Luckily, we aren’t far from Mercy, so the response time is quick. Before I know it, lights and sirens surround us, cops are directing traffic, and the injured biker is getting lifted into the back of the bus.
“Scottie!” I yell to one of the officers on the scene. “Can you move my car? I’m going with! Keys are in the ignition!”
He gives me a salute and continues to take statements. Between my aunt being a well-respected detective in town and me working night shifts in the ER, I know almost every police officer in the area.
The doors close and the ambulance pulls off as the other two medics and I work on John Doe. We start a line and stabilize him. I worry about his blood pressure, which is dangerously low.
The ride back to Mercy takes mere minutes, and when the ambulance doors swing open in front of the ER, Dr. Hale, the attending physician, and two male nurses are awaiting our arrival. One of the medics recites John Doe’s stats, then hands him off.
“Back so soon, Kayla?” Dr. Hale asks as we wheel the unconscious patient down the hallway. She’s a well-kept, middle-aged woman, who quickly became a role model for me when I started at Mercy.
“You know me.” I smile at her. “I just can’t stay away.”
On the way to the exam room, I grab a fresh gown and a pair of gloves. No way am I not seeing this through.
Once in the room, we transfer the unconscious man from the gurney onto the bed and immediately X-ray him. He’s still fully dressed— helmet and all— minus the huge rip in his pants. We can’t remove the helmet until we know he has no spinal injuries.
Dr. Lipschitz enters the room as Dr. Hale examines the X-rays. Dr. Lipschitz is the trauma surgeon on duty and immediately begins to close the gaping wound in the man’s thigh. It takes several heart-pounding minutes to sew it shut, but he does so beautifully. He’s a brilliant doctor, but a grade-A, Ivy League asshole. We all keep our distance. Once he’s done, he drops the instruments and leaves the room without so much as a word.
Freddy and Lex—the two other nurses—and I all exchange the same communicative glance. Douchebag.
“Spine and CT is clear!” Dr. Hale suddenly announces. “But his leg is seriously messed up.” She places the films up on the screen.
Ouch. Both bones in his lower leg are broken and wrapped around each other.
“Get that helmet off, and let’s wrap this guy. Lex, twenty of morphine. Unconscious or not, this is going to hurt.”
Lex, Freddy, and I all take on our respective roles. Lex administers the ordered meds, Freddy cuts the man out of his clothes, and I remove his helmet. After which I nearly drop it.
“Dev?” I gasp.
“That’s not Dev.” Freddy looks at the man on the table, almost star-struck.
“Then who the hell is it?” Dr. Hale demands.
“It’s the phantom.”
“Who?” Dr. Hale and I both respond in unison.
“That’s Reese Dane. Dr. Dane’s twin brother. He’s a legend, on and off the track,” Freddy divulges.
“Track? What the hell are you talking about?” Dr. Hale asks, utterly confused.
“He’s a motorcycle racer. World famous, badass, Moto Grand Prix champion.”
“Why do you call him the phantom?” I ask.
Both Freddy and Lex look up at me and smirk. “Because you never see him coming, baby.” Lex flashes an overconfident smile. “He sneaks up on you just like a ghost.”
I roll my eyes so hard they nearly get lost in my head. Just what the world needs, a second Dane with an even bigger ego.
“Contact Dr. Dane,” Dr. Hale instructs Lex. “I’m sure he’ll want to know his brother has been in an accident. As for you two, let’s get Mr. Dane patched up and into recovery.”
We all nod at the doctor’s orders.
It takes close to an hour to reposition the bones in Reese’s leg and then cast him. On top of his injured lower extremities, he also had a dislocated shoulder that we needed to be popped back into place. All in all, it wasn’t the worst motorcycle accident I’ve seen. He managed to hang onto his life.
“Mr. Dane won’t be doing much racing.” Dr. Hale pulls off her gloves and discards them.
