As I’m wrapping the cuff around his bicep, he stirs. His head trembles on his neck as he fights to lift it. His eyes meet mine, the right one is filled with blood from a broken vessel. “Help me,” he whispers. Then he vomits.
“Jesus fuck,” one of the soldiers barks, hopping back out of the splash zone.
I grit my teeth and concentrate on getting through this. “His blood pressure and pulse are elevated.” Which isn’t surprising at all.
His head is jerking, agitated and delirious. “Somethings kicking… my guts,” he mumbles. “Just… kill me.”
“Just tell us the name of the shooter, Joey,” Rocco growls. “Then your pain will end. I promise you.”
I glance up at Rocco.This guy knows the name of the shooter?Then he may be the answer to whether Michael has found me or not. Yeah, I’ve got to keep him alive.
The man’s head wobbles as he struggles to look at Rocco. His mouth opens. Then his head falls as he passes out. Again.
“Huh, I think he was actually going to give up his buddy that time,” one of the soldiers says.
Rocco runs a hand through his thick, dark waves, damp with sweat as his pissed off gaze swings to me. “Bring him back.”
Panic flutters in my chest. I know if this man dies right now, not only won’t I find out if I was the target, but I also could lose this job. Rocco has a temper and doesn’t waste time with people who can’t do what needs to be done.
I take stock of the man’s condition. He’s obviously been beaten severely. With his comment about the internal pain, he could have an injured spleen, liver… kidney. The red bucket next to his feet catches my eye, and I walk around to glance into it. There are a few ounces of dark brown liquid.
I wipe sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm and point to the bucket. “Is this his urine output? How long has he been held?”
“That’s his piss, yeah.” Rocco glances at the steel Panerai Luminor on his wrist, wipes off some blood splatter. “About ten hours.”
Shit.I return to my roller bag and dig through for the tubing, needle and fluid bag. “His muscle cells have broken down from the beating, releasing toxins into his bloodstream. If I don’t get his kidneys flushed immediately, he doesn’t have much time left.” I’m talking out loud mostly to keep focused on the task at hand. Nothing else matters right now except making sure this man keeps breathing.
I wave off the soldiers. “Step back, please.” He's obviously dehydrated. I check the crease in his elbow first, tapping and pressing there to try to get a vein to rise. They’re all collapsed. My training is kicking in, and I’m moving on autopilot. I grab hishand. It’s swollen, all the fingers are bruised, two are unnatural angles.
Don’t think. Don’t think.Just work.
I move to the other hand. Slapping his forearm, I eye a puffy blue vein above his knuckle. It looks good.
I don’t bother cleaning the area, and I’m not sure what it says about me that my hands are steady as I thread an 18-gauge IV catheter into the vein and tape it down. I hold up the IV bag full of saline solution. “I need something to hang this on.”
Rocco snaps his fingers at one of the soldiers. He rushes to the other side of the warehouse and rolls over a clothing rack. I hook the bag on it.
Removing my gloves, I toss them in the large trash bin against the wall, then walk back to Rocco, who’s standing with his arms crossed watching me carefully. “He’s going to need three to six liters over the next few hours. I’ll leave three bags. You need to change them out and leave him alone for at least six hours, or you’ll need a body bag, not a doctor.”
With a ghost of a smirk, he motions one of the soldiers over. “All right, Doc. Show Carl here how to change it.” Then he turns to one of the other soldiers, who looks about eighteen with his lanky joints and acne. “Sal, you take the next shift.”
I show Carl and Sal how to close the roller clamp, insert the spike in the new IV bag’s port, pushing and twisting it firmly until it’s seated, and then open the roller clamp until fluid starts dripping through the drip chamber. I squeeze the drip chamber slightly to fill it halfway as I say, “Just watch for air bubbles.” Then flick the line with two fingers to show them how to clear the bubbles. “Any questions?”
Sal shakes his head but there’s no confidence there. Carl shrugs, taking his new role in stride. “Seems easy enough.”
“Right. It is. Just keep it high, keep it flowing.” I let my gaze rest on the broken man. It’s the least I can do… bear witness to his pain, see him as a human being. Maybe I can also grant him a little bit of comfort. I turn to Rocco. “It would help if you let him lay flat while he’s getting fluids. Keep him warm.”
Rocco doesn’t question my authority, which I appreciate. He just nods to his men, and they begin to pull him down from his restraints.
They lay him on the cold cement floor, which I guess is an improvement. Sal grabs a furniture cover from somewhere in the warehouse and drapes it over him.
Satisfied, I meet Rocco’s gaze. I’ve seen his gray eyes sparkling with humor before but right now they’re flat and cold. The hair stands up on the back of my neck, and my fight or flight kicks in. Time to go. “Call me if he gets worse. I’ll be back in the morning to check on him.”
Standing under a hot shower at home, I finally break down, collapsing under the emotional weight of seeing a human being in unbearable pain and not being able to help him.
My sobs come from deep in my soul and echo off the tile until the water grows cold. Exhausted and empty, I wrap myself up in a robe and set my alarm for four hours from now so I can return to the warehouse.
I’m torn between hoping the man will be alive so I can finally know if I was the target, or hoping he’s dead so his suffering is over. How did this become my life?
