Chapter Four

          Luke Spencer scowled at the phone. He had tried to call Bobbie everywhere he could think of that she might be. Her message had been cryptic at best. Jerry... an accident...going with Jax... her in-laws have the children. No when, where, how or who. She was becoming as vague as Jerry was on a good day. Yet Luke did not mistake the alarm and fear in his sister's voice for any other emotions. His head was pounding with anxiety and the beginnings of a hangover. Where was she? Not at the Brownstone, or at Jax' penthouse. Not at the hospital, or any Port Charles restaurant. Not with Laura and Lulu, not at the J & J Jacks offices. Not at Kelly's, Felicia & Mac's house nor did Betty the faithful babysitter have any idea where Mrs. Jacks, Mr. Jacks or the children where. All she could supply was "They're out of town." He slammed down the phone in his office at the club and thought back to a conversation he'd had with his newly acquired brother-in-law six months ago...

          But that had been the day of Candace's christening, and the scotch-induced haze that shrouded Luke's otherwise magnificent brain couldn't listen to Jerry's concerns. Now, months later, he found out only that Jerry had been hurt, his niece and nephew swept off to god-knows-where, and Jax and Bobbie hastily leaving Port Charles.... Luke sat up straighter in his chair.

          "Alright!" he said out loud, as much to hear himself talk as to shake off the effects of the alcohol. He knew he'd made a mistake when he brushed aside Jerry's concerns, but it was time to get in gear and help his sister. She was all he had left and he was not throwing it away.

          Jerry dreamed that he was tied down to some torturous machine in the Keeper's dungeon and each time he came around, he'd pass out from the pain and the effort of breathing. The dream was fragmented, emotional and recurring. It played over and over. He knew Bobbie was nearby, but he simply could not will any of his muscles to move. The fact was that because Jerry was on a ventilator, the doctors had paralyzed him with a curare-like drug so he couldn't breathe for himself at all. Without the muscle relaxant, his own futile attempts to breathe would fight the ventilator that was now literally pushing oxygen into his fluid-filled lungs to keep him alive--just barely alive. Jerry was dreaming vividly due to the continuous infusion of narcotics into his bloodstream.

          Bobbie knew the narcotics were keeping Jerry calm and free of pain. Once in the middle of the night, Jerry's heart rate had gone up. Although outwardly he couldn't show it, his increased heart rate meant he was coming around and feeling pain. The doctor had authorized another increase in his fentanyl infusion and his heart rate had gone back down quickly. In truth, Bobbie was relieved, Jerry needed the narcotics to tolerate the paralysis and the ventilator. It also meant, at least for now, he wasn't feeling any pain from the burns. Most of the night Bobbie just sat and stared at the pulse oximeter. The display of red LCD lights told her that oxygen was actually getting absorbed across his damaged lungs and making it into his blood. Mostly it went from ninety-five to ninety-four to ninety-three and back to ninety-four percent. Not a great reading, but a good one, good for a patient with ARDS. At times Bobbie had tried to stop herself from staring at the monitor. She knew Jerry's nurses were monitoring the readings too. Once during the night, the neon red lights had started to fall...ninety-two...ninety-one... ninety...eighty-nine. The nurse in Bobbie had reacted immediately. She had grabbed the suction catheter and cleared the blockage building up in Jerry's endotracheal tube before the nurse on duty had even made it to his bedside. The pulse oximeter was back at ninety-four. Bobbie shut her eyes just long enough to wonder if Jerry knew she was there. The wondering didn't last long and she was again staring at the monitor... ninety-four... ninety-three...ninety-four.