THURSDAY 9:04PM
Jerry sat at his desk in The Chronicle’s newsroom, finishing his story on Cassie, her injury, and the cheer squad. He attached the shots that Mike sent him, grabbed a couple of photos from Cassie’s Instagram account (she gave permission for their use), added the image he took of her with his phone at the hospital, included captions, and emailed the entire package to Vanessa.
The newsroom was mostly deserted. Besides Jerry, the only reporters who remained were Noah, working on his story about the groundbreaking for the new football stadium, and Fallon, completing her theater review. Wind gusts and fierce rain continued to slam the windows. Every couple of minutes, the low rumble of thunder drowned out the downpour.
Jerry powered off his PC, stood, and walked to Fallon’s desk. She leaned left, letting him read her review.
According to authorities, Bernie Madoff’s investors were defrauded of some fifteen billion dollars, which is a fate infinitely more palatable than having to endure the VBU Drama Club’s latest crime against musical theater, Ponzi Scheme: The Rise and Fall of Bernie Madoff.
The cringe begins with the opening number “Roll Over” sung by junior Cliff Clark (in the eponymous role) to the tune of Greg Kihn’s “The Breakup Song.” The insipidity of senior Allison Cole’s lyrics is surpassed only by Clark’s off-key performance.
But the wincing doesn’t end there. Sophomore Daphne Conrad’s role of Mrs. Ruth Madoff contains nothing but the worst stereotypes about overbearing Long Island Jewish mothers. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the ADL will picket future showings, in the unlikely event that the production doesn’t close after one night.
No doubt director George DeMaris’s curious decision to dress the SEC and FBI investigators in Roman-style togas is an attempt to make some profound statement. But by that point, this reviewer simply no longer cared, and prayed for a quick and merciful end to the so-called musical.
The dramaturgical nightmare concluded with a big song and dance number as the entire cast spasmodically boogied and caterwaulingly crooned “Too Good To Be True”, another of the uninspired tunes penned by Cole.
Zero Stars. Rather than attend this travesty, you’d be better off using the ticket money you saved to invest in some dubious multi-level marketing scheme.
Jerry chuckled. “Scathing, but I think it might be too much.”
“Pfft. Actors, singers, playwrights, and directors all need to develop a thicker skin.” Fallon tapped her keyboard. “Done.”
“I was thinking more about Vanessa. No way she runs that.”
“We’ll see.” Fallon turned off her monitor.
“How about you, Noah? Almost finished?”
“Just about.” He stuffed the last bit of cinnamon donut into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “How does this sound? Groundbreaking for Van Buren University’s new, seventy-five-million-dollar football stadium took place on Th—”
“Seventy-five million!” Fallon pounded her desk. “Can you imagine all the good the Gender Studies Department could do with that money?”
Jerry sighed. “The boosters and alumni who made contributions for the stadium probably aren’t interested in making a donation to your favorite programs. But you could always ask.”
Fallon jabbed her finger at Jerry. “The donations don’t cover the full cost of construction. The rest of the money’s coming from student fees, the general operating budget, and the endowment. That’s money that should benefit the entire university. Not crypto-fascist football fans.”
Jerry shrugged. “You want to write an Op-Ed, go ahead.”
“What I want is for money to be spent on forward-thinking, progressive causes, not some reenactment of the worst horrors on the Eastern Front with a side order of toxic masculinity and premature dementia.”
“Can you guys please keep it down to a dull roar?” Noah raised his arms, then lowered them in a calming motion. “I’m trying to finish this up.”
“We can argue over here.” Jerry walked to the break room, poured the last two cups of coffee, and cleaned the pot.
“I’m not interested in arguing. I want genuine change.” Fallon stirred almond milk into her mug.
“Go occupy an administration building or something. Football’s popular. Get over it. I’m not a fan. Busby’s brother is on the team, and he’s the biggest jerk around.” Busby! Jerry rubbed his cheek. Was she really dumping him, or would she cool off and give him a chance to apologize? Hopefully, Miranda could talk some sense into her.
“Jerry? You there?”
“Huh? What?” He became aware Fallon was speaking to him.
“I said: Then shouldn’t you be on my side?”
Jerry replayed the conversation in his head. “No, it’s not about sides.”
“That’s an odd take for a journalist.”
“No, Fallon, it’s the best take. I don’t advocate. I report and dig for the truth, and I’ll bring down anyone who has it coming. Even if I happen to agree with them.”
“You’re deluded if you think there’s an objective truth, Jerry. There’s only competing narratives and manufactured consent. Read your Chomsky.”
“Guys, I’m done.” Noah poked his head in. “You want to get out of here?”
“About time.” Fallon rinsed out the rest of the cups in the sink.
They grabbed their rain jackets and assembled at the entrance. Outside, a bolt of lightning illuminated the campus for a fraction of a second.
“This is some storm.” Jerry pressed his nose against the glass doors. “Maybe we should wait it out.”
“The Weather Service put out a Thunderstorm Warning and Flash Flood Watch for Stuyvesant County until midnight.” Fallon held up her phone. “Wind gusts up to sixty miles per hour.”
“You don’t need an app for that. Just look.” Jerry pointed outside.
“I’m going to risk it.” Noah pushed his way through the door and attempted to open his umbrella. A gust of wind pushed the ribs past the locking mechanism and the cover inverted. Noah struggled to fix the umbrella, but the wind was too strong. He grabbed the door handle, dragged it open, and hauled himself inside. “It’s worse than it looks.”
“Climate change caused by increasing levels of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere is resulting in more frequent and destructive thunderstorms.” Fallon flashed a smug expression.
Jerry sighed. “Does everything have to be political with you?”
“Who’s being political? It’s a scientific fact. Don’t you care about the enviro—”
“Ugh, you know what?” Noah wrestled the umbrella closed. “I changed my mind. I’m not waiting for it to let up. Rather take my chances out in the storm than in here with you two trying to recreate The Hundred Years’ War.” This time, he opened his umbrella inside.
Fallon pointed. “You know that’s bad luck, right?”
“Bite me, Fallon.” Noah used his foot to brace the door open wide enough for him and his umbrella to squeeze through and stepped outside.
“That was totally uncalled for.” Fallon watched Noah struggle in the downpour.
“Fallon, did you ever think that maybe you—”
A bolt of lightning stuck outside the building concurrent with a deafening crush of thunder. Noah’s body flew through the air like a beanbag in a corn hole competition. The umbrella slipped from his hand, blowing away in the wind.
“Noah!” Jerry rushed into the pouring rain.
Fallon followed. Noah lay face down in a puddle next to the pavement. Jerry flipped him over. Singe marks on Noah’s jacket. His eyes closed.
Jerry shook his shoulders. “Noah, are you okay? Wake up!”
Fallon knelt beside him. Over the storm, she shouted, “Is he breathing?”
Jerry leaned close, rain stinging his eyes. “I can’t tell. Grab the door. I’m bringing him inside.”
Fallon ran to the door and battled the wind to hold it open. Jerry, still crouching, slipped his hands under Noah, lifted, and stood up shakily. He took one tentative step toward the entrance and a gust almost knocked him over. Catching his balance, Jerry staggered through the door, took three steps inside, dropped to his knees, and laid Noah on the floor.
“Is he alive?” Fallon crowded Jerry.
Jerry put his hand under Noah’s nose. Nothing. He placed his thumb and index finger on Noah’s carotid artery. No pulse. “Get the AED!”
“The what?”
“The defibrillator. It’s on the wall outside Vanessa’s office. And call 9-1-1. I’ll start CPR.” Jerry unzipped Noah’s rain jacket, pulled his penknife from his backpack, and cut away Noah’s shirt. Jerry tilted Noah’s head back, opened his mouth, checked for obstructions, but didn’t see any. He placed his hands together in the middle of Noah’s chest and pressed down.
Crack.
Jerry winced. In the excitement, he pressed way too hard, breaking Noah’s ribs. Jerry took a deep breath to compose himself. Steady mind, steady hands. Noah’s counting on you. He continued with the compressions.
Fallon pulled out her phone and raced off for the AED. Jerry heard her rapid-fire call to the 9-1-1 operator. “Noah’s been hit by lightning. He’s not breathing, I’m getting the defibrillator. Jerry’s giving him CPR.”
Come on Fallon, keep it together.
“Van Buren University Gleason Building come quick please!”
Jerry counted the compressions. “Eleven...Twelve...”
Fallon returned with the defibrillator and knelt.
“Fallon, if we’re going to help Noah, we have to keep calm.” Jerry stopped the compressions, lowered his head to Noah’s, pinched his nose and blew two rescue breaths into Noah’s mouth. Lightning flashed outside the building again and thunder followed a half second later.
“I’m trying Jerry, but this storm is crazy. Everything is crazy!” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then put the phone on the floor. “Okay, 9-1-1 lady, you’re on speaker. I’m with Noah. He has the defibrillator.”
“What’s his status?” The operator’s voice crackled from the phone’s speaker.
“Twenty...Twenty-one...Twenty-two...I’m performing chest compressions...Fallon, open up the defibrillator and attach the electrodes. Twenty-nine...Thirty...” Again, Jerry stopped compressions and blew two deep breaths into Noah. He checked for a pulse. Nothing.
“The ambulance is three minutes away,” the operator announced.
Lightning struck again with thunder, and this time, the building shook.
“What the hell is going on with this storm?” Fallon fumbled open the box. “What do I do?”
“Four...Five...Pull the covers off the electrodes. Attach one to under his right collarbone and the other under his left armpit. Fourteen...Fifteen...”
“Was the victim outside?” The operator’s voice remained calm. “Is his chest wet? You’ll need to dry it off.”
Fallon spotted Laurie Inverso’s sweater draped over her chair. She dashed over, grabbed it, returned to Noah, and mopped the water off his chest. She tossed the sweater aside. Jerry paused the compressions.
Fallon attached the electrodes. “Now what?”
“Don’t touch Noah. Press the yellow analyze button on the AED.”
“Make sure everyone is clear of the body,” the operator instructed.
“Analyzing,” the device announced. “No shock advised.”
“What does that mean?” Fallon’s voice filled with panic.
“It means we keep up the CPR.” Jerry resumed compressions. “One...Two...Three...” He could feel his arms getting tired.
“Where’s that ambulance?”
Another lightning bolt struck outside the building. The thunder was deafening. The office lights flickered for a moment before the office was plunged into darkness.
“Hello?” Fallon picked up the phone. “Line’s dead.”
The emergency lights over the entrance clicked on, casting an eerie glow on the three.
“No bars.” Fallon glared at her phone. “This is nuts.”
“Doesn’t matter. We can’t give up. Nine...Ten...Eleven...”
Fallon activated the flashlight app on her phone and shone it on Jerry and Noah.
Jerry felt his arms weakening. “Fallon, I’m getting tired. Three...Four...Five...Get ready to take over.”
“What? How? I don’t know CPR.”
“Don’t panic. I’ll tell you what to do. Watch where I placed my hands.”
Two paramedics, a man and a woman, carrying a stretcher and a med kit, burst through the doors.
The female EMT knelt next to Jerry. “What happened?”
“Noah got hit by lightning. Dragged him inside and started compressions.” Jerry glanced at his watch. “That was four minutes ago.”
The male EMT crouched next to Noah. “Good job. We’ll take over. Miller, let’s get him intubated.” Jerry and Fallon stepped back and let the EMTs do their work. Another pair dressed in firefighting rubber uniforms rushed in. The four engaged in a quick discussion. One held a portable container and hooked an oxygen mask over Noah’s mouth and nose. Fallon cringed at the sound as they ripped the patches from Noah’s skin.
The EMTs strapped Noah to a board and lifted him onto the stretcher. Jerry scrambled to the door, holding it open as they wheeled Noah into the rain. Jerry stood in the downpour as the first responders loaded his friend into the ambulance.
Lightning struck again, narrowly missing the ambulance as it drove away.
Fallon put her hand on Jerry’s shoulder. “Noah will be okay. I know it.”