Page 22 of Brutal Surrender

If I had the energy, I’d smirk at Vincent. It’s too late for a doctor.

My vision becomes too blurry to see what the doctor looks like. I can only tell from the voice that it’s a man. He shines a light in my eyes and checks my vitals. Besides the terrible abdominal cramping, I start to have respiratory difficulties. The vomit is wiped from my face and an oxygen mask is placed over me.

I don’t need oxygen. I just need to die. With all my energy, I grab the attachment to the oxygen mask and try to rip it off.

Seeing my attempt, Vincent orders his men to tie me down, an act that induces memories of the waterboarding. After I’m strapped to the bed, I’m attached to a heart rate and blood pressure monitor.

To the doctor Vincent says, “My guess is she was poisoned. Food was delivered to her, but I don’t know when the poison was ingested. It might have been hours ago.”

“Has she had any other symptoms before this?” asks the doctor.

“She was perfectly healthy until we found her just now, foaming at the mouth and having seizures. I’m having her food tested as we speak.”

“Luckily we still have the equipment we need on board to perform a gastric lavage thanks to the incident from two years ago.”

“Do what you have to and be quick!” Vincent barks. “We don’t know what kind of poison she ingested.”

It’s strange, but it almost sounds like Vincent is worried. Does he care that much about losing his toy to torment?

The doctor turns to a nurse or assistant. “Get me the local anesthetic, then keep an eye out for signs of cardiac arrest.”

After my head is restrained in place, the doctor applies something numbing to my nasal passage and throat. I don’t like where this is going. Even with the anesthetic, I can sense the tube being inserted through my nose down toward my stomach, making me want to gag.

Shit. They’re trying to save me.

I try to fight them, but it’s hard. The seizures seem to have faded after I vomited, but I still have fatigue and intense abdominal pain.

A solution of some kind starts to flow through the tube.

Looking to the doctor, I plead with my eyes. Let me die. Please let me die.

The doctor, however, is too busy in his task to meet my gaze. Once a good amount of solution has filled my stomach, he proceeds to suck it back out.

They can do what they want, I decide. I am not going to live. I will find a way to die.

*****

I’m not sure how much time has passed. I come out of consciousness briefly to hear a man talking to Vincent.

“Our lab confirmed trace amounts of drugs in the muffins,” he said. “It’s a street medication commonly used for abortions. It can be lethal in larger doses.”

The next time I come to, I notice I am still strapped to the hospital bed. I no longer have any vomit on me. In fact, I feel wiped down. There’s a blanket covering my breast and torso. Acupuncture needles stick out from various points in my body.

Unlike the flurry of activity, there is now calm. Gone are most of the people who surrounded me earlier. Only Vincent and someone I don’t recognize remain.

Damn. I’m still alive. And though my body feels crummy overall, the nausea and abdominal cramping are gone.

“Given that she consumed poison,” an older Asian woman says to Vincent, “it is not surprising that all her elements have weakened. I can’t tell how far beyond the stomach the poison may have traveled, and there are many organs involved in the effort to remove toxic substances from the body. The liver, kidneys, intestines. The wood element is particularly weak, and I don’t think it is merely from the poison. Perhaps there is too much stress or too much anger in her life?”

“Probably,” Vincent grumbles.

The woman nods. “But her heart is most…”

“Dr. Das said her heart seems fine. After the stomach pumping, all her vitals stabilized.”

“Yes, and?”

Vincent sighs. “And vitals don’t tell the whole story. So what about her heart concerns you?”

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