“Don’t take her!” Caleb jerked back, his body shielding the girl. The movement was primal, the reaction of a creature that had learned that taking meant hurting.
“I won’t take her away, I promise,” Sarah said, her hands hovering, palms up. “But I need to see her face. Is she breathing?”
That was the question that broke him. Caleb looked down at the bundle in his arms, his lower lip trembling. “I don’t know.”
Dr. Patel, the attending physician, emerged from Trauma Bay 2. She took in the scene instantly: the barefoot boy, the unconscious sibling, the aura of violence that clung to them like cigarette smoke. She didn’t run; she moved with a fluid, hypnotic calmness designed to de-escalate panic.
“My name is Dr. Patel,” she said softly, kneeling so she was smaller than Caleb. “You’ve done a very brave thing bringing her here. But now my job starts. I need you to be my partner. Can you put her on this gurney so I can listen to her heart? You can hold her hand the whole time.”
Caleb hesitated, his eyes darting to the security guard, then back to the doctor. He searched Dr. Patel’s face for a lie. Finding none, he nodded once.
He lowered Eliana onto the crisp white sheets. She was limp, her skin pale and translucent, a stark contrast to the angry purple bruise mottling her collarbone.
As the medical team swarmed—calling out vitals, checking pupils, cutting away the dirty onesie—Dr. Patel guided Caleb a few feet away, though she kept her promise, allowing him to keep a hand on Ellie’s ankle.
“Pulse is weak but steady,” a nurse called out. “Respiration shallow.”
Read more:
