The Midnight Men

By noon the following day, I had almost forgotten the midnight departure of the Robinsons as the chaos of the emergency ward engulfed me. As a triage doctor, the day begins at screaming pitch and escalates from there.

Around noon, I was examining a young man with suspected appendicitis when the curtain of my cubicle was wrenched apart and I found Sally standing in the opening, breathless, trembling, her face drained of colour.

“Sally? What’s up?” I said.

“It’s Caleb,” she explained, her eyes filling with tears. “He . . .he’s been stabbed.”

“Stabbed?” At the sound of that word, an icy claw contracted around my heart. “Jesus, is he okay?” I was out of the cubicle before the young patient could protest. We hurried down the emergency ward, Sally sobbing uncontrollably, unable to speak. When we reached my son’s cubicle, I had to pause. The fear in my heart at what I might find when I pulled back that curtain was overwhelming. I drew in a deep lungful of air, and went in.

Caleb was lying unconscious on his back, his face as white as bone, his forehead slick with sweat; large swatches of blood dappled his crisp white school shirt. On a daily basis, I see every possible type of mortal wound, every facet of human suffering, and yet the sight of just a few drops of blood on my son’s clothing almost tipped me over the edge.

Nurse Andrews was at his side, and she must have seen the naked terror in my eyes because she put a reassuring arm on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Ben,” she whispered. “It looks worse than it is. I’ve dressed the wounds. They’re only surface scratches, really. He was lucky.”

Still numb with shock, I stared down at my son.

“Thanks, Kathy,” I said. “I’ll take over. There’s a guy in cubicle four who might be needing some assistance.”

Nurse Andrews nodded and slipped away.

Sally appeared on the other side of the bed, Caleb’s hand clasped tight within her own.

“What happened?” I asked.

Sally palmed the tears from her face and sighed. “Apparently, Darren Hawkins went on a robbing spree at school - money, cell phones, those iPod things. Caleb refused to hand over his phone and Hawkins pulled a knife on him.”

“Little bastard,” I whispered. “Where’s Hawkins now?”

“They arrested him after he attacked Caleb. Principal Tolkan suspected he was high on something.” She shook her head in despair. “Can you believe it, Ben? Kids robbing kids, kids on drugs, kids carrying knives in the schoolyard. This is junior high, for Christ’s sake-”

Caleb stirred at the sound of his mother’s raised voice. After studying our faces through bleary eyes, he managed a weak smile.

“Hey, buddy,” I whispered. “How’re you feeling?”

His brave smile disappeared and tears began to trickle from the corners of his eyes. “Hurts,” he said.

I lifted his shirt and carefully unpeeled the dressing Nurse Andrews had placed over his torso. Two long gashes ran across his lower abdomen, both still oozing blood. But on close inspection I decided the nurse was right - they would heal in no time.

“You’ll be okay,” I told him. “I think we can save the six-pack.”

He managed a smile.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” he said. “I bet you think I’m a wimp.”

“A wimp?” I said. “Why would I think that? I’m proud of you for standing up to that guy. So proud.”

“Me, too,” Sally added.

“Where were your friends in all this?” I asked. “Weren’t the Paisley twins with you?”

Caleb looked up at me with his big brown eyes. “They’ve left.”

“Left? What do you mean?”

“They weren’t at school yesterday. And I heard that their house is empty. It’s really weird, Dad. No one knows where the Paisleys have gone.”

I thought of the Robinsons then, and a cold finger ran down my spine.