by Alexis Shore
“Can we see her?” Patrick asked so suddenly it nearly made Amy jump.
“I think she wants some privacy for the time being.”
Again, that uncomfortable silence descended.
Joseph stepped closer, putting his arm on Amy’s back, and talking quietly into her ear.
“Can I speak to you?”
“Sure,” she shrugged.
Joseph flicked a look to Patrick, indicating this wasn’t a matter for his consumption. Amy sighed and let him lead her a little way down the corridor. Above them a light was flickering on and off, its bulb in the last throes of a dying death. It buzzed and clicked, flashing hundreds of times a second, then went out, before glowing back to life and starting the cycle again.
“You’ve thought about what I said,” he asked, seemingly rhetorically.
“No,” she said matter of fact. “I haven’t. It’s not even an issue.”
“Beg to differ,” he said in an infuriatingly patronising tone. “You’ve got forty eight hours, then we cash those bonds, and go.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Your timing couldn’t be any worse,” she hissed, just as the light clicked off. This time, it didn’t come back on. It cast a shadow across Joseph’s face, giving him an unrecognisable air.
“What are you on about?” he scoffed.
“My partner is in ...” it was beyond words that this needed explaining, and so Amy just huffed and crossed her arms, staring off and down the corridor, suddenly wondering where Patrick might be.
“When I get off shift,” Joseph said, oblivious. “I’m taking those bonds, whether you’re coming or not.”
“Fine,” she said without passion. “Take the fucking things.”
He smiled, looking relieved that she had caved; and she realised that had been his plan all along. Take the money, and go without her.
And she didn’t care.
He leaned in to peck a little kiss of gratitude on her cheek, but before he could, she was walking off and away down the corridor.
She didn’t look back.
She emerged from the darkened corridor and out into the bright lights of the ER; it made her blink a little, and she tried to locate Patrick, but he was nowhere to be seen. And suddenly she wanted nothing else but to feel the security of his embrace.
She paced around, searching, and found him stood by a window, obscured by an over-grown pot plant.
“Hey,” she said.
He didn’t respond.
So she moved to slide into his arms, but his body language blocked her. She looked at him, feeling the knot of confusion on her brow.
“You have to report me,” he said suddenly.
“Let’s not talk about this now.”
“No, you have to,” he emphasised. “Because I can’t report myself. I just can’t.”
“We’ll work it out.”
“Will we?” he looked sullen. “How many more live do I have to put at risk in the meantime?”
“We’ll work it out,” she said, hitting each word with more force.
And once more, she was overwhelmed with a desire to melt into his arms and chest.
But he turned back to stare out of the window, his jaw locked. She knew he felt guilty, and that focussing on that was a way of not focussing on Jennifer. She understood the desire to lose yourself in something over which you felt you had some control.
And she knew he needed time to himself.
Now was not the time to share the pain.
Amy wandered away, realising she was headed for Jennifer’s curtain cubicle, and she didn’t stop herself. She hovered at the drapes, listening for a moment, and heard nothing, no talking, no monitors, nothing.
And so she stepped into the curtains and emerged beside Jennifer’s bed.
Her partner was sitting up in a gown, holding her stomach with a sad look on her face,
Amy gave a weak smile.
Jennifer didn’t return it.
She looked so lost and so forlorn.
And then she spoke, with a weak, cracked voice.
“I can’t feel the baby moving.”
Afterword
The story continues in Physician, part two of The Paramedic Trilogy.
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