Chapter Seventeen
Sunday morning, 7 AM
The phone rang six times, and a sleepy Marcus Taggert reached out an annoyed hand to grab the receiver and make the damn thing stop ringing at him. "HELLO?"
"Marcus," said Tony Jones intensely.
"Tony," Marcus replied without emotion. "Why in God's name are you calling me so early?"
"It's Lucky," Tony stated. "I think I might know where he is. And, Marcus, I have a bad feeling about this. I think he's in trouble. We've got to hurry."
"Okay, doc," Taggert replied tiredly. "I'll slip on some sweats and meet you at your house in twenty."
"Hurry," repeated Tony.
~*~*~*~
Emily Quartermaine performed her pre-run stretches before beginning her morning jog through the park. She had been back in Port Charles for a week, and was happy to be home. She was on break from the Parisian finishing school, and this time she was certain she could convince her parents to let her stay. She had performed admirably at dinner last evening, and even Edward was exclaiming what a fine young lady she was. Whatever it takes, she laughed to herself. I'm queen of "choosing the right fork and dipping into finger bowls!" She had been a bit lonely at school. Sure, she'd made plenty of girlfriends, and they'd had fun, but she really missed her best friend.
Emily and Lucky had kept up quite a correspondence at first. It seemed like they swapped emails and letters weekly, but soon the letters became fewer, once a month or so, and the emails stopped. And, it seemed like Lucky was a bit more closed than normal with less news and chitchat. She worried about him, but of course, her parents were oblivious to everyone but themselves and never told her anything. And, she tried to call the number at 24 Royal Street a couple of times, but it seemed to be out of order. When she asked Lucky about it in her letters, he just didn't answer and focused on the weather or some other trivia.
After awhile, Emily settled into her own routine, and Paris had its entertainment. Boy, she loved the fashion shows. She remembered her modeling days and fantasized about being on the runway or even designing some of the clothes.
Emily straightened up, hopped up and down, and then took off on the jogging path. She breathed in the crisp, fresh, autumn air and admired the multi-colored leaves. She had fun kicking leaves off the trail as she jogged along. She stopped in shock as she almost ran past what looked to be a body lying underneath a stand of pine trees. Emily stood there trembling in fear and didn't really want to go any closer to look. Curiosity took over, and she slowly and cautiously moved toward the prone figure. She gasped when she saw the motionless body flat on its face, holding a gun in its right hand.
Something about the body looked familiar - the proportions of the hips and the shoulders or the color and texture of the hair. Fear gripped her heart as she bent down to get a closer look.
~*~*~*~
Tony and Taggert entered the park and walked rapidly on the trail.
"It just came to me at about 6:00 this morning. I sat straight up in bed and said 'the park' out loud. I have this urgent feeling that Lucky is in this park and needs our help."
Taggert nodded his head. "It makes some sense. Lucky used to hang out at this park quite a bit, and it's close to where he used to live. You might be right, Tony."
Tony and Taggert stopped dead in their tracks when they heard the anguished shrieks and sobs of a young woman. Taggert reacted first, and took off running in the direction of the sounds, gun drawn, a law officer in charge.
Taggert reached the body first with Tony skidding to a stop behind him. Taggert walked up to Emily to see if she was hurt.
"Emily?" he asked gently. "What's going on here?" Emily pointed a shaking hand. Taggert looked over at the body and tensed when he saw the gun.
Tony bent down to take a pulse, and jumped up in shock. "Marcus!" he shouted, fear and tension tingeing his voice. "It's Lucky. He's barely breathing and his pulse is racing." Tony whipped out his cell phone and dialed frantically for 911. Emily stood there crying and holding her arms around her middle while Taggert reached over and turned Lucky over onto his back. Taggert frowned as he removed the gun from Lucky's limp hand. Why is he in this park unconscious and holding onto a gun?
"Marcus!" Tony shouted. "Help me here. Let's cover him up with our coats. He's burning up with fever, and who knows how long he's been here out in the open. His lips and nail beds are blue!" Tony paled when he saw the blood trailing out of Lucky's mouth and the small puddle of it on the ground beneath him. He kneeled behind Lucky and pulled him into a sitting position to allow more air into his lungs. Hurry! he thought as they waited for the paramedics. We've got to get him hooked up to an IV and start administering oxygen. "If we don't get him to a hospital soon, he'll die.".
~*~*~*~
Ian Thornhart was on duty in General Hospital emergency when Lucky was brought in. The paramedics raced his gurney into the exam room, and Tony was right behind them. Lucky was extremely pale and unconscious, and he was barely breathing. Under the clear oxygen mask, his lips were still a sick, bluish color. His body shook rhythmically.
Ian shot Tony a sharp, questioning look, and Tony reported, "Eighteen year old male, possible acute bacterial pneumonia diagnosed by chest x-ray only, seriously underweight, suffering from malnutrition and substance abuse - suspected alcohol, cocaine and maybe heroin. Patient was experiencing mental confusion when I treated him 48 hours ago." The paramedics quickly added, "Respirations 12, pulse is 150, BP is 70/30 and falling. He started getting tachy in the ambulance."
Bobbie Spencer raced over to assist Ian and stopped abruptly with her mouth open in shock. "Lucky?" she asked in a sad voice wavering with tears. Bobbie looked over at Tony who had a very grave and upset look on his face.
Another ER nurse pushed Bobbie out of the way and ran to join Dr. Thornhart. Ian bent over Lucky with a stethoscope. He shot a worried look at the recording nurse. "Possible pneumonia with multilobal involvement, reduced breath sounds." Another nurse called out, "Temperature 103 degrees."
While the medical personnel worked feverishly to save his life, Lucky lay perfectly still and unfeeling on the exam table, thin arms extended to the sides, head bowed down on his sunken chest. He looked like a bluish-white marble Pieta Italian Renaissance statue, cold and still in its suffering.
"He's going into respiratory arrest! We need ventilator support, now! Let's intubate," Ian ordered. "I need a CBC, a blood culture, a sputum culture, blood gases, and a chest x-ray."
Ian ran over to Bobbie and took her by her arm. "Do you know if Lucky is allergic to penicillin?" he asked. Bobbie shook her head. "I'm not sure, Ian," she whispered.
Ian raced back to Lucky and shouted, "Add 500mg Cefazolin to his IV to combate the infection. Get a cardiac consult in here, Stat!"