Page 78 of Judge's Mercy

“We won’t. Just here to help,” Rigger says, holding his hands up.

Two tables have been brought together and covered with blankets. I lay her down and do my best to make her comfortable, arranging her legs and arms at a comfortable angle, putting a pillow under her knees, and brushing her hair off her face, all while keeping as much of her covered as possible.

Bones walks in carrying a backpack, and I feel relief for the first time today. Wasting no time, he sets it next to Myla and begins pulling out instruments. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. She came running out of the house screaming like the hounds of hell were after her. I don’t think she even recognized me when she ran into me. She thought I was trying to hurt her. Then she passed out and has been like this ever since.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About twenty minutes, give or take.”

He places his stethoscope over her heart. “Bradycardia.”

“A slow heartbeat?”

He hums a reply as he pulls a penlight out of his pocket and pries her eyelids up, moving the light in and out of her vision. “Her pupils are dilated.” Tucking away the pen, he pulls a small blood pressure machine out of his bag and places the cuff around her wrist. The only sound in the room is the slight hum as it inflates then releases. “Low blood pressure.”

“Everything is low. Is that bad?”

“It’s not good.” He pulls her arm straight, searching for something. When he doesn’t find it, he moves to the other arm. After carefully lowering it back to the table, he moves her head to the side and inspects her neck. “There you are.”

“What?”

“She was drugged. My guess would be ketamine. It’s the only drug I can think of that has to be injected, and when given in high doses, it can cause severe hallucinations, like what you described. See the injection site?” He points to a small red dot I would’ve missed.

“Motherfuckers,” I spit out.

“There’s not much we can do now but make sure she doesn’t choke on her own vomit if she throws up and keep an eye on her vitals,” Bones says, each of his hands holding onto an end of the stethoscope draped over his neck. “Whoever did that to her is a fucking idiot. Ketamine is crazy dangerous in the hands of someone who doesn’t understand dosing. My guess is he didn’t consider how small Myla is.”

“When will she wake up?”

“When she’s ready. As long as her vitals don’t tank any more than they are now, let’s leave her be.” Myla’s body jerks as her stomach convulses. Bones quickly gets behind her and tips her on her side as vomit bubbles out of her mouth and splatters all over the floor. All the while, I just watch, terrified at seeing her this way. “Judge, snap out of it and help her.”

Blinking, I take a deep breath and round the table. It’s bizarre to see her throwing up yet unconscious. I move her hair off her face and scan everything the guys set up, looking for a rag. It’s then that Sugar walks over with a bucket, a mop, and a handful of damp washcloths. “Here, sweetie. Clean her up with this.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, wondering where to start. I’ve never taken care of someone when they were sick. I’ve never even been around someone sick like this. The only person I’ve looked out for is myself, and I’ve always been able to make it to the toilet.

“First, wipe all the mess off the table so it doesn’t pool around her,” Sugar instructs, and I do what she says. “She seems to be done for now, so take a clean one and wipe her face off.”

I follow her instructions as Bones tucks a few pillows behind her to keep her on her side. Worry claws at me with sharp teeth of fear. She hasn’t made it through so much to die now.

“I’m going to look at the rest of her to make sure she doesn’t have any other injuries that need attending to right now, okay?” Bones asks, and I nod. He holds up her hand, crusted in dried blood and with multiple fingernails standing up straight. A chill runs down my spine. “I don’t feel any broken bones in her hands, but gotta tell you, for her nails to be like this? Fuck man, that’s gnarly.”

“Is that the technical term, Doctor?” I fire at him.

“Don’t get all pissy with me. Looks like cement under her nails.” He holds her hand up for me to see, and he’s right; gray, gritty matter is stuck under the nails that are still fully attached.

“I can’t even think about—” I choke on the words, unable to finish.

“She’s a survivor, that’s for sure.” He undresses the wound on her upper arm, and we both gasp. “She’s been shot. It’s a graze, but a nasty one.”

“How do you even fix that?” I ask, noticing the shredded skin around a huge gash.

“She’ll need open wound care. The muscle’s intact, and the bone is good. I know it might not look like it, but it’s really just a flesh wound. It’ll heal.” After disinfecting the wound and putting on a fresh dressing, he moves to her lower extremities and hisses, which does nothing to settle my anxiety.

“What?”

“Nothin’, it’s just. . . goddamn, what the hell did she go through? She has abrasions on the bottom of her feet and a deep contusion on her heel. Both her legs and arms are covered in bruises. Physically, it’s nothing serious, but all these injuries added up tells me she went through hell.” He moves to lift up the blanket but stops to look up at my brothers standing guard, wincing and cursing with each injury Bones lists. “I think maybe some privacy would be good for this part.”

---