His eyes closed briefly and when he opened them again, he seemed to have made a decision.
“You were so full of life, Caroline, and I loved you so much. I tried so hard to hold onto you, but the harder I tried to hold on, the more you slipped away from me. I ended up crushing you. I was so terrified you’d see through me… I did everything I could to stifle you. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t stop myself. I will regret that to my dying day.”
Then he gestured towards Sebastian. “He brought you back to life.”
I hung my head, humbled by his admission and his apology, remembering all his cruelty and bullying. And remembering, too, his new kindness in my hour of need.
“I’m so sorry, David. For everything that happened between us. For what I did to you. I never meant to hurt you. But… I fell in love.”
“I know,” he said, softly. “I just wish it had been with me.”
He smiled sadly, and walked away.
The days and nights began to blur together. If it hadn’t been for David, bringing me food or insisting that I slept, I don’t know how I would have coped.
I called Ches each day, but there wasn’t much I could tell him. I heard the hope in his voice every time I called, and every time I could only repeat the same words, “There’s no change.”
The chaplain visited us daily, and told me not to give up hope. Sometimes he prayed with me; sometimes he brought me a sandwich. Both were equally welcome.
I’d been there four or five days, the colorless hours merging together, when David told me that Sebastian was stable enough to be moved. Some news, at last.
“We’re going to bring him out of the coma, then he’ll be sent to the Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany. From there, on to Bethesda in Maryland or Walter Reed in DC. I’m not sure which.”
“Will I be able to go with him?”
He sighed. “Normally, I’d say that was highly unlikely. But, off the record, Caroline, if you can use your Press connections, then maybe.”
“Thank you,” I said, quietly, touching his hand.
He smiled briefly.
That was all the encouragement I needed. I was on the phone to my editor within 20 minutes and I refused to take ‘no’ for an answer. I promised as many articles as he wanted, exclusive interviews and photographs of life in a military medical center. In the end, he agreed to help. I don’t know how many strings he pulled in Washington, but he promised me he’d get me on the same flight as Sebastian.
When I returned to Sebastian’s room, I couldn’t work out what was different – and then I realized it was too quiet. The ventilator had stopped working. I panicked, looking around wildly for help, but then… I saw that Sebastian’s eyes were open, and he was looking at me.
He spoke, and his voice was so soft and hoarse that I could barely hear him.
“I knew you wouldn’t give up on us,” he said.
We were flown out that evening, and arrived at the medical center in Germany at dawn. The critical cases were taken off first: those with brain injuries and missing limbs. We waited on the chilly tarmac for 15 minutes before the rest of us were loaded onto a fleet of blue buses.
We were met by the Head of the Critical Care Team, and the army chaplain.
“You’re here at the US army hospital. We’re going to take good care of you. We’re praying for you. You’re here at the US army hospital. We’re going to take good care of you. We’re praying for you.”
Over and over again, the tired-looking chaplain repeated the words, as stretcher after stretcher passed him by, the syllables blurring and becoming meaningless.
Sebastian held my hand tightly but didn’t speak.