In a Heartbeat

One It was a beautiful flight. A blue-gray dusk had fallen over Manhattan. Lights twinkled as brightly as the new stars, delineating streets that, for him, were paved with gold, and traffic that, for everyone else, came straight from hell. The little single-piston-engine Cessna Skylane 182 responded so fluidly to his touch he almost felt he had sprouted wings. Forget jets, he thought as he began his swooping descent through Manhattan's sparkling towers into LaGuardia. This was what flying was all about. The freedom of it, escaping for a couple of hours from the mundane world, pretending, like a little kid, that you could really fly. He hadn't expected to be en route to New York tonight, but the phone call had been urgent. He was in negotiations for an important Manhattan property and somebody was determined to outbid him. Who, exactly, was what he was about to find out. Tonight. He grinned as he touched the tiny plane down, bumped lightly once or twice, then taxied smoothly toward the hangar. He felt about his customized silver plane the way some people felt about a racehorse. After a flight, he almost wanted to rub it down, throw a blanket over it, feed it some fresh hay and a carrot.... He was laughing at himself as he brought the aircraft to a stop, unbuckled, and climbed out. He patted the fuselage affectionately, then remembered he had left his briefcase inside. He was about to climb back in when he heard his name called. That would be Jerry, the mechanic. He was expecting him, and he was the one who would currycomb the Cessna, check out its innards, make sure it was in tip-top shape for the flight back to Charleston tomorrow. When he had taken care of this business. "Mr. Vincent?" "Yeah?" He was smiling as he swung round. He stared right into the barrel of a Sigma automatic. And then all the world went red. Two "He's not going to make it." Ed Vincent heard those words clear as a bell, but it was several seconds before he realized it was him they were talking about. The gurney bounced agonizingly as they rolled him out of the medevac helicopter. He heard the whoosh of automatic doors opening as they raced him into Emergency; heard the medevac nurse calling out the circumstances of his shooting and his injuries and condition; heard the shouted commands. "Does he have a femoral pulse? Heart rate's down to thirty-six he's crashing...." He felt the clothes being cut off him. Then he was lying naked, like a just-landed fish, under a hot glare of lights with what felt like the eyes of the world on him. A small thing but mine own, he thought, grinning mentally because he was unable to work the necessary facial muscles. His face under the oxygen mask felt frozen, his arms and legs numb, his body did not exist. Until someone started to dig a hole in his side with a sword. He let out a roar of pain then, but it must have been only a whimper because his throat refused to move, too. "We're just intubating you, putting a tube in your lungs, got to drain the blood quickly," a soothing female voice said, close to his ear. Well, what the fuck happened to anesthetic? he wanted to shout back. But of course, he could say nothing. "What's your name?" someone else yelled at him. "Open your eyes, look at me...." Weren't his eyes open? He could see faces peering down at him under a halo of light, feel hands on him, hear them speak. He just could not answer. "Blood pressure's gone, we're losing him...." The gel they smeared on his chest was cold. He thought someone should tell them about that, tell them to warm it up a littleAdler, Elizabeth A. is the author of 'In a Heartbeat' with ISBN 9780440234975 and ISBN 0440234972.