Burning Wild

Chapter Thirty-One

I didn't change clothes. I didn't dry my hair. I just drove to the hospital as fast as my car could carry me. All I could think about was the ambiguity of Dwayne's voicemail. Whatever happened to Jake, it was too horrific to leave in a message. The idea caused my foot to press harder on the gas pedal.

I don't remember traveling to Central Hospital; the journey was a blur. I just remember rushing through the automated doors, searching frantically for Jake. I prayed he would appear intact and unharmed; that it was all just a misunderstanding and he would round the corner, smiling his signature crooked grin.

I found Dwayne standing outside the ICU, still wearing his uniform. His eyes were rimmed with red, and his mouth was pulled into a tight frown. I knew from his appearance that there was no confusion; something had happened to Jake.

My own sense of panic was reflected on his face as he wrapped me in a welcoming embrace.

"What the hell happened, Dwayne? Where's Jake?" I asked, hysterical.

Dwayne sensed my desperation. His eyes filled with tears as he placed his large hand on mine.

"Come with me," he said, his voice breaking.

Dwayne led me to a room nearest the nursing station. The plastic wall file held a manila folder with Jake's name scribbled on it. Hospital staff walked by, giving sympathetic smiles as if they know that my entire world has been upturned in a matter of hours.

"It's worse than the last time," Dwayne warned, his hand on the door handle. "You should brace yourself."

I hesitated in the hallway, filled with a sense of dread. Whatever was on the other side of the door would change everything. I wanted nothing more than to run away. I didn't want to walk into that room and see the man that I loved fighting for his life. But, at that moment, it wasn't about me. I knew that Jake needed me now more than he had during the entirety of our relationship. I had to be there for him when it counted the most.

I took a deep breath and pressed my terror down as far as I could. Then I gave Dwayne a solemn nod as he turned the handle. 

As the door creaked open, the smell of iodoform and antiseptic hit me square in the face. It was like a punch in the gut, an instant reminder that what I was seeing wasn't one of my dreams, but something undeniably real.

Somehow I kept my composure when I saw Jake. My face was a blank slate. Outside I was calm and collected, but internally, I was screaming. The extent of the damage was far more severe than when I visited Jake in this very hospital several months ago.

To say that he was injured was an understatement. He looked like a different man; I had to squint to make sure it was really him. Even the fireproof suit that had saved him so many times before couldn't handle this inferno. The material had burned away, allowing the flames to lick his bare skin.

The left side of his face and arms were bandaged from severe burns, the necrotic tissue visible from beneath the bindings. He was bald in some places, his hair having been singed away by the flames so that I could see his damaged scalp.

A large piece of shrapnel had left a gaping wound in his thigh. The only thing that held the skin together was several dozen stitches.

I watched the dramatic expanding and contracting of Jake's chest as the ventilator breathed for him. The majority of his body was burnt, bruised, or lacerated, so much so that the nurses had him on a morphine drip for the unbearable pain. He looked so vulnerable; I hated seeing him that way.

Dwayne's face was solemn. "He was conscious for a little while. He kept asking for you. I called you right away, but things have progressed since then."