Page 6 of Heartbeats Amidst Chaos: Part 1

He had not been wearing handcuffs. When she stopped beside his bed, embarrassed and apologetic that she had not had time to get into her scrubs, he had reached for her. His hands slid over her burning skin, pulling her down beside him on the bed, teasing her thighs apart, and. . .

Rissa bolted up from the couch, drawing a startled look from another resident who was slouched in a chair across the room, apathetically picking nuts out of a bag of snack mix. She hurried into the staff bathroom and closed the door, meeting her own pale, tired gaze in the mirror.

“You are going straight to hell,” she advised herself. “Thirsting over apatient? A potential mass bomber, no less? Having hot sex dreams in the middle of a city-wide emergency? Straight. To. Hell.”

The whole situation appeared even more ludicrous, staring at her exhausted face, frazzled hair, and—ugh, vomit-splattered scrubs. She had forgotten about the poorotherpatient’s lost dinner and how it hadn’t all found its way into the bucket she had been holding for her.

After splashing water on her face and finger-combing her hair back into some semblance of a decent ponytail, Rissa exited the bathroom and beelined for her locker. She rummaged through her bag and found a second set of scrubs. She only needed the top, but even that wasn’t ideal. It was a scrub set she had meant to return long ago because it was a size too small and not her preferred style. She felt uncomfortable—unprofessional—with the way the garments hugged her curves.

But of course, she had never made time to drop them back at the uniform store.

I guess I should be grateful,she thought as she shimmied out of the vomit-stained scrub top into the tighter, lower-neckedreplacement.Great. Just perfect. This will totally help with the weirdly sexual para-relationship I’m forming with my possible bomber, handcuffed patient.

“Not that it makesyoulook any better,” she told her reflection, offering herself the chance to laugh it off. Her scrub top and bottoms were both impossibly wrinkled and slightly different shades of blue. The vigorous water splashing had washed off the last of her mascara, leaving her makeup-less.

Somehow, Rissa knew it wouldn’t make any difference to the vibratingly powerful patient waiting for her in room 230. He would still look at her exactly the same way—and how was she going to respond with that dream still fresh in her mind and body?

Straight to hell,she thought again and made a dive for the door before she could talk herself out of it. She was still a doctor, and he was still her patient. He needed to be seen by her at least once every shift.

She strode down the hallway, nodding to the coworkers that deigned to nod to her, trying to look strictly medical as she tapped on the door of 230 and then stepped inside.

Immediately, she knew something was wrong. The room smelled of cigarette smoke—had one of the cops beensmoking?—and the dazed expression Elio turned toward her was one of intense pain. She crossed the room in two strides, ignoring the police officer’s pointless greeting, and checked the IV bag. Empty.

She turned immediately to her patient, all sexual fantasies vanishing as she assessed him with practiced skill. His eyes were unfocused, his skin hot and dry. He had had no care, she realized. Absolutely no care since she had last walked out of the room.

Anger gave her fingers wings as she went to work replacing the IV, dosing him with morphine, flipping his pillow, and adjusting his blanket. He was still and quiet. He sometimes followed her ministrations with a slow, seemingly-reflective gaze and other times seemed to drift off into some distant place.

Okay, he is getting that CT scan if I have to sign the paperwork myself,Rissa vowed. She finished her work and spun to the police officer by the door. She stalked over to him and held out her hand, snapping her fingers when he reacted with a blank stare.

“Cigarettes and lighter. Right now,” she said. “Or I will absolutely report you to whomever you least want me to report you to.”

The man’s face sagged, and, after a moment, he dug into his pocket and handed over the battered pack of Camels and a cheap, tarnished lighter. Rissa snatched them and marched out of the room.

Ironically, Maria was the first person she saw in the hallway. Rissa grabbed her sleeve, pulling the scowling nurse to the side.

“Youpromised meyou would check in on my patient in 230,” Rissa snapped. “Why didn’t you do it?”

Maria’s face darkened even further as she responded in a low voice. “Because,Doctor,unlike all of his victims—” she gestured sharply to the rooms around them “—that piece of shit deserves whatever he gets.”

Rissa blinked, taken aback by the woman’s venom. So far, reminding anyone that Elio was only a suspect, not a convicted killer, hadn’t helped.

“That’s not for us to decide,” she reasoned instead. “Our job is to ‘apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures that are required.’ The Hippocratic oath specifically denounces playing God.”

“Don’t quote the Hippocratic Oath at me,” Maria retorted. At the same time, Tomas passed them in the hall and gave Rissa a disparaging glance. Maria snatched her sleeve from the doctor’s grip and swept down the hall after him without a backward glance.

Rissa stood rooted to the ground, her emotions in turmoil.

Am I in the wrong?she wondered.Blinded by some stupid sexual attraction to a murderer?

But she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. There was an element to Elio that almost frightened her, she admitted. A deep, coiled energy simmering below the surface of his composure—like he was a panther just waiting for his prey to pass close enough.

But at the same time, she couldn’t just accept that he was evil without evidence —a killer. There was a gentleness to him as well. A warmth in his hazel eyes and smile. A sensitivity to her changing moods even though he hardly knew her.

She took another step down the hall, not yet decided if she was going to head to the cafeteria to fetch something for Elio to eat or to finally pin down Dr. Bernhard and get a CT scan ordered as soon as possible. Before she could take another step, two familiar voices drifted from around the corner, and she froze.

“I don’t understand why we even had to come back here and try to question him again.” It was the gravelly voice of the female detective from the night before. “We already know there’s no second bomb.”

“Gotta keep up appearances,” the male detective rejoined. “We can’t let some little ‘question about the investigation’ foul things up if he goes to trial. We want this sucker going straight to prison.”

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