With my fitted power suit, killer heels, and hair tied up in a ponytail, I look in the refrigerator, scanning the shelves for something to make. I grab some cold brew and leftover chicken and veggies I made before Sonny and I went out last night. Packing everything in my go bag, I make room for a protein bar, an extra set of clothes, and my insulated water bottle. Setting my bag by the door, I walk towards Sonny’s office and see the light on. I lightly knock on the door and he whispers, “Come in.”
“Hi, I just wanted to tell you I’m off to my shift. How was everything with your mom?” I hesitantly ask.
“It’s almost 11:00 a.m. already? Um, everything was as I expected. Mom was very quiet at first. I’m sure she was reeling from all the details, but ultimately, she finally admitted that she was free. That she only stayed for me because she knew that he would target me if she divorced me. We had a very long talk, and I’m honestly exhausted, but work called to let me know we have a new case. Something about drug overdoses skyrocketing. They have an informant who was working with them, but he vanished.I don’t even know anymore. My heart doesn’t feel married to this job anymore, Low. Especially after everything last night. I just don’t know. I think I might resign. The assistant D.A. can take over. Anyway, my term was already ending in two months.” I let Sonny vent everything he’s feeling, because I know he has no one to talk about this besides me.
“Wow, S. That’s a lot. I really admire your mother’s strength. She’s a tough woman and I hope to be just as resilient as she is one day. As for the other stuff, just sit on it, S. Tell your office you’re taking personal time because of your father’s ‘sudden’ death and take the time to think everything over. You need to take some time off. I want to talk more about this, but I have to go. I’ll see you after work and we can talk more. I love you. Always. Forever.”
“I love you, too. Until the end of time. By the way, you look beautiful.” He slightly smirks. I blow him a kiss and walk out of the room, closing the door behind me. I grab my bag and keys to my 1967 Ford Mustang and go to our private elevator.
“Buenas tardes, Mr. Martinez,” I say, waving to the parking attendant. Mr. Martinez has been here forever and he’s the sweetest man. He’s old enough to be my dad but, of course, much more handsome with his salt and pepper hair, looking like the silver fox he is.
“When are you going to go out with me, Miss Willow?” he asks. I laugh and shake my head. I swear, this man is married and still flirts like a single man. That’s both the Texas and Mexican charm showing.
“I don’t think Mrs. Martinez will like that, and you know you’d do everything to please her.”
“Oh, of course. She’s the love of my life. That woman puts up with me and I’ll never let her go,” he says, moving his right handin the form of a cross on his body and kissing his fingertips as a sign of hope that God doesn’t let that happen.
“Te veré más tarde. Tengo que ir a trabajar.” I wave, head to my reserved spot, and feast my eyes on my red beauty. Using my keys, I open the door, set my bag on the passenger seat, and insert the keys in the ignition. My baby purrs to life, and as I push on the gas, that V8 engine roars, sounding so glorious. Buckling in, I put the car in reverse and peel out on my way to Las Palmas Medical Center, the most prestigious hospital in El Paso.
The traffic is light and I make it to work with thirty minutes to spare. Changing into my scrubs, I grab my badge and scan entry to the emergency room. Let’s hope I have a great day on shift today.
“What do we got?” I yell out as the paramedics bring a bloody man on a stretcher through the doors.
“James McCall, forty-eight years old, fell out of a four-story window. He has a skull fracture, broken femur, and blunt force trauma to the body. He’s been in and out of consciousness, has consistent hypotension after two liters of saline, and his pulse is at 130.”
“One, two, three,” the head nurse, Lindsey, says. We transfer him from the gurney to the new bed and the paramedics clear out of the room. Lindsey is a real pain in the ass, but she runs this ER efficiently, so I don’t ever complain when she’s in a mood.
“Alright, let’s hang two units of blood on the infuser. I need a trauma panel and X-ray. Get me the ultrasound and somebody page Dr. Nimz,” I order. Dr. Oliver Nimz is a hotshot neurosurgeon from Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago who transferred over about a year ago. At first, I didn’t love his cocky attitude, but he most definitely backed it up when he saved a little girl with an inoperable tumor a couple of months ago. He’s been trying to ask me out on a date for the past six months, but I don’t shit where I eat. That doesn’t stop his semi-persistent asking, and if he continues, I will have to put him in his place.
“Sir, can you tell me your name?” Dr. Reid Johnson, my friend and the only other doctor I love down here, asks as he checks the man’s pupils. He’s the sweetest, always ensuring that I have what I need, whether it’s a helping hand or an extra energy drink to keep me awake during our overnight shifts.
“Please… Help… Cat… Cartel,” Mr. McCall mumbles. Cutting the patient’s shirt to determine his wounds, I grab the ultrasound wand and gel, squirting a fair amount on the patient’s belly.
“Right upper quadrant is clear. Moving to the right lower quadrant and it is… clear. The left lower quadrant is clear. The left upper quadrant has free fluid. Looks like he has a ruptured spleen. We need a CT scan ASAP!” I demand, wiping the gel from the patient’s stomach.
“Limited response. Pupils are. Oh, fuck, one’s blown. Let’s get him up to surgery immediately. Move, move, move!” Johnson barks. We quickly lift the rails to the gurney and move him towards the elevator.
“Page Dr. Nimz again!” I yell toward my friend, Spencer, the best ER nurse in El Paso. Reid and I press the floor button for surgery and immediately close the doors.
“Cartel. Plea—” Mr. McCall tries to say when he starts having a seizure. Johnson and I grab him, turn on his side, and keep him in place so he doesn’t hurt himself.
The doors open and Dr. Nimz and his intern, Dr. Jane Remington—who looks like a mini Dr. Nimz—tread forward, grasping the front of the gurney as the patient stops convulsing.
“What happened?” Dr. Nimz asked. “He just started seizing in the elevator. He has a ruptured spleen, open skull fracture, blunt force trauma body, and a broken femur. He keeps trying to talk, but he honestly doesn’t make sense. Update us when you’re done. Please,” I plead, looking towards Nimz. He nods and I dispose of my gloves in the nearest room.
Johnson and I make our way back down and press the button on the elevator panel to the ER floor. I take a moment to close my eyes, take a breath in and out, center myself, and bring my heart rate to normal.
“Are you okay, Hayden? I know that was a lot, but what’s going on?” Johnson asks. He turns to face me and places his hand on my shoulder for comfort.
“I don’t know. I think him falling off a four-story building and being beaten like that is a little crazy to see. And did you hear what he was trying to say?”
“I think he was saying ‘cat cartel,’ but I mean, he did have head trauma. It could’ve been something else?”
Shaking my head, I grab his hand and squeeze it, indicating I’m okay, and he releases his hold on me. “I promise I’m okay. It just messed with me a bit. Let’s go back to work.”
The elevator doors open and I see my dad talking to Spencer. Quickly, I walk towards them, interrupting their conversation, and my friend excuses herself as she goes back to work.
“What happened, Dad? Why are you here?” I question.
