Prologue
ST. AUGUSTINE
Thursday night, just before midnight
Prologue
"Help—please,you have to send someone now!"
Will's voice crackled over the phone line, his usual composure shattered into a thousand sharp-edged fragments.
"Sir, I need you to calm down and tell me what's happening," the dispatcher's voice, steady and clear, cut through the static.
"Angela—my wife—she's… she's not moving. She’s lying at the bottom of the stairs. I think she must have fallen. There's so much blood." The words tumbled out in a rush, each one punctuated by the ragged edge of panic.
"Is she breathing?"
"Can't… I don’t think so. I don't know. God, please. I can… I can feel a pulse. I think she’s still alive, but I…."
"An ambulance is on the way. What's your address?"
"16… 164 Hawthorne Road. Hurry!"
"Stay with me, sir. Help is coming."
"Please, faster!" Will's plea was a whisper, a prayer flung into the void as he stared at his son, who was crying for his mother to wake up.
"Her eyes… they're open, but she's not…. Why isn't she looking at me?" Will's voice hitched as he knelt beside Angela,her body crumpled unnaturally. “I should be able to fix this. Fix her. I'm a doctor, damn it!" His voice rose, a crescendo of helplessness and self-reproach.
"Will, you’re doing great. We're trained for this. Tell me, is there anything obstructing her airway?"
"Obstructing? No, no obstructions. Just blood. So much blood… she must have hit her head on the way down the stairs or something." His sentences were breaking, fracturing under the weight of the scene before him.
"Keep talking to me, Will. Paramedics are en route. Can you press gently on her forehead, tilt her chin up?"
His hands, which had healed so many sick children, now trembled uncontrollably as they followed the dispatcher's calm commands. He couldn’t think straight. Panic rushed through him like a wildfire. "It's done."
"Good. Now, place your ear close to her mouth. Do you feel any breath?"
"I do. I do feel it. But it’s so weak…. This can't be?—"
"Stay with me. Check again for a pulse, carotid artery, gently on the side of her neck."
"Checking… I feel it. It’s weak, though. Dear God, Angela…."
"Will, listen to my voice. Help is almost there. You're not alone."
"Please, just get them here! She needs help. I need help." His plea was raw, exposed nerves laid bare.
"Help is coming, Will. Stay with me. Stay with Angela. You're doing everything right."
"Angela, please," he whispered, his polished exterior splintered by the chaos of emotion, the relentless ticking of time.
"Angela… she's so pale, the color just—gone," Will choked out, the words a jagged shard in his throat. "She won't wake up. I can’t?—"
"Will, help is on the way. They'll be there any minute," the voice cut through the line, steady as an anchor in stormy seas.
"Minutes? No, that’s—it's not fast enough!" His voice cracked with the tension that wired his every muscle. "She doesn't have minutes!"
