Chapter 2 Claire
CLAIRE
Go to New York, they said.
Men shouted and screamed, raising fists while nurses and EMTs did their best to keep them on gurneys.
Go to New York and practice medicine. It’ll do wonders for your career.
I winced as another patient being wheeled down the corridor swung a punch at the security officer.
He missed the man’s face because the guy ducked just in time.
Instead, the bloody-faced man’s fist smashed into the wall.
More blood dripped. But that didn’t stop him.
Cursing in Russian, he lunged off the gurney—either oblivious to his shredded and wounded leg or not caring about it—to tackle the hospital’s rent-a-cop.
“We need some help here!”
I flinched at my colleague’s shout as he brushed past me.
Dr. Jack Harroun was supposed to be this hospital’s best ER doctor.
Right now, as he rushed into the melee, his face stern with disapproval, he sounded and looked more like an unhappy referee, charging forward to break up a fight and stick players in a penalty box.
“Just has to be a full moon,” Fatima growled as she hurried forward from my other side. Shaking her head, the charge nurse cursed and swung her long, dark ponytail back as she joined Jack in breaking up the fight.
Full moon?
I wasn’t prone to falling for superstitions. Chaos in the emergency room wasn’t too out of the ordinary. But a full-out war like this in the trauma bay was something else. Not caused by the damn moon.
Whatever this chaos was, it was enough to keep me rooted in place for a millisecond, too stunned to blink or react to the commotion and violence. People came here to be helped. To be treated and sewn back up and saved.
I was here to help and save. To do my part and help others reclaim the best state of well-being they could have.
I was specifically here in New York at this particular hospital because it seemed like the wisest career move I could make with my background.
A background with a stellar record and many successes.
A background that I only had due to all the hard years of working my ass off and studying so much.
All for this?
As I grasped it all and took in the scene of suited men shouting, threatening, and still attacking each other, I seriously had my second thoughts about coming here like my parents and colleagues back home in the UK had encouraged me to for years.
Only ten minutes ago, it was calm. I could’ve even said it was the dreaded Q-word, the one no medical professional ever utters out loud in fear of jinxing it.
That was a superstition I would believe in because it always rang true.
The second someone said things were quiet, all hell would break loose.
The warzone taking over the floor had to be the karmic result of someone screaming that it was quiet.
Choking on the spot wasn’t what I was trained to do. Freezing and trying to comprehend how quickly the neat and tidy emergency floor could’ve been reduced to this wasn’t improving a single thing.
I blinked once more, watching Fatima rush forward to help a man who looked like he’d taken a gunshot to his shoulder as he tried to pull out his gun and aim it at another man.
“Oh, bloody hell.” No one would hear me muttering, but seeing my steadfast and dependable charge nurse in the line of danger pushed me right out of shock. I snapped into action, running forward to assist her.
“Easy, easy.” I joined Fatima, putting my hands out to steady the man on his gurney and stop him from reaching for his weapon. “Relax, sir.”
He screwed up his face, turning to snarl at me and shout. His expression was menacing, warning me enough. His tone was heated and violent. But I couldn’t understand a single word he was saying.
“Relax,” I repeated, moving with the EMTs and Fatima. Jack and others were busy with others. Cops and security guards were mixed in the crowding trauma bay and lobby. All hands on deck. Whatever had happened was pulling out all efforts from each of us on the floor.
“You might be better off sedating him,” the burly EMT said as he continued wheeling the patient with the gunshot wound further into the emergency room.
Adrenaline ran high. My pulse kicked up. All senses were alerted and I was focused and in the zone to move it and help return to that orderliness due this location of medical emergencies.
“What happened?” I asked, running alongside the gurney as we all pushed. The man was most intent on reaching for his gun, something the EMT prevented. But it was clear one of the Italian-speaking men on the other side of the room was the target of his ire.
“Bomb went off,” the EMT replied, furrowing his brow as the radio piece on his shoulder went off with more chatter.
“Half these Russian morons were inside while those Italian dudes were running out of the place. Then once they were on the street, they had to start fighting on top of it all.” He glanced back, as if searching out his coworkers.
“Were any civilians hit?” Fatima asked.
Civilians? I cut her a sharp glance as we wheeled the bleeding man into an opening spot down the hall. A curtain wouldn’t allow any bullet-proof protection, but we were cramped for vacancies.
“Yeah. They’re coming in too,” the EMT replied.
Civilians? I got hung up on Fatima’s wording as I began to listen to the man’s lungs. She made it sound like this man wasn’t an ordinary New Yorker. A cop? A…
Oh, bloody hell…
A criminal? Fugitive? My mind was at the risk of running with too many questions and thoughts about these violent men sweeping into the emergency department and clogging the hallways and rooms with too many people—angry and wounded individuals.
But I couldn’t let my imagination run from me.
It was time to concentrate, to focus and lock down on delivering the best assessment and care that I could.
Behind me, Jack’s booming voice came out over the din of men shouting, nurses and techs urging patients to behave, and cops questioning whoever they could.
From this man to the next, I moved with such haste that the shift passed in a blur. I was all over, calling out orders, asking for cooperation, and trying to assess the most emergent cases of gunshot wounds, open lacerations from the explosion, concussions, and broken bones.
“Get him to a CT, stat,” I told a nurse as I backpedaled out of a room, peeling off my gloves only to go to another room and put on a fresh pair to assess another patient.
I furrowed my brow, certain that this argumentative and hostile man lying there bleeding from his face and chest would have just as much, if not more, internal injuries with how close he seemed to have been near the explosion in the restaurant.
Before I could turn and face forward down the hall, though, someone knocked into me and sent me crashing to the floor.
I landed with a deep oof, all the air pushed out of my lungs with the impact of the drop. Breaking the fall with my hands slapped onto the floor, I winced and ignored the instant pain of smacking down so unexpectedly.
Dammit!
Amidst the mayhem of the shift and the harried urgency we were all working under, I was almost ready to scowl at my mistake. That it was only my fault to not look where I was going and collide with someone. Nothing good would come from walking and not facing forward.
But that wasn’t the case here. It wasn’t my fault.
Even if I had been looking ahead and watching where I was going, this tall, ragged-looking man in a suit would’ve struck me down.
His beady eyes were locked on me and his lips lifted in a snarl.
Foreign insults came from his mouth, but I didn’t need a translator to understand.
A man only looked at a woman like that when he wanted to hurt her.
To punish and lash out. The stink of booze wafted from him, cutting through the usual stench of disinfectant.
As he wobbled to swing one leg back, I held my breath and frantically scrambled for the inevitable.
He was aiming to kick me, and I wouldn’t be fast enough to get up.
All these men seemed so deranged, criminal and violent. Italians? Russians? I couldn’t tell. But they didn’t seem like civilians, like what Fatima guessed.
This man wasn’t right in the head, either angry about the bombing, still intent on wreaking havoc, or so drunk and strung-out that he was oblivious to his behavior. All that mattered in this precise moment was that he’d singled me out as the target of his fury.
Tensing at the threat of his shoe striking me, I gritted my teeth and strained to get up.
But the hit never came. Other impacts of flesh-on-flesh did.
Another man in a suit came to my defense.
Showing up out of nowhere in the chaotic crowded department, this broad-shouldered man rushed to intercept the kick.
With deftly delivered punches and elbowed jabs, he rendered the other guy defenseless.
Instead of slurring at me and kicking me while I was down, he sat on the floor now, groaning, holding his side, and closing his eyes in pain.
Breathing out in a rush, I blinked quickly and fought to get up, to get off the floor where I’d be trampled or worse.
My God. This is a nightmare.
Failing to get my bearings quickly, I mentally chastised myself for being so sheltered to the gritty crime of New York.
“Are you all right?” the man asked.
His voice was curt, but not unkind. Impatient, like he had too much to do. Worried, like he gave a damn whether I was injured. He sounded older, but Americanized and not confusing me with a too-rapid Italian accent or a heavy brogue of a Russian inflection.
As he extended his hand to me to help me off the floor, more shouts sounded from the other end of the hallway. Staring at his polished shoes that bore stains of still-drying blood, I furrowed my brow and banished all the fleeting thoughts of gratitude in my mind.
He was with them, somehow.
He was one of them, all these deviants causing so much commotion and violence in my department.
“Fuck.” He growled it, distracted by the sounds of the fighting at the other end of the hall.
“Dr. Donovon!”
I craned my neck to see Fatima rushing toward me. With her approach, the older man spun on his heel and darted in the direction of the newest fight.
“Are you okay? What happened?” Fatima flung her ponytail over her shoulder as she crouched to assist me.
Taking her hand, I shrugged off the incident and got up. I brushed off my pants and frowned at the man. “I’m all right.”
As if!
I doubted I’d be “all right” until I got done with this shift and was at my new apartment to drink a stiff shot of gin to calm my nerves.
“He bumped into me and that man…” I scrunched my face, turning to see if I could make out the man who’d saved me from a drunken man’s kick.
I hadn’t seen his face, though, so I had no clue which suited thug he was.
“One of the mobsters?” Fatima asked.
Oh, bloody hell… My eyes bugged out. “Mobsters?”
She chuffed once and shook her head as she urged me to get back into the swing of business. “Sometimes, I forget you’re from a whole ’nother world, Doc.”
Mobsters. Oh, my God… I wanted to think that I’d seen it all, but I doubted it.
This simply wasn’t the kind of workplace danger I was used to.
Yet. Walking briskly with her, I listened to which patients were more priority.
I nodded, sticking with her so I wouldn’t get lost in the crowd again.
It wasn’t right to want a coworker with me for protection, but I wasn’t going to risk it.
We worked together, moving from one patient to another, trying to reclaim some order and balance. When the cops showed up, it was more chaotic, but I deferred to the other attendings and residents who were much more desensitized to this kind of a night.
For hours, we all worked as a team to move some to surgery and others to intensive care.
Delegating patients and cases made everything much more streamlined after the initial rush of the large intake process.
But still, I was shaken by it all. The shouting and fighting.
Not understanding what was said. Then falling and almost being kicked.
“That was wild,” I commented at the end of the shift. Jack and Fatima stood at the nurses’ station, going over the reports.
Jack shrugged, not looking up from his chart. “It’s just another night with New York’s finest acting up,” he replied sarcastically.
I raised my brows at his dismissive tone. He was classically handsome and had an excellent reputation as a doctor, but something about his attitude toward the night’s events gave me pause.
“Have you treated those men before?” I asked, catching myself from repeating the label Fatima had used, that they were mobsters.
He shrugged and glanced up. Spotting me watching him, he smiled slowly. “Damn, Claire. You could try to lose that bewildered expression, huh?” He elbowed me playfully as he left the station. “I bet you’ve seen your fair share of fights across the pond.”
“Sure. Of course, I have.” I spent a couple of years in the ER over there too. “But—”
“It’s just part of life here.” He shook his head, walking with me down the hall, less crowded and calmer now. He yawned. “Those Russians always cause a huge backup when they pick a fight on the streets.”
“The Russians?” I furrowed my brow as I stuck my hands in my pockets, easily keeping up with his quick stride since I wasn’t that short.
Our shoes squeaked over the floor as I considered what he’d said.
“The ones who spoke in Russian seemed stable. But the Italians all seemed high and drunk.” Like the one who’d almost kicked me.
“Nah.” He frowned at me. “I didn’t notice them giving anyone trouble.”
I huffed a laugh. Um, no. They sure did. Unable to shake the impression that Jack’s indifference about the violence seemed to carry a prejudice, I stopped at the intersection of the hallway, not heading his way.
“Don’t worry too much about it, lass,” he said with that teasing smile. I’d given up the first week of being here with telling him that was more of an Irish endearment. He might be a wise doctor, but that didn’t necessarily have to mean he knew the difference between Britain proper and Ireland.
I nodded weakly and lifted my hand to wave him off as he exited and bade me goodnight.
Don’t worry about it?
I shook my head, turning back to finish my shift. He might not be bothered by the violence. He might be immune to it.
I, however, lacked the confidence that I’d ever be okay or accepting of such criminals running through my department, making threats and causing hell.
On a full moon night or not.
I’d never stoop so low as to familiarize myself with lowlife criminals like the ones who’d disrupted my shift tonight.
Sure, Jack. Don’t worry about it.
That was most definitely easier said than done.