Westpoint Tales
by Kiwi
Entangled Tales - 16 - Justin & Jonathan
The Police took charge of Jeremy Carver and carted him off to the station. The ambulance crew took Justin, on a stretcher, across the road to the hospital. The injured walked or were carried to the hospital. Brad Stephens' lifeless body was taken away to the undertakers, and order gradually returned to the scene.
Peter Lewis spoke with Tom Craddock and together they took charge of some of the many amateur videos taken of the scene. They took them to Peter's home, and while he downloaded them into his computer, Mayor Craddock telephoned the television news networks. Peter then e-mailed the videos in plenty of time for them to be shown on the 6 o'clock news bulletins.
Reporters ran around town interviewing everyone they could find.
The Reynolds, Mrs. Connors, and several others, once again, returned to the hospital to wait for news of Justin.
Eventually Dr. Miller came out of the surgery and told them that he had done all he could. One bullet had been removed from the abdomen; the other two had passed straight through him. Dr. Miller had cleaned up all he could and sewn him up. He was now being hooked up to the life-support unit of the ICU.
"It's ironic really, that Justin, the last one on the scene, is by far the worst injured, apart from the dead boy of course. But then, he was already in a mess before he came down here. How did he get from the hotel to the school?"
Bob said, "They tell me that he ran, swinging along on his crutches. A 'Superboy' - already dying himself and rushing across town to help others in trouble."
"A Superboy indeed. He's an incredible kid. We've done all we can for him, now we just have to hope that he's got enough strength left to save himself. Bob, Mrs. Reynolds, whatever happens now - you can be really proud of your boy. He's just - - incredible, Justincredible. Now I've got to see to our other wounded." He went back to the surgery and the red-haired boy down the corridor, with his arm in a sling, got up and walked away.
Robbie Keenan, on the radio played a Tina Turner song for Justin, because - 'We Don't Need Another Hero'. Church groups met around the town to pray for him and all the wounded.
The whole story of the crisis, its background and its dramatic ending were featured heavily on news bulletins all over the country. On the current affairs program after the news, comment was made on the biblical quote often heard at memorial day services - 'Greater love hath no man than he should lay down his life for his friends.'
People prayed. People cried. People waited. They hoped for the best, but feared for the worst - again.
Tuesday morning he was still comatose, but "sleeping peacefully." Marcie Sheridan came in to tend to him. She washed his face again, and when she turned her back, suddenly heard him say, "Oh no! Not the hospital again."
She swung around, smiling, "Justin. You're awake. Great!"
"Hello Mrs. Sheridan. Do I get frequent flier points in this place?"
"Justin, Honey, you've already got all the points you'll ever need."
"How is Jeremy? Is he all right?"
"Jeremy Carver? As far as I know, he's fine. He hasn't been in here, he wasn't injured. I think they've taken him away to a prison."
"Oh. What day is this?"
"It's Tuesday, Honey. Just one day so far. There's a lot of people hanging out for news of you. How are you feeling then?"
There was no answer as he had slipped away again. ‘Still,' she thought, ‘He's not far from conscious. You're as tough as an old boot, Justin.’ She went out to the corridor to take the news to his grandparents and other supporters sitting there.
But after that one short awakening there was no more. He lay there comatose all day and all of the night. Hospital staff provided Kathleen with a cot bed so that she could stay and sleep in his room. Wednesday dawned and dragged on into the evening.
At about 8.00pm., in the main bar of the Adelphi Hotel, the atmosphere was quiet and thoughtful. The television was turned off and there was no music playing. There were a few drinkers in there, mostly regulars, but the conversation was sparse and quiet out of respect for the Reynolds' family’s worries - even though the family was still around at the hospital. The bar was being tended by Dick Seddon, Bob's part-time, semi-retired, right hand man.
The solitary woman in the bar, Dorothy Seaton, was a reporter, or journalist as she preferred to be called, from a city news service. She was sitting quietly at the end of the bar, nursing a drink and reading through the day's notes on her laptop. The quiet in the room was suddenly shattered by an almighty crash behind the bar.
Dorothy looked over at the barman standing there over a shattered dish-washer tray of glasses that he had just dropped on the floor. She turned to look at where the white-faced barman was staring.
A solitary figure had just come in the door off the street and was standing there looking around the room. Baggy blue jeans, white T-shirt, an open-fronted dark blue jacket. Longish, dark hair with wisps of blond highlights framed the pale face. The face!!
She turned back and glanced at the framed photograph on the wall beside her. Bob Reynolds had proudly shown her this photo - an old black-and-white close-up taken of him in his boxing heyday in his youth. The face in the photograph was that of a young Bob Reynolds, but it was also the spitting image of young Justin Reynolds – identical. And now, it was also, the boy standing there. Like a mirror image.
"My God, Boy!" said the shaken Dick Seddon. "I thought you were a ghost. Who are you?"
"Jonathan," he replied. "I am Jonathan, Justin, Shaw. Where is my brother? Where is Justin?"
"Jonathan. You're Justin's brother? His long lost brother? Well of course you are - of course you are! For a minute there I thought that Justin had died and his ghost had come to say goodbye."
"Where is he? Where is my brother?"
"He's in the hospital. His ... your ... grandparents are still there with him. He's not conscious - in a coma I think."
"I want my brother. How do I get to the hospital?"
"Wait a minute, I'll ring Bob. He'll come and get you."
Dorothy closed her computer, grabbed her purse and stood up. "Hello Jonathan Justin Shaw - what a surprise you are! I'm Dorothy Seaton, I'm a journalist and my car is outside. Come with me and I'll take you to your brother at the hospital."
"Thanks. But I've got my own car. How do I get there?"
"It will be easier if you just come with me. I'm going there anyway - there's no way I'm going to miss this reunion. Come on, we're going."
He followed her outside and they climbed into the small red sports car parked out in front of the Adelphi. She sped off down the main street, right into Paddington Street and straight down to the hospital. As she drove along Dorothy took the opportunity to fire questions at the boy. He was fifteen and lived with his adopted family on a small farm near Balclutha, in Otago. He had just arrived after driving alone in his father's car for about the last 30 hours, and he was 'knackered' - really tired.
They parked at the back of the hospital and Dorothy led the way in.
Hospital staff had given up on trying to lock the doors for the night, there were just too many visitors coming in. Bob Reynolds was standing in the corridor talking to Paul Jamieson and Tom Craddock. They looked around at the pair hurrying down towards them - and froze. Bob stood and stared, his mouth hung open as they came towards him.
Dorothy stopped and, with a huge grin on her face, said, "Jonathan, this is Bob Reynolds. This is your grandfather!"
Bob shook his head and peered intently at the boy. "Jonathan? Ohmigod!
Jonathan! It is you, isn't it - Justin's brother, Jonathan."
"I am. Where is my brother? Where is Justin?"
"He's through here, with his . . .with your grandmother. Come with me." He put a hand on the boy's shoulder and led him through into the ward where Justin lay sleeping.
Jonathan went straight over to the bed and stood looking down at the small, pale figure lying there. He ignored for the time being, the tall, gray-haired, ashen faced, woman rising up from the other side of the bed.
"Kathy, this is Justin's twin brother - Jonathan."
"Jonathan? Oh my, Jonathan! Where have you been? We've been searching and searching - where have you been?"
"I've been around. This is Justin. This is my brother. My own brother." He sat on the seat by the bed and burst into tears. "I've been searching too. I've been searching all my life," he sobbed. "Oh, Justin, my Justin."
He looked around at all the tubes, the IV's, monitors and machines surrounding the bed. "Can I touch him? Can I touch my brother?"
Bob leant over and lifted his hand onto Justin's. "Hold his hand, Lad.
Just hold his hand. You'd better not hug him, he's too damaged."
"Oh, Justin my brother, fifteen years - fifteen years since we've touched. Long, lonely years. Fifteen years with an empty space by me." He sat staring closely at Justin, tears running down his cheeks.
"Yeah, you're Justin's brother all right," Bob smiled through his own tears. "Tears all over the place. At least yours are not bloody."
"Jonathan?" said Kathleen. "Jonathan, we've only known your brother for a short time, but we just love him to bits. I love him so much. But he is dying, Jonathan. The doctors say that he could go any time. Your brother is dying."
"No. No!' he wailed. "He can't. Don't you dare die Justin Jonathan Reynolds, don't you dare! I need you. I need you here with me. Don't you dare die on me!"
The three sat around talking quietly over the prone form of their other family member until late at night. Jonathan wanted to know exactly what was wrong with his brother - bumps and bruises and a broken ankle from his run-in with the coal truck (Yes, he had heard about that but he hadn't made the connection then, though he thought that his mother had known), Shot three times in the hostage crisis - shot in the right arm, left leg, and right of the abdomen. But Dr. Miller said that these were just flesh wounds - nothing really serious there. His main problem was the Kajinski's Syndrome, a cancer in the brain that was killing him slowly.
In return Jonathan told his new-found grandparents a brief outline of his life so far. He had always known that he was an identical twin, his adopted parents had always been open about it. They would have taken both the boys if they could have, but their mother had only wanted to give one of them away, so they chose Jonathan. His birth mother, their daughter, was a friend of his adopted mother, though they had never had contact again after the boys were born. His parents never knew where his birth mother had gone. The mothers had worked together as young adults in the red-light district, ‘K' Road in Auckland. His mother, Donna (Donna Rea before she married Brian Shaw) always claimed that they were exotic dancers, but that meant strippers. He suspected that they were actually prostitutes. The Reynolds agreed.
He was not legally adopted until his parents married when he was four years old. He was raised on a succession of farms where they worked - around the Waikato, in Northland, and lately down in Otago. He had four younger siblings, two boys and two girls, all born to his adoptive parents, and he had always felt like a spare part, a mistake, ever since the babies had been born. He had never felt like a part of their family and had always yearned for a family of his own. He was never abused, not really neglected, but not really loved either. He was still at school - a year 11 student at Balclutha High School, but he had no intention of going back there, not ever!
His grandparents told him that he was welcome to stay with them for as long as he liked, regardless of what happened to their other boy. But nothing was going to happen to his brother. He can't. He can't just die. Not now - Jonathan needed him.
He said that he ran, a bit, he sang, a bit. He was quite bright, but he was no genius. He was definitely not a hero type. And he was not gay - definitely not.
He had heard the news of the hostage crisis at Westpoint High School throughout the day on the radio on Monday. Just because it was a High School involved, he'd made a point of sitting down with his parents to watch the 6 o'clock news on TV, and then - he knew! He knew where his long lost twin was. He'd leapt to his feet, pointing at the face - his face - on the screen, and yelled, "That's Him! That's my brother!"
His mother had burst into tears and ran out of the room. His father sat a while, then got up and followed her into their bedroom. They had talked and argued, and yelled at each other behind their closed door until late at night. Next morning he had stayed home from school, and when his father came back in after milking, he had handed Jonathan a book of road maps, money, and his car keys, saying, "Here's the keys. Take my car, son. Go and see your brother. It's time that you knew him, we should never have separated you."
So he had left, on good terms with his family, but he was not going back there, and he'd driven and slept in the car, and driven alone all the way to Westpoint to find his brother.
Finally, Bob stood up and said that he was going home - he was not getting any younger and he needed his beauty sleep. Jonathan was not going to leave the hospital, so Kathleen, seeing that he was almost asleep on his feet, told him that she was going home to sleep and he could have the cot bed there in Justin's room.
They were amazed, and delighted, that he hugged them both when they were leaving - this was not another Justin.
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