FRIDAY, MAY 26 – Friday morning it was still raining, though the reports said it would clear by the afternoon. “Don't forget, everybody, that I'll be working late tonight,” Janet reminded her family at breakfast. “We're having the local test run for this controversial new show ‘911 Live’, and I'm going along, chasing ambulances if you will, until about eleven, I imagine.”
“Will it be on TV?” Susan asked, looking for some socks in the laundry room.
“Not tonight. But if all goes well—if that's the right word—it will be on this fall, broadcast live from ten different cities, including ours.”
“Neat,” said Tommy, turning from the open refrigerator. “And it's going to show, like, what's really happening at that moment, like, right when it's happening? Right?”
“Yes, that's the idea. But first we have to see if it works tonight.” She glanced at Richard, who was reading the morning paper at the end of the breakfast room table. The two of them had experienced their first argument in many weeks the night before, when Richard learned that the station's experiment would keep Janet out until almost midnight.
She had explained all about Tom Spence and the others who were concerned about the show. And about Bill Shaw arranging for this “test run.” Richard heard, but the voices, which had been diminished by the prayer breakfast, by the Merediths’ daily prayers for the Sullivans, and by Richard's own recent thoughts, had spun up again under Nepravel's masterful control. Without any other force to counter them inside Richard, they slowly came back to control his words, urged on as well by his total confusion and guilt about Kristen.
“Janet, I hate it when you work late,” he had launched into her the night before. “And on Friday night! I thought we had agreed to spend more time with each other and with the kids. I hope you've noticed how I've tried to do my share. Now here you go again, out all night. You really are married to that job…” The last words had really stung her, but her defense was weak, because she was about to spend an evening away. Why does Richard make such a big issue of this? she wondered. After so many weeks of relative calm and budding happiness, it sounded to Janet as if she were hearing voices, almost canned voices, from their past.
“I'm sorry,” she had said, and meant it. “I didn't plan the timing, but I do think it's an important issue.”
“It's always important,” Richard snapped, with annoyance in his voice. And that had been the unhappy end to their conversation, which felt unfortunately like many they had suffered before, though not for several weeks. Janet got the message that she was the cause, but she didn't know what she could do, other than to quit her job. Was Richard going to react like this whenever an assignment took her away, even for a few extra hours?
So in the morning they were back to an icy standoff. Janet didn't want a flare-up in front of the children, so she was thankful for Richard's pointed silence. But she knew she would have to talk to him about it, maybe tomorrow, after the test run was over.
“Is either of you doing anything special today?” Janet asked her two teenagers.
Tommy thought for a moment and then shook his head. Susan smiled and lied, “No, nothing in particular.” But she thought to herself, Just skipping class to go with Amy to get an abortion that her parents don't know about…nothing significant at all…
Susan and Amy were surprised to find Bobbie waiting for them in Mrs. Simpson's outer office. “Are you going with us?” Amy asked.
“No, I still can't do that,” Bobbie replied in a low voice, hoping that Mrs. Simpson wouldn't hear her. “I want you to know again that I wish you wouldn't do this, Amy.” Amy grimaced. “I know, you think I'm a broken record. But it's not right to kill your baby.” Amy took a step back and folded her hands in front of her. Bobbie paused, but Amy just stared at her while Susan watched them both. “If I can't stop you, then I also want you to know that I love you—both of you—very much.” Tears once again flooded her eyes, and Susan felt her own tears coming. “I can't come, but I'm going to cut my classes and find some quiet place to pray. For you, for the baby, for Susan, for me, for Billy…for all of us involved in this. I just want it to be over, and you to be OK, and all of us back the way we were, if we can be….” Then Bobbie hugged Amy tightly and left.
As Amy and Susan turned back from watching her leave, Mrs. Simpson entered from her office. “There you are. Good morning. I hear everything is set up for you and will be just fine. I've written the excused absences for both of you, and I'll take them to the office in a minute. The van should be coming around to this side door,” she pointed out into the hall, “any time now. Do you have the fee? Do you have any questions?”
“Will we come back here immediately afterwards? Will I feel like going back to class?” asked Amy.
“They usually keep you for an hour or so of observation. You both may want to take your books with you. When you get back here, we'll see how you are and just play it by ear. OK?”
“One more thing,” Amy added. “Could you please also write an excuse for Bobbie? She wants to come with us, but she just can't. She's going to cut her classes to pray.” Mrs. Simpson looked shocked. “And we don't want her to get in trouble.”
Then Mrs. Simpson smiled. “Well, I guess it won't hurt. Sure, Amy, I can do that…Oh, there's the van. Good luck, and I'll see you both in a few hours.”
* * *
Nepravel was livid. The barrage of prayers for Amy had only let up slightly during the night, and with the dawn, they had intensified again. Then that Meredith girl's last-minute plea to Amy had been short but powerful. It was lucky he had followed Amy to school and could be there to combat the Truth with the voice of Decisions Made. But the prayers were taking their toll—the voices in Amy were winding down. She was starting to think about that baby again, riding along in the van with Susan and two girls from Riverside High. This might be touch and go, despite the determined front she had put up only yesterday. Nepravel hated their prayers!
And now, worst of all, from his vantage point on top of the van, Nepravel could clearly see what appeared to be the glistening light of at least one angel in the vicinity of the abortion clinic. Oh great! All these prayers for Amy, plus the usual prayers from the believers demonstrating in front of the clinic, had finally produced the divine intervention he so feared, because his horde was not ready for it. Yes, there he was. A huge warrior angel, right over the abortion clinic, his talons poised and his beaks snapping.
Unlike the prayer breakfast, when the demons had prepared and outnumbered the two angels by a huge margin, Nepravel had no help at the abortion clinic that morning, other than the two demons who normally guarded it, and the one who always rode the van. To his dismay, the angel, shouting, “Holy is the Lord God Almighty,” caught one of the two clinic's demons who tried to plunge for a bite at his neck. The angel closed his talons around the squirming demon and squeezed tightly. The demon screamed and suddenly exploded into a black fireball, which the angel then hurled at the second demon, who was quickly backing off.
As the van neared the abortion clinic and the angel saw the two demons riding on top, he began to fly in their direction. Nepravel, being a liar but not a fool, knew that alone they were no match for one of God's fiercest warriors, and he beat a fast retreat, followed closely by his companion. The angel returned to his position over the clinic, and Nepravel stood off at a distance and cursed. “Who will now tend to the voices in Amy?” he spat.
“Janet, the guys from Network are out checking the cameras and the sound equipment on the emergency vehicles,” Bill said over the intercom. “If there are no problems, they should be back here in time for lunch. Can you join us?”
“Uh, let me see. Sure, Bill, that will be great,” Janet replied. “It would be nice to hear Network's view on ‘911 Live’ first hand.”
“And, uh, Janet. Let's just keep the lunch group small We'll save Tom and Connie for this evening. OK?”
Outside the abortion clinic, the four girls in the van were appalled to see that there were ten or twelve protestors on the sidewalk, kept in a roped-off area by two policemen. They had signs that read “Abortion Kills Babies” and “Abortion is Murder.”
As the van slowed to pull into the clinic driveway, one of the protestors broke away from the group and made it to the side of the van, shouting, “Please don't kill your babies. Adoption means life for them.” The girls blanched. Amy suddenly felt cold and wet. This was the real world. She wasn't a protected little girl any more. She was living the reality of decisions made. At barely seventeen, she was facing life and death. Her stomach started to churn. She and Susan both put their hands to their faces, to hide them.
“Oh, don't worry, they can't see you through the tinted glass,” said the driver. “And don't mind them. There's always a few of those crazy Christian fundamentalists here, illegally harassing our clinic. Nobody even notices them anymore.” But Amy did.
After the van had left school, Bobbie found an unused office in the PE department, which she presumed would be empty until lunch, at least. She put down her books, turned a chair around, knelt at it, and started to pray for Amy.
At the same time, Glenn Jamison knocked on Michael Andrews’ office door. As they had agreed the day before, these two men of God, one the pastor and one the youth leader at Morningside Church, knelt together and prayed for Amy.
All across the city, members of the Morningside Prayer Warrior team, alerted to the approximate time of the scheduled abortion, stopped whatever they were doing and prayed to God for Amy.
He heard. And, as He promised, He answered. Another angel flew down to the clinic. With the one stationed outside, the second entered the clinic to clean out any demons hiding inside. Nepravel cursed even louder as he saw the two lesser demons fleeing through the clinic sidewalls. Afraid that it might be too late, he nevertheless sent his companion to find Balzor and to ask for reinforcements against these two angels. They would not stop shouting praises to God, as their twin eagles’ heads searched the area around the clinic for more demons to crush.
Inside, Amy, Susan, and the two other girls were greeted by an efficient-looking nurse in a crisp white uniform. “Welcome to our pregnancy clinic,” she smiled warmly. “Everything is ready for you. Here are the forms for the two of you who are actually having procedures this morning. Please read them and fill them out. Then you will sign them when we have our brief interview. We start with your blood work. Patty—we use only first names here—you will be first. Amy, we have several procedure rooms, so the wait won't be long at all. Would you and your friend please have seats here, and you can fill out your forms while I interview Patty.”
Amy and Susan were left alone in the tastefully furnished waiting room. Amy quickly read through the forms, checked the appropriate boxes, and put down the clipboard. Like Susan, she tried to pick up a magazine, but she just couldn't focus on it.
All those people outside—she could still hear them shouting every now and then—just to try to stop girls like her. They seemed so serious. And Bobbie, crying over this baby—fetus—inside her. And Glenn Jamison, praying that day for her. Bobbie was even praying now. Maybe Glenn was too. Were all of them right? Could all of these people be so concerned if they weren't right?
Her hands suddenly became damp, and she felt lightheaded.
The voices planted by the demons had almost been silenced by all of the prayers. The angels had taken the area, and there were no demons to whisper in her ear or to spin the voices again. She started to think about the toddlers at the playground. Did she have the courage to have a baby? Could she do it? Imagine bringing a new life into the world! Her mom might understand after a few days, but what about her dad? What about Billy? What about her life? What a disruption. But surely the baby would be cute, and she could make some young married couple so happy. Maybe she could even visit the child some day….
At that moment the spiritual battle had been won by the prayers and by the angels. The demons had retreated. The voices were silenced. Amy was open to hearing and acting on the truth. But angels only rarely talk to humans. And Amy would not have recognized God's voice that morning because His Spirit did not live inside her. What Amy needed was another human being to talk to her. To listen to her new thoughts. To tell her the truth, again, now that the way was prepared for her to hear it. To tell her not only that abortion is murder, but also that God has the power to heal all of her concerns and all of her fears. But, tragically, there was no one. Bobbie had made the difficult decision to stay away. And Susan looked up from her magazine and asked, “Can you believe these new swimsuit colors?”
Just then the nurse came in again, smiled, and said, “All right, Amy, we're all set. It won't take long at all, and you'll be back at school. First please come with me, and we'll go over the forms. Then we'll do the procedure and you'll be on your way.” She held out her hand to Amy and smiled. Susan, trying to be supportive, stood up, walked over to Amy, and smiled courageously. Amy started to speak, but then didn't. Almost in a trance, balanced between her new thoughts and her previous commitments, Amy responded to the outstretched hand and the smiles, stood up, and followed the nurse into the procedure room.
After all the emotional turmoil of the previous weeks, the sleepless nights, the interviews, and the impossible decisions, the abortion itself was, for Amy, uneventful. There was some natural uneasiness in preparing for the procedure, and some discomfort once it began. She expected the few jabs of pain during the fifteen minutes that the cutter and suction pump ran, and she was not really surprised. In what seemed to Amy like a very brief time, the doctor and nurse announced that they were finished, and Amy was rolled into an observation room and made to sit up in a chair. Susan joined her after about fifteen minutes.
Of course the abortion was anything but uneventful for the baby boy whom Amy was carrying in her womb. The two angels on the roof of the clinic screamed in agony as the innocent child was torn apart below them. They flapped their massive wings and raised their mournful cries to heaven; but they had not been empowered to intervene on the human side, so they could do nothing more than writhe in pain at such inhumanity.
Soon the spirits of Amy's boy and of the baby girl being carried by the student from Riverside rose up through the clinic. Nepravel, whose fear for Amy's resolve had turned to utter joy upon seeing the agony of the angels, knew not to venture near them. Innocent children, both born and unborn, have a special place in God's kingdom when they die—they do not suffer the Judgment Seat, but instead are carried to heaven by angels. With these two angels already present, he knew the process would be quick. So he darted around them, just beyond the reach of their beaks and talons, gloating that once again the dark side had won the victory.
“They huff and they puff,” Nepravel laughed to himself, as the angels began to move off with their charges, “but in the end we always win! We are just too many for them, and we have too many human dupes and allies. How long before we control it all?” he yelled at them. He was ecstatic, and he made a mental note to embellish his own role in these events at their meeting that night.
While her daughter helped Amy abort her baby, Janet was sitting at her desk and going through a trial of her own—Richard's negative reaction to her need to work late on the special project gnawed at her during the entire morning. She, too, had been trying to mend their marriage the past several weeks, and it galled her that he would become so hostile over this one evening's work, even if it was a Friday. How many times in the past few months had he come home late, with little or no notice? Weren't her job and her responsibilities and her feelings just as important as his? Why did she have to put up with a double standard, when she had a respected position and was earning a good salary? The voices, restarted several days ago by Nepravel, were spinning well on their own now.
Although another voice tried to remind her of her earlier decision to discuss it later, the louder voices demanded that the wrong be righted while it was still fresh in their minds. So she dialed his number. When he answered, she let him know how unfair he had been and how she did not appreciate being treated as if he were the only one who was concerned for their marriage. “I don't appreciate the way you always arrange it that whatever problems we have are only because I have to work, when you are away as much or more than I am,” she concluded.
Richard had moved beyond his emotional reaction of the previous evening, and he had even admitted while driving in that morning that her assignment tonight was pretty important. He felt silly that he had reacted so strongly. But now she was attacking on a larger front, and he could not pass up the opportunity to let her know just how he felt in general about her job, since she brought it up.
“OK, I agree that you should work tonight—but I still think, if you feel you have to work somewhere, that you should get a less demanding job with easier hours. You don't really have to work, and I wish you had more time to spend at home. We would all be happier if you did that.”
Richard had trouble with his choice of words because what he selfishly really wanted was the Janet of fifteen years ago, who stayed at home, planned their meals, and focused her attention on him and their young family. As much as anything, though Richard could hardly voice it to her, he was jealous of the attention which the station demanded from Janet. Only he was supposed to be sitting late at night at the dining room table, working on a pile of papers from the office, not both of them. He felt like they were supposed to be husband and wife, but instead they were executive and executive.
“So you want someone who will just stay at home, cook your meals, look after you, and have no aspirations of her own,” Janet said, with an edge to her voice.
“Yes!” Richard almost screamed, “Yes. That's it, Just like Kristen, every Tuesday and Thursday!” but he didn't. He smiled at his own childishness. Instead, he put his hand to his forehead, closed his eyes, and tried to say in a calm voice, “Just more balance, Janet. I feel like we both work too hard, and that can't be good for us or for the kids.”
“Well, I think you have a one-sided view of who is supposed to do what. I will gladly compromise and work on trying to save what we have, but it can't be just my responsibility alone.”
“OK…OK…I told you I was sorry for being upset about tonight. Go ahead and do the test run. I know it's important. Tell me about it when you get home. And let's discuss this larger issue when we're together. All right?”
“Agreed, but I don't want it swept under the carpet. I want to talk about it, Richard. Goodbye.”
Yes, ma'am! he thought, as he dropped the receiver into its cradle.
If Nepravel had not been at the abortion clinic, he would have been delighted by this almost pointless argument, because for the first time one of them had mentioned the need to “save” their marriage, as if it were lost. Words are so wonderfully powerful, Nepravel well knew. If his plan continued to work, the next time it would be Richard's turn to attack a contrite Janet. Then her turn to attack him, a few days later. If this powerful cycle kept up, Nepravel knew from experience that he could destroy their marriage in just a few months.
“It was no big deal—just a little discomfort,” Amy told Bobbie, as she sat in a chair in Nurse Simpson's office. “A few cramps afterwards, but that's about it.”
“See, I told you that everything would turn out fine,” said Mrs. Simpson, checking Amy's blood pressure. “It always has. Now let me take your temperature, Amy.”
As the thermometer went into Amy's mouth, Susan picked up the story. “There were all these protestors out on the sidewalk when we drove up, and we were scared that someone would see us.”
“I know,” said Bobbie sadly, “my parents have held vigils there in the past.”
“They have?” Susan questioned, and Mrs. Simpson turned her head to look at Bobbie.
“Then I guess it really is a good thing you didn't tell them,” said Susan.
“Yes, I guess so.” Bobbie looked down at the floor and felt terribly guilty. Maybe they would have known what to do…
“Well, anyway, Amy was great. Never batted an eyelash.” Susan smiled at their friend, genuinely relieved and proud. “Afterwards, they watched her for a while. Amy paid, and here we are. All done.”
“One less baby to worry about, you might say,” Bobbie said, and immediately regretted it, from the frowns on the other three faces. “All right. All right. It's done,” she said, raising her hands toward the glares. “I didn't think it was right, but it's done. I'll stop talking about it, and let's just all try to go back to the way we were. OK?” And she managed a smile and squeezed Amy's hand.
“That's all I want, the sooner, the better,” Amy smiled back tentatively, as Mrs. Simpson removed the thermometer.
“It's just a shade above normal, but nothing to worry about. Amy, why don't you just rest here for as long as you like so we can be sure that there will be no more bleeding. You girls are welcome to stay with her, or you can go back to class.”
“We'll stay,” Bobbie said, and sat down with Susan on the couch. She sensed that perhaps more than Amy's body had to heal, and she wanted to be with her two friends.
“Can you come over tonight?” Brent asked Tommy at lunch.
“No, not tonight. I wish I could, but Mom is working late, and Dad made a big deal of asking Susan and me to go out to that place where you cook your own steaks. So I guess I gotta do that. And Saturday morning we're all driving up to the Bryants’ new mountain house. I'm gonna have a great time, with only Susan and Amy there!” he added sarcastically.
But in fact he was glad to have a weekend off from their activities. Since his brief discussion with his dad after the ball game, he had felt that perhaps things were moving too fast, that he needed some time to think. So this coming weekend promised to be at least normal, even if it would be boring.
As the regular work day drew to a close, Janet went into the studio dressing room and changed into the jeans and work shirt she had brought from home. Then she met in the conference room with Bill, Tom, and Connie, who were similarly dressed for their evening of chasing possible emergencies. Soon they were joined by Bob Grissom and Mark Pugh from Network, the producer and director, respectively, of “911 Live.”
Bill introduced the network men to Connie and Tom, who had not been at the luncheon with Janet, where Bill had, with carefully chosen words, explained to Bob and Mark some of the concerns that had been expressed about the show. Their reaction had been similar to Bill's, but they agreed with his request to help him solve his internal station problem by inviting two of the dissenters on the test run. Janet did her best to maintain a neutral position through all of the discussion at lunch on the suitability of the show, trying to voice both sides correctly.
Once the introductions in the conference room were completed, Bill Shaw began, “We should have a really good opportunity to test both the concept and the equipment this evening. Mark will be staying here in the studio control booth, directing the show and controlling the helicopter, the reporter/camera teams in the three roving patrols, and the remote control cameras on the emergency vehicles. The five of us will be in our station's van, following closely behind a police car on the north side of the city. All of the vehicles will be hooked together by a two-channel radio link. Hopefully, after all of this preparation, we'll have some ‘action’ to record.”
“We're really looking forward to this trial run, as well,” added Bob Grissom. “It should be very similar to the national show which starts this fall. And we are delighted to have you folks along to add your local spin to whatever happens this evening. I probably don't need to say this, but I do want to remind you that we are all just observers. Whatever may happen, we want to remain safe and not get involved. We're there to observe and to report, but not to interact in any way. OK?”
There were nods all around the table. “One question,” Tom said. “How did you secure the involvement of our police, emergency rescue, and fire departments for tonight?”
“It was easy, and totally aboveboard, of course,” said Mark. “We called your mayor a month ago and asked his permission, pointing out that the footage for the national promotion for the show to be run during the summer will feature clips from tonight's test. Hopefully there will be several opportunities to show your emergency response people in a very favorable light. We also, with his permission, made a sizable contribution to the appropriate retirement funds for the professionals involved.”
“Sounds fine. I was just curious.”
“Well, if that's it,” said Bill, “let's get in the van and head towards the north area precinct to pick up the police car they've assigned us to follow. Mark, I know you have a lot of last-minute things to do here at the station to get ready. Good luck to all of us.”
Kristen was anticipating what would apparently be a very boring weekend. She had drawn duty in one of their new subdivisions for most of Saturday, and her regular aerobics workout would fill the late afternoon. But the rest of the weekend looked empty, and she was frankly jealous that Richard and Janet would be spending the weekend with their friends, the Bryants, at a mountain house.
Here it was almost summer, and Richard had still made no concrete move to leave Janet. If he was half as unhappy as he said, then why did he stay with her? Maybe he wasn't really as unhappy as he told her. Maybe he was simply amused to have two women sleeping with him. That thought added anger to her already ripe jealousy. What had begun for her as infatuation and the security of an older man had blossomed over the past months into real affection. She wanted to live with him. She missed him. Even though it was late in the day, she decided to call him.
Richard was putting a few contract files in his briefcase to review at home after dinner with the kids, when his private line rang. He was surprised to hear Kristen, who, after a few initial pleasantries, reminded him again that he had vowed to leave Janet and that she was tired of being just a part-time lover.
Richard, who now regretted his earlier, too easy portrayal of his life with Janet as being so bleak, was afraid to tell Kristen that there had actually been some improvement (at least until this morning, he thought). So he fell back upon the same excuse he had used for months. “Kristen, I know. But the kids, especially Tommy, are going through a difficult time. I think it would devastate them if I suddenly left. You know, maybe if you need more of a relationship—and I would certainly understand it—then maybe you should find someone else who can provide it for you.” Richard held his breath, because this was the first time he had ever used her now familiar complaint to try to put some distance between them.
She was silent for a long moment. “No, Richard, that's not what I want. I want you. I don't know if it has dawned on you, but I actually love you. However,” and she paused again and spoke slowly, “if I can't have you, then maybe Janet needs to know what a great lover you really are, first hand from me.”
Now it was time for Richard to be silent. Touché, he thought, as he imagined a phone call from Kristen to Janet.
“No, no,” he said. “I'm just thinking of you. I know it's very difficult for us. If it weren't for the kids,” he lied, “I would have left Janet long ago. I just don't know what to do. And now I'm late to get home to take the kids to dinner, and I don't know what to tell you.”
“Well, Richard, I just want you to know that I'm not happy with this situation. Either way there are consequences. Leave Janet, or stay with Janet. You have to choose. But I can't go on much longer with this in-between situation. I'm not happy. Something has got to change.”
Richard's hands and forehead were damp. He was pacing back and forth behind his desk, in front of his huge window. “OK, Kristen, I hear you. Maybe with summer vacation coming we can spend more time together, like when Janet and the kids go to visit her mother. I don't know right now. But I hear you and will try to figure something out.”
“All right, Richard, but it seems pretty simple to me. One day soon you're going to have to choose between us. See you Tuesday,” and she hung up.
Richard looked out at the city below him. Ultimatums from both women in one day. Indeed there would be consequences! Why couldn't they just rock along? Why did he have to choose? For a moment he imagined himself to be a tightrope walker, perched at that lofty altitude, with a balance bar held between his hands. On one end of the balance bar was Janet—on the other end was Kristen. And there was no net below him…
The TV5 news van not only had spacious seating, but also enough television and communication equipment to make it a small studio. For tonight's experiment it had been fitted with a special television link, which could monitor the scene being selected by Mark in the director's booth back at the station, simulating what would be shown in September on the actual live broadcast around the nation.
Bill Shaw drove the van, with Bob Grissom from Network seated up front. Connie, who had the most technical expertise, operated the console in the back, and Janet and Tom occupied swivel seats in the middle. Bob wore a miniature headset, which kept him in contact with Mark back at the station. At 7:30 Mark brought up the “911 Live” logo and cut to John Blevins, the local newscaster who was substituting for the as-yet-unnamed national personality who would host the network show. Behind John were several monitors, and he began a recap of the various live stories in progress around the city, which they had been following for the previous hour.
As the van followed the police car on its regular rounds, Janet and their team watched on the monitor as Mark cut skillfully back and forth between a potentially violent domestic argument on the west side of the city, an ambulance in route to a reported heart attack at a downtown restaurant, and a possible convenience store robbery on the south side. Pointing to the monitor, Bob said to Bill, “I can see now that we're going to have to invest in those wide-angle lenses. Mark is going to have to be able to pull back further to take in an entire area when the emergency vehicles get up close to a building.”
Shifting his attention to Mark and pressing the transmit button, which keyed his headset, he said “Mark, these domestic situations are going to be boring if the patrolmen simply pull up to a house and go inside. We'll either have to have several going at one time, so that you can cut back and forth. Or perhaps we can figure out a way for the officers to wear small mini-cameras, or button microphones, so we can pick up the action inside.”
“Yeah, I'm taking notes, and I concur on the equipment.”
During the first ninety minutes of the test run, Janet had to admit that the pace and the subject matter were similar to many other shows already on television. The fact that it was live did add a dimension of excitement, since no one, including the anchorperson, knew exactly what would happen next. Mark Pugh and John Blevins each did a skillful job of keeping the tempo upbeat during several slow moments. By this time in the evening, several of the original situations were still “in play,” and John ran through recaps of each situation after their commercial breaks, as if they were following several football games at once.
Suddenly, over the police net came the code for a possible armed robbery in progress at a fast food restaurant only two exits north of their position on the interstate. An employee had tripped a silent alarm, and the police vehicle in front of them in the left lane turned on its blue lights and sped up to respond.
As the news van accelerated to keep up and turned on its yellow flashing roof lights, the car just ahead of the cruiser in the far left lane swerved quickly to the right, into the middle of the three lanes, to let the two-car convoy pass. Unfortunately, this move and the sudden multicolored flashing lights startled the driver of the car in the middle lane, who slammed on his brakes. The driver of a large tractor trailer, following too closely behind, tried a combination of brakes and a swerve, but swiped a small car in the far right lane and caused the large rig to jackknife.
As the TV5 van gathered speed, directly behind it there was a huge pile-up on the interstate, with several cars swerving and braking successfully, but others not so lucky. Bill caught the first unusual motions in the rearview mirror and swore. As the others spun around to look, he slowed down and moved over to the emergency lane. The police car did the same, and the two officers were already radioing for fire trucks and ambulances over the net.
Because there was now no traffic behind them, the police car turned around on the deserted pavement, and, with its blue light flashing, raced back to the wreckage, where already there was smoke from one fire. Janet and the others sat for a second, stunned by what they saw. Then Bob yelled to Bill, “Come on man, let's go. This is perfect! I can't believe it. Mark, are you getting this!?!”
“Yes…the camera on the police cruiser is working perfectly. It's fantastic. Can you give me any details? We'll cut right to this when the commercial ends.”
While Bob told Mark their position and the little he knew, Bill turned the van around and drove toward the parked cruiser and the crushed autos. Traffic in the southbound three lanes had also stopped, and people were rushing everywhere, some obviously hurt, some trying to help.
“I wish we had a mobile camera and a reporter with us,” Bob said under his breath. Then to Mark, “How soon can you get the chopper here? The road will be jammed.”
As Bill brought the van to a stop right in front of the car that had originally applied its brakes, they could see, even in the fading light, that another car, the small one which had been in the right lane, was partially crushed between the first car and the massive cab of the tractor trailer. A young man, bleeding terribly from his head, dragged himself through the smashed window of the driver's door and fell on the concrete, then immediately pulled himself up and staggered around to the other side of the car, looking inside.
“Are you getting this?” Bob almost screamed into his mike. He was answered by the scene in front of them flashing onto their television monitor, from just a slightly different angle, caused by the offset of the camera at the police car's position. And they heard the voice-over by John Blevins, describing the live shot of the obvious carnage on the northern interstate connector. “It's fantastic! Just what we hoped for!” Bob said to all of them. Janet was nearly in shock. This is what they had hoped for? Obvious injury, terrible destruction, and probable death? She opened her mouth to tell him to go to hell, but before she could speak, Tom reached across to open the sliding door. “We've got to go help. I think there's someone still inside that crushed car, and there's gasoline everywhere.”
As Tom got up from his seat, Bob turned around and pushed him back. “No you don't. We can't get involved. We're only observers. If we start participating, it won't be real, won't be what's really happening.”
While Bob was talking, Janet looked at the man covered with blood and saw him holding a small hand, which was reaching out from the passenger side of what used to be his family's car. With the little strength he had left, the man was kicking the smashed, jammed passenger door, all the time screaming for someone to help him.
“There is someone trapped in that car!” Janet yelled. “There's at least one child in there. We've got to help that man!”
“No! You can't! Whatever happens, we can't get involved!” Bob ordered, holding Tom back with his right hand and grabbing Janet's arm.
Tom swore at Bob and shoved him up against the dashboard. Then, almost pushing Janet out ahead of him, he leaped from the van, followed immediately by Connie.
“Don't go over there!” the three of them heard, as they ran toward the car. “Bill, they're ruining this whole thing.” Bill Shaw had unlatched his own door, but now he rocked back into his seat. “Mark, can you zoom in on the bleeding man next to the small car? Tell Blevins to say that some motorists are helping an injured man with his family trapped in a car, in a pool of gasoline. Hurry, it may blow up any second.”
When they arrived at the car, Janet was horrified to see the small boy—he could only have been five or six—leaning up against the inside of the smashed door, unbelief in his eyes, blood on his face, and his lower body hidden under the crushed dashboard. It had been pushed in and down on him by the force of the collision with the truck cab, as the car had careened all the way around and then been sandwiched between the two vehicles.
He was crying and reaching out to his father, who was trying to pull him free, but without success. “Please help me,” his father gasped to Janet and Tom. She could see that he was in terrible pain, with blood almost covering his upper body from the gash in his head. And all of them could smell the gasoline.
Janet, Tom, Connie, and the boy's father all pulled on the crushed door, but it would not budge. The whole car had been smashed to two thirds its normal size. Just then the driver of the truck, who must have been in shock, stumbled and fell from the cab next to them, and started toward the back of his rig.
“What are we going to do?” Janet yelled to Tom, who began circling the car, looking for some alternative.
“Daddy…Daddy…” the boy moaned and looked up at his father, who was now weeping and looking for more help.
One of the two police officers ran by, and Janet almost tackled him. “There's a little boy trapped in this car! It may catch on fire any second!”
“I've called for all the help in the area. The fire trucks have tools that can cut him free. Right now we've got at least ten people back there in terrible shape. Come on, I'll give you the fire extinguisher out of our patrol car, while I get the first aid kit.”
Janet ran with him to the patrol car, and she suddenly noticed the remote camera on the roof, swiveling and focusing on her. She glanced over at the van and saw Bob and Bill sitting in their front-row seats, feeding the station via Bob's mike. They've probably interrupted our regular show and have actually gone live with this one, she thought.
Running back to the car with the small extinguisher cradled in her arms like a baby, she saw that the father had slipped to his knees by the car door and was now simply holding his boy's hand and sobbing. As she stopped and took it all in, she found herself praying to a God whom only days before she had told Susan probably didn't exist. “Please, God, spare this little boy. Please don't let there be a fire…Please protect his father. And please help all these other people.” As she opened her eyes, she was looking right at the remote camera, which was focused on her. “Please, God, not on television…” she added.
The distant sirens meant that help might come at last, but neither the boy nor the father might live long enough. The father had collapsed next to the car, and Tom had ripped off his shirt and was using it to press against the deep head wound. “Please, God, please,” she prayed, clutching the fire extinguisher more tightly. She could see the red lights of fire engines coming the wrong way down the empty interstate, when from the south she suddenly heard the steady beat of a helicopter.
The chopper came low overhead, and she could read the TV5 logo on its side, even against the glare of its spotlight. It circled once and then began to land, only about fifty yards north of them. Janet would never know whether the explosion was connected to the helicopter's arrival and the resulting wind and blowing debris, but suddenly the back of the car was engulfed in flames. There were screams all around, and the boy began to cry. His father tried to get up, but fell down, and someone started dragging him away to safety.
Janet awoke from her trance, put the fire extinguisher on the pavement, pulled the pin, and walked quickly over to the boy. As the flames advanced from the back of the car, she used the extinguisher to beat them back. But the fire was very hot, and she sensed that her extinguisher would ultimately be no match for it. She looked down at the boy, who stared up at her in wide-eyed horror, screaming. Tears filled her eyes, as she realized she was going to lose him to the flames. Just then Tom arrived, took the extinguisher, pushed her back, and used the last third of it on the advancing fire.
The flames were reaching the front seats, and many of those standing nearby began to turn away from the awful scene. Janet held her hands to her head and screamed a long No!, tears streaming down her face.
Then two fire fighters from the first truck, led by Connie, ran up with large portable extinguishers and leveled them at the flames, beating them down. Thirty seconds later, two more men arrived with a high pressure hose from the truck itself and put the fire out.
More emergency vehicles were arriving, and one of the men on the hose yelled that they would start cutting the boy out immediately. Janet ran over to the father, who was still alive, as the men with the cutting tool were pointed toward the car by the police officer, who was still using his portable radio. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a reporter with a camera crew run by, on the way from the helicopter to the wrecked cars and the injured victims.
Connie and Tom joined Janet by the father. The three of them from the station hugged and cried. Janet shook all over and suddenly felt very weak and nauseated. She staggered to the grass strip by the edge of the road, dropped to her knees, and threw up, still crying. As she calmed down a little and looked around, she found Connie in the same position, and Tom lying on his back next to them, his arms over his face. Tom said hoarsely, “I hope they caught us throwing up, live and in color.”
The ride back to the studio, an hour later, began in icy silence. Janet was still shaking from the adrenaline coursing through her system. Bob and Bill would not look directly at the three of them in the back of the van.
Finally Bob broke the silence. “Look, I'm sorry for trying to hold you back. That was stupid. You did a courageous thing in helping to rescue that boy. I've never been in exactly that situation before. You were obviously right and I was wrong.”
“Apology accepted,” Tom said quietly.
“And,” Bill added, “we got some great shots of what you were doing. They'll look terrific in our public service segments, and the promotions for ‘911 Live’ will now have a really local flair!”
“You mean you're still going to broadcast ‘911 Live’ after seeing what happened tonight?” Connie asked in disbelief. “What if those firefighters hadn't arrived and that little boy had burned up, right on the camera?!?”
“Well, he didn't, and if the fire had gotten any closer, we would have cut away,” said Bob, obviously pleased with all that had happened.
“Any closer? Any closer?” Janet trembled as she spoke, her voice rising. “How close do you want? Besides his crushed lower body, he has second-degree burns on his head, back, and hands. And his father may die before the night is over. How can you imagine putting that in families’ living rooms at 7:30 on Friday nights?”
“Janet, you're just upset from being so close to it,” Bill consoled her. “No one knew you were going to wind up on the fire brigade. When you see it on the monitor, like we did, you'll understand how great it is. Our audience will love it.”
“Yeah, I noticed how you watched it all from the safety of the van,” was Janet's last comment to Bill, which foreclosed further discussion.
When they arrived at the television station it was after eleven, but the twenty or so staff on hand greeted them as they walked through the back door with cheers and champagne. Mark Pugh was grinning from ear to ear as he and Bob hugged. “Wasn't that fantastic? Better than I could have ever hoped for,” beamed Mark. “We have a few bugs to work out, but for the most part, all of the systems worked perfectly.”
Several of her coworkers congratulated Janet on her heroism, but she was not in the mood to be a hero. She wondered about the little boy and his father. She wanted to call Richard and then go to the hospital to check on them.
But before she could collect her things, the back studio in which they were standing was darkened, and the monitors brought up the crash scene again for all of them to relive the night's events. Janet looked up into her own grief-stricken face, looking around desperately for help, as the flames came toward the boy. Only now Tom's Promotion Assistant had already superimposed their TV5 logo and the “911 Live” promotion, and a voice was recommending the show to their entire viewing audience! She suddenly realized that she was going to be used to promote the show she found so offensive.
Janet again felt nauseated and broke away from the other station personnel. As she made her way to the restroom, her coworkers patted her on the back and congratulated her. She spent ten minutes in the restroom, throwing up and crying. Finally she managed enough control to wipe her eyes and to look at herself in the mirror. What a fright! She smiled for the first time in hours. “I guess I really wouldn't have done too well as a fire fighter,” she laughed to herself. “But I've got to get to the hospital. I'll call Richard from my car.”
Leaving the restroom, she walked down the hall and past the employee break room. She glanced in through the window in the door and saw Tom, Connie, and two other men and a woman sitting around the table inside. She opened the door and walked in, realizing too late that they had their heads bowed in prayer. Embarrassed, pulled toward them, uncomfortable with praying out loud to a nebulous God, she nevertheless listened for a moment. They prayed for the people in the wreck and for the leadership of the network and of the station. She realized that they were actually praying to God to bind Satan and his work at their station! As if Satan were real, and right there at the station! With that unusual new thought etched in her mind, she slipped out to find her street clothes and to head for the hospital.
Kromor, the dark lord of the station, and his horde of demons were hosting Lord Vidor of Network, along with all the demons who had come in from New York for the test run. Lord Vidor, only a lowly lesser demon thirty years ago, was now one of Satan's most powerful captains, because of the unprecedented human destruction he had caused in such a short time. Together, all of these hateful furies were celebrating simultaneously with the “911 Live” crew in the back studio, and they never noticed the concentrated prayers coming from the break room.