Chapter Ten
“Is Paul dead?” Salty tears flowed down Cathy’s cheeks like a pair of roaring
rivers as she rested her head on Tim’s chest and tightly wrapped her arms
around his waist.
It didn’t matter that they were standing just outside the door of Gibsonville’s Office Skills classroom, where other students or a faculty member could easily see them. Her only concern was for her boyfriend.
Cathy is so beautiful. I can see why Paul likes her, Tim thought when she raised her head, and he could stare into her eyes. In seeing her pain; he gave her a peck on her forehead.
“I don’t know, Cathy,” he said as a couple of students passed on their way to the weekly after-school Computer Club meeting. “Like I already told you, Mrs. Pontiac and I were visiting him at Alamance Regional Saturday night when his heart unexpectedly stopped beating. Then the second the Code Blue was issued, I didn’t have a choice but to leave.”
Cathy frowned. “And nobody has said anything about his condition ever since?” Her blue eyes pleaded for a response; one that would tell her that the most important person in her life was going to be okay.
Unfortunately, Tim could only look at her and gulp.
What should I say? If I tell her the truth, it wouldn’t provide the answer she is searching for. Yet, if I lie by saying he’s okay and Paul has actually died, she would never forgive me.
“I’m sorry, Cathy. Nobody has said a word, so I really don’t know,” Tim replied, before taking a deep breath. “Soon after the code Blue was issued, Mrs. Pontiac called my Dad, and he took me home.”
Cathy smiled a small smile as if she understood, yet her deep feeling of disappointment still managed to seep through.
“Yesterday was Sunday,” she then said. “Couldn’t you have called Paul’s mother before she went to church and asked?”
Tim shook his head, no. “By the time I got up and gazed out the front window towards the Pontiac’s driveway, she was already gone.”
“Hmm.” Cathy scrunched her eyes in frustration. “What about your father? Did he have a chance to talk with her yesterday? He should know something.”
“No. Not really. When I asked yesterday afternoon, he said Paul had been helicoptered to Duke. But that’s all he knew. And it wasn’t until a bit after 11 o’clock last night when I saw Mrs. Pontiac’s blue Impala pull into her driveway. So giving her a call would have been totally inappropriate.”
“You’re right,” Cathy reluctantly agreed before the two of them stepped into the classroom. “It wouldn’t have been.”
*****
“So. Are all of us computer geeks ready to get this meeting started?” Grabbing hold of his notes, Daniel E. Whitehouse the Third scanned over what to a stranger would appear to be a convention of foreign exchange students sitting in front of him.
Everyone replied with a half-hearted, yes.
“Okay then. As most of you are probably aware, last Friday our club experienced a major setback. Paul Pontiac got injured and most likely won’t be with us for a while.”
“For a while?” a Russian student in the front row questioned. “From what I heard, Butch beat the living crap out of him. I’d be surprised if he makes it back before the end of the semester.”
The other students simultaneously nodded, and a small roar commenced as individual discussions began.
“Order. We must have order,” Daniel shouted, pounding a small gavel unto the top of the wooden podium in front of him. “Tim. Rumor has it that you were able to visit Paul last Saturday. Could you provide us an update?”
Tim glanced toward Cathy’s sad eyes and frowned, then leaned backwards in his seat.
“Yeah. I could. But nobody’s going to like what I’d have to say.”
“Oh? Did Paul flop over and die?” one of the other students half joked.
Tim turned to face the person who had made the foul remark and if his eyes would have been razor-sharp daggers, the other kid would have been sliced into stew meat.
“Actually,” Tim began, as his body shook in anger. “During my visit with him, Saturday night … he did.”
“Oh, My Gawd,” a student yelped, just before a deafening silence prevailed.
Daniel’s face turned ghostly white. “Paul’s d…?”
Daniel’s lips formed the word he wanted to say, but his voice refused to vocalize it.
“No. I don’t think so,” Tim tried to reassuringly reply, noticing the newly formed tears in Daniel’s eyes. “They must have somehow revived him. … According to my Dad, he’s now at Duke.”
“So what do they say is wrong with him?” a concerned black student asked.
Tim rose to his feet, so he could easily face his fellow club members.
“Well. From what I’ve been told, which isn’t really a whole lot, when Butch stomped Paul’s chest last Friday, he managed to crush part of his sternum - the part right next to his heart. And because of that, Paul now has to deal with blood clots. … That’s why his heart stopped while I was visiting him. A large blood clot somehow managed to lodge itself inside his left ventricle.”
“Are we going to be able to complete Plutonium’s Revenge since Paul might not be able to help us?” a freckled-face freshman named Mike decided to ask the moment Tim sat back down in his seat.
“I don’t know. We’re going to try to,” Daniel replied, looking perturbed at the question. “But in the meantime, there is something we need to do in order to help us get back on track.”
“And that is?” Tim said, raising his eyebrow.
“We’re going to need someone to be an Acting President, until Paul returns.”
Daniel stopped to gaze at Tim, and then turned to face Cathy. It definitely wouldn’t have taken a genius to figure out what he was thinking.
“As you all know, I don’t mind being the V.P., but I would prefer someone with a lot more programming experience than I have to be our club president.”
“And who in Gibsonville could possibly have more experience than you?” a dark-haired girl asked.
Cathy grinned and raised her hand.
“I’d like to nominate Tim Hegler. He was Paul’s co-developer in the creation of “Clash of the BattleStars,” and we all know what a big success that’s been.”
“That’s true,” the Russian kid enthusiastically agreed, before Tim interrupted.
“Now hold on, folks. It is a fact that I worked with Paul on the BattleStar game. But, when it comes to programming 3-D special effects, I’m not too proud to admit - Paul’s got me beat, hands down.”
Daniel gazed across his audience as a murmur filled the room, and Cathy gave Tim a look like she was ready to tear him apart, limb from limb.
“So you’re not willing to be acting president just because you might need a little help with the graphics? What’s wrong with you, Tim? Don’t you care about our club?”
Tim instantly moved his hands to the front of chest in a defensive manner.
“Whoa. Slow down, Cathy. I never said anything even close to that.”
“Then what exactly are you saying, Timothy James Hegler?”
Tim opened his mouth, and then hesitated before slowly turning to face each of the fellow students.
“Okay. I’ll do it,” He eventually conceded with a short nod. “If that’s what everyone here wants. However, I do want everyone to know I normally avoid positions like this because I prefer to do whatever’s required of me, in the background.”
“I can relate to that,” Daniel commented, shuffling his papers on top of the podium. “So do we have any other nominations?”
Daniel waited several seconds for a verbal reply.
“How about you, Cathy?” he asked. “Wouldn’t you like to be acting president?”
Cathy smiled and shook her head, no.
“OK,” Daniel said, taking on a resolute expression. “Everybody, let’s vote.”
As multiple students’ hands began to rise, twenty miles away, in High Point, an eight-year-old handicapped boy who was currently being taken care of by his uncle, suddenly felt a strange sensation. It was telling him that someone he cherished dearly was about to meet their maker.