Chapter Fourteen
RELEASED
An hour passed and the air became wild. A storm was brewing and the sky looked as though it would rain at any moment. The police security at JFK Airport had been stepped up several notches which greatly angered the outside civilians who desperately wanted to get to their loved ones. But there was also immense concern after a short burst of gunfire not half an hour ago. Screams had come from those inside as well as those outside, but still no one was allowed in because the police were supposedly negotiating with the suicide bombers, but nothing seemed to be happening. No one had yet been freed.
Matthew was a mess alongside hundreds of other people. He'd given up on trying to push through the police, figuring that it wasn't contributing to anything useful whatsoever. The elbowing and screaming didn't get him anywhere, and so he'd walked away sullenly and collapsed onto a cold and wet concrete gutter about two hundred metres from the main crowd. His knees were perched hish and he rested his arms atop them, leaning his head deep within the darkened confines made.
His eyes had dried of tears and were now red-raw. Sobs were still heaving from his heavy chest, but no tears ran. Other people around him were in similar situations. An Indian mother was clutching her baby, sobbing violently; what looked to be three sisters were waiting for someone, maybe their mother or father, to be freed; and there were many adults waiting for their partners to be back in their arms. Matthew decided that he could relate to these people the most.
Just then, a woman's desperate voice reached Matthew's ears. "They're coming out!"
All those who were sitting down, including Matthew, jumped up and joined all those who were already trying to get a view on the situation. What they saw was three policemen, standing halfway between the airport entrance and the rest of the police blockade, directing all the crying, screaming and shaken people back to safety. There were about fifty faces walking towards safety, each searching for someone in the crowd. Some people had cuts, others were nursing broken or sprained limbs, but most looked unscathed. Yet, not one of these faces belonged to Amy. Nonetheless, Matthew continued to frantically search.
"Amy?!" he called over the crowd, but it mixed with hundreds of other voices. "Francis?! Ellie?! Naomi?! Timmy?! Nadia?! Philippe?!" The calling of names was endless. "Sean?! Drew?! Sam?! Callum?! Toni?! Kyia?! Mohammed?! Jon?! Vanessa?!"
But not one of them turned out to be Amy Carter.
Matthew watched as distraught, freed hostages were embraced by their loved ones and peppered with kisses and touched with love. He envied each and every person reunited. But Amy wasn't there, so he went back to his sulking ways along with most of the people outside the airport.
Everyone who'd been released was checked immediately by a crew of about twenty paramedics. Their details were taken - probably for legal reasons, or maybe for possible police investigations where witness statements would need to be collected - and they were given medical advice and blankets to keep warm. Some of the unjured came out of the ambulances with stitches, and others in plasters or braces. These seemed to be the most serious the injuries were and Matthew prayed that this was the case for Amy and all the thousands of others still stuck in the airport.
Matthew began to stress. What if those who had just come out of the airport were the only survivors? The thought took him into a cold and nervous sweat. He swiped his fingers through his hair and made a false attempt to pull it out - he only yanked at it hard to prevent (or at least delay) himself from screaming. He did, however, let out a weak whimper of just one name: "Amy."
But he couldn't think like this. If he thought that Amy was dead, it wouldn't do him any good. It'd only make the situation far worse. Matthew continued fighting a battle within himself. To go in and get her or not? His heart was begging him to race into the airport, through gunfire that would surely start up, find Amy and then bring her out to safety. But, his head knew better. His head knew that those actions would only prompt the suicide bombers to kill themselves - and all those around them - sooner rather than later. And he knew Amy would be part of such mess so he stayed planted on the cold concrete, waiting for what wasn't coming.
* * *
Yet more hours passed and no other citzens were evacuated from the airport. Not one single person. No one.
But the police continued to insist that they were making "great progress".
"I know that you've all been waiting such a long time, but in the next half hour we should have some more people out. There's nothing to worry about, we're making great progress, I can assure you."
That was all the head of the police blockade said every half hour. Some progress, Matthew thought sullenly. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, so that made almost six hours since he'd arrived after the news bulletin he'd heard in the café. Those who had been freed earlier had all left the airport after their ambulance checks and brief questioning from the police, but hundreds more were still being held hostage right at this point in time. Mothers on the outside continued to wail and cry for their children stuck inside, and partners sobbed for the return of their lovers.
But everyone was quiet now. No one was speaking. Everyone was silent in their own thoughts, except for the loud and occasional sobs. Glum faces filled the driveway of the airport and all eyes were locked on the cold, hard ground under them. The police and security staff were the only ones speaking on their radios and to each other. Catering staff had been called in, but no one was eating. No one could possibly have hunger in their current states of mind.
Suddenly the police were excited. Hundreds of faces looked curiously towards them, but some stayed glumly locked in position until other nudged them and directing towards the current excitement. Some stood up to gain a better view, but Matthew ignored it. That was, until,
"More people!" It was a lady's voice and she ran past Matthew towards the police. Matthew stood up faster than he could have thought and ran towards the action, desperate to see a particular pair of golden hazel eyes. He searched the crying and screaming and injured faces for one in particular, but couldn't find it at all.
She wasn't there.
Matthew's eyes stayed locked on the airport doors, praying that more civilians would come out, but they stayed closed and showed no sign of opening any time soon.
A lot of people cried some more when they noticed that their loved ones weren't freed yet. Some wailed and sobbed, but some, like Matthew, completely broke down. He let out a great scream of anger and loss before collapsing into a ball on the ground. He sat, with his knees at his forehead, crying and screaming desperately. His lips trembled with worry and his eyes were read raw. His chest, his head, his throat, his heart, were all in pain. And there was only one things that could possibly alleviate such pain. But she wasn't here.
* * *
A freezing cold nightfall came and another group of people were released. But again, this group did not include Amy Carter. And as much as this pained Matthew, it got him thinking. These bombers, if they truly wanted to commit suicide, surely they'd have blown themselves - along with hundred of innocent people - up by now. Their lives must be so horrendous that there's no other solution to the chaos and pain than to remove themselves from the world. Matthew could never understand why people would want their lives ended after being given such a gracious gift from God. How could anyone want to end such a beauty?
And then Matthew remembered seeing Amy's wrists on Thanksgiving. They weren't just ordinary scars from trips and slips. No, they had to be self-inflicted. But what could have possibly brought her to inflict such pain upon herself?
Matthew looked at the strangers around him in the dim light provided by torch lights. Each person had a different tale to tell; a different perspective on life. Maybe it wasn't all as easy as Matthew had previously assumed. He'd figured from a young age that one would find someone they love, marry that special person, start a family and grow old. But, upon meeting Amy, he knew there was much, much more to life, and love alike.
Again, the police made excited moves, and by now, the people outside had learnt to associate this with the release of more people from the airport. Matthew lept up from his frozen concrete sulking spot and raced over to the barrier of police. This was the largest group of people yet, and unlike the others, most of the people in this group were wheeling their luggage behind them. Everyone was tearing in their eyes and being pulled into tight embraces by their families, their partners, their friends.
All, except one.
Matthew's heart skipped a beat as he watched Amy Carter walk with the group of people to safety. Her eyes were dry, and they didn't seem to be looking for anyone. Her left hand was clutching at her waist whilst her right arm towed her large suitcase behind her. Her face was covered in red cuts and she looked exhausted.
"Amy!" he called, pushing through the crowd. Amy didn't seem to hear her name and continued to walk glumly to safety.
Matthew managed to come round the side of the group of people and find Amy just as she was passing a police officer. Not knowing where, or if, she was hurt, Matthew grabbed her around the shoulders and yanked her out of the crowd into a tight, bone-crunching embrace.
It took Amy a few seconds to realise what was happening, but when she registered that it was Matthew, she returned the hug as strongly as she could in her weak state and let out a flow of gushing hot tears. By the amount of tears being freed, it seemed to be the first time she'd cried today whatsoever. She cried and she cried and she cried. And Matthew did nothing but hold her for almost a whole ten minutes.
"We have to get you checked by an ambulance," he said, reluctant to let her go for even the shortest second. He felt that, if she was ever away from him for more than a second, terror would strike and she'd be taken away again. And after being without her for a heartbreaking twelve hours, he wasn't prepared to take one finger off her cold and shaking body.
Amy nodded weakly into Matthew's chest but made no effort to move to the paramedics. If anything, she tightened her embrace around Matthew's middle, squeazing herself further into his warmth.
"Are you hurt?" Matthew suddenly asked as he brushed Amy's messed hair away from her face.
Amy pulled her face out of Matthew's chest to speak. But it was more of a croak, for her voice was so sore and dry. "A little."
"Where?!" he asked, alarmed, pulling out of the hug to look at where Amy was lifting the left side of her shirt. It was hard to see, but in the dim light, Matthew could see a shining cut, almost ten centimetres long. "What happened?!"
Amy took a few moments to gather her words and prepare her voice for speaking. "I'm not sure. I only felt it when I was walking out. I didn't notice it until then."
Her cut was gushing blood and Matthew's behaviour became serious. "We have to get you checked." He grabbed Amy's suitcase with one arm and supported Amy with his other by wrapping it around her shoulders and assisting her weak body into walking around to where the ambulances were.
A total of twelve ambulances now were parked at the airport, treating all the victims of the hostage hold-up. Amy kept pressure on the cut whilst they waited, Amy’s eyes still releasing torrents of tears. There was much more light here, so Matthew could see numerous cuts and bruises on Amy’s face and forehead. Her nose had been bleeding and now had dried, black blood beneath it, and there were many cuts around her jaw, along with a large purple bruise. Maybe she’d been knocked to the ground. Matthew wanted to ask, but felt it best to leave it at what it was for now. No one would want to relive the terror.
A scream came from one of the ambulances as someone’s cuts were stitched up, but they were soon hushed by another in the van with them. It was only subtle, but Matthew could feel Amy leaning into him for more support. He tightened his arm around her but was immediately interrupted.
“Do you need medical attention?” a young man’s voice asked.
Amy nodded vigorously and Matthew answered, “Yes.”
Amy was led to a bench in the ambulance and Matthew stood at the door – there wasn’t enough room for him to sit inside. There was a female doctor and the young nurse who’d called them in, and with Amy taking up much of the room, there was hardly any room to breathe.
As the doctor went to work examining Amy’s waiste, the nurse approached Matthew again, this time with a clipboard. “Will you fill these out for her?”
“Oh, um, yeah,” Matthew replied, surprised at the sudden question. He took the clipboard and a pen from the nurse and began to fill out Amy’s personal and medical details. Thing is, he didn’t know half of them. “Amy, what’s your full name?”
Amy winced at pressure the doctor was applying to the cut on her waist she examined it. “Amy Renée Carter. R – E – N – E with an apostrophe – E.”
Matthew wrote it down as quickly as he could. “Date of birth?”
“July – ouch – seventeenth 19 – ow! – 89.”
“Address?”
“Just look at my license. It’s in my bag.” Amy directed to her bag on the floor beside her. Matthew put the clipboard under his arm and went fishing through Amy’s bag – through make up and tampons and manicure sets and other miscellaneous unessentials – until he found her purse and found her green, VicRoads driving license from Australia. Matthew smiled at the picture – it looked as though Amy had needed to sneeze or cough or something similar when the photo had been taken.
The cut in Amy’s waist had to be stitched up and it took the doctors almost forty-five minutes after they’d waited for the local anaesthetic to kick in. As Amy had lay on the bed, a few silent tears fell when she felt the slightest amount of pain. Even if it was just the doctor accidentally bumping her foot. Everything was hurting for Amy right now. Everything.
As the nurse dressed Amy’s wound, she wrote a witness statement for the police which gave an overview of what she’d experienced. She refused to tell Matthew what she’d written, but he’d spotted a few words on the sheet like ‘guns’ and ‘bashing’ and ‘explosives’. When she’d handed it in and left the police her details, she seemed a different person that what she’d been when she walked out of the airport.
And Matthew could only imagine the amount of stress and emotion she was under. If it were he, he was sure he’d be an emotional wreck, unable to walk, talk, eat or stand. But Amy was walking, she was talking, she was standing, but she hadn’t eaten yet.
“Do you want something to eat?” Matthew asked as they walked side-by-side – very closely – back to Matthew’s truck. He towed her suitcase behind him, feeling the incredible weight of it more so with his exhaustion. He’d been waiting over twelve hours in freezing weather, and if anyone wasn’t exhausted from such a lack of activity and food, one would be insane, Matthew thought.
“No. I’m not hungry.” She was still clutching her thirteen stitches at her waist, applying satisfying pressure. With her other hand, she was turning a golden locket that was fastened around her neck. Matthew made a note to himself to ask her about that one day, but today was not the right day.
They walked the rest of the way to the truck in silence, passing many other couples and families as they made their own way back to their homes. When they got there, Matthew loaded Amy’s suitcase into the tray before helping Amy clamber into the passenger seat.
“Let me help you,” he’d insisted, for she had little movement with her stitches.
“Thank you,” she smiled weakly as Matthew fastened the seat belt around her. She was exhausted and already leaning into the headrest as though prepared to fall into a deep sleep.
“You’re welcome.” Matthew shut the door lightly and then began searching the backseat of the truck for the emergency fire blanket. He could see Amy shivering in the front seat and knew the heater wouldn’t provide enough heat for her in her current state of shock. He eventually found the woollen blanket he’d never used and climbed in the driver’s seat before placing the blanket over Amy’s still form in the seat beside him.
She smiled sleepily. “Thanks.” He eyelids shut tighter and her body shifted into a more comfortable position.
The truck came to life with a satisying hum and Matthew maneouvered his way out of the chaotic traffic of media reporters and pedestrian and police cars. Soon, they were on the main road and on the way back to New Haven. And Matthew couldn’t believe his luck in the way things had turned out. He’d assumed all day that Amy had been killed. Murdered in cold blood. And yet, here she was, sleeping in the space beside him with only a few cuts and stitches as a reminder of the ordeal.
Amy’s handbag at her feet began to make a ringing noise. Matthew was stopped at a traffic light and was about to search for it when,
“Leave it.” Amy peeked from under her eyelids. So she hadn’t been sleeping. “I’ll call them all back tomorrow.”
“But, Amy, they’ll be worried sick about you!” Matthew retorted, maybe a little louder than what was necessary.
“I’m tired, though. I’ll call them back tomorrow. I promise.”
Matthew ground his teeth. He wanted Amy to call her family, her friends, and tell them all that she was fine, that she was safe, that everything was fine. He wanted her to tell everyone that there was nothing to worry about and that nothing had happened to her. But he also didn’t want to fight with Amy. She was exhausted, and he didn’t want to jeopardise anything that they had together. He didn’t want to not have Amy’s company.
“Can I stay at your place tonight?” Amy’s voice was shy and quiet. Nervous, almost.
Matthew gave her a sideways glance as the night traffic began moving again. “Of course! I’m not going to leave you at your dorm alone tonight!” How could she be thinking like this?
“Thanks, Matt,” she whispered. “Thank you for being there today. I wasn’t expecting you to be there, to be honest.”
“There was no way I wasn’t going to be there, Amy,” Matthew told her sincerely, reaching an arm across and stroking her shoulder and arm. “You should sleep.”
“But we’re almost at your place.”
Matthew’s face became surprised. “How do you know?”
“I’ve been living here for six months now. I’m learning my way around.”
Matthew looked at Amy skeptically. Was there a double meaning to her statement there? He smiled into the dark.
Ten minutes later, Matthew pulled into his driveway and parked the truck in his garage. Despite her words, Amy had fallen into a light sleep along the last stretch of the journey and was still breathing at a slow and steady pace in the passenger seat. Matthew took this opportunity to unload her suitcase from the tray and take inside to the lounge room before waking Amy slowly.
“Amy,” he cooed as he unbuckled the seat belt from under the warm fire blanket.
She stirred slightly and Matthew shook her lightly. “Amy.”
“Mm?” she mumbled, opening her eyes in a daze. She sat up as soon as her thoughts caught up to her. “Are we here?” she began looking around and recognised the inside of Matthew’s garage.
“Yeah, come inside. It’s warmer in there.”
Matthew helped Amy out of the high truck and followed after her as she walked into the warm house. In the full light of the house, Matthew could see blood stains on her clothes and many rips and tears.
“Did you want to change your clothes?” he asked. “Your clothes are just here.”
“Uh,” Amy said, looking down at her dirty attire. “Yeah. Just in the bathroom?”
“Yeah, wherever.”
Amy pulled out a pair of track pants and a shirt from her suitcase and went into the bathroom to change. In that time, Matthew raced upstairs, changed his own clothes into something more comfortable and came back down with a load of blankets. He flicked off as many lights as he could on his way back down to the lounge room where Amy was already sitting on the couch, trying to warm up her cold clothes by shivering violently.
Matthew wrapped a thick blanket around her before sitting on the cushion beside her with only the dim light from a couple of lamps around the room. “You okay?” Amy nodded lightly as she embraced the warmth of the blanket. Matthew continued, “Do you-”
But Matthew had no chance to ask his question. Amy shuffled along the couch and brought herself into an embrace with Matthew. She made sure her stitches were okay – as did Matthew – and soon, they were lying down, chest to chest on the couch. Although surprised, Matthew kept a calm head as he tucked the blankets tightly around Amy and wrapped his arms tightly around her torso.
“Okay if we crash here?” Amy asked, a small grin on her lips though her eyes were closed.
“Well, I don’t mind.” At that, Amy smiled hugely.
The two of them lay like that for a few minutes as Amy drifted back to sleep. And Matthew, eventually, gave into his emotions. He convinced himself to take a risk and give Amy the lightest of pecks on her forehead. But with that light touch, a sense of safety and security was passed into Amy’s mind forever more.
Convincing Amy
© stephii 2010