The Meanings of Lost

Chapter 13

Diana:

My jaw drops. My heart freezes. My vision blurs. How?

"Unng, people," Edison mumbles. I turn to see him shaking, bracing himself against my desk. "Magic, supernatural. Superman. Aliens. demi-gods," he continues. He's in shock.

But Steve doesn't look well. Nor does the other man. They all need tending too. I can't call the police, what would I tell them? My heart is so loud, I can't think. Before my eyes Edison falls to the ground with a crash, his made-to-fit suit ripping with the unexpected force. 

"Diana?" Ambrosine askes. "What's happening. Who are those people? Are they dead?" 

Sort of, I reply silently. Steve died. 

She walks over and kneels beside the stranger. "This one has a pulse. It's strong. Do we have water?" She moves over to Steve.

"Yes, right," I say, her words pulling me out of my trance. "Use the water on my desk," I say, handing it to her. I examine Edison. He is regaining consciousness. 

"This one doesn't have a pulse," she says quietly. No, Steve! "Diana, what happened?"

"I umm," I falter on my words as they catch in my throat as I try to hide my sadness. "Let's just focus on making sure the other one is alright first, then I'll explain, okay?" I ask, hoping to ride out her moments of concern and adrenaline by putting them to use before reality sets in and she freaks. 

She nods and turns back to the stranger pouring water all over his face. He swears and Ambrosine covers her ears muttering: "See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil," before asking if the man is alright and if he can explain to her what happened. He says he can't remember and she begins to bombard him with questions. I notice the format from my lifeguard training. First the ABCs, then SAMPLE. Someone must have taught her as she is too young to take the course. I make a mental note to ask her later. Then I turn my attention back to Edison.

He is now fully conscious. "Holy I don't know what!" he says. "I think I'm going to quit. This is too much for an old man." He shakes his head. "How are they?"

"Not so good," I reply, trying not to think of Steve. Who could be cruel enough to take him from me twice? "How are you?" I ask, but he's not paying attention.

"Have you tried CPR?" he asks me. "And since when do you have a daughter?"

"No, I haven't, and since never."

"I'm currently not allowed to live with anyone I'm related to," Ambrosine says. "Diana lets me stay in her house and has the legal right to sign my life away on my behalf without consulting me as she is my legal guardian appointed by the court." Sadly, this can totally sum up our relationship.

"You should try CPR on the guy," he says absentmindedly.

I heed his advice by crawling over to Steve. Out of water so I should worry that his heart stopped, I remember and place my hands on his chest.  I start the compressions, going about two inches deep and count to thirty. I don't have a pocket mask on me and technically should not perform mouth-to-mouth without it. Technically, I shouldn't touch him without gloves, but he's not a complete stranger and I doubt he had AIDS. I pinch his nose and tilt his chin, watching his chest I blow in. It doesn't rise.

I open his mouth quickly: Is something stuck inside? I don't see anything so I try again. It still doesn't work, but I go back to compressions. I squirm as by twenty I hear some ribs crack. 

"It means you're doing it right," Ambrosine tells me, although I already know this. She has the other man up against the wall and has been engaging him in conversation. He stares at me, an uncanny knowingness in his eyes. His mouth forms my name. Diana. So gentle, so familiar, even though we have never met before. Focus Diana! Steve might die. It'll be your fault. Focus!

Thirty compressions, then more breaths. The first one doesn't take but my second does. I've found nothing in his mouth. 

After that, I get into the rhythm. Time loses meaning. Ambrosine's chatter fills the room, Edison calls the police. Minutes later paramedics swarm my office and pull Steve away from me. I cry out, senseless. Don't leave me again.

Before I know it, I'm in the waiting room. It's a cloudy yellow. Ambrosine is curled up by side, sound asleep and smiling with a cheap blanket that has more similarities with a tissue for comfort. Her books rest possessively on her lap. I look at my watch. It is nearly seven in the morning. This is going to be a long day.