Small Sacrifices Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Ann Rule
trapped air
gushed out. The small lung expanded, and the tow-headed boy began to breathe easily, but he continued to sob, a steady keening wail.
He was out of immediate danger, but the bullet had come soJ close to his spinal cord. Injuries to this vital nerve center are
unpredictable. If all went well, he might recover completely. ^ the spinal cord, insulted, should swell ....
The bullet had slammed into his back close to T-6 and T7. His arms would be all right. Everything below midchest was threatened; there was a possibility that he might never walk again.
* *
SMALL SACRIFICES 21
<,teve Wilhite performed an exploratory thoracotomy on the suriving giri-He found the ragged exit wound in the upper lobe of the left l"^' cut awav the ravaged tissue that was steadily oozing blood, and joined the now-clean edges with sutures. There was no more seepage, but so much of her blood had had to be replaced. vyith complete blood replacement, there can be a profound loss in clotting capability, as well as diminished hemoglobin. Blood chemistry, out of balance, may behave chaotically.
But she lived.
At the completion of surgery, she had a normal blood pressure reading. She woke up quickly, fighting the endotracheal
tube, pulling at the proliferation of tubes that were connected to her body. She was very, very, frightened, but she responded to the nurses' voices.
One child was dead. One child had defied the odds and lived through profound blood loss, heart stoppage, and delicate surgery. One child seemed stable, but was at risk of paralysis. Who in the name of God could have aimed a pistol at three small children and pulled the trigger five times?
V J
CHAPTER 2
"Call the cops! He shot my kids!"
—Diane Downs, May 19, 1983
It fell to Judy Patterson to comfort the young woman who had brought the wounded children to the hospital—and to try to find out what had happened to them.
She told Judy that her name was Elizabeth Downs, but that she went by Diane, her middle name. The injured children were her own: Christie Ann, eight, Cheryl Lynn, seven, and Stephen
"Danny" Downs, three.
Diane Downs remained in a shocklike state; she spoke with a certain flatness of expression, holding her emotions in. She wore a pale blue T-shirt that spelled out "Nantucket" across her ample breasts. Over that, she wore a blue plaid shirt. There was a small red stain on one sleeve. Diane's blue jeans were well-worn, even baggy, but she had a near-perfect figure. She looked young, probably in her mid-twenties. She was quite tan, although now the golden tan was a thin veneer of false color over chalky skin beneath.
Diane was not pretty; depending on the angle, Judy thought, she was either plain or beautiful. She had the facial bone structure!
that models have: high cheek bones, an expanse of delicately rounded brow. There was a Dresden-doll quality about the round curves of Diane's face, and yet it was far from a perfect face, marred—ever so slightly—by a jaw a trace too prominent, lipsa shade too thin over long teeth. When Diane looked away, her profile was perfect.
Her eyes . . . Diane's eyes dominated her face: someho^
SMALL SACRIFICES 23
.void of depth, and yet almost hypnotic in intensity. They were huge, pretty eyes; there was no fault there to jar the viewer. Diane's pupils were gray or green or yellow, depending on how the light caught itself in them, and they resembled something. What? Green grapes, maybe ... or cat's eyes. Something. Judy
felt as if she were gazing into those sunglasses that bounce back only the observer's own image, giving no clue to the identity of the watcher behind the mirrored lenses.
Diane's pupils floated toward the top of her eyes, with an unusually wide expanse of white beneath. Her brows were plucked into two pencil-thin lines, exposing her eyes even more. Judy caught herself staring and dragged her gaze away. She tried to organize her thoughts. She had called all the emergency medical personnel; the
gushed out. The small lung expanded, and the tow-headed boy began to breathe easily, but he continued to sob, a steady keening wail.
He was out of immediate danger, but the bullet had come soJ close to his spinal cord. Injuries to this vital nerve center are
unpredictable. If all went well, he might recover completely. ^ the spinal cord, insulted, should swell ....
The bullet had slammed into his back close to T-6 and T7. His arms would be all right. Everything below midchest was threatened; there was a possibility that he might never walk again.
* *
SMALL SACRIFICES 21
<,teve Wilhite performed an exploratory thoracotomy on the suriving giri-He found the ragged exit wound in the upper lobe of the left l"^' cut awav the ravaged tissue that was steadily oozing blood, and joined the now-clean edges with sutures. There was no more seepage, but so much of her blood had had to be replaced. vyith complete blood replacement, there can be a profound loss in clotting capability, as well as diminished hemoglobin. Blood chemistry, out of balance, may behave chaotically.
But she lived.
At the completion of surgery, she had a normal blood pressure reading. She woke up quickly, fighting the endotracheal
tube, pulling at the proliferation of tubes that were connected to her body. She was very, very, frightened, but she responded to the nurses' voices.
One child was dead. One child had defied the odds and lived through profound blood loss, heart stoppage, and delicate surgery. One child seemed stable, but was at risk of paralysis. Who in the name of God could have aimed a pistol at three small children and pulled the trigger five times?
V J
CHAPTER 2
"Call the cops! He shot my kids!"
—Diane Downs, May 19, 1983
It fell to Judy Patterson to comfort the young woman who had brought the wounded children to the hospital—and to try to find out what had happened to them.
She told Judy that her name was Elizabeth Downs, but that she went by Diane, her middle name. The injured children were her own: Christie Ann, eight, Cheryl Lynn, seven, and Stephen
"Danny" Downs, three.
Diane Downs remained in a shocklike state; she spoke with a certain flatness of expression, holding her emotions in. She wore a pale blue T-shirt that spelled out "Nantucket" across her ample breasts. Over that, she wore a blue plaid shirt. There was a small red stain on one sleeve. Diane's blue jeans were well-worn, even baggy, but she had a near-perfect figure. She looked young, probably in her mid-twenties. She was quite tan, although now the golden tan was a thin veneer of false color over chalky skin beneath.
Diane was not pretty; depending on the angle, Judy thought, she was either plain or beautiful. She had the facial bone structure!
that models have: high cheek bones, an expanse of delicately rounded brow. There was a Dresden-doll quality about the round curves of Diane's face, and yet it was far from a perfect face, marred—ever so slightly—by a jaw a trace too prominent, lipsa shade too thin over long teeth. When Diane looked away, her profile was perfect.
Her eyes . . . Diane's eyes dominated her face: someho^
SMALL SACRIFICES 23
.void of depth, and yet almost hypnotic in intensity. They were huge, pretty eyes; there was no fault there to jar the viewer. Diane's pupils were gray or green or yellow, depending on how the light caught itself in them, and they resembled something. What? Green grapes, maybe ... or cat's eyes. Something. Judy
felt as if she were gazing into those sunglasses that bounce back only the observer's own image, giving no clue to the identity of the watcher behind the mirrored lenses.
Diane's pupils floated toward the top of her eyes, with an unusually wide expanse of white beneath. Her brows were plucked into two pencil-thin lines, exposing her eyes even more. Judy caught herself staring and dragged her gaze away. She tried to organize her thoughts. She had called all the emergency medical personnel; the
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