Snap Happy (A Daniel Ricciardo story)

25. Downfall

DAN

It was like being on the receiving end of a bad video call. I watched her mouth moving, knew that words were crossing the air between us, and waited in vain as my brain tried to process them and make sense of what was happening. Then everything began to dawn and I felt my legs move as if propelled by an external force, dragging me down the steps and away from everything.

Away from her.

I knew she was calling out to me, could feel more than hear each desperate word hit the back of my neck as I kept on walking.

Then the scream ripped the fabric of the night apart.

I turned, watching paralysed as she fell in slow motion, her arms outstretched towards me before hitting the ground. Broken. Still. 

I remained rooted to the spot, my mind blank. I couldn't even remember where I was, much less the Italian emergency number. Around us crowds had begun to gather (with one notable exception). The main topic of debate from what I could understand, was whether she should be moved or not.

"Has anyone called a doctor?" I yelled desperately above the buzz of excited chatter. "Medico? Ospedale?"

I could see the glow of a number of mobile phones but nobody seemed to be making a phonecall. I realised with horror and disgust that more people were filming us than actually trying to help. For once, all I wanted to hear was the sound of an ambulance siren but none came.                          

Shit! 

"Em can you hear me?"

I knelt beside her, noting with relief the faint rise and fall of her jacket, but also the thin stream of dark liquid trickling through her hair. Almost imperceptively she moved her hand towards me and I grasped it, feeling the tiniest pressure in return. That settled it. 

Please say I'm doing the right thing I pleaded silently, all previous emotions forgotten as I scooped her into my arms, cradling her head against my shoulder, while becoming increasingly aware of the warm stain seeping through my clothes. I need to stop the bleeding I realised as I carried her out to the car, grateful that for once I was actually driving something with a proper back seat. I think someone must have finally helped me because there was no way I got that  door open and her limp body laid across the seat on my own. I looked down at my shirt, already ruined beyond recognition - nothing I did to it now was going to matter. I tugged it frantically over my head and ripped it down the seam. It wasn't the tidiest bandage in history but if it worked...please let it work.

Horns blared as I accelerated into the dark, dodging traffic and swearing as the sat-nav called out instructions five seconds too late. The lights turned red....green...red again...not that it made any difference - every other driver seemed to be ignoring them.

Fuck it! When in Rome (close enough)

I stepped on the pedal and did the same, hurtling through the streets looking for a sign...and finding it.

The smell of disinfectant assaulted my nostrils as I entered the sterile white corridor looking like something out of a disaster movie. I had attempted to cover myself up with a spare jacket I had in the car, but in my haste I struggled with the zip and it hung losely from one shoulder, exposing a smear of blood and a distinct lack of shirt. In my arms I carried Em, what remained of the aformentioned shirt wrapped around her head. Her eyes were closed.

"Help...please!  I shouted at the first figure I saw "She fell down the stairs - she was moving but I think she lost consciousness"

"Why did you move her?" The woman looked at me accusingly "She could have had a spinal injury"