Page 6 of Scythe & Sparrow
I stare at her for just a moment. A heartbeat. A blink.
And then I get to work.
I pull a wallet from her jacket and dial 911 as I stride from the room to grab ice packs from the freezer. I relay the details of the woman’s license and condition to the dispatcher.Twenty-six-year-old female, unconscious, possible motorcycle accident.When I return to the exam room, she’s still unconscious, and I place the ice packs and my phone on the counter so I can hook her up to the blood pressure monitor.Lower leg open fracture. Blood loss. Hypotensive blood pressure. Her pulse is climbing.
I’ve gotten a line in for an IV and tied a proper tourniquet around her leg by the time the ambulance arrives. But she stilldoesn’t wake up. Not when the paramedics fit a brace around her leg. Not when we lift her onto the gurney. Not even when we load her into the back of the ambulance and the motion jostles her. I take her hand and tell myself it’s so I’ll know if she wakes up.
And eventually, she does. Her eyes flutter open and latch onto mine, and regret pierces me again. The paramedic across from me fits the oxygen mask to her face, and the plastic fogs with her increasingly rapid breaths as the pain settles into her consciousness.
“I’m Dr. Kane,” I say as I squeeze her hand, her palm cool and clammy. “You’re on the way to the hospital. Is your name Rose?”
She nods in the emergency neck brace.
“Try to remain still. Do you remember what happened?”
She presses her eyes shut, but not fast enough to veil the flash of panic in her eyes. “Yes,” she says, though I can barely hear her over the wail of the sirens.
“Was it a motorcycle accident?”
Rose’s eyes snap open. The crease between her brows deepens. There’s a brief pause before she says, “Yes. I … I hit a slippery patch and crashed.”
“Do you have any pain in your back or neck? Anything else aside from your leg?”
“No.”
The paramedic cuts away Rose’s makeshift tourniquet and a fresh waft of piña colada floods my nostrils. I lower my voice and lean a little close when I ask, “Have you been drinking?”
“Fuckno,” she says. Her nose scrunches beneath the mask, and she reaches up to lower it despite my protest. “Are you, like, arealdoctor?”
I blink at her. “Yes …?”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“I’m pretty sure. Put your mask back on—”
“You look like a TV doctor. Dr. McSpicy or something. What are your credentials?”
I look over at the paramedic who tries to chew her grin into submission. “You only gave her morphine, right?”
“Why are you in activewear?” Rose barrels on.
The paramedic snorts.
“Are you one of those CrossFit guys? You look like a CrossFit guy.”
I try to say no as the paramedic says, “Doc isdefinitelyone of those CrossFit guys. My husband calls him Dr. Beast Mode.”
Rose’s cackle becomes a wince as the paramedic repositions fresh ice packs around the wound. Her grip tightens on my hand. “Who are you?” I ask the paramedic across Rose’s body. “Have we met?”
She smirks as she checks the infusion pump. “I’m Alice. I live around the corner from you on Elwood Street. My husband, Danny, is a personal trainer at the gym …?”
“Right, of course.Danny,” I reply convincingly.
Rose grins, her dark eyes pinned to Alice. “He has no fucking idea who you mean.”
“I know.”
“How long have you lived in Hartford?” My glare shifts from the paramedic down to Rose and softens—but only into wariness. Her blood pressure has improved a little with the fluids. But pain still carves its marks across her features, creasing little lines into the sides of her nose and between her brows. I try to pull my handfrom hers so I can get a better look at her leg, but she doesn’t let go. “How long, Doc?”
