lost.
I sat at the desk scribbling my notes in the ER’s disheveled and stretcherless Trauma Room. I’d washed my face and neck, but I still had stains on my scrubs from the blood that had leaked around the neck of my gown. The room’s floor had been hurriedly mopped but was still awaiting a proper decontamination. I could see splatters of missed blood. They reminded me of Emily’s apartment, and that solitary arc of AB-negative blood on her wall. Her killer’s blood .
Grace poked her friendly round face through the curtains covering the entry of the room. “Enrique didn’t make it,” she announced softly.
“Yeah.”
“We did all we could,” Grace said soothingly.
“You figure?”
“You secured his airway. There was nothing else you could do, Ben.”
“I should have never told Juan to release his grip on the boy’s neck. He should have gone to the OR with that hand in place.”
“He wasn’t bleeding at that moment.” Grace’s voice wavered before regaining its conviction. “The artery could’ve erupted at any time. You can’t plug a burst pipe with the palm of your hand. You know that.”
“True.” I mustered a smile, grateful for her support but wishing I believed her more. “Thanks, Grace.”
“It’s not your fault, Ben.” She withdrew her head from the gap in the curtains.
I turned back to the chart. Grace had a point. Regardless of my decision to expose his neck, Enrique was unlikely to have survived. The odds had been stacked against him. And long before the knife pierced his neck, too. Enrique wasn’t so much a victim of my medical mismanagement as he was of his unsavory and lethal trade. Fucking junk!
“Dr. Dafoe?” The small voice grabbed my attention through the curtain. It sounded familiar, but I had trouble placing it. “It’s Lara Maxwell. I’m on my way home. The nurse out front said I could find you here.”
“Of course, Lara,” I said, genuinely pleased to hear her. I stood up and pulled back the curtains.
In a T-shirt and sweats, with her hair tied in a ponytail and a mouth full of gum, Lara could have passed for even younger than fourteen. After having seen her suffer through some very adult afflictions, both an overdose and associated heart attack, I was tickled to see the childlike innocence back on her face.
Lara’s jaw fell open as her wide eyes took in the messy surroundings. “Is this where I was…when…after the ambulance?”
“Only for a couple of hours.” I smiled and folded my arms across my chest, conscious of the bloodstains on my scrubs. “A long tense couple of hours, mind you.”
She appeared dumfounded.
“How are you?”
“Good.” She chomped on her gum, unable to take her eyes off the floor. “I’m going home today.”
“I’m glad.”
She looked up at me shyly. “Dr. Dafoe, I just wanted to say thanks again for…” She cleared her throat. “You know…”
“I know.” I nodded. “You’re welcome, Lara. Cases like yours make this job feel worthwhile.”
“That’s good,” she said vaguely. Her eyes fell to the ground again, and her feet shuffled in place.
“Lara? Is there something else?”
“You know what you told me and Isabelle about…um…your brother?”
I tensed at the mention of Aaron. “Yes?”
“Did that one time using drugs…” She cleared her throat again and looked up at me plaintively. “Did it really ruin his life?”
I inhaled slowly. I studied the spatters on the floor. Now they reminded me more of Aaron’s burned and bloodstained car. “I was exaggerating, Lara.”
She squinted at me in confusion. “The drugs didn’t ruin his life?”
“It was more complicated than that,” I said, struggling to explain. “It wasn’t just one time with him. Aaron got heavily into drugs. And if not me, someone else probably would have introduced him to the junk. But it’s still hard not to feel responsible.”
“Okay,” she said, but her eyes begged for more reassurance.
“Lara, you
I sat at the desk scribbling my notes in the ER’s disheveled and stretcherless Trauma Room. I’d washed my face and neck, but I still had stains on my scrubs from the blood that had leaked around the neck of my gown. The room’s floor had been hurriedly mopped but was still awaiting a proper decontamination. I could see splatters of missed blood. They reminded me of Emily’s apartment, and that solitary arc of AB-negative blood on her wall. Her killer’s blood .
Grace poked her friendly round face through the curtains covering the entry of the room. “Enrique didn’t make it,” she announced softly.
“Yeah.”
“We did all we could,” Grace said soothingly.
“You figure?”
“You secured his airway. There was nothing else you could do, Ben.”
“I should have never told Juan to release his grip on the boy’s neck. He should have gone to the OR with that hand in place.”
“He wasn’t bleeding at that moment.” Grace’s voice wavered before regaining its conviction. “The artery could’ve erupted at any time. You can’t plug a burst pipe with the palm of your hand. You know that.”
“True.” I mustered a smile, grateful for her support but wishing I believed her more. “Thanks, Grace.”
“It’s not your fault, Ben.” She withdrew her head from the gap in the curtains.
I turned back to the chart. Grace had a point. Regardless of my decision to expose his neck, Enrique was unlikely to have survived. The odds had been stacked against him. And long before the knife pierced his neck, too. Enrique wasn’t so much a victim of my medical mismanagement as he was of his unsavory and lethal trade. Fucking junk!
“Dr. Dafoe?” The small voice grabbed my attention through the curtain. It sounded familiar, but I had trouble placing it. “It’s Lara Maxwell. I’m on my way home. The nurse out front said I could find you here.”
“Of course, Lara,” I said, genuinely pleased to hear her. I stood up and pulled back the curtains.
In a T-shirt and sweats, with her hair tied in a ponytail and a mouth full of gum, Lara could have passed for even younger than fourteen. After having seen her suffer through some very adult afflictions, both an overdose and associated heart attack, I was tickled to see the childlike innocence back on her face.
Lara’s jaw fell open as her wide eyes took in the messy surroundings. “Is this where I was…when…after the ambulance?”
“Only for a couple of hours.” I smiled and folded my arms across my chest, conscious of the bloodstains on my scrubs. “A long tense couple of hours, mind you.”
She appeared dumfounded.
“How are you?”
“Good.” She chomped on her gum, unable to take her eyes off the floor. “I’m going home today.”
“I’m glad.”
She looked up at me shyly. “Dr. Dafoe, I just wanted to say thanks again for…” She cleared her throat. “You know…”
“I know.” I nodded. “You’re welcome, Lara. Cases like yours make this job feel worthwhile.”
“That’s good,” she said vaguely. Her eyes fell to the ground again, and her feet shuffled in place.
“Lara? Is there something else?”
“You know what you told me and Isabelle about…um…your brother?”
I tensed at the mention of Aaron. “Yes?”
“Did that one time using drugs…” She cleared her throat again and looked up at me plaintively. “Did it really ruin his life?”
I inhaled slowly. I studied the spatters on the floor. Now they reminded me more of Aaron’s burned and bloodstained car. “I was exaggerating, Lara.”
She squinted at me in confusion. “The drugs didn’t ruin his life?”
“It was more complicated than that,” I said, struggling to explain. “It wasn’t just one time with him. Aaron got heavily into drugs. And if not me, someone else probably would have introduced him to the junk. But it’s still hard not to feel responsible.”
“Okay,” she said, but her eyes begged for more reassurance.
“Lara, you
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