Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
Maria Torres kept seeing it over and over. Jordon flying backward to the floor with a piercing scream. The blood spraying from his body and how warm it was when she put her hand over the wound. She turned that hand over and looked at her stained palm. Jordon’s blood.
She seethed, staring at the monster responsible across the room.
He was in Gail’s face, but Maria had never been so full of hatred in her life.
He’d shot the man she loved right in front of her.
Jordon was only trying to protect her. And she hadn’t even much of a chance to assess the extent of Jordon’s injuries before she was yanked away.
But all that blood… It was all she could see.
And he was struck in the lower waist to his left.
The bullet could have pierced his intestines.
If so, he was certain to die without immediate help.
She couldn’t even let herself think that could happen.
As if by loving someone so much you could grant them immortality.
But surely help had to be coming soon. Though maybe that was also wishful thinking.
The earlier instances of gunfire hadn’t brought the police running in. It felt like they were on their own.
She couldn’t hear Jordon’s cries in the hall anymore, and she feared the worst. That she had lost him.
“Hey, aren’t you going to do anything?” The gunman was staring at her, but she didn’t know what he was talking about.
Between thoughts of Jordon, she was too busy fantasizing about this man’s demise. But if she hurled herself at the man, all nails and teeth, like a rabid animal, she’d likely get herself shot. And as long as Jordon possibly drew breath, she’d summon the courage to carry on for him and their baby.
“Hello?” The gunman sped across the room and stood inches in front of Maria and snapped his fingers in her face.
She was frozen. Numb. She took in the world around her. Gail on the floor, her face swelled, and her phone smashed next to her.
“Do something or she’s going to die!” he yelled.
Then, it was as if she were awakened from a trance. A piercing noise struck her ears. The heart monitor was sending off an alarm. Phoebe!
The little girl was turning blue. She would die without Maria’s help. She backed up, and her heels hit against the wheels on the defibrillator cart. Do something!
Maria quickly pushed the cart across the room to Phoebe’s bedside. She primed the unit and readied herself with the paddles.
Do something… The words were haunting, tempting, and challenging.
She put the paddles on the child’s chest. Once the charge built, she called out, “Clear!”
Phoebe’s little body jolted from the bed. She was so fragile, her heart so weak that every time she had to be resuscitated her chances of survival diminished.
Do something…
Maria stepped back and watched as the girl’s breathing evened out. Maria set the paddles back onto the unit. One of the handles was smeared with blood. Jordon’s blood.
Do something…
As a nurse, Maria never took the Hippocratic Oath to cause no harm, but she recited the Florence Nightingale Pledge upon graduation from nursing college. Before God… to practice my profession faithfully…
Do something…
There must be allowable loopholes to the pledge, a way of working around or through. Exceptions could be argued. Like this piece of trash holding the gun. The man who had shot the man she loved, who may have stolen her baby’s father.
Do something…
She hesitated for a few seconds, and her phone rang in her pocket.
“What the hell? Give me that,” the gunman barked at her. “Now!”
She gave him her phone and watched him turn it off and push it into his pocket.
Do something…
With the man distracted, she grabbed the defibrillator paddles and charged them again.
“What are you doing?” The man was standing close behind her.
She turned. His arms were down at his sides, with the muzzle of his gun facing the floor. Even if he fired the weapon, it was of no threat to those beneath them. The levels were separated by concrete.
Maria pushed the charged paddles against the man’s chest.