Page 99 of Tangled Up

Leaning over Carly’s bed, I slide my fingers lightly along her forehead. My throat tightens at the thought of swelling or anything else life-threatening I can’t see. I know how fast things go south in situations like this.

Swallowing the fear, I manage to whisper, “Stay with me, Carls. I’ve got you.”

* * *

“We should have gone somewhere else.” My arms are crossed over my chest, and I’m doing my best to hold it together as we wait, watching Carly unresponsive in the hospital bed. “We should have had her airlifted to Tampa.”

I’ve done all I can do. We took the scan. I’ve started her on platelets. The orderly got the radiologist out of bed an hour ago, but the doctor is driving from Sarasota. She still hasn’t arrived, and my head is pounding like a drum. I’m trying to stay calm, but I don’t like not knowing what’s happening here.

“She’s going to be okay.” Henry stands beside me, speaking softly.

The other ER doc is still working on Alize, but it doesn’t look good. She sustained a pretty significant head injury and a laceration across her chest. The doctor had to cut the ligament that supports her eye to relieve the pressure building on her ocular nerve. Otherwise, he said she would be blind. He still has no way of knowing if it worked.

I’m far less worried about the kidnapper in this case. My entire focus is on Carly. A knot is in my stomach thinking of all the things I don’t know. Could she be in pain? Is her vision blurry? If only she were awake to tell me.

“I need her to wake up now.” I rub the bridge of my nose, trying to calm the churning in my stomach.

“I called Jessica and gave her the update.” Henry walks over and glances in the direction of the other trauma bed. “Aunt Viv said the church is holding a candlelight vigil and praying for them tonight.”

“Them?” My voice is bitter.

“It’s what Carly would want.”

I drop into the chair with a heavy exhale. “You’re probably right.”

She’s too compassionate. I want to be angry with her because of it. If it weren’t for her damned, stubborn compassion, she wouldn’t be in this situation.

Carly wouldn’t believe that woman could hurt her—and maybe she didn’t hurt her in the scary movie, serial killer type of way. Instead, it’s the same fuck up as everything else in that woman’s life, from what I understand, poor judgment, impulsiveness, bad luck.

My temperature’s rising, and I’m on my feet. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not feeling as generous right now.”

Henry puts a hand on my shoulder. “I know.”

The room erupts into a bustle of scurrying, and I’m on my feet when I see a young woman with a stringy blonde ponytail and maroon scrubs rushing into the room.

“You must be Dr. Munroe? I’m Fabien, the radiologist for all three rural hospitals in the county.” She looks haggard, and I decide I’m not pissed it took more than an hour for her to get here.

“Thanks for coming.”

She doesn’t hesitate but goes straight to the lightbox, flipping it on and sticking the films on top. “That old scanner’s not as precise as I’d like it, but it does the job.” She stands staring at the different views of Carly’s head.

“I don’t like this right here.” She circles an area in what looks like a slice of orange. “I see a bit of swelling pushing on the left frontal lobe.”

It’s an area I know well from my work with geriatric patients. “It can cause issues with speech and paralysis.”

“It can also cause mental illness, PTSD, depression…” She studies the screen a bit longer before turning, arms crossed to where Carly is lying quiet and still. “Or it could be nothing. She could heal quickly and experience none of those issues. We won’t know until she comes around.”

“How long do you think?”

“Impossible to know. The good news is I don’t see any signs of fluid buildup or internal bleeding. I’ll put together a full report. Now for this one.” She leaves me, heading to where the other doctor is working.

I go to Carly’s bedside and sit, putting my hand over hers and resting my head on my arm. It’s going to be a long night.

* * *

“Thought you could use this.” The scent of coffee wakes me, and I look up at the clock.

It’s after six a.m., and I’m sitting in a pleather chair in a small hospital room outside the ER. After we stabilized Carly, we moved her to a private room in the tiny clinic.

---