Chapter 5
Liv
We’ve only got two more hours on our shift, but that timeframe is going to feel like an eternity at this rate. A dry evening, rare in this part of town. Normally we’ve responded to at least one shooting by this point.
Scott’s been trying to stick his pencil in the ceiling tile above him for an hour. I’d mention it to him, point out how bored he must be to have spent this long doing something so uninteresting… but I’ve been watching him the whole time, so I’ve got no ground to stand on.
He’s got his shot zeroed in and I think, yet again, that this will be the one that makes it. But right as he makes his shot, the radio crackles to life, startling him and making him miss. Not like it was the radio’s fault, he was probably gonna miss anyway.
“Unit 12, respond priority one. Female, mid-twenties, conscious, minor injuries, PD on scene requesting medical clearance.”
My eyes meet Scott’s and I instantly know we’re thinking the same thing. PD requesting clearance in this area of town usually means someone’s being detained.
“Copy,” I say into the radio clutched in one hand while the other grabs the keys off the table in front of me.
The address hits a second later, a block down from my apartment.
Of course it is. Now I’m even more assured that it’s an arrest.
“Your neighborhood just keeps getting more and more popular,” Scott mutters as we climb in the rig.
“Yeah,” I say, staring out the windshield as we pull into traffic. “Lucky me.”
It’s not a time sensitive call and we’re just a few blocks away, so I agree with the code one designation.
Still, the sound of the rig’s rumbling engine cuts through the evening, bouncing off buildings that have seen better years.
The streetlights have already flickered to life and are casting long shadows across cracked sidewalks and boarded-up windows.
By the time we arrive, there are already two squad cars parked crookedly along the curb. But behind one sits a familiar looking sedan and a black motorcycle parked under a streetlight causing the metal to gleam with intrigue.
My eyes scan the scene, trying to gather as much information as I can while Scott and I hop out of the rig, med bag slung over Scott’s shoulder.
One of the officers is standing near the entrance to a narrow alleyway where more voices sound, telling me there’s more officers in the darkness, while another stands with Alex and Mason.
The officer gestures towards the exterior of the building to the left where a young woman sits on the ground, knees pulled up to her chest, and arms wrapped tightly around herself like she’s trying to hold something in.
Her brown hair is mussed in her face, one sneaker untied, and her zip-up is strewn open and showing the collar of her t-shirt is torn.
It’s immediately clear that I was wrong about this being an arrest. But if they want medical clearance… then she must be refusing to go to the hospital. And therefore, refusing a rape kit.
I’ve seen the look that’s on her face plenty of times on rape victims, though something in the pit of my stomach tells me this isn’t what I suspect.
Alex and Mason look at Scott and I, though Alex’s eyes never leave me.
They share the same expression, encouraging the rumbling in the back of my head telling me that isn’t some textbook rape patient.
Scott reads the situation quickly and silently hands me the med bag, which I take without looking.
“She’s skittish about men,” Mason murmurs low enough that the woman can’t hear. It confirms my and Scott’s assessment.
I’ll be the one taking the lead with this patient.
Scott heads to the detectives while I go to my patient. Her eyes scan the street in a fearful way that makes my chest tighten.
“Hey,” I say softly as I approach, dropping into a crouch in front of her. “I’m Liv. I’m a paramedic. Can I take a look at you?”
Her eyes snap to mine, bloodshot and terrified. “I’m fine,” she says quickly. Too quickly. “I told them I don’t want… I d-don’t-”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt gently. “I’m just going to make sure you’re alright to go home. That’s it.” While nonchalantly trying to talk her into going to the hospital and getting a rape kit done.
She hesitates, then finally gives a small, jerky nod.
I settle in more comfortably, propping myself on my heels, and start my assessment.
Up close, the details sharpen: scrapes along her palms, dirt ground into the skin of her hands and forearms like she tried to catch herself before hitting pavement hard, a small tear on the knee of her jeans, and the fabric of both knees darkened where it’s soaked through with a thin line of blood.
But it’s her arms that stop me. I reach out carefully. “I’m just going to check here, okay?”
She flinches before I even touch her, not subtle or instinctive, but anticipatory.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I assure quietly.
Another barely-there nod.
I gently turn her wrist and see exactly what I thought it was, faint but unmistakable finger-shaped bruising along the inside of her arm. Too sharp to be random or accidental. A clear grip that was tight enough to leave evidence. Tight enough to control her in a moment of terror.
My stomach drops.
“Did you fall?” I ask gently, keeping my voice neutral but giving her an out.
“Yes,” she says immediately. I wouldn’t have believed her answer even if it hadn’t stumbled out of her mouth too quickly to reconsider.
I glance up briefly, wanting to catch a glimpse of Alex and gauge his take on this, but the regular cop is blocking my view of him. He just gives me a don’t start look that I take with a grain of salt.
So, I look back at her. “Okay,” I say it like I believe her even though I don’t. “Can you tell me your name?”
She hesitates. Her eyes flick past me, over my shoulder to the men standing behind me, likely still watching.
“Ma’am,” that same officer’s voice cuts in, a little sharper. “We’ve already asked you that.”
This guy’s starting to bother me.
“I… I don’t-” she stumbles out the syllables, then shakes her head. “I just want to go.”
“Not until you’re cleared,” he replies.
I grit my teeth, but I keep my focus on her.
“Hey,” I assure softly, drawing her attention back. “You’re safe right now, okay? I’m just going to check you out, and then we’ll figure out the next steps.”
Her breathing steadily speeds up, growing more shallow as her head darts around. She’s borderline hyperventilating at this point. “Can you take a slow breath for me?” I guide. “In through your nose… out through your mouth.”
She tries but fails. Then tries again. I count it out with her, steady and calm, like I’ve done a hundred times before. Eventually, her shoulders drop just a fraction. But it’s enough.
“Good,” I murmur. “That’s good.”
I continue with my assessment, noting everything. The scrapes and bruises that have already started to form. But no obvious fractures thankfully. Her pulse, though, is still racing. And her eyes keep scanning up and down the street. Like she’s waiting for someone to come back.
She reminds me of a patient a few weeks ago.
She’d been called in by a restaurant worker who saw her wandering the street, looking lost and scared, eventually hiding behind a dumpster down an alleyway.
We’d picked her up, Scott noting that her behavior was unusual and considered that she might have a mental illness.
But not long after we dropped her off at the ED, police were being called in.
I never found out what happened to her since she wouldn’t tell me anything during assessment and transport aside from “he’s coming back.
” We never found out who “he” was. But she had the same look as the girl in front of me.
The same grip marks on her arms and bruising in various stages of healing.
Someone had gotten to her too. At the time, I’d considered a domestic dispute but now I’m starting to wonder if there’s a serial attacker assaulting women.
I blink, forcing myself back to the present. The woman in front of me shifts, wincing as she moves.
“Where does it hurt the most?” I ask.
“My arm,” she laments quietly.
I nod, gently palpating the area. She tenses again.
“Hey, it’s just me,” I remind her.
Her gaze locks onto mine, searching like she’s trying to decide something.
“You’re sure he won’t come back, right?” she whispers.
The question hits my memories, reminding me again of that patient a few weeks ago.
It takes significant effort to keep from spiraling into thoughts of something much more serious than this singular woman, and possible victim.
“I’m not gonna let anyone come near you,” I say carefully. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
It’s not a lie; it’s just not a full truth either.
Her lips press together like she isn’t convinced.
I spray her scraps with an antiseptic and bandage what’s necessary, but there isn’t much more I can do for her. She needs pain meds, a rape kit, and maybe some therapy, not the limited amount of help that I can give her.
“She’s good,” I say, glancing back at the men behind me. “No major injuries, just superficial trauma. She can be transported if she wants, but I don’t assess her to be in a state of lacking decision-making capacity.”
I pull myself to standing while that officer who feels like a thorn in my side nods his head. Then he starts talking like he’s the one in charge here. “Alright, we’re going to need a statement.”
She recoils slightly. “I didn’t… Th-there’s nothing-”
“You were found stumbling out of an alleyway,” he presses. “Someone called it in. You expect us to just-”
“She said she fell,” I cut in. As much as I want her to get better care and probably a police report, I don’t want this guy bullying a woman who’s clearly scared of men and presenting her as a danger to herself.
His gaze snaps to me. “And you believe that?” he asks flatly.
I hold his stare. “No,” I admit, even though I know she can hear me. Maybe because she can hear me.