Chapter 4 Nick #2
I’m not sure if she moved her head or it moved on the account of me trying to stimulate her flaccid body. I gave her one hell of a sternal rub. That should have woken her up.
I check her pulse, it’s rapid and thready. Her skin is hot to the touch. She’s in trouble. “Where the fuck is Dr. Bennett?” I snap.
No sooner do I get the words from my mouth, he comes barging in the door. After a quick set of vital signs and focused assessment, he issues orders of his own.
“We have to get her to the emergency room as soon as possible. You start an IV while I prepare to intubate to protect her airway.” He starts pulling medications out of his bag as I start an IV.
I might not be a nurse or doctor, but I’ve had lots of practice starting IVs when my men are brought here after being injured on one of my missions.
Hospitals draw too much public attention and they keep records that can be subpoenaed to court.
Unfortunately, I am going to have to take that risk, this girl is too sick to be treated here.
Dr. Bennett is partially retired. He no longer works for the hospital but has a particular skill set for fixing people who fuck up at night, so he stays on call for me.
“Put these in her IV as fast as you can and push this saline flush in after to make sure there’s none left in the line,” Dr. Bennett orders, handing me the syringes.
Once they’re in, he gets to work intubating and hooking her up to a portable ventilator. Ethan brings in a backboard. We can’t risk dislodging the endotracheal tube by carrying her out of here unstabilized.
Emma is waiting in my parking garage with the SUV. We load the girl in the back, and I climb back there with her and Dr. Bennett, letting Ethan take the front seat.
Dr. Bennett calls the hospital to let them know we’re on our way. I knew a time would come when I would have to get her documents for a new identity, but that time came quicker than expected.
I phone my buddy James in New Orleans and order Ethan to wire the money for an expedited order. $25,000 later, her new identity will be ready in the morning.
Welcome to the family, niece, Emily Ryker.
What the fuck am I doing? My blood boils with annoyance and I clench my jaw.
I pride myself on not being a hero in anyone’s story, but I worked too hard pulling her out of the river.
Risking sacrificing my life for her to lose hers this easily would be a wasted effort if she dies now. I have to see this out.
It’s been three days since we rushed the girl to the hospital. They’ve kept her ventilated and sedated to give her body time to heal. She’s also required multiple antibiotics.
Dr. Bennett said she developed secondary drowning from inhaling river water.
If it wasn’t for him, she might not have made it to the hospital.
He was the chief trauma surgeon here for over thirty years, so they didn’t question his story when he said she’d fallen out of a fishing boat earlier that day.
Ethan brought her new identities yesterday. He’s a genius with technology so, hopefully, he will be able to hack the hospital’s database and wipe her information after this stay because even I can’t fake insurance coverage.
I’ve stayed by her side every day to play the part of the concerned family member whenever the nurses and doctors come in the room as a diversion, hoping my engagement keeps them from studying her too closely.
Her face has been plastered all over the news as a missing person and now is a potential suspect in the explosion. Police identified the body of the person killed as her father.
I even had her nurse teach me how to do her oral care, which I have meticulously done several times a day. Ethan brought his laptop and spent hours scouring her life outside of here.
Her background check came back unremarkable. Twenty-three years old, mother died in car accident, quit school at sixteen, took the GED, worked at a local diner. There aren’t any previous police reports or hospital stays, which isn’t unusual for Whiskey Rivers since most things go unreported there.
Her school record was squeaky clean. Decent grades, fair attendance, never even served a detention. How boring.
I’ll eventually have to do some in-person poking around about her family. Background checks only take you on a paper trail of someone’s life. I’m more interested in uncovering the raw, undocumented story.
The news reported there aren’t any other living family members that they know of. Besides a few friends or acquaintances, nobody would miss her for long.
Looking at her lying there so frail and helpless, the urge to help her is so strong even I can’t deny it. I don’t like the worrying feeling that she might not make it. Normally, I would just dispose of her and save myself the trouble, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to do it.
Her eyes are sunken in and her cheekbones protrude from her face. The hospital gown does little to hide her malnourished figure. I don’t even mean that in an asshole way either. It’s alarming. She got this way from years of neglect.
I didn’t find any trace of track marks on her arms and the doctor confirmed her drug screen was negative. She jumped off a bridge, so she does have mental health issues.
Even so, her condition could be still be involuntary. Everything surrounding this whole situation is irritating me. Mad at myself for saving her, but also mad that I can’t just let her die.
I’ve paced the floor so much over the last hour, I might’ve worn a hole in it. I’ve got to get out of here for a while.
The medical staff are planning on trying to wake her up and pull her breathing tube. They said she might panic when they lower the sedation, and extubation could take a few tries.
Even though I’ve been at her side since she got here, it’s best for someone else to be here when they wake her up. I’ve seen the fear in the girl’s eyes when she looks at me.
Her fear of men likely runs deep. I stop at the door, turning around to get another glance before I leave. I watch for a few seconds as the machine pushes air into her lungs, keeping the rise and fall of her chest at a normal pattern, then quietly shut the door behind me.