The first figure he’d seen in this whole mess—the black guy crawling around in the center of the street around all the carnage—was somehow still alive. Bobby had entered paramedic mode since several of his co-workers had arrived on the scene. Now he was looking over the unconscious man in the gurney and holding an IV of saline over him. They were loading him into the ambulance.
Two bullet holes and he’s still breathing.
Whoever the guy was and whatever the story was, he was going to wake up and feel very, very lucky. Though Bobby knew luck had nothing to do with it.
Once the man was safely in the ambulance, Bobby went back to see who else needed help. Various people were attending to the injured. As he scanned the bridge, the blue and red lights of the siren moving around like some kind of dance hall, he took notice of several things.
Near the fire engine, a woman sat on a rear diamond-plate apron holding a baby. A paramedic—a man named James whom he knew and respected—was looking over the baby. Bobby knew that the woman and the baby—maybe her baby—were in good hands with James.
Close by, a man was standing near a gurney with closed eyes.
He’s praying.
The body on the gurney had a blanket over it, and Bobby knew what that meant.
He sighed.
Rest in peace.
Then he looked to see a group of cops surrounding a scary-looking guy in cuffs being led to a squad car. The world was not fair, and stuff like this constantly reminded Bobby. Whoever was on that gurney probably didn’t deserve to be there. This man in cuffs surely was the one who deserved to be.
Then again, all of us deserve those cuffs. All of us deserve death.
He couldn’t judge because he didn’t know the stories. He had to just pray for all of them and give thanks for those who survived. Like that precious baby.
Bobby started to walk toward James and the woman with the baby but was stopped by a figure in a yellow EMS blanket sitting on the curb.
“Hey,” a weak voice called out to him.
He glanced toward the voice and then saw the lawyer. The blond locks were flat, her makeup mostly gone, a look of shock on her face. As he walked up to her, she gave him a look of confusion.
“You . . . you saved my life,” she said. “Why?”
A part of him wanted to say the obvious, that it was his job. But there were many people to try to help and rescue on this bridge. And the truth was right there in front of him. This was another one of those divine moments and he had to say exactly what his heart wanted to.
“Matthew 5:44.”
Andrea still looked confused, eyes searching to understand. Bobby continued.
“Let me save you the trouble,” he said with a smile. “ ‘Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.’ ”
He thought of the hearing, how he had asked them for a favor before he left, how he had taken back what he had been given. Bobby reached into his jacket and pulled out the wooden cross, then gave it to her. She took it without hesitation, still astonished and suddenly speechless.
“I’ll be praying for you, Andrea.”
His voice, his look, his everything told her that this was sincere, that this wasn’t some pious sort of high-and-mighty looking-down-on-you thing he said. And Bobby believed that she knew that. He’d just helped her—maybe truly saved her life—so she knew how he felt.
He’d saved her temporary life here in this place full of death and darkness. What he hoped is that somehow, in some way, this would be an opportunity to lead her to another place of salvation. The place so many rolled their eyes at and mocked and simply disbelieved. A place too good to be true. And yet it was.
Maybe she’d know one day. Bobby knew this evening was a reminder to him. A confirmation that he had done the right thing with the dying man days ago. That he was doing the right thing now.