A note to readers: This is a long story that unfolds chapter by chapter through the eyes of two protagonists — Mark and Elsa, and as in many of my other stories involves a growing spate of horny characters. Every ten chapters or so I will provide a short summary at the start of that episode to bring new readers up to date (see start of Ch. 60). This story could appear in a number of genres (Loving Wives, Incest, Lesbian, Fetish, and more) depending on the chapter, but the overall theme is Group, so I have applied this moniker to all chapters. The story is still being written, yet I intend to post a new chapter every couple of days. Enjoy.
Chapter 61 — Surgery and Hospital Time
Melanie came into my office in tears. She was sobbing so badly I couldn’t understand her. Sheila was right behind her and in worse condition. I instantly realized that something really really bad had happened. I thought, ‘Oh, my God. Cindy. Elsa.’
Sheila choked out through her tears, “City hospital, right now. It’s bad, very very bad. Elsa’s been shot and lost a huge amount of blood, maybe too much to survive. Tanner’s dead. Limo waiting.’ She sobbed wildly but pointed towards the door.
I was out the door like an Olympic runner with the girls close behind me. I asked, but there were no further details except Elsa was in surgery. Izzy fell in with us as we piled into the limousine; she was crying too. Marshall sped us to the hospital with a war wagon leading and following, leaning on the horns as we ran a dozen red lights between my office building and the city hospital.
Our family surged into the Emergency entrance of the hospital. A dozen uniformed policemen and detectives, a dozen of my security team including Lucas, and Cindy milled around the lobby area. Cindy was crying and Lucas held her to his chest trying to comfort her.
“What happened?” I asked her.
Cindy blubbered out, “He was disguised as an old woman with a walker. We recognized him just in time — well, nearly,” she sobbed. “He drew a gun, and we shot him, both of us. He was dead before he hit the ground, but he got a shot off. It hit Elsa in the leg. She’s lost a lot of blood. The ER staff told us that his bullet hit her femoral artery. Geck got a tourniquet on it, but she was unconscious by then.”
I practically screamed, “Will she make it? Will she live?”
Cindy sobbed, “We think so. We think we caught the blood loss in time, and she was here less than ten minutes after being shot. Lucas and Geck brought her in a war wagon instead of waiting for an ambulance. She fainted only after she was sure Tanner was dead. I didn’t even realize she’d been hit until she collapsed next to me.”
A scrub nurse with blood splattered on her clothing rushed up to Cindy. She asked in an excited voice, “You her sister?”
“Good. Come with me. We need your blood for your sister, NOW!”
Cindy rushed away after the nurse. I heard the questions about what kind of donor she was, whether she was on medications and such as they disappeared behind a door. I again felt tears welling up in my eyes.
I looked around; only there wasn’t any other source of information about Elsa. Lucas came to me and could only confirm what Cindy had just said. I could tell he’d been crying too.
Lucas managed to say, “We were monitoring everybody near the restaurant. We were even watching the old lady that turned out to be Tanner in disguise. Cindy saw her first and said ‘Tanner’ over the intercom. Tanner had gotten very close to their lunch table by then. We’d just started to move when Elsa and Cindy stood up and the gunfire erupted. They’d seen him draw a gun on them. Two of our men two tables over had drawn their weapons when the shots went off. Elsa and Cindy put two shots in his chest; either one would have killed him instantly. He got a shot off, probably with impaired aim, and it hit Elsa’s leg. Geck got a tourniquet on the leg and we carried her into a waiting security car to get her here moments later. She was already unconscious.” Lucas teared up, “I’m so sorry, sir. We tried. We really tried.” He sobbed a little; very uncharacteristic for the stoic man.
I threatened to no one in particular, “This better turn out better than it looks right now.”
I spotted a photographer, and that made me ask for a room where we could congregate away from the public lobby that was also serving as a waiting room for other emergency cases. The hospital provided us a room down the hall.
I’m not sure how the story got out, but it made the evening edition of the city newspaper and the local evening news broadcasts. The photos showed our concern and grief. The evening paper headline stated:
Billionaire’s girlfriend shoots stalker
The spot on the city TV news included several of the still photos of Elsa, Cindy, me, and the restaurant with police tape surrounding the scene. The announcer read:
“Socialites and girlfriends of billionaire Mark Worthington, Elsa Conners and her sister Cynthia Conners were accosted by an armed man canlı bahis today at one o’clock as they dined on the patio at a Church Street restaurant. Unprovoked, the man shot Elsa Conners. The two women are expert marksmen and were legally armed; they shot back, instantly killing the suspect, a man identified by police as Myron Tanner. Tanner had disguised himself as an old woman, apparently so he could get close to his targets who he apparently planned to shoot.
Elsa Conners is an architect for Darwin Architectural Group, and Cynthia Conners is an investment specialist with Thorn, Bradbury, and Wilson. They have often been seen on the social and charity scene with bachelor boyfriend Mark Worthington.
“Tanner had been arrested by police about six weeks ago for stalking the Conner sisters, Mark Worthington, and others in his circle. Tanner was considered a threat to the Worthington family and their friends, who had a restraining order against the man. He escaped from police on the way to a court appearance two weeks ago, and had remained at large until today.
“Police had described Tanner as armed and dangerous in the warrant issued after his escape. He was also wanted for arson, bomb making, attempted rape, and other weapons violations targeting various Worthington family members and property. Tanner had worked at Worthington Industries for a short time from early 2015 to early this year; he was fired for cause eight months ago. Police speculate that his termination of employment was the reason Tanner sought vengeance from Worthington and his friends.”
I grimaced as I heard the newscaster reading the copy on the five o’clock news. There were inaccuracies that I chose to ignore. Both Elsa and Cindy were still somewhere in the bowels of the hospital, hopefully repairing Elsa and restoring her to life. I paced and paced and paced. Sometimes, one of the other girls would come to me, and we would just stand, cry, hug, and pray in each other’s arms.
Finally, at seven-thirty an older doctor came into the room we’d been waiting in. He was Indian, and fortunately, I thought, had that seasoned look that only years of experience can give. He had a slight smile that I took as a good sign.
“I am Doctor Ramalesh. I am here to report to you that your Elsa Conners is doing much better than when she arrived. The worst is behind us and she is resting. There was a lot of damage to her artery where the bullet penetrated. It nearly severed the artery, and we spent all afternoon rebuilding it and saving her leg. Her bone was also nicked, but requires no surgery on our part; it will heal on its own. There is significant muscle damage I’m afraid, but much of that will also heal over time, especially with physical therapy.
“She is in ICU right now, with a nurse right beside her monitoring her very closely. The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours will be crucial for her, and we plan to keep her sedated during this time so she doesn’t even think about moving that limb. We have it immobilized in the bed she is in. If she does for any reason, we’re concerned it could tear the repair job and force us back into her leg for another repair operation. The entire ER staff and I are on top of this and we even have prepped another operating room to work on her just in case that happens.”
I asked in a worried tone, “Where is her sister?”
Behind me, I heard a weak voice, “Right here.”
I turned and a nurse was just wheeling Cindy into the room in a wheel chair. She was in short-sleeved scrubs and looked pale and washed out.
As Cindy joined us, the doctor explained, “We took a significant amount of blood from Cynthia during the operation. Part of that was to replace what her sister lost at the scene. We’d also supplemented that with other blood from the blood bank. We plan to keep Cynthia here overnight just to be sure she’s going to be all right with what we took and just in case we need her for her sister.”
Cindy turned her arm, and we could see the bandage and port where the blood draw had been. The draw port was still embedded in the vein inside the crook of her left arm.
I asked, “Can we see Elsa? We’re family.”
The doctor motioned, “One at a time. Come with me. You can look into her room only from a distance. As I told you, she is under heavy sedation.”
We walked down a long corridor until I could see through several layers of glass into her part of the ICU. Elsa was only a lump in the bed with her left leg slightly elevated. She wore a nasal cannula for oxygen and I could see a dozen electrodes and wires coming from under the covers. A hundred medical instruments behind the bed blinked and gave statistics about her health. A nurse wearing a surgical mask stood beside the bed feeling Elsa’s left foot for a pulse I assumed.
The doctor explained, “We’ll be checking the circulation in her leg every couple of minutes for two days. By then, we expect, the grafting we’ve done on her artery will have healed sufficiently to tolerate some small motion. Her whole body is in shock right now, bahis siteleri so we’re watching her closely. She lost a lot of blood — a lot. I’ll be frank, another minute without that tourniquet and she would have died from the blood loss. The human body does not tolerate well a loss like she endured. She’s very lucky that your security people rushed her here rather than waited for the ambulance and the EMTs. They normally do fine work, but this injury would have been beyond their capabilities.”
“How long will she be in the ICU?”
“At this point, I think a week or more, and then three or four more weeks here in the hospital in bed with no activity. Towards the end of that period, she’ll start some light physical therapy while we monitor everything very closely. We don’t want to risk anything to that repair job. She’s bedridden for a while – weeks. That should do it, except for a longer period of physical therapy after her release to build up her leg muscles again. She’ll also have a scar on her thigh for the rest of her life, but from what I hear she can be proud of it. She’s not the first gunshot victim we’ve sewn back together who rated the label of hero … or I should say heroine.”
The doctor walked me back to the waiting room, and then took two of the girls for a peek at Elsa, and then a minute or two later, the other two. There seemed nothing more we could do. Melanie opted to stay with Cindy at the hospital for a while, and the rest of us went back to the condo. There were still a lot of tears and anguish over what had happened.
I made a pest of myself, texting Mel every hour asking for updates. She would text back the word ‘Same’ repeatedly, until finally she wrote, ‘Going to sleep in reclining chair in Cindy’s room. Goodnight. Love you. Mel … and Cindy.’ I got the message, and tried to sleep myself but I was so keyed up I doubt I got more than an hour’s sleep all night.
The next morning nothing had changed except the doctors had told Cindy and Melanie that Elsa had come through the night with strong vitals, and seemed to be doing better than expected. They planned to keep her sedated another day so that she didn’t move her left leg. Cindy texted that the nurses continued to check Elsa every couple of minutes, but seemed more relaxed about it now that she’d had a successful night. The repair job was holding together and Elsa was healing. She also said they’d changed the dressings on the large wounds.
I was vaguely conscious before I opened my eyes. I could hear a heart monitor beeping nearby. I hurt from the waist down, especially my left leg. I moaned and blinked open.
“Nurse, she’s awake.” I looked and it was Cindy — smiling at me. She was wearing scrubs and a facemask, the same as the nearby nurse. I felt a surge of confusion about where I was and why I was there, but it passed as I remembered the shooting.
“Hey,” I eked out but it was garbled. My mouth had several tubes in it. I was in a fog that seemed to be clearing rapidly.
A nurse came over me, “Good afternoon, Elsa; nice of you to join us. The doctor will be here in a minute to check you over again. PLEASE do NOT try to move or sit up; don’t move your legs even if they are very uncomfortable. You tell one of us and we’ll try to help you be more comfortable. Again, DON’T MOVE ANYTHING below the waist.”
She carefully pulled two tubes from my mouth, and then allowed me a brief swallow of some water through a bent straw. I was still lying flat with almost no pillow under my head. I wanted to move. I wanted to get up. I felt like I’d been hit by a freight train. I looked at Cindy, obviously confused.
Cindy explained, “You’re in the hospital. You’ve been under sedation for three days while you healed from the repair job on your left thigh. You’ll live … unless you start to try to move around and break open the repair job on your leg. You are in VERY delicate condition and this is ICU — you are still rated as in critical condition.”
I mumbled, “What happened? Tanner?”
“Tanner shot you; you and I shot Tanner, all in the same instant. Our shots were perfect and deadly. Together we destroyed his heart. He was dead before he hit the pavement. He hit you in the leg with his shot.”
“Oh, yes. Dozens of them. There were dozens of witnesses. We are in no trouble there. Pure self-defense. Eventually, they’ll want to talk to you and get your story, but I’ve already spent hours with them. So has the entire security team.”
“My leg hurts.”
The nurse said, “As soon as the doctor is here, we’ll give you some more pain killers.”
I said in a near whisper, “Nothing addictive, please.”
Cindy said, “I’ll be sure and tell them.
“How bad was it that I’ve been here over three days?”
“Pretty bad. You almost bled out. It was to have been two days before they woke you after they sewed you back together, but the doc decided to keep you under for another day. At the restaurant, Geck got a tourniquet on you and no doubt saved your life. He and Lucas raced bahis şirketleri you here in a war wagon. Doc said you had one minute to go before the big forever darkness struck and you were out of blood. The blood was pouring out of you. The bullet tore up your femoral artery, that’s why. You were gushing blood really fast until the tourniquet. Now, you got a rebuild job in there.”
A male voice added, “And some tubing that should dissolve over the next month or two. Hello, Elsa, I’m Dr. Ramalesh. I’m the guy that sewed you back together after you walked into that bullet.”
“Thank you,” I muttered. “It hurts.”
“Not surprising. Nurse, some Percocet.”
Cindy protested, “It’s addictive. What else do you have?
The doctor thought and said, “OK. Try her on some Paracetamol or one of the other NSAIDs — try her on eight-hundred milligrams. If that doesn’t work for her, page me. I’m on call until midnight. I’ll tell Dr. Frey who covers for me after that.”
I muttered, “Tell me about the tubing.”
Dr. Ramalesh said, “The bullet tore up your thigh and quadriceps, and destroyed about three inches of your femoral artery. It also nicked your thighbone, but that didn’t break. It’ll be weak for a month or so, but bone repair goes pretty quickly. To repair your artery, we inserted some tubing to carry the blood past the break. I grafted some tissue to cover the break and surround the permanent tubing. There are dissolving staples inside you holding it all together; the tubing in your artery dissolves too. By the time that happens you should be moving about with a little walking and very light exercise, but that won’t start for another four weeks. After that, we monitor your blood flow, but it all seems to be going well now, so I guess I did a good job.” He smiled at the play on his modesty.
“None in the long run. As I said, the bullet and the repair job tore up some of the muscles –your quads mostly. You’ll need a lot of physical therapy to rebuild. It’ll take a while, probably six to twelve months before you get back to where you were before the shooting.”
I turned my head to Cindy, “What about Tanner?”
Cindy responded, “He was pronounced dead at the scene. You’re famous by the way — we are. Apparently, the girlfriends of multi-billionaires don’t shoot somebody in public every day, so the press is making a big thing about it. They’ve been remarkably sympathetic considering the tack they could have taken.”
I turned back to the doctor, “What about flying? I’m a pilot.”
He thought and responded, “Not without my permission, OK? Probably you’ll be good for that after a good start on your PT.” After a thought, he said, “What do you fly?”
I felt sure he was expecting me to respond with something like a Cessna 152 — the two-seat trainer. Instead, I said, “Multi-engine jet. Cessna Citations. 737s.” Just saying those words made me feel proud and good about life.
Ramalesh’s eyes flared with surprise. “Oh, you are an ambitious one. Well, we’ll try to get you back in the air soon. I understand about currency and medical signoffs after an incident like this one. I’ll help you on this one. Assuming all goes as planned, you’ll get a complete signoff with no lingering restrictions. In the meantime, it’s total bed rest, and no motion AT ALL below the waist.”
The doctor left us after a few more comments. Cindy and I talked and then Mark came into the ICU room wearing sterile scrubs and a facemask the same as Cindy, the nurse, and the doctor.
The nurse chuckled, “You can kiss her, if you want.” She pointed at her covered mouth.
Mark was to me in an instant. He pulled his mask down, and I got a dozen sweet kisses. I almost cried. I’d almost lost Mark, or rather he’d almost lost me. The ramifications of what had happened finally started to dawn on me. I really had almost been killed by that asshole. Deep inside, though, I knew if he didn’t get me, he might have gotten Cindy, or Mark, or one of my sisters. He was deranged, and now he was no longer a problem.
I said to Mark in a timid voice, “You’re not going to spank me, are you?”
Mark shook his head and tears came to his eyes and he sobbed, “No, baby, no.” He squeezed my hand. I realized he’d been crying a lot since this had happened. His eyes were red and his eyelashes were already wet.
Cindy explained, “Everyone else is waiting to see you. I’ve been staying at the hospital with you. I’ll go and give someone else a chance to come in. The nurse said only two at a time. Remember, you can turn you head and look around, but no using your legs or sitting up, just yet.” She made no move to leave for a minute.
Cindy eventually left and a few minutes later, wearing scrubs that must have been made for The Incredible Hulk, little Melanie tiptoed into the room. I got kisses and ended up reassuring her that I was going to be fine. She was on the verge of tears and her eyes were red. We visited. I got an update on what everyone had been doing for three days — mostly sitting around waiting for me to come out of my medically-induced coma and crying because I’d almost died. I assured Mel that I had worried they would be crying because I lived and was going to continue to be a pest and a dominant force in their lives.