By Audra Beberman
Chapter Six
Lucky sat bolt upright in bed. He'd had a dream. A nightmare really. Earlier, he'd spent several uneasy hours, hovering over Tony as his uncle slept fitfully. Lucky had racked his brain looking for an idea or a clue. Why put us together, now, after all of this time? was the question that kept his mind working feverishly. He had come up with only two theories as he sat to watch over Tony: the first was that something major, some type of conclusion was drawing near. This option made him wonder if there was something distracting or exciting his captor. All Lucky needed was a few moments of inattention on his captor's part to try and escape. Of course, now he had Tony to think of as well. Tony seemed worse off mentally now than he did after BJ died and he kidnapped cousin Carly's kid. Oh well, Tony was still family, of a sort, and he had to try to help him. It also made him wonder if anyone else was here in this prison of stainless steel and concrete. Tony had mentioned that his cubicle had been more or less the same. Computer, different music selections, chessboard, the latest best sellers. Their captor liked sharp minds to challenge him.
The second, less appealing option that came to mind was that the Keeper was going to kill one of them while the other watched. It was his only other theory. He hoped he was wrong about that one.
Chloe was walking through the morning bazaar with an armed bodyguard at her elbow. She felt ridiculous, and not a little uptight, but Jax had insisted. And since Jax very rarely insisted about anything, especially things he knew would make her unhappy, she had decided not to argue with him. At least the bazaar had given her an incredible idea for her spring collections. Egyptian cottons, fabulous prints, exquisite silks. She bought more than she could comfortably carry back to Hakim's palace. Samir, the bodyguard, would only carry one armload, in order to keep one hand on his gun, she assumed. She was having all of the rest of the material delivered. Along with sketch pads, colored pencils and measuring tapes. If she was going to be in the desert for an undetermined amount of time, she wanted to not be bored.
Humming a chipper tune, her mind on her designs, Chloe didn't notice the swarthy man shadowing her steps, or whispering to the delivery boy. Samir was fairly confident that nothing was amiss at the moment, although he did have an odd sensation - almost a premonition, that the feelings he was having were over-confident, and things wouldn't be OK for much longer. He shook off the odd sensation and escorted Miss Chloe back to the palace. He doubled the sentries on duty when he got her safely ensconced in her suite.
An hour later, the chimes at the gate announced a visitor to the palace. Samir was on a parapet overlooking the courtyard when the delivery of Miss Chloe's purchases arrived. Chloe herself came to accept the delivery; she'd been waiting impatiently in her suite. As she extended her arms to reach for the first package, she was grabbed and thrown over the shoulder of the deliveryman. They were out the gate before Samir could even make it to the ground floor. The two sentries at the gate had been dispatched handily, although they were not dead, he was grateful to see.
A string of curses in Arabic and English fell from his lips. His English was passable, and Jax had taught him some of the more colorful colloquial expressions. But even they couldn't sum up his situation adequately. He was going to be Jax' number one target if he didn't find Miss Chloe before Jax found out she was missing.
Bobbie had her head buried in a book at the hospital library. Jerry was "sleeping" in his heavily drugged cocoon and Jax was roaming the halls and trying not to climb the walls. The doctors said that Jerry was improving, so Bobbie did what she did best when confronted with the unknown - she reached for a book to learn from and understand what she would be dealing with. She had been concerned about the error in medication, but Dr. James assured her it would have no lasting effect on Jerry. He might not even remember coming around. If he did, most of what he would remember would seem like a disjointed or confusing dream he once had, the effect of the narcotics in his system would see to that.
"...As suggested above, very few cases of ARDS are alike. Some people get better quickly within a matter of several days and others take weeks or months to improve. Some people have no complications and others seem to develop every possible complication of ARDS. Finally, some will die quickly while others die after a long and trying illness. Most patients need to be on the ventilator for several days. If the underlying medical condition has stabilized and no new complications develop, then it is likely that the lungs will begin to heal, allowing the patient to do more and more of the breathing on his or her own, and the ventilator may be removed within a week. This happens in about a third of the patients with ARDS.
Dealing with the seriousness and the unpredictability of ARDS is extremely frustrating and can be emotionally devastating for patients, family, friends, and for doctors and nurses as well. Patients with ARDS are supported on a breathing machine (ventilator) to maintain enough oxygen in the bloodstream while they recover from ARDS and their other injuries or illness. When a person is on a ventilator there is an artificial airway or endotracheal tube, a tube that goes into the windpipe through the mouth or nose or a surgical incision in the neck. This tube is connected to the ventilator. While in place, the tube temporarily interferes with the patient's ability to speak since it passes between the vocal cords. Positive end-expiratory pressure (PEEP), is a special setting on the ventilator that keeps the lungs expanded to help get oxygen from the lungs into the bloodstream."
Well, that was less than helpful, she thought and turned to another book next to her on the table. The door opened behind her and for a moment it didn't close. She looked up to find Stefan Cassadine staring down at her.
"Stefan! What are you doing here?"
"I might ask the same of you, Barbara. Switching allegiance to a new hospital?"
"No, no! Jerry's had an accident he's in the ICU upstairs. Now, what are you doing here?"
"This hospital is one of many the Cassadine Research Foundation supports. I am here for a board meeting to allocate funds. I came in here to find the minutes from the last meeting to refresh my memory. I seem to have intruded, though." He looked at her with a penetrating stare that made her shiver involuntarily. "I'll just take this," he lifted a burgundy binder marked "Minutes," "and be on my way. I'm sorry to hear about Jerry. I hope he makes a full recovery."
"Thank you, Stefan. Good to see you." Bobbie sat lost in thought for a moment, pondering her ex-husband's sudden appearance in a place she'd never expected to see him, when Jax came in. "You'll never believe who I just saw," she said as he sat down across from her.
"Shall I guess or are you going to tell me?" Jax asked.
"Stefan."
"As in Cassadine?"
"Do you know another?" she asked sarcastically.
"Well, well. I wonder what the king of understatement is doing all the way in New Mexico. As Luke would eloquently put it...isn't he a bit far from the bat-cave?"
Luke downed the shot of whiskey in one gulp. He was parched from the desert heat, frustrated from his lack of success. He looked around the dive that passed for a bar in this northern New Mexico town and sighed. At least the whiskey was quality, if the clientele was not. He looked up at the TV that was mounted to the wall above the bar. The local news was on. He glanced up once and something made his eyes return to the TV screen. What he saw was a familiar plane... on fire.
"Hey," he yelled to the bartender, "could you turn up the volume?"
The bartender did as requested, the tone of Luke's voice did not beg anyone to argue with his desire. The reporter was giving details of the fire from the tarmac. "...The owner, Mr. Jasper Jacks, the famous industrialist and millionaire, was unavailable for comment, he was observed leaving the scene in a black limousine. We understand that Mr. Jacks was the pilot and he had one passenger aboard. Both escaped unharmed." Luke let out the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding until that moment. This dive had turned out to be better than he had expected. A veritable gold mine in terms of information. He took note of the news station's call letters and threw a twenty-dollar bill on the bar for a four-dollar tab. He rushed off to find a phone... now he was cooking!
