Page 3 of Doctor Enemy

“Blake. Why is it I only ever hear from you when something’s gone wrong?” I ask him.

Blake gives a low chuckle. “You just draw the bad luck in.” And then, “You know what I’m here for. How are the kids?”

“Bad. The driver should pull through. Fractured collar bone and a busted leg where the dashboard caved in on him. Kelly says they had to use the jaws to pry him free.”

“That the EMT?”

“Mhm. Kelly and Roger were the responders on the scene. They’re available for a statement if you need it. Maddie can set it up for you.”

Blake nods. “I’ll get that next. He was wasted, right?”

“Blood alcohol was straight through the roof,” I say, with a shake of my head. “There’s no way that kid should have been walking home, let alone driving.”

“And the passenger?” Blake asks, but he’s got the kind of grim face that says he already knows Sawyer’s not going to pull through.

I’ve got the same sort of look on my face when I tell him, “Bad shape. No seat belt. He went straight through the windshield and into the side of the building they hit. We’re doing everything that we can but honestly, Blake, it’s not looking too good.”

“Fuck. Always the young ones, isn’t it?” Blake mutters.

My mouth pulls into a thin line. “We can’t get a hold of his parents.”

“Aspen,” says Blake. “We’re trying to get through, but it’s going poorly.”

“What do you need from me?” I ask.

Blake says, “A full statement. You got the time for it?”

“Of course.”

Suddenly, the pager at my hip starts blaring out an alarm.

I glance down at the message flashing over the screen and my blood runs cold in my veins. I’m already turning and moving away from Blake when I call out, “Never mind. I’ve got to go.”

Blake knows better than to try and stop me, simply letting me race down the halls of the hospital.

My shoes pound against the white tile and I nearly slam my shoulder into the door of three o’eight in my hurry to get there, stepping into pure chaos.

“He’s flatlining” Lori shouts, from the side of the bed.

Shit!

My heart skips a beat.

A nurse has already pulled the defibrillator cart over.

She passes the pads to me as I come closer. I’m the surgeon. The senior doctor. That makes this, unfortunately, always my domain. “Clear the area.”

Even Lori steps backward without complaint. The sound of the heart monitor is a single, low-droning note. It sinks into my bones in a way that I will never get used to.

“Clear!” I press the pads to his chest. Sawyer’s body jerks as three thousand volts of electricity surge through him in less than 0.001 of a second.

Nothing.

I pull in a sharp breath. “Again.”

The activation button is switched. Electricity hums through the air. Sawyer’s body, bruised and wrapped in heavy layers of gauze, jerks a second time.

Still nothing.

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