Page 15 of Day Shift

Stepping back, I watched them hook up her monitors and adjust her medications. It was hard to leave her side, but my part, for now, was done. I trusted these colleagues implicitly. They were skilled professionals. As I walked away, my mind replayed the intense events of the last hour. I hoped we’d done enough to give her a fighting chance.

When I returned to the ED, I found Atticus reviewing the preliminary CT results on the portable screen. “No immediate signs of hemorrhage,” he said, “but she’s definitely got a concussion. I’m sure the folks over in the ICU will keep a close eye on her for any changes.”

Throughout the rest of my shift, I found reasons to pass by the ICU. And each time, I paused to check on Jane Doe. Every visit left me more intrigued and invested in her well-being. Despite the flurry of activity that defined emergency department life, thoughts of her lingered at the back of my mind as I continued with my other responsibilities.

Midway through my shift, I pushed through the door of the break room and found Atticus there, staring at the TV mounted in the corner. The local news was on. He barely glanced over at me as I entered, scrutinizing the images with a troubled expression. He had a cup of coffee in hand but didn’t seem interested in drinking it.

“Come watch this,” he said, pointing at the screen.

I moved closer and leaned back, resting my elbows on the counter. The journalist who had annoyed us earlier stood outside the entrance to the hospital’s emergency department. He was recapping the accident’s brutal details. The image of the mangled car wrapped around a tree flashed up, grave against the rainy backdrop.

“What are they saying?” I asked.

“They’re just giving the details about the wreck now.” Atticus’s brow furrowed as he listened. The reporter described how the unidentified woman had broken into the Volkov estate, stolen a car, and then led the police on a high-speed chase that had ended in disaster.

“The car was demolished,” I pointed out as I moved to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Then I leaned back on the counter again.

The reporter continued, detailing the absence of any identification on the woman and informing viewers how the police had returned to the mansion, finding nothing there with which they could identify her.

“And as for her fingerprints, found at the Volkov estate, the police report that they’ve found nothing in their system. For now, she is a complete unknown,” the reporter concluded, promising to dig deeper into her identity and motives.

Atticus shook his head, muttering, “Do you think she could be tied to the Volkovi Notchi? With all the heat on that organization after kidnapping Sam, it’s weird she’d just break in.”

I shrugged and took a sip of my water as I thought about his question. “Nah, it doesn’t add up. If she was connected to them, why break in? And why run from the cops in such a panic? If she knew the Volkovs, she’d have known better than to trigger alarms and steal a car. She’d understand the lay of the land better than to end up wrapped around a tree. Sounds more like she panicked and realized too late she was in over her head.”

“True.” Atticus nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on the screen while the newscast moved on to another story. “But then, why was she there? Nothing besides the car stolen, no signs of anything else disturbed. If she’s not connected, what’s her angle?”

“Maybe it was a dare or something random? Maybe it’s a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time?” I suggested, trying to come up with any scenario that would fit the bizarre facts.

“Could be,” he agreed, though his voice was tinged with skepticism. “But a dare that leads to a high-speed chase and a crash? Seems extreme.”

The TV continued to hum in the background as I considered the possibilities. The report had given us more questions than answers.

“Whatever the reason, she’s in terrible shape now,” I said after a moment, pushing off from the counter. “And with no ID and the police not having any information on her, she’s a mystery on all fronts.”

Atticus drained the last of his coffee, crushing his cup in his hand before throwing it away. “Well, for now, she seems to be doing as good as can be expected under the circumstances. Let’s just hope she wakes up with some answers.”

I nodded, though worry nagged at me. “I’ll head back to the ICU and see how she’s doing in a little while.”

Something about Jane Doe’s story—and the rumors of her mafia ties—bothered me. It was a puzzle with too many missing pieces, but it was one I wanted to figure out.

Several hours passed. Before punching out of my shift, I headed to check on Jane Doe one last time. The corridors of St. John’s were quieter now, but as I approached the secured doors of the ICU, a now familiar voice disrupted the calm.

“Excuse me, Doctor, a moment of your time?” Niles Johnson, the persistent reporter from KING Channel 5 News, positioned himself squarely in my path, notepad at the ready.

“I’m not a doctor. I’m ED Nurse Thorin,” I corrected him, not breaking my stride or even giving him the decency of looking in his direction.

Niles followed me, undeterred. “Right, Nurse Thorin. Can you update us on the condition of the woman from the crash? The one involved in the Volkov estate break-in?”

At that, I stopped and faced him, my patience wearing thin. “Look, I can’t discuss any patient details with you. It’s against hospital policy and a violation of patient privacy.”

“But the public has a right to know, especially given the connection to the Volkovi Notchi crime organization,” he pressed, his voice gaining an edge. “And how is Samantha doing? Considering her past with them, people are curious.”

God, of course. I should have known that, as soon as I mentioned my last name, he would make the connection to Samantha and her kidnapping. All the press around that ordeal had finally quietened down, and this incident was going to cause lots of new speculation. What were the odds of someone breaking into the Volkov estate and ending up in our ED under the Thorin brothers’ care? What was the likelihood of all three of us being on shift at the same time and caring for someone tied to the Volkovs? Maybe I should stop and pick up a lottery ticket on my way home.

“That’s none of your business, Jensen. Samantha’s fine, and she has nothing to do with this incident.” I gritted my teeth, feeling a rush of protectiveness.

Niles shot back, “I’m just here on public grounds, gathering information for a story under the protection of the First Amendment, Nurse Thorin.”

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