Deep Night (11 page)

Her first instinct was to run away even as a part of her wanted to follow him…find him…confront him. But her rubbery legs refused to carry her in the direction he had gone. And yet, she couldn't stay here and risk him coming back. Even after all these years he had the ability, with just a look, to terrify her and make her feel helpless and weak.

A shadow crossed the doorway and she whimpered. The curtains pushed all the way open, and a man stepped into the small room.

“Sara, I thought you were supposed to be taking care of the patients…not becoming one.” Dr. Feeney, fresh out of med school, young, thin and exhausted, greeted her with a smile.

Slowly, she willed her breathing to slow and her heart rate to lower. “It wasn't exactly how I planned on spending my evening,” she told him. “I'm sure it's nothing. You know how head wounds are…even the small cuts bleed like crazy.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” He pulled on gloves and peeled off the soggy bandage. He took antiseptic-soaked cotton balls and swabbed the wound, trying to clean the area so he could check the cut. “Hmm, how did this happen?” he asked.

“Patient didn't want to be transported. She knocked me down, and I hit my head on something.”

“How long has it been since you had a tetanus shot?”

“Three years ago, when I started med school.”

“Good, you should be safe. I'll get the nurse to give you a shot to numb the wound, then I'll come back to stitch you up.”

“Great,” she muttered with a total lack of enthusiasm. Everyone knew that doctors made the worst patients, and medics weren't far behind.

The nurse returned and shot a dose of topical anesthetic into Sara's forehead. “Just relax, honey. It'll start feeling better soon. But then, I don't have to tell you that, do I? Let me get a check of your vitals while we're waiting.” The nurse pulled the blood pressure cart closer and strapped the cuff on Sara's arm.

Chris peered into the cubicle. “Can I come in?”

“Oh hi, Chris,” the nurse greeted him. There were almost three hundred paramedics working for the city of Denver. But they all worked out of Denver Health, so the nurses and most of the doctors knew them by name.

“How's our patient?” Sara asked.

“All tucked into her room with a shiny pair of handcuffs locking her to the bed. Sam's still with her.” Chris leaned closer and looked at her forehead, which continued to drip blood. “Stitches, huh? I called that one.”

“Shut up.”

“Grumpy patient.” He laughed, and sat on the chair next to the bed.

“You could be cleaning out the bus,” she told him.

“I could, but I really want to watch the doctor in action. You know, compare my technique.”

“You have experience with stitches?” She didn't know why that surprised her. Somehow she thought field medics focused on stopping blood loss and saving lives. It was the first time she realized she didn't know much about his time over there. He talked about meaningless things like the weather and the food, but nothing too personal or specific. Nothing about the horrors or the pain. Nothing about the terror of never knowing when an attack was coming or if a bullet had his name on it. Nothing about the profound sadness of losing a buddy or having a soldier die in his arms.

Sara looked over at this man she'd thought she knew so well. His shaggy brown hair made him look even younger than his twenty-seven years and his eyes twinkled with humor. But as she looked closer, she saw there was a hollowness in their stormy blue-gray depths. This boy she had grown up with…this man she cared so much for…this medic who was her partner…she didn't know him at all.

“I don't miss work.” She stood and immediately sat back down as white lights streaked behind her eyes and the room whirled around her.

“Today you do,” Chris picked up the bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water and brought them to her. “The doctor said you should take it easy for twenty-four hours.”

“I'll let you do all the hard work,” she promised with a little half-smile.

“You have a mild concussion and stitches…not to mention that you'd frighten our patients with that goose egg on your forehead.”

Her fingers gingerly probed the swollen, bruised mound over her right eye. She hadn't actually looked in the mirror today, mostly because the lights in the bathroom were too bright and triggered her headache. Actually, she hadn't moved from the couch all day. Chris had sat with her, but he wimped out after a couple of hours and dozed in the chair. She, too, had slept until the shooting pains radiating from her head woke her up.

“Maybe you're right. These stitches hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“Haven't you ever had stitches before?”

“I broke my wrist when I was twelve, but I've never had stitches before.”

“I remember that. You were riding on the handlebars of my bike when I hit a pothole.”

“We both flew over the front of the bike, and you landed on me.” Sara massaged her left wrist as if thinking about the old injury made it hurt again.

“Hey…thanks for that,” he joked.

“It ruined my summer. I had a cast on until the middle of August. I never even got to go swimming that year.”

“That sucked. That was the year the Murphys put in their pool.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” She frowned, then groaned. “Go away. You're not helping.”

“Can I get you anything before I leave?”

“No, I'm just going to watch TV.”

“Do you want the lights off or on?”

“On!” She realized she had answered too quickly and too loudly. In a lower voice, she added, “Leave the lights in the kitchen and bathroom on. I don't want to bump into anything if I get something to eat.”

“I'll swing by here and check on you if I can,” Chris promised. He walked to the door. “Call if you need anything.”

“Yeah…9-1-1. I know the number.” She relaxed back on the couch and closed her eyes. The door shut behind him, followed by the solid thunk of the deadbolt as he locked the door. That little noise was ridiculously reassuring. Unless someone had a very tall ladder and wanted to risk being seen by anyone on the street, there was no way to get into her apartment except through that door. The lock with its two-inch deadbolt was the only real modification she had made to the apartment since she moved in. The door itself was heavy metal, as was the frame, so it wasn't likely someone could bust through it…which was probably the only reason she ever slept at all.

She had to admit that the blinds were wonderful. They provided absolute privacy while still letting the sunshine in during the day and the moonlight at night. It wasn't something she had worried about until she saw the man on the corner.

Was he out there right now, trying to spy on her? As much as she wanted to know, she couldn't bring herself to sit up and peek out. If she didn't actually see him, she could believe he wasn't out there. And she desperately needed to believe that.

The cut on her forehead throbbed with every beat of her heart, making it impossible to ignore. She wished she had something stronger than Tylenol, but none of the medics carried drugs of any kind home with them. Too bad. She was even having second thoughts about medicinal marijuana.

Chris had mentioned he'd checked with Sam, and the woman from last night hadn't had any drugs in her system. Of course, the bad news was, that meant she was bat-shit crazy. It was simpler to treat drug addiction than to try to fix insanity.

Silly woman, she thought she was in love with the schmuck in the running shorts. Love made people do stupid things.

That was one of the mysteries of life, as far as Sara was concerned. She had never been in love, and doubted she ever would be. She had seen what love did to her parents. It left her mother crying and unhappy, and it made her father run away. Sara didn't want to allow another person to hurt her like her father had hurt her mother…and like he had hurt her…all in the name of love. She would never let someone have that power over her again.

It was going to be a long shift. Chris glanced over at the man sleeping in the passenger seat. Bus-rattling snores came out of his slack mouth, starting with a rumbling growl and ending with a bubbly nasal whistle. The man's name was Denny, and he had an excellent reputation as a paramedic. He really knew his shit, as far as medicine was concerned, but his people skills were sketchy. He had been with Denver EMS for more than twenty years and had an unusually large number of partners. With Denny's snoring, flatulence and inability to carry on a conversation, most medics would bid out of desirable shifts just to avoid being paired with him.

This was Chris's first time riding with the man. Of course, Chris had heard the rumors, but he assumed they were exaggerated. Not anymore. Actually, six hours into the shift, he realized they'd been kind.

And so they sat in the park with their windows rolled down, and Denny making enough noise to cause the wolves in the zoo nearby to howl nervously. Chris had never missed Sara more.

He hoped she was getting some rest, but he suspected she wasn't. There was something about nighttime that kept her wide awake. He was beginning to suspect it had less to do with the circadian thing she believed so strongly in and more to do with a secret ancestor named Dracula.

That thought made him smile. She'd make a sexy little vampire. She could bite his neck any time she wanted.

Not that she would…not even for fun.

He hadn't moved in with her thinking there would be any benefits other than splitting the rent. But now, hooking up with her was all he could think about. Which was ridiculous because she wasn't offering even a hint of encouragement, and there were a lot more females who actually wanted his attention. There was a napkin on his dresser with Mandy's phone number. Why hadn't he called her? She was beautiful, hot and willing to at least go out with him. He would call her, he told himself with resolve. All he needed was some female companionship with someone who just wanted to chill and have a good time. At this point, almost anyone would do. And yet, his thoughts lingered on Sara.

He looked at his watch. It wasn't even four o'clock yet. They'd had only one call so far tonight, and even the dispatchers were silent for minutes at a time. Was everyone behaving tonight? No knife fights or bar rumbles? No domestics or heart attacks?

“One-car accident at 6th and Galapago, driver unconscious. RP said there is a needle sticking out of driver's arm. Sending Fire, PD and EMS. Ambulance 25, please respond code 10.”

Miraculously, Denny snapped awake. He had slept through all the chatter on the radio until their call came through. It must be some sort of special skill honed from years on the job. Or maybe he had been faking his naps to avoid making conversation. Denny grabbed the microphone and mumbled a reply, then switched on the lights and siren. “Whatcha waiting on, boy?”

Chris had already started the ambulance and was rolling forward, so he assumed the comment was rhetorical.

There was none of the breezy chatter like with Sara as they streaked through the night, safely, but as fast as they dared. As they approached, Chris saw that the front end of the car was crunched in a deep V-shape on the light pole. Several firemen were monitoring the vehicle to make sure there wasn't a fuel leak, while another had opened the door and was checking the driver's vitals. The air bag had deployed, and while there was quite a bit of damage to his face, he appeared to still be alive.

Chris and Denny unloaded the gurney and rolled it next to the wrecked car. Carefully, they strapped the cervical collar on the man's neck, transferred him to a backboard, and then carried him to the stretcher. A police officer took a photograph of the needle sticking in the man's arm before pulling it out and dropping it into a plastic container.

It was obvious by the marks on the man's arms that this wasn't the first needle he'd stuck in himself. Denny prepared a syringe of Narcan.

“Better strap him down. He's going to wake up hot,” Denny instructed.

Knowing that was highly likely, Chris stretched the restraints over the man and fastened them snugly.

Denny inserted the needle, and as expected, the man would have bolted upright had he not been strapped down. Not knowing the extent of his injuries from the crash, it was important to keep him as immobile as possible.

“I'm riding in with you guys,” the cop said. “There's a shitload of drugs and cash under the seat.”

“It's not mine,” the man stated defensively as he tried to focus his dilated pupils on the cop.

“Somehow, I knew you'd say that,” the cop told him without any trace of sympathy.

Chris and Denny loaded the gurney into the bus, and Denny and the cop climbed into the back. It was a short ride to Denver Health. The man was quickly checked in and his straps were replaced with handcuffs.

Denny never said another word during the rest of the shift, even when they went on a heart attack call. It was like working with a robot. Chris was delighted when the night was over. He stopped by McDonald's and picked up a few breakfast sandwiches on his way home, eager to get back to his much more personable partner.

The kitchen and bathroom lights and the TV were still on, but Sara was sound asleep, curled up on the couch. Chris figured the room was light enough to keep her from panicking when she awoke, so he turned everything off except the TV, which was obviously replacing her usual wave noise. He put her egg-white McMuffin in the refrigerator and gobbled down his two bacon, egg and cheese biscuits while sitting on the chair next to the couch. He was so anxious to share his night with her. He knew she'd laugh about Denny's eccentricities and the drug dealer who had sampled too much product and wrecked his car in front of a church. Most of all, he wanted her back in the passenger seat next to him. He loved being a paramedic, but it just wasn't as much fun without her.

He felt kind of pervy watching her sleep, so he took a shower and changed into sweatpants and a white T-shirt. He knew he should go work out, but he had an exam later in the day, and he needed a few hours' sleep before then. As he was plugging in his phone, he noticed a missed call and a voicemail. He clicked on play and heard Miller's voice saying that he hadn't gotten the job, but he had seen another sign for a car wash attendant and was applying tomorrow. Chris knew Miller didn't have a phone, so he assumed the call had been made from a pay phone. He deleted the message and made a mental note to try to stop by and see his buddy before work tomorrow.

Chris checked on Sara again, but she was still asleep. Gently, he pulled a lightweight blanket over her. When she didn't stir, he returned to his bedroom and climbed into bed.

“You look good with bangs,” he commented to Sara as they sat in the park, waiting for their next call.

Self-consciously, she reached up and fluffed the hair she had cut so it would hide the flesh-colored bandage that didn't blend in at all with the bruised purple of her forehead. “I haven't had bangs since I was a kid. They make me look like I'm twelve.”

He told her about his experiences last night with Denny, and she gave him an
I warned you
look. “You're a lot cuter than he is,” Chris teased.

“I would be flattered, but that's not really a big deal considering he's in his forties, balding and with skin the color of glue.”

“Give a girl a compliment and it goes to her head,” he teased.

“How did you do on your test today?”

“Fine, I think. How about you?”

“Thank goodness it was a subject I knew well, because I couldn't concentrate enough to study,” she told him.

“But you're better tonight, right?” He stared at her as if he could detect any signs of weakness.

“I feel much better. Honestly. But I'm letting you take the lead tonight, just in case my brain is still a little fuzzy.”

A feeling of relief swept over him. He'd been worried she would miss another night, and he wasn't sure he could survive another shift with Denny. With Sara next to him, all was right with the world.