Peeling Back the Top Layer 🇯🇲

39| Panic attack

"What? Weh yuh jus seh?!" My voice cracks when I speak and my breathing becomes shallow. I can hear the blood rushing in my ear as I momentarily lose my bearing.

Still startled by the news, I remove the phone from my ear and double-check the screen to make sure that it really is Gillian on the line. But while I'm moving it back to my ear, the device slips from my hand and crashes to the floor, creating a few hairline cracks across the face.

"Jus come quick. Marsha is already on her way." Her soft sobs and sniffles when I pick up again are distressing.

"Which hospital?... Mi soon come," I tell her, ending the call.

A thousand possibilities rush to the forefront of my jumbled mind, pushing my thoughts into overdrive. Did they have a fight? Was she driving and they crashed? Is he badly hurt? Is he dying? But most importantly, how the hell did this happen?

"What is wrong Kel?" Chaunard asks, inspecting the shattered phone screen.

"Gillian is at the hospital. I don't know what happened but her husband is hurt," I breathe a heavy sigh. Gillian is like a sister to me and by extension, Ricardo my brother. The thought of him dying, his wife and children mourning his loss, is unsettling, to say the least.

"Okay, let's go then." Chad's calm voice is  soothing as he leads me out of the kitchen.

He does his best on the way to help me real and settle my anxious thoughts, encouraging me to remain positive, to at least hear the details, and to assess the situation before slumping into sorrow. As much as his support is appreciated, it does little to arrest my straying thoughts.

Throughout the drive, he keeps his fingers interlocked with mine, giving an occasional squeeze and a few reassuring glances, which I figure is meant to keep me grounded.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" he asks when he parks. I look at him, ready and willing to stand by my side but behind that front, I can sense his dread for hospitals. Although I'd love to have him with me for whatever bad news I'm walking into, I would hate to cause his discomfort given that he previously expressed his dislike for the place.

"I think I'm good from here." I give him a tight-lipped smile and watch as relief replacesthe uneasy countenance on his face.

"Kool...I will be right here when you are ready."

"Thank you." I move to exit the vehicle after giving him a chaste kiss on his cheek but stop in my tracks when I see that ink has bled out across my phone screen from the cracks earlier. He notices it too. Just then, Marsha speeds into the parking lot, swinging the car into the closest available spot and parking.

"Lend mi yuh phone," I tell Chaunard, quickly dialing her number and ending the call after the first ring. "Mi jus dial Marsha number, save it please. I'll call you from that if anything."

I handing his phone back to him and get out of the car right in time to block Marsha's path as she hurries toward the hospital entrance. "Kelsie!" Her hand flies to her throat and her panic-stricken face relaxes a little when she notices me. "Yuh reach... Thank God!" We lock arms and proceed, at her suggestion, to the emergency room.

There, the strong smell of industrial cleaners is barely enough to mask the underlying malodor emanating from the combination of blood, vomit, and urine. It's sickening. The raw stench is disgusting enough to make even a dog lap its tail between its legs and run in the opposite direction.

Hospitals, on a whole, always make me feel woozy. It is tainted by the air of death looming overhead. The gloom is exacerbated by the dreary look on people's faces as they await word on their loved one's situation. The dim lighting in the place is the cherry on top of the gloomy situation. It accents the dreary theme carried across all emergency rooms in the island.

I really couldn't have put Chaunard through this because I don't like being at the hospital either.

We find Gillian seated in a corner with a tall, bulky, bald-headed man and a mid-height, athletic-bodied woman standing next to her. The two older people seem to be keeping her company, but they look a bit out of place and truly uncomfortable.

Gillian jumps to her feet and barrels towards us, both relieved and somewhat delighted to see us. Marsha's arm is still linked with mine as we each use our free hand to pull her into our embrace.

"Gillian, wah happen? How is Ricardo? Wah di doctor dem a seh?" asks Marsha. We both ease back to get a better look at her face. She glimpses apprehensively over her shoulders and smiles at the odd pair standing where she was seated.

"We are going to leave now," the man nods politely, waves goodbye, and puts his hand on the small of the woman's back, leading her to the exit.

"Who are they?" I ask Gillian, curious about the weird vibe that the odd pair gives off .

"First thing, the doctor seh it look like Ricardo had a panic attack. Initially, we thought it was a heart attack but the first set of tests don't show any signs of that... Right now dem jus doing a few more tests to confirm what really happen," she explains, glancing over her shoulder periodically and appearing worried that someone is either watching or listening.

"Ah, thank God," Marsha expresses relief. I also feel the tension in my head subside, although I have a strong feeling that there is more to what Gillian has to tell us.

"What were you guys doing? What bring on di attack? And how yuh mean yuh nearly kill him? And where are the kids?" My questions reel off my tongue as quickly as they pop into my mind.

"Ricardo's sister has the kids," she states, "but she nuh know that we are at the hospital."

Again, she steals a glance over her shoulder and then looks towards the nurse's station before excusing herself from us to inform the nurse that she will be nearby if needed.

Outside, we walk with her to her car where she pulls two foldable chairs from the trunk and hands them to us, telling us to sit. She opens the front passenger door and sits facing us with her legs hanging from the open door.

"So, mi really nuh know how fi tell oonu this," she starts. Her voice is low and shaky, she is fearful, and tears well up in her eyes. I also sense a tinge of embarrassment as she fiddles her fingers in agitation.

"Gilli, jus talk nuh," Marsha implores. She's gentle and sweet with her persuasion.

"It nuh that easy," Gillian covers her face and takes a deep breath. Marsha and I look at each other, confused and worried.

"Dem people deh weh we see yuh wid have anything to do wid wah yuh have fi tell we?" I lay my suspicion out in the open for the first time. She nods, drops her hands to her lap in frustration, and looks at us with pleading eyes. Her shoulders slump forward and she hangs her head meekly.

"Don't judge me," she whispers, tears streaming down her face when she looks up again. Her revelation must surely be a heavy burden that's hard to unload. She needs to just get it out and be done with.

"Gilli... yuh know we will never judge yuh," I do my best to reassure and comfort her.

"We might laugh and tease yuh later but we naw judge yuh and yuh know yuh can trust us," adds Marsha. I shot a disapproving glance at her. This is not the ideal time to mention laughing and teasing when we're trying to coax a secret out of her.

"Alright, alright, alright," she takes a deep breath and then releases it with a puff but she doesn't look at us.

"Me and Ricardo... well more Ricardo... we decide fi... yuh know... do sumn different fi kinda spice up wi sex life," she pauses periodically throughout her statement, covering her eyes once more. I am at my wits end, and Marsha is borderline frustrated with her lagging.

"Talk nuh!" an irritated and impatient Marsha demands.

"Him suggest swinging and we were doing it wid di couple dat was here earlier and dats when him get di panic attack." Gillian lets the skeleton out of the closet with such haste that her words jumble into each other, almost sounding like one. But we hear her.