Chapter 51 Common Fucking Courtesy
common fucking courtesy
Cian
“Tell me again how this happened.” The social worker and police officer have me in a small room.
“Tell me how my daughter is.”
“Still in observation.”
I look to the ceiling. It may look like I’m acquiescing, but in reality, I’m calculating. This officer is out of jurisdiction. I did nothing illegal… strictly speaking.
Was it untoward? Perhaps.
Does it border on vigilante justice? Maybe.
Would I do it again? In a fucking heartbeat.
“I pulled in front of the vehicle and hit my brakes.” Plain. Simple. Factual. Not illegal.
“And you took the child from a vehicle and drove her here?”
“Yes.”
“And didn’t call in for the driver?”
“Correct.”
“It’s common courtesy to notify emergency services in the event another participant was injured.”
It’s common fucking courtesy not to kidnap my fucking family. But I don’t say that out loud.
“Did someone else call it in?”
“Yes.”
“And the driver?”
“Why do I feel like you’re interrogating us, Mr. Murphy? It’s the other way around.”
“Are you holding me on any charges?”
The two women look between each other. Both shake their heads to each other before the officer says aloud, “No.”
“Then if you need nothing further.” I let myself out of the room.
Where is the driver?
I try Liam again. Still nothing. I want to worry. But there’s no time.
“Mr. Murphy?”
I turn to find another woman. They’re coming out of the woodwork.
“I have some paperwork for you to sign.” She extends an iPad.
I miss the days of paper. There’s no way to read all this legal mumbo-jumbo.
No way to not agree to every little thing that absolves some medical corporation from any and all fault, even if it’s theirs.
This is the legal equivalent of I’m rubber, you’re glue.
Whatever you do, bounces off me and sticks on you.
We’re about one bounce away from medical malpractice and being forced to be okay with it.
I take the device and don’t bother to read anything in front of me. It’s not like they’ll let us out of here if I don’t sign it all anyway. That is, except for one page and I’ll go down swinging.
“No pictures. No video. No images of any kind.” I thrust the device at the administrator.
“But this just means we can take X-rays.”
“No, that means you can prey on my daughter. You want it to mean X-rays, write that. That is not what that says.” I stab at the device. “And the answer is no.”
“But, sir.”
I drop my voice until it’s barely above a whisper. “Not no, but fuck no. No pictures, no video. If you want it mean X-rays, go edit the fucking form. Until you do, my answer will remain, and I will sign nothing.”
“We cannot discharge without you completing the forms.”
“And you cannot hold me prisoner because I won’t give permission for voyeurism. You have no idea what her history is.” I stab myself in the chest with a thumb. “I do. And the answer is no.”
“We will bill you until you complete the forms.”
“Then you will see us in court, and you can explain to a jury of moms and dads, grandparents, teachers, and police officers, how it is you refuse to waive things that make children vulnerable while you unfairly bill the citizens of this state who fund this institution. This is a UC hospital, is it not?”
She says nothing.
I stride down the hall, sliding my phone from my pocket.
Me: Those connections you have with UC Health. I need you to call them in. I’m in Loveland with Renée, and I’m about to cause a shit storm of epic proportions.
Ayla: I love this side of you. It’s like the latent red-headed gene is coming to life.
Christian: Don’t encourage him, Princess. What’s going on, Ci?
Me: Renée is in the ER. Car accident. More soon, but the administrators are threatening me, and it won’t go well with the day I’ve had.
Christian: Give me a couple.
Christian: What can we do?
Ayla: And how is Renée?
Me: Whatever you can do to stop them from requiring pictures and video.
Me: And I don’t know. Working on it.
Me: I can’t find Sariah, and Liam is in the wind.
Ayla: I can be there in an hour.
Me: Will you go let Eleanor out? It hasn’t been too long, but that would scratch one thing off my mental to-do list.
Ayla: Going now. Let me know what you need. Anything, Ci.
I slide my phone back in my pocket and pace until my footprints might become permanent.
“Mr. Murphy?” A nurse queries.
“Yes?”
“Can you come with me?”
At least it’s a nurse and not another officer. Or an attorney. Or an administrator.
“Cian.” My name bursts through my darkening thoughts.
Renée sits on a hospital bed, her right arm in a cast and sling. She has a bandage on her head, and her chin is marred with light bruising.
Her mom is going to kill me. I keep that thought inside because I’m already in enough shit right now. No need to bring more upon myself.
I move with purpose to the bed and fold my arms around Renée, careful with her small, bruised body. Her good arm wraps around my waist.
“You saved me,” she whispers. “Again.”
“Always.”
“Mr. Murphy, Renée has a slight concussion. We’re sending instructions home on how to watch for changes.
She’ll require a check every hour for twenty-four hours.
Please see your family physician or come back to the ER if you have any concerns.
Prescriptions will be called in to the pharmacy on file in her chart. The cast comes off in six weeks.”
“Six weeks?” She acts as if that’s the worst part of this whole ordeal.
If that’s the case, I’m rolling with it.
“Six weeks. The bone needs to set. And at your age, we want to make sure it’s done correctly since you’re still growing.”
I can’t be sure, but I’d swear she grumbles one word under her breath. “Barely.”
The nurse then passes me a folded piece of paper.
UC Hospitals apologizes for the lack of clarity in our paperwork. Thank you for bringing to our attention the concerns for potentially predatory practices. We will review our policies immediately.
It’s signed by the head of the UC System.
Whatever Christian did or said, it was impactful.
“Can she go home?” I ask the nurse.
“She can. Come back if anything feels off though, okay?”
We both agree. We walk through the overly lit, way too institutional-smelling hospital, past admissions, and out the front door.
We’re at the truck when we both realize Renée can’t help herself in alone.
“Need help?”
“Yeah. The angle is all wrong.” She waves her casted arm around while pointing at the handle.
I give her a quick boost and she settles in, figuring out how to buckle in on her own. I round the tailgate, admiring the damage I did, and start the truck when she asks, “Where’s Mom?”
Well, if that isn’t the question of my life.
I turn in my seat, putting my back to the door. “Tell me everything you remember from today when you were taken.”
She does. It’s not detailed. No more than one hundred seconds of her life and her life was altered irrevocably.
The FBI jacket is a detail I hadn’t foreseen. So are the descriptions of the men—one I saw with my own eyes.
“Did they remind you of the men in South Dakota?”
She nods, but then her face twists. “Actually, no. Those men there were thin and had short beards. These were clean shaven, heavy set, and—” She stops. “They didn’t speak the same either.”
I tip my head to the ceiling. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Are you… Are you mad at me?” Her voice is soft and tentative. It scrapes my insides someplace I didn’t know would hurt.
I level my gaze on her. “Not even a little. I’ll make you a promise, Née. I’ll tell you if I’m mad. Not scream or go silent. I’ll tell you, and we can talk out why. Will you do the same for me?”
She scrunches her nose. “I’m not very good at that.”
“Well then, practice on me. It’s a good skill to have in life.”
She shrugs, and I contemplate our choices.
“So here’s the choice I’m facing,” I start. “Your mom’s vehicle—what I think was your mom’s vehicle, anyway—was right in front of yours. It ended up with a cop in pursuit as I got to you.”
“Okay.”
“We didn’t pass it on our way here, so we can go north and see if we see anything. Or we can go home. Home is safer and is what your mom would want me to do to protect you, but—”
“We look for her.”
I smile at her and drop the truck into gear. “We agree, but you promise you’ll tell me if you feel off?”
“I feel icky as it is. I can do that at home or in this car. I choose here.” Her face is resolute.
I dial Liam again…
Still no answer.
We merge onto the highway, and the sun threatens to set behind the mountains. And my mind is not in a better place for it.
By the time we make it to Fort Collins, my knuckles have lost all their color with my grip on the wheel.
The only even-remotely odd thing I see is several police officers in their SUVs at one particular exit. I’m flirting with danger, but I decide to shoot my shot. I slide behind them, engage the hazards, and exit the vehicle.
“Excuse me, officers.”
They settle hands on their gun belts.
No one says anything, so I continue.
“Did a blacked-out SUV come through here making a scene?” I give the make and model and visibly see them go on alert.
“Why?”
“My fiancée and her daughter were kidnapped this afternoon.” I don’t know how much of this I want to reveal, but any news now is better than none.
Here goes transparency. “I was able to save our girl, but the other vehicle got away. It was popped with cherries and berries south of Loveland. I didn’t pursue and went to the hospital instead.
But any information would be welcome… for me and for her daughter.
” I tilt my head to my truck, bathed in the ominous yellow light of its flashers.
One of the officers walks toward me, his hand hovering near his weapon. “What else can you tell us?”
“Very little. Renée told me there were two men, two vehicles. They had FBI jackets on and identified themselves that way, but, unless shit has changed in a bad, bad way, the FBI doesn’t kidnap people bodily.”
“Anything else?”
So much, but I skip that. “I’m just looking for my fiancée.
Our daughter has a concussion and a broken arm.
She got away lightly in comparison, but I still would like to—” I cut myself off and rein in my temper.
“I’d still like to find Sariah.” I pause and splay my hands out at my side.
“Her purse was found in her car. She has no ID, no cell phone. I’m out of my mind.
” I point to the truck. “So much so, I stopped on the side of an interstate in hopes…”
“Check UC ER.”
Another University of Colorado hospital. They’re going to love seeing me again today. “Here?”
He turns over his shoulder. “Chow?”
“Yeah.”
“Let this guy through. Escort him to the ER.”
“Yes, sir.”
I extend a hand. “Thank you.”
He studies me, no doubt memorizing every detail. “Don’t mention it.” He shakes my outstretched hand.
I make my way back to the truck to a wide-eyed Renée and follow the cruiser through the offramp and onto the overpass then wind back streets until we come to an emergency room.
The officer gives a slight wave and continues through the lot back the way he came.
Backing into a spot, I put the car in park and ask the windshield, “Are you good to get out on your own?”
“I think so.”
“I have no clue what we’re walking into in there.” I lift my chin toward the entrance.
“I’ll be okay.”
I prep myself for another emergency room visit in under an hour. “You have Ayla’s number?”
She nods.
I nod back, but to what, I don’t know.