by Louisa Luna
Cap felt a cool cover of sweat spread on his forehead and held on to the bed rail for support. Slowly he stood, took some breaths. He glanced around the room, figured he seemed confused because Posada asked, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” said Cap. “Just can’t find my clothes.”
Posada frowned slightly.
“That’s strange. Maybe they didn’t make it up from the ER. I’ll have a girl bring them up,” he said, standing.
“Okay, thanks,” said Cap, feeling a little less sure of his physical stability. “Could you see if there’s a nurse out there to take out the IV?”
“Of course,” said Posada, extending his hand once more. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Caplan. Please remember what I said about standing up too quickly.”
Cap shook his hand, and then Posada was gone, shutting the door behind him. Cap walked around the room, pulling the IV stand with him, examining every surface where his clothes might have been left, checked behind the drapes. He squatted down and looked under the bed.
He touched his head where the burn was, felt the slick of whatever antibiotic ointment had been applied. The image of Rafa came to him in a jolt, and he sat on the bed, remembering the feeling of the electricity in his bones. He examined his hands again, turned his head to the closed door, thought, Vega, where are you?
* * *
—
Try the thing that makes the most sense first.
That was Vega’s line of thinking. Why treat the situation hostilely until she knew it was hostile? Maybe Otero was just worried about her and wanted her to have extra security. Maybe the staff really did just leave her clothes in Triage. Maybe.
She opened the door.
“Can we help you, ma’am?” said the white cop again.
“Hope so,” she said, smiling amiably. “I have to leave, but I need my clothes first.”
She added a little laugh to that, like losing her clothes was something she did regularly.
Both cops smiled back, friendly as they could be. They looked at each other to decide who would speak first.
“Yeah, the nurse hasn’t come up yet,” said the black cop. “We’ll be right here with you until she’s back.”
“I appreciate the company,” said Vega. “But I’d like to walk around the floor if you don’t mind.”
The white cop opened his mouth to speak, and Vega cut him off.
“See, my mom died in a hospital, and up until about a week before that she liked to walk around the floor, do a lap, you know? It helped her muscles not ache, and I think it might help my injury,” Vega said, gesturing to her side. “I’m not a fall risk, so I don’t think it will be any kind of liability issue.”
She stepped out into the hall, and the black cop moved to the side so he was directly in front of her, the white cop right behind him.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, we have some orders,” said the black cop. Polite but firm.
Vega leaned her face closer to his. He was young, him and the white cop, not a wrinkle, not a gray hair.
“And what are those orders,” she said in a hushed voice, not smiling anymore.
“To keep you safe.”
Vega cast her glance down the hall in both directions. There was no one. No nurses, no doctors, no cleaning staff, no candy stripers. Just closed doors, all the color of Pepto.
“Any way you could call a nurse to take this out?” she said, pulling on the IV tube, the empty bags dangling.
“Yes, ma’am, right away,” said the black cop. “If you’ll just wait in the room, someone will be right here soon to assist you with that.”
“And my clothes, too, right?” she said in the white cop’s direction.
“Right,” he said.
Vega stepped back across the threshold, dragging the IV stand with her.
“Appreciate it,” she said.
They smiled and nodded. Happy to be of service. Vega shut the door, and this time turned around and leaned against it with all her weight, running through her options considering the situation, which, on the Hostile Scale, she identified as Hostile as Fuck.
* * *
—
Cap watched his phone for signs of life. He walked around the room again, holding the phone up in corners and near the windows, thinking maybe he could get some service, but still, nothing. Then he felt out of air, nauseous suddenly, so he sat, drank some cups of water from the plastic pitcher. He began to feel better but regretted not telling Posada that he needed some food, because now he felt a surge of hunger in every muscle, his head aching.
He pressed the call button once more, stayed on it for at least thirty seconds, and then decided to find a nurse face-to-face. He stood, pulling the IV stand toward the door, which he opened.
There was a uniformed cop there, right next to the door, a young guy with tanned, tattooed arms. Cap felt a degree of relief seeing the blue.
“You need anything, sir?” the cop said.
“Hi, Officer…” Cap said, reading the nameplate on his chest. “Calderon. The nurse button doesn’t seem to be working. I’m ready to have this taken out,” he said, gesturing to the IV.
“Sure, sir,” Calderon said eagerly. “Please wait in the room, and I’ll get a nurse for you.”
Cap quickly glanced down the hallway and didn’t see any nurses. No one at all, in fact. And that turned a few knobs in his old cop brain. The conversation with Posada had been odd enough, and now, an empty hospital floor. And an armed guard.
“Actually,” said Cap, moving into the hallway, “I don’t have any reception in there. I think…” He paused, pretended he was just casually spitballing about ways to spend the afternoon. “I think I might take a spin around the floor, see if I can get some service, make some calls to my loved ones.”
He watched Calderon’s eyes grow as Cap took a step toward him.
“Sir, I have to ask you to stay in the room for now,” he said, the tone in his voice just a little strained. “It’s for your own safety.”
Cap thought about that. He allowed himself to smirk.
“So, you’re keeping me safe, right?”
“Yes, sir, those are my orders.”
“And, uh,” Cap said, leaning forward. “Who are you keeping me safe from?” he asked with genuine interest.
Alarm crossed the young man’s face, gave him some wrinkles.
“Because there doesn’t appear to be any immediate threat here,” said Cap, gesturing to the empty hallway.
“I don’t know the details, sir,” Calderon said. “I’ve been told to guard you in your room.”
“You take this order from the deputy chief?”
A confused expression danced over the young cop’s face but then passed.
“No, I’m not at liberty to say,” he said. “I have to ask you, please back up, into your room.”
Cap didn’t back up. He wasn’t trying to be aggressive, just wanted to get a feel for what was what.
“Sir,” said Calderon, rooting his feet firmly where he stood. “I have to ask you to back up.”
Cap waited a moment and then backed up.
“No prob, Officer.”
He smiled, and Calderon smiled back, a little nervously.
Cap closed the door and stared at it. He had a feeling that Calderon was a nice kid, an inside-the-lines cop, probably had Sunday dinner with his mom every week.
Not that it made a difference. Cap had to get past him, no matter what kind of kid or cop or son he was. All that mattered was that he was in Cap’s way.
* * *
—
Vega pressed a square of toilet tissue over the top of her hand and removed the IV needle, let it dangle next to the stand. She washed her hands in the sink next to the bathroom with a lot of foaming soap and then sat on the bed. She removed her socks and let them f
all to the floor. She lifted up the side of her gown and pressed the skin around the bandage that covered her wound. The lidocaine had worn off, which was what she had expected but still hoped against.
If only there were one, not two out there, she would have been more confident. But not two. And not just two, but also armed and trained. Not sloppy under the haze of drugs or drink. Play the damn cards, she thought.
She peeled off the bandage, strands of the medical tape sticking and fraying on her skin. She dropped the gauze to the ground, next to her socks. Her skin surrounding the injury felt wet, the incision itself still throbbing. Davis had cut as deep as he could in that one swipe, probably had a lot of practice. Vega flicked her finger against the end of the nylon black string stitched so thoroughly by the redheaded doctor.
Vega wiggled her toes and thought the thing she always thought when she knew pain was coming: This is not your body.
She took a breath in, gripped the ends of the string as firmly as she could, and pulled. She managed to loosen the first knot and stitch, and the whole top half of her body convulsed with the pain. She bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from screaming. Band-Aid, she thought. Rip it off.
She kept pulling, using both hands, the string unraveling, popping out of her skin, blood dripping in big steady drops onto the white floor. Breathe, she told herself, and she began gulping air in shallow breaths, blowing it out with her lips pursed in a diamond like she was about to whistle.
Similar to other times she’d been injured, the pain reached a certain level and then didn’t surpass it. Once she realized that, the task and what followed became easier. She wound the black thread around two fingers and yanked one last time to pull out the final knot and stitch.
She gasped and chuffed through her nose like a horse but kept breathing and shook the thread off her fingers, now coated with blood. Then she leaned to her right, the side where the wound was, and let the blood continue to drip onto the floor in a steadily expanding puddle.
She moved to the floor then and thought about her position. On her side, she decided. She hovered over the puddle, made sure the blood coated her hands and at least one side of her gown. It was wet and cool, and she shivered for a moment but told herself, You’ve had a pint of blood and a pint of saline and you’re fine.
She was ready. She took the deepest breath she could, filled her lungs and her diaphragm and her stomach full of air until she felt like she’d pop if pricked with a pin, and then she screamed. It was more of a howl, really, with all the volume available, sustained and dry in her throat.
The cops burst in, their faces reflecting what they saw with shock and fear. Vega knew cops see a lot, even if they’re young, even in a nice neighborhood in San Diego, but almost anyone would be disturbed by a half-naked woman covered in blood, screaming. And these guys were no exception.
“My stitches came out! My stitches!” Vega screamed. “Get a doctor! Now!”
The black cop, nearest the door, nodded quickly and took off. The white cop ran and kneeled in front of her but didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands.
“Someone will be here soon, ma’am,” he said, tentatively sliding his arms underneath her.
Vega screamed again, and he pulled his arms away like he’d been burned.
“Don’t touch me!” Vega yelled. “Please get a doctor, please!”
“Ma’am,” the cop said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “My partner will get a doctor for you right away.”
Vega reached out and gripped his shirt.
“Listen to me—I’m a hemophiliac, and they don’t know that. I didn’t tell the doctor because I wanted to get out of here and didn’t want to wait for another transfusion. But I am losing blood at a rapid rate and…”
She tried to prop herself up but then let herself fall.
“I’m losing consciousness quick…”
“Ma’am, you just have to hold on,” the white cop said. “Let me move you up to the bed.”
He reached forward to touch her again, and she recoiled.
“Don’t touch me, please,” she said, her voice faint. “Please…go look for someone, I don’t need a babysitter, I need a doctor.” Vega lay down completely on the floor and turned her head to face the white cop. She said, as weakly as she could manage, “If I bleed out I could die. And you’re supposed to keep me safe, right?”
She watched the reality of what she’d said land on the cop. His eyes became frantic. Whoever it was who’d given him the order to watch her might be a little upset if she died on his watch.
He pulled his walkie from his belt and spoke into it: “Young, what’s your status, over?”
There was no immediate response. Vega closed her eyes.
“I’m just going to rest for a second,” she said dreamily.
“No, ma’am, please don’t fall asleep,” the white cop said.
Then the black cop’s voice came back, between heaves and gasps, sounded like he was going down the stairs: “Still looking for friendly doctor.”
Vega could hear the leather on the white cop’s belt squeaking; she sensed he was standing up.
“Ma’am, I’ll be right back. I’m going to find some help for you.”
Vega opened one eye.
“Please hurry,” she said.
The white cop ran.
Vega counted to thirty.
She got to her feet and rinsed her hands in the sink. Glanced in the mirror, saw that half of her face was covered with blood. She splashed water on it but then knew she had to go. She grabbed her phone, picked up the gauze and medical tape that the redheaded doctor had given her, and left. Ideally, she knew, she should have bandaged up before leaving the room but she didn’t have much time.
She ran hard on bare feet down the hall, stopping only to pull down the T-shaped switches on the fire alarms.
* * *
—
Cap heard an alarm. A small square light flashed on the ceiling in the corner. The sounds he heard were not the musical beeps of an inquiry tone but the intrusive honks of a real fire alarm. A drill, he guessed. But seeing that he seemed to be the only one on this floor, it seemed a little silly to have a drill just for him.
He opened the door and saw Calderon there, at his phone and holding his walkie to his ear.
“Hey,” said Cap loudly. “Is this a drill?”
“I don’t know,” shouted Calderon. “Trying to find out.”
The lights flashed in the hall, the alarm louder than in Cap’s room. Calderon looked at the face of his phone and stuck his walkie in his belt. He shook his head in frustration.
“No service?” yelled Cap.
Calderon shook his head.
“We can’t stay here, man,” said Cap. “We gotta go!”
Cap pointed toward the end of the hallway, in case Calderon had not heard him. Calderon nodded, gestured for Cap to follow him. Calderon walked briskly, seeming to gain urgency with each step. Cap tried to catch up, still dragging the IV stand along, the needle still firmly stuck in the vein on the surface of his hand.
The alarm continued to blare, and Cap continued to notice that no one else was emerging from the rooms, the whiteboards next to the doors blank and wrapped in plastic.
“Officer!” Cap yelled. “Stairs!”
He pointed to a door marked STAIRWELL B.
Calderon shook his head and shouted, “No entry there. Only one on the floor—come on!”
Cap couldn’t move as fast with the IV stand but sped up to try to match Calderon’s pace. He was a good yard behind, though, as Calderon began to turn the corner, but Cap jumped back when someone swung a wheeled office chair at Calderon’s face, and he flew back and down at Cap’s feet, hands to his nose with blood spurting out like it was a public park water fountain.
* * *
—
Vega dropped the chair.
She panted, her mouth and throat dry from screaming. Her side ached and she was freezing but she ignored it all and allowed herself to soak in the relief of finding Cap, even though he seemed to be suffering a kind of input overload between the alarm and the cop on the floor with the busted nose.
She took his hand, the one with the IV needle still stuck in it.
“We have to go,” she said.
“We can’t just leave him here. What if it’s not a drill?”
“It’s a drill. I did it,” she said.
She pressed the roll of gauze on top of Cap’s hand and pulled the needle out roughly. He winced and looked back at the cop on the floor. Vega could see he was torn but she had no time for him to weigh the pros and cons.
“We have to leave now,” she said, pulling him by the wrist.
Finally his feet seemed to come loose from their spots and he began to walk, then run with her, around the corner away from the cop, past the nurses’ station with the chairs and desktop computers and filing cabinets covered with stretched plastic wrap.
“Only one stairwell works,” Cap said to her.
“Yeah, it’s C,” Vega said, pointing straight ahead.
They ran and pushed through the door into the stairwell. The alarm wasn’t sounding here, and all Vega could hear was her and Cap breathing heavily as they started down. She glanced over her shoulder to see the sign posted on the door, FLOOR 16 UNDER RENOVATION, AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
“Is that your blood on you?” Cap said.
Vega nodded.
“Davis cut me. They stitched me but I had to pull them out to get rid of the cops outside my door.”
“Wait,” said Cap, stopping her on a landing.
He took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him.
“You’re freezing cold, and bleeding. And you just assaulted a police officer, which is up to ten in Pennsylvania.”
“It’s only three here if they get you on the felony,” Vega said, losing feeling in her lips. “Fucking East Coast,” she added.