It was strange, having time to see everything like a normal person did. To see the morning commute outside his window as he made breakfast, walk around while stores and public places were open, see kids get out of school. Usually he was either in the rig, or sleeping to prepare for a shift, most of the time at the firehouse.
Yet with his injury, he now had the time to do just that. His PT advised him to go on walks, and he had become fond of walking through this park in particular. He was starting to know regulars in the park, was becoming a bit of one himself. So he noticed when there was someone new, sitting on the bench an old man usually like to occupy at this time.
Savannah Delore. It was easy to tell it was her, from the shade of her hair and the poise she sat with. Hector thought about turning back, but the bench was usually where he stopped to rest and talked about the weather with the old man. Speaking of weather, his mind flashed back to the weather that put him in this position. The storm.
Savannah was there at Charlieās too, how did she get out? Was she alright? The concern made him hurry over, only to stop a few feet away. He nodded at her, a look of chagrin in his face at the clicking of his walking boot.
āTell me you fared better than this?ā He gestured to the spot beside her. āMind if I sat down? I never got to catch up with you after I lost you at Charlieās.ā
Savannah... God, Sav. I really messed up with her. You know? Sheās so, so goddamn-much. Like a little sun, right down here on earth. Blinding, man. Intense. I donāt know what I did to find her, but she was just so much, I wasnāt ready for it. And. And I mean that in a good way, Sav was so much goodness. But man, just.... Sheās Sav. I mean, Savannah. Shhh, shouldnāt call her that anymore.
Donāt know the guy all that well but man, what-what a. A character, you know? I thought he was, was gonna slug me in the back of the rig that first night I met him. But heās...heās cool. Gives me good drinks when I see him at his bar. What was it? The.... the pig something. I donāt even know, but heās cool.
āIt all matters. That someone turns out the lamp, picks up the windblown wrapper, says hello to the invalid, pays at the unattended lot, listens to the repeated tale, folds the abandoned laundry, plays the game fairly, tells the story honestly, acknowledges help, gives credit, says good night, resists temptation, wipes the counter, waits at the yellow, makes the bed, tips the maid, remembers the illness, congratulates the victor, accepts the consequences, takes a stand, steps up, offers a hand, goes first, goes last, chooses the small portion, teaches the child, tends to the dying, comforts the grieving, removes the splinter, wipes the tear, directs the lost, touches the lonely, is the whole thing. What is most beautiful is least acknowledged. What is worth dying for is barely noticed.ā
ā Laura McBride, We Are Called to Rise (via beeghosts)
TW: Drowning, injury, mentions of homophobia and homophobic violence.
Hector felt like he was back in some place the world wanted forgotten. Charlieās was certainly a location Montreal never remembered in the first place. It was a gay bar, rundown and in violation of multiple building codes from what he could see, but it was shelter for the night. Charlieās was filled to the brim with the people all the officials and powerful ignored, and the people who were too unfortunate to make it to the firehouse or the hotel to ride out the storm.Ā
He had been sent there to evacuate the people who were there, but before he could radio his assessment to the chief, someone somewhere added Charlieās to the official list of safehouses. Maybe an overworked office aide in the mayorās, who heard Charlieās as a location spoken over the radios and assumed it was safe, or someone who just didnāt have the whole picture. Wherever the mistake, Hector was on the ground dealing with the aftermath.
There were plenty of people packed shoulder to shoulder in the bar, jostling for a drink or simply a place to stand and make a few phone calls. A few of them he recognizedāa man who he picked up onĀ St Christophe and Rue Bousquet as the victim of a gay bashing now with a scar across his eyebrow, a woman from theĀ Le Plateau-Mont-Royal neighborhood who called after suffering an asthma attack.Ā
A few other regular (he could only assume) patrons of the bar hit on him in passing. And about half of them, most of them men, he wouldnāt have turned down, he was surprised to consider. Maybe it was the seriousness of the situation that was making him think like this. Otherwise, he wouldnāt have given it a second thought, would just laughed it off like normal. Stay quiet if someone said something nasty or ugly about those who loved differently, out of fear. After spending the night here, he didnāt think he could stay quiet anymore, not after talking to each and every person here.
In the course of his work, he tried to avoid making himself stand out, but people still remembered him. They shook his hand, said he saved their sister, or their boyfriend, or their grandmother. They were thankful, for both then, and now. About a half of the people in Charlieās knew him by sight or at least respected his turnout coat.Ā Yet, however much he was known or respected, he was alone.Ā
Hector had people he knew in Charlieās. Savannah was there, and then he met Emilia who helped him hammer wood over the high windows. He knew something might happen, that these people he loved and liked could be in danger. There was the bar itself, old and falling apart. The inspection file sitting on the desk in the upper office was last dated four years ago. Hector wasnāt sure how such a long time could pass between inspections.Ā
And then there was the distance from the river. And that distance came back to bite them, as Hector came out of the back room. Savannah had left, going to talk with some tall blond man (who bore a curious resemblance to her, but Hector had more to think about in that moment than the identity of a random stranger in a bar talking to his ex). Hector was about to walk over to where he could see Emilia to check on her, when the water rushed through the doors. Sandbags he had stacked so carefully scattered across the floor. Water rushed up over his feet, five and then ten centimeters. Ice cold and frothing, carrying dirt and debris across his waterlogged boots.Ā
People scattered, some small screams coming as tables shifted and moved. A table was pushed into his hip, knocking him sideway a step. It startled him out of his sudden shock. Hector grabbed a few people fleeing in the opposite direction from the advancing water, pulling them towards the doors. With their help, he was able to hold open the doors, calling out to people to escape. They were the bravest of them, to venture out of the relative safety of the higher ground inside of the bar. They came in twos and threes, holding hands in human chains, supporting each other through the shifting field of furniture and rising water.Ā
āQuick, out through the door, hold onto the building, get to high ground!ā
Hector kept an informal count in his mind as they fled what could become a death trap. Five, ten, twenty, thirty, fourty. FourtyĀ three. He sent the three helping him hold open the door out through the crack in the door, before the pressure of the water sent him back. It was now around his thighs, the pull of the water making it hard to struggle through the hidden mine field of drifting debris. Hector hit his shins on stools and chairs, jammed his fingers stopping tables from knocking him over. Someone reached out and hauled him towards the bar.Ā Ā
Hector grabbed the bar top, resting for a moment. He made eye contact with all of the people clinging to the bar, resting on tables. It was a frantic sort of communion, an instant brotherhood. Hector didnāt want any to die, and he could only concentrate on getting them out. Not on the way his lips were turning blue, the way his hands were shaking and his nail beds near white, or the pain in his jammed fingers. He could only think of helping these people out, making sure they would survive this.Ā
The saw the stairs behind them, someone waving at them. Hector directed the people still on the ground floor into the stairwell, watching carefully to make sure they made safe. When the last person made it through, he was ready to follow. That was when he made his mistake, and didnāt pay attention enough to notice the table moving beneath the water that was now at his waist.Ā
It collided with him, knocking him over, then passing over his head. The frigid water was a physical force, punching him in the chest and making him take an involuntary breath. The water was freezing, but it felt like fire in his lungs. He could only get his head up, trying to get his knees beneath him but his foot was caught in something, maybe a stool or under a table. He could only keep his head above water so long, before some other debris bowled him over.Ā
Every time he came back up for air, he could hear people screaming. The fear in their voices were indescribable, but only paralleled by his own. Hector could feel himself growing weaker, pulling his body up to get air fewer and fewer times. This, he thought, this is how I die? Not by fire, but by water? It seemed absurd, to see his own death coming in every advancing inch of water. Water was suppose to save, to give birth, to support, yet this water just wanted to kill. His arms were growing weaker, the shivers that had started when he was at the bar top gone now, his arms too numb to feel.
He gave one last attempt at freeing his foot, stiff fingers clawing at whatever the object trapping him was, before relaxing into the icy grip of the water. The water was up to his chin now, in his kneeling position. It took too much effort to try and raise his head, to try and take another breath of air. Blackness was claiming his vision, he couldnāt tell if it was the darkness of the river stealing into the bar, or his consciousness fadingāif his eyes were open or if they were closed.
He had to wonder if his parents were waiting for him. His father had been a surfer, in his free time from his practice. He could remember the smell of salt water on his hair when he came home. Hectorās father had described the overwhelming peace of diving beneath a wave, how there was a mountain of clear water above you. When he was younger, he had dived to the deep end of the pool, trying to imagine that. He just wished he could see the water above him, to feel that peace, to feel his fatherās arms around him again.
He had given up, but thankfully, thankfully, thank the Allah of his mother, thank whatever higher powers that be, the others had not given up on him. Hands grabbed his shoulders, hauling him out of the murky water. He drew deep breaths, coughing out water that had flooded his lungs. The three or four people around him, all their voices blended and melted together. He couldnāt understand them, but he tried to talk to them through his teeth that were chattering again, and the errant coughs.
āMy-My f-foot. Itās caught.ā
Someone freed his foot, a bright pain blossoming up through his ankle, making him want to clench into a ball. The hands supporting him kept him floating, pulling him along by his clothes. He slid up over the stairwell, pulled into an office. He laid on the ground in the dark, staring up at a ceiling he couldnāt see, listening to the frantic chatter around him.Ā
He was so, so tired. Someone laid a jacket over him. A pair of hands grabbed his hand, rubbing painfully.Ā
āLeave me, leave me alone.ā His words were slurring, he was so tired.Ā āI just want to close my eyes. I just want to rest a minute, please.ā
Blood filled his mouth, he didnāt even notice he had bitten his tongue with his teeth chattering. His eyelids were drifting close, he wanted to shut out the shouting around him.Ā
āNo, no, donāt close your eyes.ā A womanās voice. Savannah?Ā āYou canāt go to sleep, please. Please. Keep your eyes open, love.ā
How she said love wasnāt how Savannah said it. Funny, he couldnāt even remember if Savannah had ever called him that. It wasnāt Kori, she wasnāt at the bar, and she would never call him that. He opened his eyes, hissing at his arms being rubbed roughly.
āWhatās your name?ā
āHector, huh-ā Another hiss, someone trying to tug off his shoes.Ā āHector Kent. Leave. Leave my, my shoes on. Itās holding my foot in place.ā
āOkay, Okay.ā
āYouāre a firefighter, arenāt you Hector?ā
āHuh yeah.āĀ
Someone was laying something scratchy on him, rubbing it against him. Towels? They felt like sandpaper. He kept on blinking, trying to clear his eyes of something.
āCan you turn on the lights in here? Itās so dark. I canāt see anything.ā He coughed again.Ā āI donāt want to fall asleep but itās so dark. Is it nighttime?ā
āDonāt fall asleep.ā More chatter around him.Ā āWe canāt turn on the lights, the power is out.ā
His eyes drifted shut again.
āHey, hey!ā A hand rubbed at his face, making him open his eyes again.Ā āYou know about hypothermia, right?ā
āIām-ā A cough.Ā āIām a firefighter.ā He couldnāt help but laugh, even if nobody else was. It tinged on hysterics.Ā āWhat the hell do I know about cold?āĀ
It startled a laugh out of the woman who was holding his hand, an involuntary clench of her fingers. Hector tried to return it, but even to him his fingers felt weak. Another jacket was laid on him, over his legs this time.
āWhat time is it?ā
āI donāt know.ā
Their conversation went on for a while, Hector learned her name was Elizabeth, she was a student from Victoria, visiting her aunt. A girl, more than a woman, despite her calm. They had gotten separated, she thought her aunt was at the firehouse, maybe at the hotel. She had gotten sent here. Elizabeth kept him awake, bonding over their dogs (herās was a Shiba Inu, named Sammy), how she was just taking her entrance exams. She wanted to go into nursing.Ā
He told her she would, she would make it. She was keeping a level head right now, she had what it took. It was difficult, they had to pause for him to cough, or to shiver, for others to take turns rubbing at his skin. But she kept him awake. When the reporters talked to him later, he would say she was the hero, not him.
It was dawn, someone said. The storm had passed, Hector could hear the sirens coming, and not the lashing of rain. Hector felt a bit warmer now, but he couldnāt tell if it was just a later stage of hypothermia, or if he was actually warm. Considering he wasnāt wanting to throw off the jackets and towels laid over him, and he was shivering near constantly now, he thought it wasnāt.Ā
Soon enough, there was clattering up the stairs, the indication of first responders arrival. He wondered if this was how noisy he was every time he showed up on a scene. Loud voices broke out, cheers and pleas of help. Someone dropped down heavily beside him, a warm hand on his cheek.Ā
āYouāre a fucking bastard, Kent. You know that?ā
LeMarcās blond head of hair filled his vision, his watery laugh flooding his ears.
āWe get up here and youāre one of the most seriously injured. Wouldnāt expect anything less.ā
āAre you crying, LeMarc? Thought I taught you better.ā
There had been quite a bit of movement, and Hector was lifted into a cradle board.Ā
āIs everyone else getting out?ā
āYeah, man. Just concentrate on yourself, Hector. The professionals are here.ā
āYouāre not one of them, idiot.ā
LeMarc was left behind, Hector lifted into the air. He was being carried on the shoulders of other firefighters, carried a foot or two above the water. He could still hear it lapping, but it was retreating. Someone talked.
āWe saw your turnout down here man, thought for sure you were a goner. Surprise, surprise, Captain Heroic lives to see another day.ā
Captain Heroic. It was the nickname in their house of him, even if he hadnāt gotten the rank of captain, due to a kid he pulled from a wreck calling him a superhero and dispensing the title on him. It had become the running joke, and he was grateful to live to hear it again. He was laughing when he was brought out into the near blinding sunlight.
āA BAR UNDERWATER AND THE HEROES WHO SAVED ITā
April 3, 2019. Reporting by April Lai.
The massive storm that hit our city inspired countless acts of bravery, some big, but countless smaller ones that will be too numerous to list here. One big act of bravery that has been noticed are the actions of a firefighter, Hector Kent, 34, in one of the most damaged buildings on the waterfront of Montreal. He was the sole firefighter at Charlieās, a local mainstay within the gay community, turned safehouse in the storm. Around 75 refugees from the storm were gathered inside when the St Lawrence River overflowed the banks. The water broke through the doors, and panic ensued, as we are told by several sources.
When the panic broke out, Mr. Kent took control of the situation, commanding other patrons of the bar to help hold the doors so many could escape. The brave actions of these few released about half those sheltered from the first floor, where the water rose well over five feet before it subsided by the time morning rescue efforts came. Had any patrons stayed downstairs, they would have certainly perished.Ā
āHe saved us all, you know.ā James King, 45, who was trapped upstairs, said of the the firefighter.Ā āWithout him getting all those people out, there would have been too many up on the top floor.ā The upstairs rooms were where any still trapped in the bar gathered, including those who helped keep Mr. Kent in alive in turn. The firefighter, a veteran and medic by training who has done extensive aide work overseas, suffered from a broken ankle, hypothermia and pneumonia.Ā
āElizabeth, that was her name. She was just visiting the city,ā Mr. Kent says from his hospital bed.Ā āShe was the real hero. Sheās going to be a nursing student. Elizabeth made sure I didnāt die due to the hypothermia, and I didnāt get to thank her. I think that was my biggest regret about that night.ā Elizabeth Monroe, 18, from Victoria, British Columbia, was reached by phone. She had flown home the morning after being released by the hospital for treatment for minor scrapes and bruises.Ā
āHector, even if he denies it, was an inspiration for all of us. Even in all that pain and fear, he made jokes and kept us all focused.ā She had even higher praises for him.Ā āHe made me confident that I can get through my exams. And, due to him, I think I want to be an Emergency Nurse, to help people in the worst moments of their lives. He did that for us, and heās what you hope every human being you encounter in those situations can be.ā
What happened in Charlieās was a miracle, no doubt, and it was thanks to the actions of first-responders, police, firemen, medical professionals, and even a future nurse or two, that we all made it out of it alive and safe. Donations to the firehouse for Hector Kentās medical fund can be found on our website, as well as links to the fundraising account to rebuild and restore Charlieās bar.
With little else to do but simply wait for whatever happened next, her hopes held high for the storm simply passing over, but sheād never truly been one to simply sit by and twiddle her thumbs. Before long, she knew sheād pace her way right through the floor beneath her if she didnāt occupy both her hands and mind with something other than simply lingering. The exchange she caught out of the corner of her eye not too far from where she stood perked her interest, mostly because she knew beyond his own job, Hector wasnāt all too inept with sociable situations.Ā āThe last thing anyone should be doing right now is looking for another drink, are you out of your mind? Go find something productive to do.ā Her sharp tongue cutting through the wistful off handed demand that he simply be left alone.Ā
āYouāre going to get sick in that,ā Motioning to the clothing he wore,Ā āI saw some clothes out the back,ā Likely something one or the dancers or bartenders had changed out of before their shift but it was something.Ā āCome on.ā Taking the bar towel from him, mottled with the dampness thatād woven itās way through his dark locks.Ā āLetās go find you something.ā
He first saw her by the flash of blonde hair, but the razor sharp chastisement of the random barfly was the most tell tale indicator that Savannah Delore had arrived. He had to laugh at the shocked look on the personās face, but quickly grew serious when that intensity was turned on him. He had to agree with her, as he had gooseflesh all over him, shivering like a wet dog. It felt like his turn out coat was useless against the storm, even when it was waterproofed. The offending coat was hung over the edge of the bar.
āYeah, sure.ā He followed her, grabbing his coat because the chief would kill him if he lost it, and it was the only thing marking him as any sort of authority.Ā āHow did you get stuck here, Savannah? I thought you would be hunkered down in your house.ā They had arrived in the back room, and Hector could see the cabinet with clothes in it. He felt bad about taking things from the employees but Savannah was right. He picked up a shirt, shucking it with a wet slap against the floor. He wasnāt going to be embarrassed in front of her, she had seen it all before. āThanks for finding these.ā
She didnāt ever expect to deal with a monstrous storm while Toxic by Britney played in the background but at this rate, it seemed like anything could happen. Charlieās had been something of last resort, especially after reading about the full firehouse and Vittori hotel on Montrealās emergency web page. At first, sheād tried to get an uber back home but it didnāt seem like a realistic choice with the panic traffic piling up.Ā So Charlieās, in all its glory,Ā was going to have to be her landing spot.
Entering the establishment didnāt ease any of her worries. Patrons were packed like cattle, and the building itself didnāt seem like the strongest in terms of its infrastructure. It wasnāt her first mega-storm, not after going through Hurricane Sandy in New York. But those circumstances had been entirely different, with the Kingās all but barricading their home against inclement weather. Itād been a centralized point for all her familiar faces but now? They were all scattered at different locations and cell service was proving to be weak at best.
While people were milling around, like a strange end of the world party, Emilia made her way past the windows when tape slide across in front of her. Along with it was a falling man, although he caught himself just before a collision happened. She turned her head to look at him. āYeah of course.ā Her fingers wrapped around the tape, quickly handing it over.Ā āThe term can of sardines does come to mindā¦ do you need any help?ā At least doing something would keep her brain from concocting worst case scenarios.Ā āDeath by wobbly ladder doesnāt seem like a good way to go, I can steady it?āĀ
āThatās be great if you could steady this ladder.ā He looked back up the windows, muttering under his breath.Ā āIt feels like this ladder has been here since Charlieās was constructed.ā He looked down at her, making sure she had a firm grip before he went back up. She was familiar, he had seen her on that night of the mayoral candidacy announcement, so she must have been from one of the prominent families in Montreal. It was odd that she was here of all places.Ā
He leaned over, taping another window, looking out into the storm gaining steam. The rain sounded like hailstones hammering against the glass. He spoke without thinking, distracted by the fury of the storm and mind stuck on theĀ ācan of sardinesā comment.Ā āYeah, weāre overloaded here, at least 20 above the capacity.ā It all came spilling out, as he gripped the window frame trying to anchor himself against the panic overcoming him. āShouldnāt have so many people here but we had a report of people stranded here, and then before I could report back...ā The rain lashed somehow harder, almost drowning out Hectorās voice.Ā
āThe chief designated this as an auxiliary shelter. I couldnāt get in contact to tell them to stop sending people. It all happened so fast. Iām really scrambling here...ā He looked down, noticing her reaction. āSorry, I shouldnāt have told you that, that was dumb of me to mention.ā He hopped down off the ladder.Ā āI shouldnāt worry you.ā Hector pointed up to the windows. āWant to help me find some wood to nail over these? That tape isnāt going to be enough.āĀ
Now the wind was picking up, rushing against the high windows, rattling them in their frames. Hector was perched on a ladder, with a heavy tape dispenser balanced on the top level of a rickety ladder that was pulled out of a dusty storage closet. Both were given to him by the harried staff, and Hector took it upon himself to tape up the windows. He remembered his mother telling him about how she had been told to tape the windows as a child in the Philippines, yet the typhoon still blew them in. He could only hope the storm here in Montreal wouldnāt do the same.
Due to the crowd in the bar, Hector had to eek out space between patrons of the bar and overflow evacuees from the firehouse and the Vittori Hotel. It was difficult to tape up the windows, as people tried to move past his ladder, brushing against him. One of the patrons in the bar, a large man with a leather jacket on (as if Hector didnāt need more reminders he was in a gay bar, which was not where he expected to be tonight), hit his heel with his shoulder, almost tipping Hector over.Ā
He righted himself, but the tape fell to the floor with a heavy thud. He let out a breathless laugh of relief at not falling from the ladder. Trying to catch the attention of the girl who was walking past, he pointed to the tape on the floor.Ā āMind grabbing that for me? Crowded in here, huh?ā
where: charlieās, valle-marie, montreal, canada.
when: 8:12 pm.
who: open, those trapped in charlieās.
Hector had a bar towel, drying off his hair, squeezed in behind the corner of the bar. He had blocked the bases of the doors, and the inside of the bar was as packed as the sandbags that blocked them. Behind the bar was the only place he could stand without being in the way. Hector was distracted, worried about the amount of people inside, the fire capacity sign clearly posted next to him.Ā
55 max capacity. The amount milling around exceeded that by at least 20, and about half of those werenāt taking the storm warning seriously. Hector was so caught up in the thought of what can go wrong when he was tapped on the shoulder, caught off guard by the question.Ā āHuh no, Iām not- Iām not a bar tender. Sorry.ā
Hector hated this. They were trapped, cut off from anything and in an extremely dangerous situation, with only minimal supplies. Unless you counted alcohol as supplies, which Hector most certainly did not. He had just darted back outside to the truck belonging to the fire department he had driven to the bar, the bed of it filled with sand bags. They were intended be placed around businessā doors to keep water out and Hector wanted to do that right now to the building they were stuck in.
The wind and rain whipped around him, and he was dreading having to come back to the truck to grab more bags. However, he noticed a man scurrying off the street, hand on the door of the bar. Charlieās frontage floodlights were the only lights lit on the street, drawing people caught out in the gathering storm like moths.Ā āHey, you!ā The other man was big, looking strong enough even under his jacket to carry the bags needed.Ā āHelp me get these inside!ā
āYouāre right, Iām notā, she agreed with a sad smile. They had met at a time when things were so much more simple. When the demons of their decisions didnāt hang over their heads and the dead didnāt pile up on their shoulders like the weight of the world. They met when she was just a girl, figuring out who she wanted to be. Who was too nervous to speak, had yet to grow into her limbs, and hid behind a veil of hair. Whoās knowledge isolated hr among many. When he was a new face in the crowd, one that did not treat her a certain way because of a name that was attached. He was one of the first boys that had mattered in her life. And though, as he graduated and faded into a memory, it was clear now that his memory had always been alive and well.Ā āI certainly donāt stutter like I used to, but I still donāt know how to keep my hair out of my faceā, she attempted to laugh, but the chuckle sounded hollow.Ā
āYou were always too good to me, I didnāt deserve itā, she mused, fingers tapping against her knees. Hectorās question felt loaded, but Ronnie knew better than to answer it to itās full extent.Ā āIām managingā, Ronnie sighed, offering a shrug of his shoulders.Ā āBesides the obvious things that plague my mind, just trying to keep my head afloat at the moment. I actually manage the hotel now, took it over after I graduated college. But we know Iāve never been the best at talking about myself, what have I missed in your life?ā
Her chuckle was hollow, a pale shade of the delighted giggles he use to be able to tease out of her in science class. She was far different then, a girl who would show her delight freely. But then again, if he was to laugh, he wondered how the dead would color his voice. How they would weigh on him.Ā āNo, and I still have my freckles, so are we really any better then we were in high school?ā It felt odd to talk about a time in their lives a decade ago, but it was all they had in common now.
āNo, you were. I was the scholarship kid, you didnāt need to associate with me back then.ā He studied her closely as she talked.Ā āYour father still owns it?ā He tapped his mug lightly, running his hands through his hair before he answered.Ā āI went overseas, first with the armed forces as a medic, and then again as a NGO worker. Odd to think but... up until nine months ago, I hadnāt been back to Montreal since I graduated. My mom died, so I came back.ā He cast a glance to the picture, framed on the wall next to the stove. He stared at it as he stumbled out his next words before they got caught in his throat. āRonnie. I- I just wanted you to know, Iām sorry. You can tell me anything you need to.ā
where: montreal docks.
when: 2:34 am on march 9, 2019.
who: @lynnchvn
This was happening too often. Another mass casualty event, another rush to save those they could. This time, instead of the wide halls of the Museum of Arts, it was the cold and wind bitten docks of port. A shipment attacked, and the police there to secure the scene. Hector hopped out of the ambulance, guiding a gurney with LeMarc. A police officer waved at them from the opening of a cargo container, and they passed other crews working to stabilize others.Ā
Hector snapped at LeMarc, telling the other man to focus, rather than stare at the people groaning on the ground or already deceased. Inside the container, the ground crackled beneath their feet, Chinese vases spilled out of straw packed boxes. At the end of the small tunnel, a woman was panting on the ground, holding back noises of pain as she clutched her midsection. Now, Hector was the one to pause and stare. Lynn. His fighting instructor. Why was she here? Why was she shot?
The entire trip back to the ambulance was a bit of a blur, LeMarc climbing into the front while Hectorās thoughts raced through all the complications of gunshot wound to the stomach. Just before the truck started up, a police officer leaned through the back.Ā āNo cuffs, not on this one.ā The doors shut. It was only then Hector noticed the cuffs next to Lynn, tossed there by the first officer in the hustle. What he saw next stilled his movements as the ambulance set off. White powder, scattered all over Lynn. Drugs, cocaine. This was, is, his friend. Or at least someone he thought he knew enough to call a friend. Hector looked at her, his mind reeling.Ā āWhat the fuck are you caught up in, Lynn? What the actual fuck.ā
