8. CONAN
Chapter eight
M y shift at St. John’s hadn’t even started, but I was already strolling through the quiet hallways of the hospital on my way to the ICU. I’d gotten here early today. I needed to see for myself how she—my Jane Doe—was doing.
When I reached the ICU, Emily Everett, one of the night shift nurses, was updating a chart at the nurses’ station just outside of Jane Doe’s room. She glanced up and smiled.
“Morning, Conan. You’re here early,” she said, keeping her voice at a whisper to not disturb the quiet of the ICU.
I moved to stand in the open doorway of Jane Doe’s room.
“Just wanted to check on our mystery guest from last night. How’s she doing?” I asked, my gaze drifting over to the bed where she lay. She was all cleaned up and tucked in. Her dark chestnut hair fanned out over the crisp white pillow that cradled her head, framing her face in a silky halo. God, how I wanted to run my fingers through her hair and prove to myself she was real, but I knew better than to cross that line.
Emily chuckled softly as she moved past me and into the room. I realized I’d been staring at our Jane Doe with a goofy expression on my face. “The pretty lady is doing much better than when she came in. That’s for sure,” Emily said, stepping aside so I could see the monitors better. “Her heart rate’s steady, blood pressure’s looking good, and oxygen levels are strong. We’re all surprised she didn’t break any bones in such a violent collision.”
I stepped further into the room and leaned over to see Jane Doe better. The deep bruises on her arms and throat were an alarming shade of purplish black, a terrible reminder of the crash’s severity. “Bruises look rough, but it’s good there’s no broken bones,” I said, adjusting the blanket slightly, careful not to disturb her.
“Definitely lucky on that front,” Emily agreed. “Seat belt and airbags did their job. They just left their marks is all. She’s mainly suffering from the overall trauma that comes along with a high-impact crash.”
I nodded, scanning the monitors. The numbers there told a story of positive progress. “Good thing she thought to buckle up in her race to get away from…well, whatever she was running from in a stolen car,” I said.
“Oh, and about that.” Emily’s eyes darted to Jane Doe’s face. “We were told that Tacoma PD is going to post a guard at her door, and as soon as she’s medically able, they will take her into custody to be arraigned for the various crimes she committed.”
“Hmm, good to know.” I turned my attention to the sutures on her forehead, placed as if a plastic surgeon had done them. Just what I’d expect from Atticus. “How’s the head wound?” I asked .
“Healing well. She’ll have a scar, but the sutures are looking good. They should heal nicely if we keep infection at bay.” Emily’s fingers lightly touched the edge of my girl’s brow as if to emphasize her point. “She didn’t stir much last night, but when the doctor checked her pupils a few minutes ago, they were responsive and reacted normally. She’s in a good spot.”
“Responsive pupils—that’s great to hear. Any timeline on reducing ventilator support?” I asked, already thinking ahead about her recovery phase.
“The docs are planning to wean her off the ventilator in the next couple of days—if she keeps improving at this rate,” Emily added in a cautious but optimistic tone as she made a note in the chart.
I stepped closer to Jane Doe’s side, observing her quiet breathing. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest was reassuring. The ventilator hummed, a constant companion in the sterile room. Her face remained peaceful, despite the severity of her injuries.
For reasons I couldn’t explain, I felt a compulsion to listen to the sounds in her chest. “Do you mind if I listen to her lungs?” I asked, pulling the stethoscope from around my neck.
“Sure, go ahead.”
I listened intently to the clear sounds of her breathing and strong heartbeat. “Lungs are clear. Surprising after right middle lobe atelectasis,” I said after a moment, hanging the stethoscope back around my neck.
“Yeah, she’s a fighter. I think her athleticism is helping her recovery.”
“Thanks for the update, Emily. I’ll swing by later to check on her progress.” My gaze lingered on Jane Doe for a moment. She was no longer just another patient; she was mine to protect until someone who loved her found her .
“No problem, Conan. I’ll keep you posted if anything changes.” Emily turned and left the room, moving to check on another patient.
Before I walked away to start my shift, I leaned down and whispered, “You’re doing a great job, pretty angel. Just keep taking one breath at a time.”
I stepped out of the ICU area. The hospital was slowly waking up. I took a deep breath, the taste of hospital coffee now appealing as I prepared to start another day at St. John’s.