All The Faith In The World

Chapter 25: Tell Me My Statistics

Faith's P.O.V

I run to my older brother's side as Noah kneels down beside him. He was only shot in his leg, but I know how fast blood loss can affect someone.

"Noah! Call 911!" I scream, as he hands me his shirt to wrap around Connor's calf.

"They're already here, we called them on the way up incase you were already injured," he says, going out the door and yelling to the people in the parking lot a few meters away. I notice the neighbors have come out on to their porches and under their lights to see all the commotion.

I finally look at Connor's face, twisted in pain and clenching his teeth.

"Connor, look at me, it'll be okay, okay?" I say, trying to get him to not be worried.

"No! Faith, it won't be okay, you got to get out!" he yells.

"NO! I'm not leaving you, Connor! I'm not going to lose you again!" I yell back. He is cut off by Robert coming up behind me and yanking my arm.

"You're coming with me," he says.

"Hell no I am not!" I scream, twisting his arm so I gain freedom.

Once I am out of his grasp, I watch as the EMT's run into the house and lift Connor onto a stretcher. Noah moves out of the way and comes back in the door.

"Noah! Run!" I yell as he starts coming toward me.

"Come on!" he grasps my hand and we both bolt out of the apartment and follow the men in blue.

Robert has followed us out, but what he doesn't realize is there are police standing right outside his door and quickly handcuff him.

Noah and I reach the ambulance and quickly shut the doors behind us so the woman in front starts driving.

"Oh god, it hurts," Connor says, laying sideways on the now bright scarlet stretcher.

"Connor, hold on, okay?" I beg. His grey eyes pierce into mine with a pleading but gentle look.

"Look, if I don't make it-" he starts, Noah cuts him off.

"Don't talk like that. You will be fine," he says. Connor grabs my hand.

"But, if I don't, promise me Noah, you'll take care of her. Promise me you'll be better than me. Do everything that way you would do it not how I would, because you're ten times the man I am any day," he says. "And Faith, don't feel guilty. Don't feel like this is your fault. I knew he was dangerous going into that apartment, and I knew someone was going to get hurt. I'm glad it was me. So, please, don't feel like you did anything that caused this."

"But, this is. This is all my stupid fault. If I hadn't had gone with Robert to begin with-" Connor cuts me off.

"No, stop. Don't feel like that. That's all I want, okay Pebbles?" he asks.

"Okay, Wreck-It-Ralph," I say.

We pull into the hospital and the staff quickly take Connor away. Noah comes behind me and puts his hand on my shoulder.

"Is he going to be okay?" I ask, my lip shaking.

"I don't know, Faith.... I don't know," he says solemnly.

2 hours later.......

I was still pacing the waiting room, waiting for any news on Connor.

"Faith, just sit down, it's going to be a while yet," Noah says, his knee shaking up and down.

I sit next to him, my legs doing the same thing. An elderly couple across from us look at us. The woman stands up and walks over.

"Excuse me. I'm sorry to be rude, but are you two the brother and sister from that news story?" she asks. We both look up at her and smile small smiles.

"Yeah, that's us," Noah says, hiding away his stress.

"Can I just say you and that other boy were an inspiration to me and my whole family alike. And you, beautiful girl, you have some amazing brothers here," she says. I smile wider.

"Yes, I am very lucky," I say.

"Where is the other one?" she asks. Our faces fall.

"There was an incident with a shooting, he's in surgery," I say. Her face floods with guilt and sadness.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," she says. "I will be sure to keep him in my prayers."

We thank her and she walks away. A doctor comes out from behind the wall.

"Connor Riley?" He calls. Noah and I stand up.

"Yes?" I say.

"He's out of surgery, and he's not doing too good. The bullet was extracted, but due to blood loss, we don't know how or if he will recover. And if he doesn't start getting feeling in his leg within a week, we will have to remove it," he says, not looking bothered at all by the news.

"What is the chance he will survive?" I ask.

"It depends on the person," he breathes out, obviously not caring about the subject.

"Then, what is his chance?" I ask.

"Faith, let's just go sit down," Noah says, grabbing my arm.

"Not until I know his chance of getting better," I say. "What is his chance?" My teeth clenched as I spoke.

"With others-" he starts again.

"I don't care about others! I don't care about 7 out of 10 people! I don't care about 80% of patients! I care about this one patient! I care about my brother. I care if he will make it out. I care about if he does make it out then him going to college and finishing his education. And him getting married. And him having kids. And the rest of his entire life. I don't want a number, because numbers aren't for sure. I don't care what the usual chance of this situation is. I need to know if I can ever be driven home from high school by him again. Or if I can ever take another selfie with him. Or if I can ever steal his pizza crust, use all his computer battery, ask him about advice, get a piggy back ride, everything. I just need the one number that will tell me if he will be okay or not," I yell. Everyone else in the waiting room is looking at me with misty-eyes, but I am only intently staring at the doctor. He blinks a few times before saying:

"86.7% chance of survival. 64.3% chance of his leg having to be removed. Now, if you excuse me, I must go help him get more blood in his system," he says, walking away.

I sit back down next to Noah.

"There's a 13.3% chance he won't be okay," Noah says.

"But there is an 86.7% chance that he will. We just need to hope that Connor is in that 86.7%," I say, grabbing his hand. I feel a tear roll down my cheek and it lands on out hands.

"Come here," he says, pulling me into his arms. "I love you, Faith."

"I love you too Noah."