Sketches in the Night

"I want you to cum inside of me now," she said, and he felt her legs part, then felt them encircling his waist. He guided the tip to her lips and lingered there, sliding through her bristly warmth until he entered her, then he moved slowly, deeply, until she settled into his groove. He marveled at the way her body moved with his, how deeply attuned she seemed to his movement, then he leaned back a bit and took her legs and moved them to his chest, her feet by his face, and he pushed more deeply now -- until he found a new rhythm -- and once again she settled into the new beat. He kissed her ankles, then the tops of her feet and the effect on her was instantaneous: she trembled anew, her back arcing to meet his thrusts and the fire started in his groin just then, moved to his back, then he was coming. Kissing her feet, driving in as deeply as he could, his gut full of molten uncertainty, the pleasure in his mind the only certainty left in this new world.

"What's wrong?" she asked suddenly, quietly, and when he came to her he saw the question in her eyes.

"It kind of hurts, in the small of my back?"

"Is that because...?"

"Yup."

She was up and leaned into him in an instant, her arms around him, reaching for him -- wanting to hold onto him -- then she saw the sweat pouring from his face and she knelt with him, supporting his weight against her own.

"Oh, God no," she whispered, "please don't take him from me. Not again..."

He felt her, felt her need, then felt his need too. "I'm not going to leave you. Not now, not yet."

She was kissing his chest, trying to hide her tears, and he heard her whispering over and over -- "Oh my God, what have you done to me."

And he wondered what God had done -- to them both.

IV The Nurse

She didn't like working nights, but with flu season in full force she'd been called in to work that shift three times this week -- still, Debbie Euclid knew working Oncology was tough no matter what time of day. That's why she'd trained for this work, and it wasn't just the physical challenge; no, the emotional effects of working this floor were the toughest in the medical world -- and that's why she'd chosen to specialize in oncological care more than twenty years ago.

She was sitting at a console that looked more like a starship's flight-deck than a nurses station, with banks of monitors in front of her that tied her to the vital signs of twenty resting patients. She worked on notes at the top of the hour, then walked the floor, checking each patient in her wing, adjusting medications, asking questions -- answering them, too -- and it never failed to impress her how much people wanted to talk in the middle of the night.

She'd heard the sirens two hours ago, then the Code Blue, but this was the new normal more often than not these days. Gang activity was out of control just a few blocks from here, teenagers with Uzis and nothing better to do were killing each other left and right, and anyone who got in their way, indiscriminately, carelessly, risked death too, and the University of Chicago's ER was often closest to the front lines in this new war. So, it hadn't taken long for tonight's story to make it's way up the floors, and she'd listened, of course, as she always did, then shook her head and finished making notes while she tried to forget it all, all the ugliness, all the anger. Then she moved out onto the floor.

She moved from room to room, checking IVs for the most part, turning down the volume on TVs after people fell asleep, then she came to a new patient...

"Norma Fairchild," Euclid read from the chart aloud. "Okay, what's your story, Norma?" She read through the notes, making mental notes here and there: admitted yesterday afternoon, Stage IV stomach cancer, metastasis to liver and lungs. Primary oncologist wanted her on hospice care at home, but there wasn't anyone 'at home' to help take care of her. There would be no heroics for Norma Fairchild, and there was nothing heroic about what was going to happen to Norma Fairchild over the next couple of days. Her fate was sealed, time both an ally -- and her enemy -- and now only the night loomed for this woman.

She opened the door and went in, saw the patient sitting up in bed watching television, and the woman looked at her as she came in, then turned back to the screen, apparently engrossed. Euclid walked in, saw the story still unfolding on the street, and listened to the announcer...

"Jason, the word we're getting is that the victim, a juvenile, got out of a car and the four gang members began taunting him, apparently about being gay, about turning tricks with men cruising the alley in cars behind this Walgreen's," the reporter said, pointing at the store on Cottage Grove. "From there, the victim tried to run away, crossing 51^st Street, running to Drexel Square with the four gang members attacking the boy with knives as he ran. And that's when Captain Redmaine saw them, and tried to intervene."

"Judy, the word we're getting is that the victim is white, and the gang members are all African-American? Can you confirm that?"

"Yes, Jason, I've heard that from officers on the scene, and we can see two bodies from where we're standing. They're both black."

"Okay, and, well, thanks to our Judy Miller on the scene with that update. As you know, Captain Redmaine succumbed to his injuries about an hour ago, and we have word that both the mayor and Superintendent Johnston will be making statements within the hour..."

Fairchild turned down the volume, looked at her nurse. "You look angry, dear. What is it?"

"Oh, nothing. How are feeling, Mrs Fairchild?"

"Pissed off."

"What? Why?"

"All that anger. All this hate. It's ruining this city, ruining our world."

Euclid nodded. "It sure is."

"My husband was with the department for thirty years. I'm not sure what he'd have to say about his city now."

"My brother was too," Euclid said. "He was killed three years ago."

"On duty?"

"Yes."

They looked at one another, each instantly sympathetic to the other's need. "I suppose you see this all the time here."

"Almost every night. Sometimes several times a night."

"Too much hate," Fairchild said, shaking her head.

"There's no respect anymore, for anything."

"What do you think your brother would say? Now? About tonight?"

"You know, that's a good question. I think," Euclid said, looking out the window, "he'd be angry that things are still the same, maybe even worse. That things haven't changed, I guess."

Fairchild nodded. "I taught English in Oak Park for thirty years, and I retired twenty years ago -- but still go in and substitute teach. I've seen it in the kids, the way things have changed over the past fifty years, and you're right. There's no respect anymore, there's just money and the power that money confers. Nobody wants to study, nobody wants to know the difference between right and wrong, and nobody wants to look at the world and ask why. Why do things have to be this way? Why can't we change things? The way things are falling apart, who knows how much longer we'll last?"

Euclid watched the woman's vitals as she listened, then decided to cut this talk short. "Oh, you know, I reckon the squeaky wheel gets the grease...the world will just keep on turning no matter what happens, or what we want to happen. Now, could you tell me, on a scale of one to ten, where your pain is right now?"

V The Pilot

"American 1-8-6, Chicago Approach. You're number three to land, runway 2-8 Charlie, currently CAT III, winds light and variable, viz below minimums in heavy snow. Hold at BURKE, 12 thousand."

"8-6 Heavy to BURKE 12 for 2-8 Charlie, acknowledge CAT III."

"Uh, 8-6 Heavy, we have a temp localizer frequency of one-zero-eight-decimal-seven-five, not the niner-five on current published approach plates."

"8-6 Heavy, seven five, not niner five on the localizer."

"Nice of 'em to tell us," Captain Judy Parker said. "Double check the freqs, would you?"

"Got it," her First Officer said.

"8-6 Heavy, turn right to 2-7-3, descend and maintain niner-thousand feet."

"8-6 Heavy, right 2-7-3 to niner," Parker replied, then to her FO: "You get the new missed approach entered?"

"Got it."

"Double check the DMEs."

"108.75, check."

"8-6 Heavy, report passing LNDUH."

"Flaps seven," she commanded, then: "8-6 Heavy at LNDUH."

"Okay 8-6, no further transmissions necessary, contact tower on 1-2-0-decimal-7-5 when you're on the ground. Visibility now less than 100 feet, one foot of snow on runway. Good night."

"8-6 Heavy, night."

"I got the freqs," her FO said.

"Flaps twenty."

"Twenty, passing MEMAW at five, speed 1-7-7."

"Flaps thirty."

"Thirty."

"Gear down," she commanded. The autoland system had the 777, but she kept her hands on the yoke while she scanned the instruments on her panel, looking through the windshield just once at all in flying muck.

"Three down and green," the FO said.

"Gimme 40. Landing lights."

"Flaps forty. I got glow."

"Okay..."

The flight management computer began talking now: "Two hundred, minimums. One eighty. One fifty. One ten. Eighty, sixty...retard, retard," and she watched as the autothrottle reset, then she moved her right hand to the quadrant, and when she felt the mains hit she moved the thrust levers to reverse, put her toes on the brakes, then her left hand to the nose-gear paddle while she retracted the spoilers with her right.

"Just another day in paradise," the FO said.

"Must be a foot of ice under this snow," she said as she looked, then double checked the tower frequency was entered. "American 8-6 Heavy, I think we can make P-1."

"Roger 8-6, right on Papa 1 approved, then right on Papa to Double Echo. No traffic at this time."

"Papa double echo," she replied. When the trip-Seven's speed was down to ten she gently began her turn off the runway. "I can't see shit," she said. "Turn off those mains, leave the strobes."

"Captain?"

"I got the perimeter lights...too much glare..."

"Mains off, strobes on."

She made the turn onto the main east west taxi-way and peered up over the glare-screen, then back towards the left wingtip. "There must be two feet down there now. Okay, put the mains back on."

"I can't see the terminal."

"We should be crossing P4 now. See anything?"

"Negative."

"Uh, Tower, 8-6 heavy, we're not seeing any signs out here."

"8-6 Heavy, I have you one hundred feet from Papa-four."

"Okay, 8-6, give us a shout when we're coming up on Tango."

"8-6 Heavy, you're passing Papa-four, now 4-0-0 feet to Tango, 7-0-0 feet to Foxtrot."

"Roger."

"8-6, you're passing Tango."

"Got it. You might want to pass along to OPS they've got a couple of feet on the ground now."

"8-6 Heavy, passing Foxtrot, Double Echo now 4-0-0 feet. OPS is sending out a truck to guide you in...they'll meet you at Double Echo."

"8-6 Heavy, okay, we'll hold at Double Echo."

"This is surreal," her FO said as he looked back over his shoulder. "I can't see the wingtip, maybe just a little green glow, and the strobes. There most be a foot of snow on the wing."

"You ever flown into Sheremetyevo?"

"No ma'am, and this white boy don't want to, neither."

She laughed. "Okay, I think I got the truck."

"8-6 Heavy, just F-Y-I, the airport is closed at this time. Y'all are the last bird down for a while."

"8-6, thanks for sticking in there with us. Looks like depth is a meter now."

"They just measured five feet at the threshold on nine left."

"Daddy, I wanna go home," she said, and she heard controllers laughing in the background.

"You got your stuff ready to go?" her FO asked.

"Yeah. Thanks, Paul," she said as she taxied up to the gate.

"You beat feet. I'll get it, and tell Gene that Peggy and I will be praying for him."

"Brakes set, engine one to idle, APU confirmed on. You sure?"

"I've done it before. Now get out of here before they shut down the highways!"

She retracted her seat while she undid her harness, then hopped out of the left seat, pausing to kiss her FO on the cheek.

"Hey, that's an unapproved ground maneuver!" he said, laughing, but she was already out the door and gone.

She saw the customs entrance ahead and, thankfully, a very short line. The crew lines were closed this hour of the morning, and she picked the shortest queue, then put her flight bag down on the slick tile floor and pushed it along with her foot while she pulled out her iPhone. She woke it up, found Gene's number and hit send.

"Judy? That you?"

"Gene? Where the hell are you?"

"'Bout halfway to the hospital, still on State."

"Listen, I got your text this morning...can you tell me what the fuck's going on?"

"Ah, Judy, I've got a friend with me right now? Susan, say hello to Judy. Judy, say hello to Susan."

"Hello, Susan."

"Hello, Judy."

"Uh, Judy, I met Susan about four hours ago. I decided I loved her about about two hours ago, and I hope you'll come to the wedding."

"Gene?"

"Yes, Judy."

"It's not nice to fuck with your little sister's head, okay, Gene? Now, what the hell's going on?"

"Where are you?"

"Customs."

"Well, I'm checking in at five thirty, operation isn't scheduled 'til seven, so you should make it in with time to spare. A cutter named Rohrbacher is doing the procedure, and Charlotte can fill you in if I miss you. Where're you coming in from, anyway?"

"Beijing."

"Bring any fortune cookies?"

"Gene? You're not going to tell me what's going on?"

"Not on the phone, kid."

"Oh, God."

"Not on the phone, okay, Judy?"

"Oh sweet Jesus, just tell me it's not cancer."

"I can't do that, kid. Glad you could make it, though. Hope you end up loving Susan half as much as I do," he said as he broke the connection.

"You love me?" Sara/Susan said. "You told your sister you love me? And that you met me four hours ago?"

"I did. I did, Susan, because I do."

"I don't believe this is happening to me."

"It's happening to us. Believe it."

"I don't believe this is happening, period."

"It happened, as in it has happened. I full well to expect to wake up and find this was all a dream, but for now, right now, I feel like a lucky man, a very lucky man."

"How's the pain now?"

"To be honest, I've felt better."

"You're sweating again."

"It's called diaphoresis. It's also no big deal."

"And you're as white as a ghost."

"That's a little bit bigger deal -- I'm also getting light headed. Do you know how to drive?"

"Not really."

He slowed down, opened an App on the dashboard, then started speaking. "I am having a medical emergency."

"Okay, Dr Parker," the Tesla's computer said. "Can you state a preferred destination, or should I choose the nearest medical facility?" the computer said.

"University of Chicago Medicine, 5-8-4-1 South Maryland."

"To initiate autodrive, clearly state "CONFIRM" at the next prompt. Is this a medical emergency, and do you want to initiate autodrive?"

"Confirm."

"Thank you, Dr Parker. I'll take it from here."

He let go of the wheel, took his foot off the accelerator and leaned back, took a deep breath.

"I love your car, too," Susan said as she took his right hand in hers. She kissed his fingers one by one, then held his hand to her face, watched as he closed his eyes, as he took a series of long, deep breaths. "I think I see it," she said a few minutes later and he opened his eyes, looked around, tried to get his bearings then saw the computer was taking them right to the ER entrance. It pulled up to the ambulance entrance and a police officer came up to warn them away, then ran inside to get help.

"I think we made it," she said.

"I think I'm signing you up for Driver's Ed next week," he said, trying not to laugh as another wave of fire swept through his groin.

+++++

She was mad now.

The line at the taxi queue was longer than long, and very few new taxis were coming in so she went to the attendant and told them she needed to get to the University Medical Center -- in a hurry.

"Right over there," the attendant said.

"What?"

"Right there; so far three of you are headed there, and the next taxi that comes in is going there."

"Oh, okay...thanks."

"Do you need a doctor?"

"No, my brother is going in for surgery in an hour or so."

"Okay, well...here it comes."

She turned, saw a huge yellow SUV headed for the taxi line and she stepped to the curb; a daffy looking woman and a brooding young man followed her and they all stepped inside as soon as the Suburban crunched to a stop.

"All of you going to University Medicine?" the driver said.

"Yes," came their hurried replies.

"This snow is out of control," the driver advised, "so it could take an hour, depending on how well the plows are keeping up," then he turned around and looked at Parker's captain's uniform. "You just come in through this?"

"Yup."

"Over the lake?"

"Yes, 28C, CAT III."

He nodded. "I think about a foot has fallen in the last hour, haven't seen it this bad since '98."

"Taxiways were drifting," Parker said. "A couple of feet already. Getting worse, fast."

"Excuse me," the daffy looking woman said, "but were you on the Beijing flight?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Were you one of the flight attendants?"

"No, Ma'am," Parker sighed -- as the Suburban pulled out into the snow.

"Oh? But..."

"Lady," the driver said, "four stripes on the sleeve means captain. This was the captain of your flight."

"Seriously? Well, I never..."

Parker looked out into the night, at misty yellow pools cast by the sodium highway lighting, and she guessed horizontal visibility was down to less than a hundred feet -- and she could see there were very deep drifts forming along the sides of the roadway. Wreckers were pulling cars from ditches, and within a mile they passed an ambulance and several fire trucks at the scene of a really fiery accident, and yet there weren't many plows out.

"How long has it been snowing like this?" she asked the driver.

"All day, but the hard stuff started falling around midnight. Maybe two feet during the day, but it really picked up in the last hour. I heard they just closed the airport."

"Right after we landed," she said.

"Really?" the woman said. "Is that normal?"

"It is -- when this much snow falls this fast," Parker said. "Doesn't really happen that often, but when it does there's nothing else they can do."

"Why's that?"

"It ain't real good, lady," the driver said, "when airplanes slide off the runway into snow drifts."

"Oh yes...I see..." the lady said.

"It's also dangerous if too much snow loads up on the wing during the approach," Parker added.

"I wanted to ask...it seemed real rough for a while, maybe five hours before we landed. Do you know what that was all about, Captain?"

Parker smiled. "Yes, Ma'am. That would have been Mount McKinley, when we crossed the Alaska Range. Always a little choppy around there."

"Well, I nearly lost it."

"It wasn't that bad," the brooding man said. He'd been silent so far, content to just look out the window, but Parker guessed he was looking -- angrily -- at unwelcome memories.

"Were you on the same plane with us?" daffy woman asked the brooding man.

The man ignored her for a moment, continued to look out the window, then said: "Yes."

"Uh-oh," the driver said. "Looks like highway patrol ahead, lanes closed." He started punching buttons on the GPS display

Parker leaned around the driver's headrest and peered into the snowy gloom, saw four lanes funneled into one just head, and a mass of pulsing strobes further on -- and she cursed: "Well, Goddamn it to Hell," she spat as she looked at her watch.

"What's wrong?" the daffy woman asked.

"My brother. He's going into surgery soon. I wanted to be there, before."