4. Paige
“Why are you so late?” Gina shouts from the kitchen as I open the front door to my apartment. “I’ve been calling you for hours. I ate all the dumplings, by the w— what the fuck is that? ”
“Oh, you’re here.”
“Don’t ‘ oh, you’re here ’ me. Is that a fucking bear?”
“Shh. My neighbors will hear you. Just. . . help me get this inside.”
I’m trying, but failing, to pull the luggage cart my apartment building makes available for tenants to use into my apartment. It’s almost never in the parking garage storage room where it’s supposed to be. But, stroke of luck, it was there tonight.
And it’s now holding one large man, who’s mostly covered by a tarp, and it does not want to roll over the slightly raised threshold into my apartment.
“Did you rescue a fucking bear, Paige? Do not bring that in here. Take it back to the park.”
“Shh! Can you just help? And we don’t have bears in Chicago.”
“Of course we have bears in Chicago. Haven’t you heard of, like, any of our sports teams?” She stops talking, waiting for me to answer.
“The. . . Bulls?” I ask sheepishly.
“Do not mention the Bulls in my presence. You know that. I was referring to the Chicago Bears . The Chicago Cubs . We definitely have bears here.”
Huh. That’s pretty sound logic. Do I need to worry about bears when I’m in the park for a release?
A groan from under the tarp brings me back to the moment. One final tug, and I get the cart inside with no help from Gina.
“Even if we did have bears in Chicago, there’s no way I’d bring something that dangerous home.”
Gina gives me a look. “Uh-huh. Except that you care more about your rescues than you do about your own well-being.”
I huff and roll my eyes at her. “ Anyway . It’s not a bear. It’s a guy. Help me get him onto the couch.”
“Holy shit, Paige. Did you kidnap some guy?”
“Of course not. He’s a rescue.”
She closes her eyes and rubs her forehead. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I don’t joke about rescues.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but this was actually less insane a minute ago when I thought you brought home a bear.”
Gina steps closer to the cart, her curiosity definitely piqued. She reaches for the tarp.
“Just be careful—he’s completely covered with blood and somewhere under the blanket is his gun.”
Ten minutes later, we’ve managed to get the guy onto my couch.
“Go hide this somewhere in your room,” Gina whispers, covertly handing me the guy’s gun that she placed on a book, like it’s a tray. She used my kitchen tongs to pick it up and set it down, refusing to touch it.
“Yeah. Good idea.” Not that this guy is pulling any weapons on anyone anytime soon.
Under my bed? In my closet? Too obvious. Better idea—in the bathroom, under the sink, in the box of tampons. Same place I used to hide anything I didn’t want my brother to find. Brian may be a former Navy SEAL, but even hint at a woman’s cycle, and he’ll run out of the room covering his ears.
It’s the perfect hiding place. Shoot, the box is almost empty. I didn’t realize I’m almost out. Add that to the mental shopping list.
I grab some medical supplies while I’m in the bathroom. A few rolls of gauze, my suture kit, forceps, Betadine, a tube of bacitracin, and two pairs of latex gloves.
I also change out of the green scrubs I wore to release Oscar because, for one, I snuggled the crap out of him before letting him go. I mean, literally. He peed on my shirt a little. And for two, there was like a quart of this guy’s blood on them, plus mud on the knees from crawling on the ground. I slip on my other set of scrubs. I picked these up at Salvation Army a few weeks ago for four dollars. Awesome find.
Gina is still standing over the guy. “He needs the hospital, Paige. He’s—” She turns to me, her eyes dropping down to the tray I’m holding. “Why do you have all that stuff?”
“They’re my rehab supplies. I have tons of this stuff.”
She squeezes her eyes shut then continues. “Let me rephrase that. Why do you have all that stuff out ? Out like you’re going to be using it? Is there also an injured squirrel here somewhere? In his pocket, maybe?”
“ No , there’s no injured squirrel in his pocket. I’m going to stitch him up.”
“No, you’re not. I’m calling 9-1-1.”
“No need. I’ve got this.” I put the tray on the coffee table and go to the kitchen to get my good scissors. Pretty sure I’ll need to cut his shirt off like EMTs do.
Gina follows me. “This is a person, Paige, not some random animal.”
“Stitches are stitches. And he’s not covered in fur or shell, so it’ll be even easier.” I walk back to the couch.
“Paige, stop.” She steps in front of me. “How do I say this without being mean?”
I cross my arms. “Clearly it’s going to be mean now, however you say it.”
“Fine. I’ll just say it then. Babe, you are not a doctor. You are not a nurse.” She tugs at the sleeve on my scrubs. “You are not even a licensed wildlife rehabilitator. You failed the test. Twice. Half of the animals you take in leave in shoeboxes, Paige. Half of them.” She points to my Goodbye Shelf.
I put a small stone on the shelf for each little guy that doesn’t make it. A memorial, so they’ll know they were loved.
“You’re being an asshole, G.”
“I’m being honest. This is a human being. He needs an actual doctor.”
I step around her. “He doesn’t want one. He doesn’t. Before he passed out, he was very clear about that. He said, no hospital, no police. He very clearly asked me to help him.”
“He needs professionals.”
“The guy was in a shootout in the park, Gina. I can’t call the authorities. They’ll patch him up, and whoever was shooting at him will show up at the hospital and finish the job. Taking him to the hospital isn’t going to help him.”
“And this is going to help him?” Gina points to my tray of supplies.
“Yes. I may not be a ‘ licensed’ rehabilitator, but I know what I’m doing. Look,” I point to the terrarium and wire cage on my desk.
The terrarium currently houses Tango, the box turtle whose shell was ripped open by a lawn mower. He’s doing great now. I’ll release him in another few weeks. The wire cage holds Romeo, a bunny that was mauled by something. He lost one of his legs, but other than that, he’s doing great now too. Not sure I’ll ever release him back into the wild, but we’ll see.
“I’m calling an ambulance.” Gina takes her phone from her pocket.
I put my hand on her arm. “I made a promise to him, Gina. A promise. He asked me to do this. So either help me with it or go home and forget you were here tonight. But don’t break my promise to this guy.”
She stares up at the ceiling. She’s probably counting to ten or regretting our entire friendship. “You swear he asked you to do this, like with actual words coming out of his mouth and not just you interpreting some look he gave you?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, with ‘ actual words .’” I almost can’t believe she needed to ask me that. “I swear he asked.”
She huffs out loud. “Fine.”
I clap my hands and bounce up and down. Then I just can’t resist. In a nasally voice, “Paging Doctor Paige. Paging Nurse Gina. Your patient is ready.”
“Oh my god, stop.”
I quiet down, but I can’t stop smiling. I hand her a pair of latex gloves.
“Let me guess, you have some special soap for before surgery?”
I nod. “Hibiclens. In the medicine cabinet. Blue bottle.”
“He’s actually really fucking hot.” Gina’s staring at the guy, mesmerized.
“Right?” We sponged most of the dirt and caked blood off his face.
“And ripped.” We also removed his makeshift tourniquet then cut his shirt off.
And his pants. To check for more wounds.
We found one bullet hole in his right shoulder that went straight through, I think from back to front, and a gash on his side where it looks like another bullet grazed him. No other injuries, but lots of scars. Clearly not his first rodeo.
There was a ton of blood on his clothes, which are now in a trash bag, but the rest of him seems fine. In fact, it was a ridiculous amount of blood, considering the bullet hole is tiny and he packed both wounds with the gauze he found in my car. Seems like he completely stopped the bleeding before I even arrived on scene.
Gina lifts the guy’s left hand and holds it up to me. “No wedding ring.”
I roll my eyes at her. “Can we focus on fixing him? A hot, ripped, dead guy on my couch is going to be a big frickin’ problem, whether he’s married or not.”
“Shit. Yeah. What are we going to do if he croaks? He’s not going to fit in a shoebox.”
“I don’t know.” I shrug my shoulders. “Chop him up?”
“ Paige! ” Gina jumps back two feet, stumbling a little.
“Oh my god, relax. I’m kidding. He’s not going to croak.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
Gina continues to check out the guy’s very fit, very perfect body. “What flag is that?”
“Hmm?” I look to where Gina is pointing, then wipe some of the blood off his tattoo. Green, white, and red with an emblem in the middle. I actually know this one. “Mexico.”
“Hmph. With the Prada loafers, his olive skin, and being in a shootout in Chicago, I would’ve put my money on him being mafia. Are you sure that’s not the Italian flag?”
“I have no clue what the Italian flag looks like, but I grew up seventeen miles north of the Mexican border, G. That’s definitely Mexico. And he was speaking Spanish a little. Mostly English, but he dropped in Spanish word or two.”
Gina twists her lips, clearly not believing me. “Siri, what does the Italian flag look like?” She stares at her phone, then looks back at the guy’s tattoo. “Okay, fine. The Italian flag is also green, white, and red, but it doesn’t have a little picture in the middle like his does.”
“Told ya. Now can we stop ogling this guy and get back to saving him?”
“No. Let’s ogle for another minute first.”
I shake my head as I grab a pill bottle off the tray. “You think I should give him something for the pain before I suture him up? Maybe crushed up Tylenol dissolved in a little water? I can pour it in his mouth, and I’m pretty sure he’ll swallow it.”
Gina gives me a look.
“What? Most of the little critters can still swallow some water when they’re passed out. It’s like a reflex or something.”
“I wasn’t even questioning your judgment about that part. I was questioning your judgment about giving him Tylenol. The man was shot twice. I think he needs something a little stronger.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Oh! I have some muscle relaxers. Pretty strong ones.”
“Why do you have muscle relaxers?”
“Left over from last year. I would take one-quarter of a cyclobenzaprine tablet, and it was like I was floating on a cloud. We can give him that.”
Gina nods her head. “Yeah, that might work. But probably a whole one. Actually, he’s big. Maybe two? You know what? Crush up three of those fuckers. This guy’s not going to want to remember any of what’s about to happen.”
“Good thinking. While I do that, can you grab my iPad? There’s a how-to video on doing stitches saved in my YouTube favorites.”