giving strength and peace. He couldn’t forget the menace, but maybe he could feel hope. He pressed his palms against hers, fingers tightening their grip, enforcing their bond.

“Agreed.”

The doctor came shortly after to examine Andrea one last time and give them the test results. The blood tests were normal, no foreign substances had been found, there were no major health issues that could cause the loss of consciousness. His final diagnosis: Fatigue.

“I want a second opinion.” Victor stated immediately. “She was unconscious for over an hour. It can’t be just fatigue.”

“Although that would generally be cause for worry, the truth is we found nothing that could cause it. According to the exams and my examination, your wife is perfectly healthy. She can go home. I would recommend however that she gets proper rest, plenty of fluids and make sure to see a doctor if new symptoms arise.”

“No. Make the appropriate arrangements, she will stay for the night for observation.” Victor insisted.

“No!” Andrea complained. “You heard the doctor, I’m perfectly fine. Come on, Victor, I just want to go home.”

The battle of wits between Victor and Andrea was short and inequitable. Andrea had a health professional supporting her arguments, which was hard to beat as it was. On the other hand, Victor, who had the strongest argument, couldn’t present it, and insisting without the facts would just make him look like a stubborn brat. Consequently, he had to fold. Andrea won.

Maybe the doctor’s diagnosis wasn’t completely wrong. Andrea had fallen asleep practically two minutes after the driver started the car, and judging by her soft snores, she wouldn’t be easily aroused. That gave time for Victor to dwell on his thoughts, as he watched the city lights through his window, a protective arm around his wife at all times.

He couldn’t understand why someone would waste time making a threat they wouldn’t keep. It simply didn’t make sense, unless the goal was to show him that if they wanted, they could have hurt his wife. The other option was that they did try and do something to her, but maybe someone showed up before they could. Maybe she had been drugged by some substance that wasn’t detectable in the hospital’s blood tests, something that would block her memory of what really happened. No matter the possibility, the conclusions were always the same: they wouldn’t quit until they had their revenge. Andrea could be safe for now, but if Victor didn’t act fast, she wouldn’t be safe for long.

The driver stopped the car in front of the hotel, opening the door for Victor to exit, taking his wife in his arms for the second time that day. But this time, she wasn’t like dead weight in his arms. Her face was warm, pressing against his neck, her arm instinctively wrapped around him, all of her craving her comfort.

He laid her down on the bed, hoping the dress would be comfortable enough for her to sleep in. He then pondered if he should lay down next to her and get that much deserved rest, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to relax. At least, not without a drink first.

He walked to the living room, not before checking on his son, who was sleeping soundly, curled against the Mickey Mouse plushie he had bought at Disneyland. At least for now, his family was safe. Victor could breathe a little better again.

He sat on the balcony with a glass of whiskey, contemplating his old confidant, shining in the landscape. And just like many times before, the tower gave him strength and a sense of resolution. Whatever they wanted, they wouldn’t get. He would protect his world tooth and nail, no matter the cost.

He took his phone out of his pocket, searching for an old number in his contact list. The last time they had spoken had been… seven years ago. A male voice answered after the second ring.

“I need a favor.” Victor cut through the chase. “I need you to investigate something.”

“I don’t do that anymore.” The male voice answered. “Find someone else.”

“The information I need may interest you as well.”

“Same place, the usual time. Bring payment.”

Without another word, Victor hung up, his eyes getting lost on that mighty tower again. Whoever this was, he would be ready for them. And he would make them regret the day they were born.

#growing pains series #resistance - evol #li zeyan #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc fanfic #victor mlqc #victor angst #mldd fanfic #love and producer fanfic #mister love queens choice #love and producer #victor x oc #mlqc season 2

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96harmony96 · 4 years ago

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Chapter one.

“We should head to a bar and celebrate.”

I wasn’t surprised by my roommate’s emphatic pronouncement. Cary Taylor found excuses to celebrate, no matter how small and inconsequential. I’d always considered it part of his charm. “I’m sure drinking the night before starting a new job is a bad idea.”

“Come on, camila.” Cary sat on our new living room floor amid a half-dozen moving boxes and flashed his winning smile. We’d been unpacking for days, yet he still looked amazing. Leanly built, dark-haired, and green-eyed, Cary was a man who rarely looked anything less than absolutely gorgeous on any day of his life. I might have resented that if he hadn’t been the dearest person on earth to me.

“I’m not talking about a bender,” he insisted. “Just a glass of wine or two. We can hit a happy hour and be in by eight.”

“I don’t know if I’ll make it back in time.” I gestured at my yoga pants and fitted workout tank. “After I time the walk to work, I’m going to hit the gym.”

“Walk fast, work out faster.” Cary’s perfectly executed arched brow made me laugh. I fully expected his million-dollar face to appear on billboards and fashion magazines all over the world one day. No matter his expression, he was a knockout.

“How about tomorrow after work?” I offered as a substitute. “If I make it through the day, that’ll be worth celebrating.”

“Deal. I’m breaking in the new kitchen for dinner.”

“Uh…” Cooking was one of Cary’s joys, but it wasn’t one of his talents. “Great.”

Blowing a wayward strand of hair off his face, he grinned at me. “We’ve got a kitchen most restaurants would kill for. There’s no way to screw up a meal in there.”

Dubious, I headed out with a wave, choosing to avoid a conversation about cooking. Taking the elevator down to the first floor, I smiled at the doorman when he let me out to the street with a flourish.

The moment I stepped outside, the smells and sounds of Manhattan embraced me and invited me to explore. I was not merely across the country from my former home in San Diego, but seemingly worlds away. Two major metropolises—one endlessly temperate and sensually lazy, the other teeming with life and frenetic energy. In my dreams, I’d imagining living in a walkup in Brooklyn, but being a dutiful daughter, I found myself on the Upper West Side instead. If not for Cary living with me, I would’ve been miserably lonely in the sprawling apartment that cost more per month than most people made in a year.

The doorman tipped his hat to me. “Good evening, Miss Cabello. Will you need a cab this evening?”

“No thanks, Paul.” I rocked onto the rounded heels of my fitness shoes. “I’ll be walking.”

He smiled. “It’s cooled down from this afternoon. Should be nice.”

“I’ve been told I should enjoy the June weather before it gets wicked hot.”

“Very good advice, Miss Cabello.”

Stepping out from under the modern glass entrance overhang that somehow meshed with the age of the building and its neighbors, I enjoyed the relative quiet of my tree-lined street before I reached the bustle and flow of traffic on Broadway. One day soon, I hoped to blend right in, but for now I still felt like a fraudulent New Yorker. I had the address and the job, but I was still wary of the subway and had trouble hailing cabs. I tried not to walk around wide-eyed and distracted, but it was hard. There was just so much to see and experience.

The sensory input was astonishing—the smell of vehicle exhaust mixed with food from vendor carts, the shouts of hawkers blended with music from street entertainers, the awe-inspiring range of

faces and styles and accents, the gorgeous architectural wonders…And the cars. Jesus Christ. The frenetic flow of tightly packed cars was unlike anything I’d ever seen anywhere.

There was always an ambulance, patrol car, or fire engine trying to part the flood of yellow taxis with the electronic wail of ear-splitting sirens. I was in awe of the lumbering garbage trucks that navigated tiny one-way streets and the package delivery drivers who braved the bumper-to-bumper traffic while facing rigid deadlines.

Real New Yorkers cruised right through it all, their love for the city as comfortable and familiar as a favorite pair of shoes. They didn’t view the steam billowing from potholes and vents in the sidewalks with romantic delight and they didn’t blink an eye when the ground vibrated beneath their feet as the subway roared by below, while I grinned like an idiot and flexed my toes. New York was a brand new love affair for me. I was starry-eyed and it showed.

So I had to really work at playing it cool as I made my way over to the building where I would be working. As far as my job went, at least, I’d gotten my way. I wanted to make a living based on my own merits and that meant an entry-level position. Starting the next morning, I would be the assistant to Mark Garrity at Waters Field & Leaman, one of the preeminent advertising agencies in the US. My stepfather, mega-financier Richard Stanton, had been annoyed when I took the job, pointing out that if I’d been less prideful I could’ve worked for a friend of his instead and reaped the benefits of that connection.

“You’re as stubborn as your father,” he’d said. “It’ll take him forever to pay off your student loans on a cop’s salary.”

That had been a major fight, with my dad unwilling to back down. “Hell if another man’s gonna pay for my daughter’s education,” Alejandro Cabello had said when Stanton made the offer. I respected that. I suspected Stanton did, too, although he would never admit it. I understood both men’s sides, because I’d fought to pay off the loans myself…and lost. It was a point of pride for my father.

My mother had refused to marry him, but he’d never wavered from his determination to be my dad in every way possible.

Knowing it was pointless to get riled up over old frustrations, I focused on getting to work as quickly as possible. I’d deliberately chosen to clock the short trip during a busy time on a Monday, so I was pleased when I reached the Crossfire Building, which housed Waters Field & Leaman, in less than thirty minutes.

I tipped my head back and followed the line of the building all the way up to the slender ribbon of sky. The Crossfire was seriously impressive, a sleek spire of gleaming sapphire that pierced the clouds. I knew from my previous interviews that the interior on the other side of the ornate copper-framed revolving doors was just as awe-inspiring, with golden-veined marble floors and walls, and brushed aluminum security desk and turnstiles.

I pulled my new ID card out of the inner pocket of my pants and held it up for the two guards in black business suits at the desk. They stopped me anyway, no doubt because I was majorly underdressed, but then they cleared me through. After I completed an elevator ride up to the twentieth floor, I’d have a general time frame for the whole route from door to door. Score.

I was walking toward the bank of elevators when a svelte, beautifully groomed brunette caught her purse on a turnstile and upended it, spilling a deluge of change. Coins rained onto the marble and rolled merrily away, and I watched people dodge the chaos and keep going as if they didn’t see it. I winced in sympathy and crouched to help the woman collect her money, as did one of the guards.

“Thank you,” she said, shooting me a quick harried smile.

I smiled back. “No problem. I’ve been there.”

I’d just squatted to reach a nickel lying near the entrance when I ran into a pair of luxurious black oxfords draped in tailored black slacks. I waited for a beat for the person to move out of my way and when they didn’t, I arched my neck back to allow my line of sight to rise. The custom three-piece suit hit more than a few of my hot buttons, but it was the tall, powerfully lean body inside it that made it sensational. Still, as hot as all that magnificent maleness was, it wasn’t until I reached the person's face that I went down for the count.

Wow. Just…wow. She sank into an elegant crouch directly in front of me. Hit with all that exquisite femininity at eye-level, I could only stare. Stunned.

Then something shifted in the air between us.

As she stared back, she altered…as if a shield slid away from her eyes, revealing a scorching force of will that sucked the air from my lungs. The intense magnetism she exuded grew in strength, becoming a near tangible impression of vibrant and unrelenting power.

Reacting purely on instinct, I shifted backward. And sprawled flat on my ass.

My elbows throbbed from the violent contact with the marble floor, but I scarcely registered the pain. I was too preoccupied with staring, riveted by the woman in front of me. Inky black hair shoulder length framed a breathtaking face. Her bone structure would make a sculptor weep with joy, while a firmly etched mouth, a blade of a nose, and intensely Emerald green eyes made her savagely gorgeous. Those eyes narrowed slightly, her features otherwise schooled into impassivity.

Her dress shirt and suit were both black, but her tie perfectly matched those brilliant irises. Her eyes were shrewd and assessing, and they bored into me. My heartbeat quickened; my lips parted to accommodate faster breaths. she smelled sinfully good. Not cologne. Body wash, maybe. Or shampoo. Whatever it was, it was mouthwatering, as was she.

she held out a hand to me, exposing onyx cufflinks and a very expensive-looking watch.

With a shaky inhalation, I placed my hand in hers. My pulse leaped when her grip tightened. Her touch was electric, sending a shock up my arm that raised the hairs on my nape. she didn’t move for a moment, a frown line marrying the space between arrogantly slashed brows.

“Are you all right?”

Her voice was cultured and smooth, with a rasp that made my stomach flutter. It brought sex to mind. Extraordinary sex. I thought for a moment that she might be able to make me orgasm just by talking long enough.

My lips were dry, so I licked them before answering. “I’m fine.”

she stood with economical grace, pulling me up with her. We maintained eye contact because I was unable to look away. she was younger than I’d assumed at first. Younger than thirty would be my guess, but her eyes were much worldlier. Hard and sharply intelligent.

I felt drawn to her, as if a rope bound my waist and she was slowly, inexorably pulling it.

Blinking out of my semi-daze, I released her. she wasn’t just beautiful; she was…enthralling. she was the kind of woman that made a person want to rip her shirt open and watch the buttons scatter along with her inhibitions. I looked at her in her civilized, urbane, outrageously expensive suit and thought of raw, primal, sheet-clawing fucking.

she bent down and retrieved the ID card I hadn’t realized I’d dropped, freeing me from that provocative gaze. My brain stuttered back into gear.

I was irritated with myself for feeling so awkward while she was so completely self-possessed. And why? Because I was dazzled, damn it.

she glanced up at me and the pose—she's nearly kneeling before me—skewed my equilibrium again. she held my gaze as she rose. “Are you sure you’re alright? You should sit down for a minute.”

My face heated. How lovely to appear awkward and clumsy in front of the most self-assured and graceful woman I’d ever met. “I just lost my balance. I’m okay.”

Looking away, I caught sight of the woman who’d dumped the contents of her purse. She thanked the guard who’d helped her; then turned to approach me, apologizing profusely. I faced her and held out the handful of coins I’d collected, but her gaze snagged on the god in the suit and she promptly forgot me altogether. After a beat, I just reached over and dumped the change into the woman’s bag. Then I risked a glance at the woman again, finding her watching me even as the brunette gushed thank-yous. To her. Not to me, of course, the one who’d actually helped.

I talked over her. “May I have my badge, please?”

she offered it back to me. Although I made an effort to retrieve it without touching her, her fingers brushed mine, sending that charge of awareness into me all over again.

“Thank you,” I muttered before skirting her and pushing out to the street through the revolving door. I paused on the sidewalk, gulping in a breath of New York air redolent with a million different things, some good and some toxic.

There was a sleek black Bentley SUV in front of the building and I saw my reflection in the spotless limo tinted windows. I was flushed and my brown eyes were overly bright. I’d seen that look on my face before—in the bathroom mirror just before I went to bed with a man. It was my I’m-ready-to-fuck look and it had absolutely no business being on my face now.

Christ. Get a grip.

Five minutes with Miss. Dark and Dangerous, and I was filled with an edgy, restless energy. I could still feel the pull of her, the inexplicable urge to go back inside where she was. I could make the argument that I hadn’t finished what I’d come to the Crossfire to do, but I knew I’d kick myself for it later. How many times was I going to make an ass of myself in one day?

“Enough,” I scolded myself under my breath. “Moving on.”

Horns blared as one cab darted in front of another with only inches to spare and then slammed on the brakes as daring pedestrians stepped into the intersection seconds before the light changed. Shouting ensued, a barrage of expletives and hand gestures that didn’t carry real anger behind them. In seconds all the parties would forget the exchange, which was just one beat in the natural tempo of the city.

As I melded into the flow of foot traffic and set off toward the gym, a smile teased my mouth. Ah, New York, I thought, feeling settled again. You rock.

I’d planned on warming up on a treadmill, then capping off the hour with a few of the machines, but when I saw that a beginners’ kickboxing class was about to start, I followed the mass of waiting students into that instead. By the time it was over, I felt more like myself. My muscles quivered with the perfect amount of fatigue and I knew I’d sleep hard when I crashed later.

“You did really well.”

I wiped the sweat off my face with a towel and looked at the young man who spoke to me. Lanky and sleekly muscular, he had keen brown eyes and flawless café au lait skin. His lashes were enviably thick and long, while his head was shaved bald.

“Thank you.” My mouth twisted ruefully. “Pretty obvious it was my first time, huh?”

He grinned and held out his hand. “Parker Smith.”

“Camila Cabello.”

“You have a natural grace, camila. With a little training you could be a literal knockout. In a city like New York, knowing self-defense is imperative.” He gestured over to a corkboard hung on the wall. It was covered in thumbtacked business cards and fliers. Tearing off a flag from the bottom of a fluorescent sheet of paper, he held it out to me. “Ever heard of Krav Maga?”

“In a Jennifer Lopez movie.”

“I teach it, and I’d love to teach you. That’s my website and the number to the studio.”

I admired his approach. It was direct, like his gaze, and his smile was genuine. I’d wondered if he was angling toward a pickup, but he was cool enough about it that I couldn’t be sure.

Parker crossed his arms, which showed off cut biceps. He wore a black sleeveless shirt and long shorts. His Converse sneakers looked comfortably beat up and tribal tattoos peeked up from his collar. “My website has the hours. You should come by and watch, see if it’s for you.”

“I’ll definitely think about it.”

“Do that.” He extended his hand again, and his grip was solid and confident. “I hope to see you.”

The apartment smelled fabulous when I got back home and Adele was crooning soulfully through the surround sound speakers about chasing pavements. I looked across the open floor plan into the kitchen and saw Cary swaying to the music while stirring something on the range. There was an open bottle of wine on the counter and two goblets, one of which was half-filled with red wine.

“Hey,” I called out as I got closer. “Whatcha cooking? And do I have time for a shower first?”

He poured wine into the other goblet and slid it across the breakfast bar to me, his movements practiced and elegant. No one would know from looking at him that he’d spent his childhood bouncing between his drug-addicted mother and foster homes, followed by adolescence in juvenile detention facilities and state-run rehabs. “Pasta with meat sauce. And hold the shower, dinner’s ready. Have fun?”

“Once I got to the gym, yeah.” I pulled out one of the teakwood barstools and sat. I told him about the kickboxing class and Parker Smith. “Wanna go with me?”

“Krav Maga?” Cary shook his head. “That’s hardcore. I’d get all bruised up and that would cost me jobs. But I’ll go with you to check it out, just in case this guy’s a wack.”

I watched him dump the pasta into a waiting colander. “A wack, huh?”

My dad had taught me to read guys pretty well, which was how I’d known the god in the suit was trouble. Regular people offered token smiles when they helped someone, just to make a momentary connection that smoothed the way.

Then again, I hadn’t smiled at him either.

“Baby girl,” Cary said, pulling bowls out of the cupboard, “you’re a sexy, stunning woman. I question any man who doesn’t have the balls to ask you outright for a date.”

I wrinkled my nose at him.

He set a bowl in front of me. It contained tiny tubes of salad noodles covered in a skimpy tomato sauce with lumps of ground beef and peas. “You’ve got something on your mind. What is it?”

Hmm…I caught the handle of the spoon sticking out of the bowl and decided not to comment on the food. “I think I ran into the hottest person on the planet today. Maybe the hottest woman in the history of the world.”

“Oh? I thought that was me. Do tell me more.” Cary stayed on the other side of the counter, preferring to stand and eat.

I watched him take a couple bites of his own concoction before I felt brave enough to try it myself. “Not much to tell, really. I ended up sprawled on my ass in the lobby of the Crossfire and she gave me a hand up.”

“Tall or short? Blond or dark? Built or lean? Eye color?”

I washed down my second bite with some wine. “Tall. Dark. Lean and built. green eyes. Filthy rich, judging by her clothes and accessories. And she was insanely sexy. You know how it is—some hot people don’t make your hormones go crazy, while some unattractive people have massive sex appeal. This woman had it all.”

My belly fluttered as it had when Dark and Dangerous touched me. In my mind, I remembered her breathtaking face with crystal clarity. It should be illegal for a woman to be that mind-blowing. I was still recovering from the frying of my brain cells.

Cary set his elbow on the counter and leaned in, his long bangs covering one vibrant green eye. “So what happened after she helped you up?”

I shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I left.”

“What? You didn’t flirt with her?”

I took another bite. Really, the meal wasn’t bad. Or else I was just starving. “she wasn’t the kind of girl you flirt with, Cary.”

“There is no such thing as a girl you can’t flirt with. Even the happily married ones enjoy a little harmless flirtation now and then.”

“There was nothing harmless about this girl,” I said dryly.

“Ah, one of those.” Cary nodded sagely. “Bad boys and girls can be fun, if you don’t get too close.”

Of course he would know; men and women of all ages fell at his feet. Still, he somehow managed to pick the wrong partner every time. He’d dated stalkers, and cheaters, and lovers who threatened to kill themselves over him, and lovers with significant others they didn’t tell him about…Name it, he’d been through it.

“I can’t see this woman ever being fun,” I said. “she was way too intense. Still, I bet she'd be awesome in the sack with all that intensity.”

“Now you’re talking. Forget the real person. Just use ther face in your fantasies and make them perfect there.”

Preferring to get the girl out of my head altogether, I changed the subject. “You have any go-sees tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Cary launched into the details of his schedule, mentioning a jeans advertisement, self-tanner, underwear, and cologne.

I shoved everything else out of my mind and focused on him and his growing success. The demand for Cary Taylor was increasing by the day, and he was building a reputation with photographers and accounts for being both professional and prompt. I was thrilled for him and so proud. He’d come a long way and been through so much.

It wasn’t until after dinner that I noticed the two large gift boxes propped against the side of the sectional sofa.

“What are those?”

“Those,” Cary said, joining me in the living room, “are the ultimate.”

I knew immediately they were from Stanton and my mom. Money was something my mother needed to be happy and I was glad Stanton, husband #3, was not only able to fill that need for her but all her many others as well. I often wished that could be the end of it, but my mom had a difficult time accepting that I didn’t view money the same way she did. “What now?”

He threw his arm around my shoulders, easy enough for him to do because he was taller by five inches. “Don’t be ungrateful. He loves your mom. He loves spoiling your mom, and your mom loves spoiling you. As much as you don’t like it, he doesn’t do it for you. He does it for her.”

Sighing, I conceded his point. “What are they?”

“Glam threads for the advocacy center’s fundraiser dinner on Saturday. A bombshell dress for you and a Brioni tux for me, because buying gifts for me is what he does for you. You’re more tolerant if you have me around to listen to you bitch.”

“Damn straight. Thank God he knows that.”

“Of course he knows. Stanton wouldn’t be a bazillionaire if he didn’t know everything.” Cary caught my hand and tugged me over. “Come on. Take a look.”

I pushed through the revolving door of the Crossfire into the lobby ten minutes before nine the next morning. Wanting to make the best impression on my first day, I’d gone with a simple sheath dress paired with black pumps that I slid on in replacement of my walking shoes on the elevator ride up. My brown hair was twisted up in an artful chignon that resembled a figure eight, courtesy of Cary. I was hair-inept, but he could create styles that were glamorous masterpieces. I wore the small pearl studs my dad had given me as a graduation gift and the Rolex from Stanton and my mother.

I had begun to think I’d put too much care into my appearance, but as I stepped into the lobby I remembered being sprawled across the floor in my workout clothes and I was grateful I didn’t look anything like that graceless girl. The two security guards didn’t seem to put two and two together when I flashed them my ID card on the way to the turnstiles.

Twenty floors later, I was exiting into the vestibule of Waters Field & Leaman. Before me was a wall of bulletproof glass that framed the double-door entrance to the reception area. The receptionist at the crescent-shaped desk saw the badge I held up to the glass. She hit the button that unlocked the doors as I put my ID away.

“Hi, Megumi,” I greeted her when I stepped inside, admiring her cranberry-colored blouse. She was mixed race, a little bit Asian for sure, and very pretty. Her hair was dark and thick, and cut into a sleek bob that was shorter in the back and razor sharp in the front. Her sloe eyes were brown and warm, and her lips were full and naturally pink.

“camila, hi. Mark’s not in yet, but you know where you’re going, right?”

“Absolutely.” With a wave, I took the hallway to the left of the reception desk all the way to the end, where I made another left turn and ended up in a formerly open space now partitioned into cubicles. One was mine and I went straight to it.

I dropped my purse and the bag holding my walking flats into the bottom drawer of my utilitarian metal desk; then booted up my computer. I’d brought a couple of things to personalize my space and I pulled them out. One was a framed collage of three photos—me and Cary on Coronado beach, my mom and Stanton on his yacht in the French Riviera, and my dad on duty in his City of Oceanside, California, police cruiser. The other item was a colorful arrangement of glass flowers that Cary had given me just that morning as a “first day” gift. I tucked it beside the small grouping of photos, and sat back to take in the effect.

“Good morning, Camila.”

I pushed to my feet to face my boss. “Good morning, Mr. Garrity.”

“Call me Mark, please. Come on over to my office.”

I followed him across the strip of hallway, once again thinking that my new boss was very easy to look at with his gleaming dark skin, trim goatee, and laughing brown eyes. Mark had a square jaw and a charmingly crooked smile. He was trim and fit, and he carried himself with a confident poise that inspired trust and respect.

He gestured at one of the two seats in front of his glass and chrome desk, and waited until I sat to settle into his Aeron chair. Against the backdrop of sky and skyscrapers, Mark looked accomplished and powerful. He was, in fact, just a junior account manager and his office was a closet compared to the ones occupied by the directors and executives, but no one could fault the view.

He leaned back and smiled. “Did you get settled into your new apartment?”

I was surprised he remembered, but I appreciated it, too. I’d met him during my second interview and liked him right away.

“For the most part,” I answered. “Still a few stray boxes here and there.”

“You moved from San Diego, right? Nice city, but very different from New York. Do you miss the palm trees?”

“I miss the dry air. The humidity here is taking some getting used to.”

“Wait ’til summer hits.” He smiled. “So…it’s your first day and you’re my first assistant, so we’ll have to figure this out as we go. I’m not used to delegating, but I’m sure I’ll pick it up quick.”

I was instantly at ease. “I’m eager to be delegated to.”

“Having you around is a big step up for me, Camila. I’d like you to be happy working here. Do you drink coffee?”

“Coffee is one of my major food groups.”

“Ah, an assistant after my own heart.” His smile widened. “I’m not going to ask you to fetch coffee for me, but I wouldn’t mind if you helped me figure out how to use the new one-cup coffee brewers they just put in the break rooms.”

I grinned. “No problem.”

“How sad is it that I don’t have anything else for you?” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Why don’t I show you the accounts I’m working on and we’ll go from there?”

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Mark touched bases with two clients and had a long meeting with the creative team working on concept ideas for a trade school. It was a fascinating process seeing firsthand how the various departments picked up the baton from each other to carry a campaign from proposition to fruition. I might’ve stayed late just to get a better feel of the layout of the offices, but my phone rang at ten minutes to five.

“Mark Garrity’s office. Camila Cabello speaking.”

“Get your ass home so we can go out for the drink you rain-checked on yesterday.”

Cary’s mock sternness made me smile. “All right, all right. I’m coming.”

Shutting down my computer, I cleared out. When I reached the bank of elevators, I pulled out my cell to text a quick “on my way” note to Cary. A ding alerted me to which car was stopping on my floor and I moved over to stand in front of it, briefly returning my attention to hitting the send button. When the doors opened, I took a step forward. I glanced up to watch where I was going and green eyes met mine. My breath caught.

The sex god was the lone occupant.

#camren #lauren jauregay #lauren jauregui #fantasy #fanfic #camila coelho

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eretzyisrael · 4 years ago

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How Alaska airlines airlifted 50,000 Yemenites to Israel

With thanks: Frank Seventy years this month, a daring mission to airlift 50,000 Jews from Yemen to Israel, dubbed On Eagles' wings, or Operation Magic Carpet, came to an end. It was made possible with the bravery and heroism of the pilots of Alaska Airlines. They did not lose a single passenger, despite sandstorms and enemy gunfire. The last surviving crew member, Captain Elgen Long, described the mission as the highlight of his flying career. Yanky Fachler takes up the story: Another Alaska Airlines pilot was Robert F. Maguire Jr., the chief pilot of Operation Magic Carpet, and incidentally the son of an American judge at the Nuremberg war trials. Maguire had enlisted in the Army Air Corps the day after Pearl Harbour. Before becoming a pilot with Alaska Airlines, he had flown in the Pacific region during the war. During Operation Magic Carpet, he flew between 270 and 300 hours each month, at a time when the United States limit under its aviation rules was 90 hours. Maguire relied as much on his wits as on his aviation skills. A typical work day on Operation Magic Carpet was 16 to 20 hours long. After unloading passengers in Tel Aviv, Maguire and his crew usually flew on to Cyprus to spend the night there because of the danger of being caught up in the fighting between Israel and its Arab neighbours.Each flight was perilous. Fuel was scarce and sandstorms were frequent. Landing on Arab soil was to be avoided at all costs. The pilots were warned of the dire consequences if that happened. The passengers would likely be killed. On one trip, McGuire ran out of fuel and was forced to land on a runway in Egypt. When airport officials rushed to the plane, the quick-thinking Maguire asked them to send ambulances immediately to take passengers to the nearest hospital. "Why?" they asked. "Smallpox," he replied. He got his fuel in record speed, and flew on to Tel Aviv. When Alaska Airlines had to withdraw after a few months into the operation, Maguire started his own company, Near East Air Transport, hiring planes and pilots from Alaska Airlines, and continued the job. David Ben-Gurion was reported to have called Robert Maguire “the Irish Moses.” • Quite why Ben Gurion thought that Maguire was Irish is not known. The writer Leon Uris used Maguire as a model for his fictional character Foster J. MacWilliams, the chief pilot of the fictional Artic Circle Airways, in his 1958 novel, "Exodus." Another Uris character, “Stretch” Thompson, was based on Alaska Airlines boss James Wooten. • In 2004, Maguire was awarded a medal of valour by the Simon Wiesenthal Centre for his role in rescuing the Jews of Yemen. Warren Metzger was a DC-4 captain with Alaska Airlines and his wife Marian was a flight attendant, when they embarked on what turned out to be one of the greatest feats in the airline’s history. "One of the things that really got to me was when we were unloading a plane at Tel Aviv," said Marian, who assisted Israeli nurses on a number of flights. "A little old lady came up to me and took the hem of my jacket and kissed it. “She was giving me a blessing for getting them home. We were the wings of eagles."

A child arrives in Tel Aviv with Alaska Airlines (JDC archives) Before Operation Magic Carpet, the Metzger couple had been involved in the Berlin airlift, and helped repatriate Jews from Shanghai who had fled to China before WW2 to escape persecution in Germany. Now that the communists had come to power in China, Alaska Airlines flew the German Jews to Israel. Tragically, while not a single Yemenite refugee died during the rescue mission itself, some 850 Yemenite Jews had died en route to their departure points or while waiting in the transit camp in Aden. Infant mortality rates were high, and Ben-Gurion noted in his diary that Yemenite children in the Israeli ma'abarot – the tent transit camps - were dying like flies. As the Jerusalem Post reported on 25 September 1950, Operation Magic Carpet came to an end that evening at 10 pm at Lydda Airport. The two aircraft which wound up the operation landed within ten minutes of each other. Among those gathered at the airfield to meet them were the two Chief Rabbis of Israel, our own Dr Isaac Halevi Herzog and Rabbi Ben Zion Hai Uziel. The planes parked close to each other, and health formalities were completed aboard the planes. Some of the new arrivals on this final trip had been among the first to arrive at Aden, but had stayed on there until the end, to help with the camp arrangements. They were greeted enthusiastically by the former camp staff with whom they had worked for many months and who had come to see them arrive. A surprise witness to the emotional scenes at the airport was Mrs. Lorna Wingate, the widow of General Orde Wingate. Lorna had arrived from London earlier that evening, in order to attend the foundation stone ceremony of the Wingate Youth Village. She stayed at the airport so that she could witness the Magic Carpet complete its operations. Another Alaska Airlines pilot was Stanley “Buddy” Epstein, a Jewish Machal volunteer from the USA who served as a pilot in Air Transport Command. Although not a religious man, Epstein said later that Operation Magic Carpet had to have been blessed by God because the possibility of any of these airplanes being successful was pretty remote. Epstein, a pilot and maintenance specialist, contracted with Alaska Airlines to help with “Operation Magic Carpet” after having airlifted supplies from Czechoslovakia to Israel. “We flew almost continuously from Christmas Eve 1948 to nearly a year later,” said Epstein, “and never lost a life or had an injury from an accident. “One airplane undershot the runway in Asmara, but it didn’t burn, even though it was loaded with gasoline barrels. “We had a few bullet holes.” Epstein noted that the C-46 aircraft were carrying 76 passengers per trip – nearly 30 more than licensed for, based on the average passenger weight and the number of aircraft exits. Epstein said at the time: “If there was a single reason felt by all of the English-speaking flight crews and other volunteers, it was a feeling of “never again” after the press and other news media dramatically revealed the stories of the Holocaust.” Alaska Airlines president James Wooton shares his memories of the first flight in 1949. More about the Alaska airlines airlift

#Israel #Alaska Airlines #Yemen

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newstfionline · 4 years ago

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Saturday, December 19, 2020

Tax cuts for the wealthy aren’t trickling down (CBS News) Do tax cuts for the wealthy really help the overall economy and “trickle down” to everyone else? It’s not a trickle question. David Hope of the London School of Economics and Julian Limberg of King’s College London examined 18 developed countries and did the math. “Per capita gross domestic product and unemployment rates were nearly identical after five years in countries that slashed taxes on the rich and in those that didn’t, the study found. But the analysis discovered one major change: The incomes of the rich grew much faster in countries where tax rates were lowered. Instead of trickling down to the middle class, tax cuts for the rich may not accomplish much more than help the rich keep more of their riches and exacerbate income inequality.” 50 years of tax cuts for the rich failed to trickle down.

Suspected Russian Cyberattack Strikes at Heart of U.S. Government (Foreign Policy) As more details are revealed about Russia’s alleged hack of the U.S. government, it’s becoming clear that the breach is much worse than previously thought. On Thursday, the U.S. Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency warned that is “poses a grave risk” to federal, state, and local governments as well as private companies and organizations. There is a growing list of reported victims: the Centers for Disease Control, the Defense Department, State Department, Commerce Department, Department of Homeland Security, Treasury Department, the U.S. Postal Service, the National Institutes of Health, and the Department of Energy were all affected. “This is, I think, appears to be at this point the most serious cyberattack this country has ever endured,” Sen. Angus King, I-Maine said on NPR. Microsoft, which is helping to respond to the hack, noted that “the attack unfortunately represents a broad and successful espionage-based assault on both the confidential information of the U.S. Government and the tech tools used by firms to protect them … ongoing investigations reveal an attack that is remarkable for its scope, sophistication and impact.”

California hospitals buckle as virus cases surge (AP) Hospitals across California have all but run out of intensive care beds for COVID-19 patients, ambulances are backing up outside emergency rooms, and tents for triaging the sick are going up as the nation’s most populous state emerges as the latest epicenter of the U.S. outbreak. On Thursday, California reported a staggering 52,000 new cases in a single day—equal to what the entire U.S. was averaging in mid-October—and a one-day record of 379 deaths. More than 16,000 people are in the hospital with the coronavirus across the state, more than triple the number a month ago. Patients are being cared for at several overflow locations, including a former NBA arena in Sacramento, a former prison and a college gymnasium.

‘Unbelievable’ snowfall blankets parts of the Northeast (AP) The Northeast’s first whopper snowstorm of the season buried parts of upstate New York under more than 3 feet (1 meter) of snow, broke records in cities and towns across the region, and left plow drivers struggling to clear the roads as snow piled up at more than 4 inches (10 centimeters) per hour. “It was a very difficult, fast storm and it dropped an unbelievable amount of snow,” Tom Coppola, highway superintendent in charge of maintaining 100 miles (160 kilometers) of roads in the Albany suburb of Glenville, said Thursday. “It’s to the point where we’re having trouble pushing it with our plows.” The storm dropped 30 inches (76 centimeters) on Glenville between 1 a.m. and 6 a.m. Thursday, leaving a silent scene of snow-clad trees, buried cars and laden roofs when the sun finally peeked through at noon. Much of Pennsylvania saw accumulations in the double digits. Boston had more than 9 inches (23 centimeters) of snow early Thursday morning.

1 in 5 prisoners in the US has had COVID-19, 1,700 have died (AP) One in every five state and federal prisoners in the United States has tested positive for the coronavirus, a rate more than four times as high as the general population. In some states, more than half of prisoners have been infected, according to data collected by The Associated Press and The Marshall Project. As the pandemic enters its 10th month—and as the first Americans begin to receive a long-awaited COVID-19 vaccine—at least 275,000 prisoners have been infected, more than 1,700 have died and the spread of the virus behind bars shows no sign of slowing. New cases in prisons this week reached their highest level since testing began in the spring, far outstripping previous peaks in April and August. As the virus spreads largely unchecked behind bars, prisoners can’t social distance and are dependent on the state for their safety and well-being.

Shut down by corona, Berlin restaurant opens for homeless (AP) The coronavirus pandemic hasn’t made life on the streets of Berlin any easier for Kaspars Breidaks. For three months, the 43-year-old Latvian has faced homeless shelters operating at reduced capacity so that people can be kept at a safe distance from one another. And with fewer Berliners going outdoors, it’s much harder to raise money by panhandling or collecting bottles to sell for recycling. But on a chilly winter morning this week Breidaks found himself with a free hot meal and a place to warm up, after the German capital’s biggest restaurant, the Hofbraeu Berlin—itself closed down due to coronavirus lockdown restrictions—shifted gears to help the homeless. It was a clear win-win proposition, said Hofbraeu manager Bjoern Schwarz. As well as helping out the homeless during tough times the city-funded project also gives needed work to employees—and provides the restaurant with welcome income. In cooperation with the city and two welfare organizations, the restaurant quickly developed a concept to take in up to 150 homeless people in two shifts every day until the end of the winter, and started serving meals on Tuesday.

Japan: Snow traps 1,000 drivers in frozen traffic jam (BBC) Rescuers are trying to free more than 1,000 vehicles which have been stranded on a highway for two days after a heavy snow storm struck Japan. Authorities have distributed food, fuel and blankets to the drivers on the Kanetsu expressway, which connects the capital Tokyo to Niigata, in the north. The snow, which began on Wednesday evening, has caused multiple traffic jams along the road. Officials have been using a combination of heavy machinery and physical labour to dig out the vehicles one by one, but around 1,000 cars were still stranded on the road as of Friday noon.

‘Nightmare’ Australia Housing Lockdown Called Breach of Human Rights (NYT) The sudden lockdown this summer of nine public housing towers in Melbourne that left 3,000 people without adequate food and medication and access to fresh air during the city’s second coronavirus wave breached human rights laws, an investigation found. The report, released on Thursday by the ombudsman in the state of Victoria, of which Melbourne is the capital, said that the residents had been effectively placed under house arrest for 14 days in July without warning. It deprived them of essential supports, as well as access to activities like outdoor exercise, the report said. The lockdown was not “compatible with residents’ human rights, including their right to humane treatment when deprived of liberty,” Deborah Glass, the Victorian ombudsman, wrote. The report recommended the state government apologize publicly to tower residents, as well as improve relationships and procedures at similarly high-risk accommodations in the city so that they might be better prepared for future outbreaks. Though Australia has won global praise for successfully slowing the spread of the coronavirus in the country, the report was a scathing rebuke of state officials’ decision to apply stringent measures to the public housing residents, who said they felt trapped and traumatized and suspected discrimination. Several described it as a “nightmare.”

Fiji says two dead as powerful cyclone tears across Pacific nation (Reuters) A powerful cyclone pounded Fiji, killing two people and leaving a trail of destruction across the Pacific Island nation, authorities said on Friday. Cyclone Yasa, a top category five storm, made landfall over Bua province on the northern island of Vanua Levu on Thursday evening, bringing torrential rain, widespread flooding and winds of up to 285 km per hour (177 miles) across the archipelago. Scores of houses were destroyed, while power was cut to some areas and roads blocked by fallen trees and flash flooding, authorities said. Officials with the Red Cross said authorities were scrambling to help affected communities. Adverse weather has hampered efforts by aid groups to dispatch assistance, with waves of more than 3 metres (10 ft) preventing ships leaving Suva.

Radio stations may be the real “e-learning” revolution (Rest of World) The impact of a student’s socioeconomic status on their access to education during the pandemic is playing out globally, exposing just how closely tied internet access is to educational opportunity. In Sub-Saharan Africa, over 85% of households lack access to the internet at home and 89% of students do not have access to a computer outside of school. On the African continent, expensive and unreliable internet reaches only 40% of the population. Many governments, companies, and NGOs think that throwing millions of dollars behind providing tablets is the best way to improve the quality of education, but this impulse overlooks infrastructural issues like access to the internet, teacher training, and the cost of upkeep that students need to use the tablets in the first place. “Even if we did have a device for every student, they would have nowhere to charge them,” Reshma Patel, the executive director of Impact Network, a nonprofit that provides education for over 6,000 kids in rural Zambia through community schools, told Rest of World. Impact-run schools adapted radio lessons, since a majority of their students live in homes without electricity. Faced with the shutdown of the 43 schools she supervises, Patel relied on the “forgotten stepchild of tech interventions” to reach students: radio. On the continent, radio has long been a window to the external world. Shoeshoe Qhu works as the station manager at Voice of Wits 88.1 FM, a university radio station in Johannesburg, South Africa. She grew up in a mountainous village of 100 homesteads without electricity or running water. While there wasn’t television, there was radio. As long as her family had access to batteries and a receiver, it was free. “If you wanted to hear what was happening everywhere else, you could only get it through the radio,” Qhu said. “I grew up with radio, and it gave me access to the world,” she added. “It meant everything.”

Watch those passwords (NYT) Dutch hacker Victor Gevers claims to have logged in to President Trump’s Twitter account six years ago by guessing the password: “yourefired.” Then he did it again. On Oct. 16, Gevers, 44, made an accurate guess, “maga2020!,” on his fifth try, according to Dutch prosecutors. Hacking is a crime in the Netherlands. But on Wednesday, Dutch officials said they would not press charges because Gevers had met the bar for “responsible disclosure,” demonstrating how easy it could be to gain access to the U.S. president’s handle: @realdonaldtrump.

#headlines #news

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chronicparagon · 4 years ago

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(Compliment) from Kristoff, maybe they're already working together

@skullboysfinale

Blinding white lights shine down on the silent corridor. “EMERGENCY” in bright red letters above the pair of doors at the end of the corridor stands out from the sterile white walls and floor with sparse signs bearing directions of the hospital's units breaking up the bland scenery. Silence hangs heavy in the air while a young woman seeks refuge from the hall back into one of the break rooms.

Hunched over at one of the chairs, she sits alone with a bottle of water in her shaking hand. It’s been only half an hour ago, but it’s as though it happened seconds ago and the aftermath of the rush of adrenaline leaves Harmony as an exhausted mess. Dark strands fell from her frizzing bun and sweat forms on her forehead no matter how many times she wipes it off.

Long hours. Long, difficult hours where not one, but two lives hang by the thread. It almost didn’t seem real, and she never thought she wouldn’t succeed. It was one of the worst scenarios that could happen and all odds were against the patients.

It was a fairly quiet evening until it began.

“Community Care Hospital, this is Ambulance eighty-seven. We are en-route to your facility with a twenty-seven-year-old female who is thirty-seven weeks pregnant. She has sustained a gunshot wound to the abdomen...”

Harmony races down the hall after she received the call from her RTLS and the pager alerting her of the emergency.

“ She has been in and out of consciousness and has only answered a few questions...”

Heart pounding, her eyes set on her destination to prepare for the arrival. She has worked in this hospital for about three weeks now serving as the newest doctors. She usually worked in the clinic but went to the neighboring hospital as part of her rotation. This is her first night working and first emergency.

“ Current vital signs are blood pressure fifty over thirty with heart rate at one hundred and twenty beats per minute. Current treatments are...”

Though the adrenaline pulses through her there is that fear locked away in her heart. That small thought that slowly grew with every second and every step. An attempted burglarly turned bloody when one of the two men shot his gun at the woman before her boyfriend could jump in to save her.

What if I mess this up?

“ETA five minutes.”

Just like that, the emergency department burst to life with a frenzy of staff preparing for the trauma patient. A domestic dispute turned bloody. The emergency department was preparing for the worst when paramedics raced against the clock.

The trauma team is ready to take over from the paramedics. The team led by Kristoff acted accordingly as though this is only standard procedure, but Harmony, the new doctor, is on pins and needles. That thought strengthened as she worries if one slip-up, one small mistake will cost the lives of the mother child. There are no seconds to spare when Harmony hears the sirens increasing in volume and flashing lights of red and blue intensified outside the emergency department.

This is not a drill. It’s real. Ready or not, here they are.

Oh God, oh god, oh...Oh, dear god!

Patient A was in a very grim state when she arrived. She struggled to breathe upon arrival. A man who is about the same age as Patient A was in shambles but nurses kept him at bay so the team can begin their work.

Harmony recalls seeing the patient’s partner, a tall and muscular man, crumbling to his knees and falling to pieces as the nurses tried to comfort him.

“It’s my fault! It’s all my fucking fault! I- I- I couldn’t sstop them! I can’t lose her! I c-can’t lose her and the baby! God! D-don’t take my family!”

Her heart went out to him but she couldn’t do much for him. Her job is with the patient and her baby but doubt rears its ugly head once more. Her heart rate flat lines when Kristoff got to Patient A and she turned pale.

“Patient is unresponsive! Begin resuscitation at once!”

Harmony knew she needed to grab the defibrillator, but her heart stops when she couldn’t move. Fear tightens its icy grip on her and Harmony’s blood went cold. She just needed to hurry and grab it! Why? Why was she so afraid? She didn’t hear Kristoff barking orders to grab it, only to give in and one of the nurses rushes to him with the defibrillator.

Fuck me. Why did I just become a sitting duck like that? That could have killed both of them! Harmony’s eyes screw tight as the guilt falls on her shoulders. She remembered her hands shaking as she gave prepared the blood bag for transfusion.�� There wasn’t much blood externally, but it’s apparent that most of the damage is inside.

With a few shocks, the woman’s heart begins to beat again. It was slow before returning to its hurried pace. Examination found the fetus is still active. That is enough to move on to the next step: Emergency laparotomy and cesarean.

Harmony was there when the procedure happened. She was on standby in case something went wrong. She observed Kristoff and the team

How can I just stand here and do nothing? The shame she bears was greater than she could have imagined.

This isn’t like me! I should have known better. I’m a doctor, right?

The baby was removed from the mother and placed with the pediatric surgeon. The baby wasn’t moving and his breathing was infrequent.

I have spent years training for this. I know what to do.

The baby’s lifeline was barely picking up as they began to prepare resuscitation.

I know what to do....

Hands clenched at her sides to tight fists. The lifeline picked up before it flat lines.

“I got this!”

Without hesitating, Harmony jumped in. She hears the surgeons instructions, following them to the letter. She did everything in her power to save the baby before her.

Then, in a matter of seconds, a sound reaches their ears. A sharp gasp along with weak cries. The infant’s lifeline picked up and the neonatal surgery team rushed to keep him stable while repairing the injuries within him.

Time ticked on with a father fearing for the worst in the waiting room. It moves forward while Kristoff completed the surgery with the mother’s internal wounds repaired. As for her baby, the bullet was found in his abdomen and the pediatric team made quick work in removing it and repairing the tiny body.

Now, Patient A rests in Intensive Care while her son is under the watchful eyes of the nurses at the NICU. Prognosis was positive, a strong contrast to the grim events that nearly ended in death. Although still afraid and guilty, Patient A’s partner is overcome with overwhelming relief and joy to hear that both mother and son are all right.

Long, long hours full of dread, doubt, but when it went from bad to worse, Harmony’s confidence returned and she saved a life. Tonight, the medical team beat death.

That brings her to sitting on her own. She remembers how Kristoff became upset at her for not doing her tasks. She knew he was disappointed in her, to say the least. There’s no telling what he will say or do after that stunt. She never, ever admitted that she admires the other doctor. Sure, he’s always busy and most of the time, didn’t seem to notice her work. But it’s that work ethic that she admires. He would do anything he could to save a life. Always so calm and collected even in turmoil..

If only she was just like him and not panic like she just did.

“You did great.”

Harmony jumps in her seat and sits up with a small scream. She jerks her head to the door to find Kristoff by the door. Did she hear him right? Did he just compliment her? Does he know what she did? Harmony is no person to brag. She’s just doing her job and wanted to give the little one a fighting chance.

She’s gives him a tired smile in return. “You really think so?”

#skullboysfinale #answered #please let me know if you want anything changed #thank you!!#thought I should try to make this dramatic #this is actually based on real case report provided by Pubmed and IJS #tw blood #tw pregnancy #tw surgery #left in the dark #tried to research protocols for neonates but couldn't find much though

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 years ago

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The BLM's Burning Man environmental impact statement is terrible, calls for drug searches, dumpsters, and a 19,000,000lb concrete wall

The Burning Man event is seeking a renewal of its 10-year permit to use the federally owned Black Rock Desert site managed by the Bureau of Land Management; the BLM has responded with a bizarre, overreaching Environmental Impact Statement that ignores the lavishly documented record of Burning Man's excellent safety and stewardship record.

For example, the new Environmental Impact Statement calls for Burning Man to hire an outside security force to replace its all-volunteer, community-based Black Rock Rangers, and to have these rent-a-cops search all belongings of all attendees: 80,000 people in 30,000 cars, in a high-wind, low-visibility environment where, in addition to the threat to privacy there is also a massive risk of huge amounts of personal belongings being whipped away by the wind and blown all over the desert.

The EIS also ignores Burning Man's status as the world's largest, best-managed "leave no trace" event, where every piece of waste down to individual sequins and metal shavings are picked up and packed out by attendees. Instead, the BLM wants Burning Man to install several football-fields' worth of dumpsters at the event's exit, with parking for 30,000 vehicles to pull up to them. In addition to eroding the norm of stewardship and waste-management that is intrinsic to the festival, this would also deprive the nearby Pyramid Lake Paiute dump sites of the millions they take in from burners who pay to have their waste legally disposed of.

The EIS also calls for the creation of a 19,000,000 lb concrete jersey barrier to encircle the site, replacing the trash fence (a wildlife-friendly fence that catches blown waste) and the perimeter patrols (which are hugely effective at catching people sneaking into the event). The concrete barrier would do untold habitat damage and cause scarring on the playa, as well as disrupting wildlife.

There's lots more -- including a mandate for the festival to conduct anti-drug surveillance of attendees, volunteers and staff, which is simply out of scope of the National Environmental Policy Act.

The Burning Man Organization has published an extensive backgrounder on the EIS's deficiencies and a guide to submitting comments to the public docket.

Here's my comment, submitted yesterday:

To whom it may concern:

I am a Burning Man attendee who has attended every year since 2011, and I'm part of the Liminal Labs theme camp, which celebrated its 20th consecutive year this year. I am a research fellow at the MIT Media Lab and a Visiting Professor of Practice of Library Science at the University of North Carolina, as well as a Visiting Professor of Computer Science at the UK's Open University. I am also a New York Times bestselling novelist whose 2013 book, "Homeland," features extensive action at the Burning Man festival.

I object to several of the recommendations in the Draft EIS, for reasons set out below:

* Mitigation NAT-2

Burning Man is the world's largest and most successful Leave No Trace event. Our camp -- and every other attendee, almost without exception -- packs out *all* its waste. Every year finishes with a multi-hour scouring of our site with rakes and garbage picking tools to ensure that not so much as a single metal shaving or zip-tie remains on site. We take extensive measures -- tasking someone to travel to a paid dumpsite in a designated rental vehicle, then taking that vehicle to a car wash to make it presentable for return -- to ensure that our waste is properly disposed of.

For the few bad actors who practice illegal dumping after the event, Black Rock City’s Highway Cleanup Team conducts exhaustive trash sweeps of not only of Routes 447, 446 and 34 (as required by existing permits), and also RT 445 and Jungo Road (which are not required, but whose cleanup is undertaken in the spirit of good citizenship). Our camp makes use of paid dumpsites on Pyramid Lake Paiute Tribal lands, infusing much-needed cash into one of America's poorest counties. Dumpsters would end this practice.

Moreover the BLM's draft EIS does not contemplate the environmental impact of maintaining the dumpsters and providing space to service 30,000 vehicles to use them.

The factual record -- which is publicly documented in a detailed annual report from the Burning Man Organization -- does not support the need for this requirement. As an expert agency, the BLM is not permitted by law to make policy without evidentiary support.

* Mitigation PHS-1

Every year Black Rock City is one of the lowest-crime jurisdiction in all of the state of Nevada. There is no evidence to support the need for separate, private security forces onsite. Indeed, the Black Rock Rangers -- a experienced, community-based, all-volunteer force -- are among the most commendable and exemplary aspects of the city's management. Several of my campmates are volunteer Rangers, and I have seen firsthand how seriously they take these duties and how well they perform them.

The environmental impact of gate-searches is significant: unpacking and repacking full cars in a high-wind, unsheltered, dust-storm environment will produce an unquantifiable -- but substantial -- amount of inadvertent litter, and expose people not suspected of any crime to substantial damage to their personal property, to say nothing of the privacy dimensions of these searches, which will force attendees to expose sensitive medical equipment, personal journals, literary and religious artifacts, and other private, sensitive and constitutionally protected materials to third parties.

Without evidence of crimes or risks that justify these high financial, privacy, personal, and environmental costs represented by this measure, this recommendation should be dead on arrival.

* Mitigation PHS-3

There is no evidence to support the need for jersey barriers, which will blight the land, impose a massive carbon footprint on the event, pose unquantifiable environmental risks, and burden the festival with unjustifiable and substantial financial costs. The existing trash fence, combined with Black Rock Ranger patrols and other longstanding measures have a very long track record of keeping trash in and unpaid attendees out.

Without any evidence, the BLM should not ask the festival to spend $3m to install 19,000,000 lbs of concrete barriers in a sensitive desert habitat.

* Mitigation PHS-6

Again, there is no evidence that existing ambulance and EMS services are insufficient to handle the existing rate of injury at the festival -- and ample evidence that existing measures are sufficient (per capita mortality and morbidity from all causes at Black Rock City are among the lowest in all of Nevada). I am certified in first aid and wilderness first aid and on two occasions I have used my training to help injured people at Burning Man, tending them while waiting for trained EMTs to arrive; in both cases, EMTs arrived in under 15 minutes.

* Mitigation AQ-1

With the exception of wind-storms, the only dust I have seen at the festival that was present at sufficient concentrations to pose a health and safety risk was kicked up by law enforcement vehicles operated by local LEOs and BLM officers, who routinely flout BRC's 5m/h speed limit. If BLM is concerned about Black Rock City's air quality, they should train their officers to obey the law.

* Monitoring Measure PHS-1

The National Environmental Policy Act cannot be lawfully stretched to cover surveillance of this sort. It is grossly improper for BLM to request it.

Concluding remarks:

The BLM's Draft EIS reads like a farcical wish-list concocted in an evidentiary vacuum. Burning Man is a superb steward of public lands, a model for how other events should conduct themselves. Administrative agencies are not permitted to act without evidence. The festival's organizers and volunteers have painstakingly compiled and published detailed, longitudinal studies of the festival's *actual* environmental impact. This Draft EIS seemingly considers none of that factual record.

https://boingboing.net/2019/04/07/jersey-barriers-r-us.html

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