Distant Shores, Silent Thunder

by Radclyffe

  “No.” Pia moved closer until their bodies touched. “You’re doing that all by yourself.” She kissed KT, a gentle kiss of soft lips caressing soft lips. “And that’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you. That stubborn persistence of yours.”

  Feeling anything but strong, KT wrapped her arms around Pia and returned the kiss. She covered Pia’s mouth harder than she had intended, entered deeper than she had meant, but she had waited so long to be touched inside, waited without even knowing she was waiting. Now she felt open and exposed, and only Pia’s tender strength could soothe the raw edges of her soul. Pia’s arms were around her neck again, and they were both moaning.

  Pia got a hand between them and pushed KT away a fraction. “The bed. I have to lie down with nothing between us and feel your skin on mine, everywhere. I’ve thought about it, I’ve dreamed about it.” She took a step back and tugged on the tail of KT’s shirt, urging her to follow. “I’ve done other things, imagining your hands.”

  “Oh, Christ,” KT groaned, fumbling with the buckle on her belt. Her head was reeling, her heart nearly bursting. She’d just managed to work the button free on her fly when another sensation penetrated her consciousness. A faint throbbing at her hip. For a moment she didn’t recognize it, although until a couple of months ago it had been an everyday occurrence. She looked down in disbelief. “Oh, no.”

  Pia followed her gaze and then laughed shakily. “Please tell me this is not happening.”

  “It is,” KT said grimly as she pulled the beeper from her belt and blinked, trying to clear her vision to read the numbers. “It’s the service, and they never call unless it’s an emergency.” Desolate, she looked at Pia. “I have to answer.”

  Pia sank down to the side of the bed, gripping the mattress on either side of her body to steady herself. She was shaking all over. “Of course you do.”

  *

  “Tory,” Jean said softly. “Tory, honey.”

  “Hmm?” Tory murmured, rolling over onto her side. She opened her eyes, disoriented, and struggled to focus on Jean’s face. “I fell asleep, didn’t I.” She sat up and ran a hand through her hair. Still fuzzy, she looked around the dimly lit room. “What time is it?”

  “About two,” Jean said apologetically. “Kate and Regina are both asleep, and I wouldn’t have bothered you, except...” She held up a small rectangular object. “This was on the kitchen table with your keys, and it was going off.”

  Instantly awake, Tory stared at her beeper, a cold hand closing around her heart. It could only mean one thing. With a steady hand, she reached for it. “Thank you.”

  She read the number as she walked through the house to get her cell phone. It wasn’t the service, and she felt a faint stirring of hope. Just a wrong number. Then she realized where she’d seen the number before. KT’s cell phone.

  Sick dread flooded her senses as she calmly punched in the numbers. On the second ring, Tory heard the clipped response that took her back fifteen years.

  “O’Bannon.”

  “KT, it’s Tory.”

  “The service called,” KT said immediately. “Wellfleet paramedics are bringing someone to the clinic because we’re closer than the hospital. Knife wound.”

  “Someone?” Tory repeated. Her heart trembled when she sensed hesitation from a woman who never hesitated over anything.

  “KT?”

  “It’s a police officer, that’s all I know.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Matter-of-fact, controlled, professional. Inside, Tory had already begun to bleed.

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  Grateful for the absence of meaningless platitudes, Tory nodded, then realized that KT couldn’t see her. “Yes. Good. Thanks.”

  As she grabbed her keys and rushed for the door, she realized just how glad she was that KT would be there. If it was Reese they were bringing in, she wouldn’t be able to handle it. Not again. If it was any of the others, she just might be able to manage. But every time, it took more from her, and she wondered just how much was left.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Tory drove with her eyes fixed on the dark road ahead, her hands clenched on the wheel, her gaze narrowed to the flickering columns of light cast into the shadows by her headlights. Her mind was blank. She forced it to remain empty, not to contemplate what she would do, how she would hold the terror at bay, if it were Reese.

  “Set up the IVs, prepare the instrument tray, draw up the Valium, morphine, and lidocaine...” She spoke aloud to dispel the thundering quiet, and in the process made the ingrained transition to professional mode. By the time she pulled into the parking lot and saw a single car parked close to the front stairs, she had obtained the practiced calm required of her to deal with an emergency.

  The door to the clinic opened as Tory stepped from her vehicle and Pia looked out.

  “Hi,” Pia said quietly. “KT’s in the back. She thought I might be able to help. Is that okay with you?”

  Tory didn’t hesitate. “Sure. You can stand in for Sally.”

  As she followed Pia down the hall, Tory gave only a moment’s thought to why KT and Pia had arrived together in the middle of the night. She wasn’t entirely certain how much KT would be able to do one-handed in the midst of a true emergency, and having another medical person available made sense. The paramedics would be able to help as well, but they would be busy monitoring vital signs, managing the airway and fluid resuscitation, and administering meds.

  KT turned at the sound of Tory and Pia’s arrival in the treatment room. “Hi, Vic.”

  “Where are we?” Tory asked.

  “Pia’s setting up the IVs, and I just pulled a major suture tray.” She indicated a large sealed tray that bore the small sticker indicating that it had been autoclaved and the contents were sterile. She placed it on a tall Mayo stand, which resembled a stainless steel TV tray. On wheels, it could be pushed up to or even over the treatment table so that the surgeon could easily reach the instruments.

  Tory nodded absently. “Did you draw up the drugs?”

  A brief flicker of discomfort crossed KT’s face as she lifted her left hand. “No, I couldn’t.”

  “I’ll get them ready, then,” Tory said, brushing her hand lightly across KT’s shoulder as she passed.

  “Thanks.” KT glanced across the room at Pia, who met her eyes and smiled gently. She had no time to think about how that smile settled in her chest and seemed to leave no room for pain or uncertainty, because suddenly the building was filled with the noise of clattering wheels and a cacophony of voices talking over one another. The treatment room was the only brightly lit room in the rear of the building, and it wasn’t hard for the emergency team to find them.

  All three women turned to the door, braced for the imminent blur of activity and the adrenaline-charged moments that could spell the difference between life and death.

  *

  The first thing Tory saw was the irregular swatch of maroon in the center of Reese’s chest. She had tried to prepare for that, but the shock ran through her, leaving numbness in its wake. For one pain-filled second, her mind closed down, refusing to acknowledge what her eyes had registered. Then, with the next breath, her vision cleared. There was blood soaking Reese’s shirt, but Reese was walking, running, really, with her hand on the end of the stretcher being pushed by the paramedic.

  It’s not Reese. It’s not Reese. She focused on the lean body recognizable even beneath the mountain of resuscitation equipment. Oh no. Not again. Bri!

  “What do we have?” KT asked the paramedics, reaching out with her right hand to guide the stretcher alongside the treatment table as Tory placed a stethoscope on Bri’s chest.

  “Lungs are clear,” Tory said.

  “Knife wound to the neck,” the paramedic said, holding the oxygen mask against Bri’s face with one hand and a pressure dressing to the left side of her neck with his other. The gauze beneath his gloved fingers was soaked with blood, and a steady trickle ran down onto the s
tretcher.

  “Airway?” KT knew that any knife wound to the neck could injure the trachea, causing blood to seep into the windpipe, fill the lungs, and prevent oxygen exchange. Many victims of penetrating trauma to the neck died from asphyxiation, not blood loss.

  “Oxygen saturation is excellent, 99% on four liters,” a second paramedic noted, balancing the multiple monitoring devices on the far end of the stretcher with both hands as they moved. “No blood in the posterior pharynx either.”

  “Good,” KT observed. The other structure at risk—in addition to the many huge blood vessels in the neck—was the esophagus, and if it were perforated, blood would back up into the mouth and eventually compromise the airway as well.

  “Bri?” Tory said quietly, moving the oxygen mask aside enough to look at Bri’s face. Bri’s eyes flickered open, dazed but aware. “Hey, sweetie. Can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” Bri whispered hoarsely.

  “Are you hurt anywhere else? Your chest, back, belly?”

  “No.” Bri’s eyelids flickered closed, and then she opened them again with effort. “Neck hurts.”

  “I know. We’ll take care of that.” Tory reached across the treatment table for the sheet beneath Bri. “Let’s get her over here.”

  Many hands grabbed the sheet from both sides of the stretcher while one of the paramedics stabilized Bri’s neck.

  “One, two, three,” Tory counted and everyone lifted, swinging Bri in the makeshift sling onto the treatment table. Then Tory took her first look around the room and saw an ashen Nelson and shell-shocked Allie standing inside the door. She looked up at Reese. “Take them out of here.”

  Reese looked hesitantly from Bri to Tory, as if she might protest, but nodded grimly. “Okay.” She put her hand on Bri’s thigh and squeezed. With the barest hint of tremor in her voice, she repeated, “Okay. See you in a minute, Bri.”

  As Reese turned and shepherded Nelson and Allie out into the hall, Tory moved to the head of the table next to KT. She met KT’s eyes and saw in them the steady focus and intensity she’d always found so comforting in the midst of a trauma. “Ready to take a look?”

  “Let’s get the suction hooked up first and load the sutures. You’re going to have to be ready to clamp and tie.”

  Tory shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong with your dominant hand.” Her gaze never moving from KT’s, Tory said over her shoulder to Pia. “Can you glove KT’s right hand, please.”

  “Of course,” Pia replied. She looked at KT. “Size?”

  “Seven and a half.” KT stepped over next to Pia, removing the immobilizer on her left hand as Pia, wearing sterile gloves herself, opened a second pack of gloves. “Glove them both.”

  Without a word, Pia held up the left glove, stretching open the cuff so that KT could slide her hand inside. “Careful not to extend your fingers when you push in here.”

  “I’ve got it,” KT said as she eased her damaged fingers into the tight latex. “At least I won’t contaminate the field with it now.”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “Thanks,” KT replied sincerely. Then she turned back to the table and said briskly, “Let’s get this bleeding stopped.”

  “Give her four milligrams of IV morphine,” Tory said to the paramedic before reaching down, suction cannula in hand, and removing the pressure bandage from Bri’s neck. Immediately, a heavy stream of dark blood poured out of a five-inch laceration that extended along the side of her neck, parallel to her jaw, two inches below her ear. Precisely along the line where a knife being held by someone from behind would have rested.

  Immediately, KT pressed the fingers of her right hand over the wound, squeezing it closed with her fingers. “From the location, it’s probably the external jugular.”

  “Flow is pretty brisk,” Tory murmured. The external jugular vein was a relatively low-pressure vein almost 5mm wide, a quarter the size of its deeper partner, the internal jugular vein. She didn’t say what they both knew—that the external jugular vein alone wouldn’t produce this much bleeding.

  “Might be a partial transection preventing it from constricting and closing off,” KT observed. “Get the 3-0 ties ready, Vic, then take over the compression on the wound.” She motioned to the second paramedic. “You’re going to need to suction for us.”

  “Sure,” he said as he moved closer to the field and took the suction from Tory.

  KT picked up a hemostat in her right hand and glanced from Tory to the paramedic. “All set?” At their nods, she said, “Put the retractors in and let me have a look.”

  For the next two minutes the room was entirely silent except for the gurgle of the suction machine pulling a steady stream of blood from Bri’s neck through the plastic tubing and into the container. Once, KT said steadily, “Suck right there. Over just a little bit. Good.”

  While Tory and the paramedic stared into the depths of the laceration, struggling to clear the blood and hold back the subcutaneous tissue and divided muscle edges, KT used the hemostat to dissect out the external jugular vein from the surrounding tissue, identifying the segment that had been partially divided and that gaped open, accounting for the rapid hemorrhage.

  “Got it,” KT muttered, clamping the proximal portion leading from the head toward the chest. Without taking her eyes from the other end of the vein that she needed to control, she held out her right hand. “Hemostat.”

  Pia placed the instrument into KT’s hand, and KT clamped it around the distal end of the vein. The bleeding from the wound stopped.

  “Scissors,” KT requested, again extending her open hand, palm up. The scissors settled smartly against her palm, and she closed her fingers automatically on the instrument. She finished dividing the vein so that the two ends were now free and could be ligated. After setting the scissors aside, she held up the first hemostat. She couldn’t tie with only one hand. “You’ll have to tie these off, Vic.”

  “Vicryl okay?” Tory asked, reaching for the suture.

  “Should be.”

  Tory looped the suture around the end of the hemostat and, using both hands, tied off the vessel. She repeated the procedure as KT lifted the second hemostat. When she was done, the wound was nearly dry. Looking into KT’s dark eyes, Tory said quietly, “Beautiful.”

  “Thanks. Let’s look around to make sure there isn’t anything deeper.”

  With the paramedic retracting and Tory gently suctioning, KT delicately explored the wound, lifting tissue layers with her forceps until she had identified the carotid sheath—undamaged—and the nearby internal jugular vein, also inviolate. “Fortunately it doesn’t extend to the midline, so the trachea and esophagus should be fine. Looks like it nicked the submandibular gland. I should close the capsule just to prevent delayed bleeding.” She straightened and turned to Pia. “Can you load up that 3-0 Vicryl on the short needle holder for me.”

  “Got it.” Pia opened the sterile suture package and clamped the jaws of the needle holder onto the semicircular needle. She passed it handle first into KT’s right hand.

  “You’re pretty good at that,” KT murmured.

  Pia smiled and nodded toward the wound. “You too.”

  Twenty minutes later, Tory and KT had finished closing the laceration. Bri, only semiconscious due to a combination of shock and sedation, remained unaware of the procedure.

  “We should ship her to Hyannis for observation, I guess,” Tory said reluctantly. “I know she’s going to hate that.”

  “She’s stable. We can watch her here until morning,” KT suggested. “She’s already had antibiotics, the wound is closed, and if you’re worried about blood loss, we can do a fingerstick hemoglobin. But I doubt she’s going to need transfusion.”

  Tory hesitated.

  “Why don’t I talk to her father?” Pia suggested. “Then one of you can fill him in on the medical details, and you can make a decision about the next step.”

  “Now there’s an idea,” Tory said with a shaky laugh. “Thanks. Let me just
check her blood count, and I’ll be out.”

  When Pia stepped out into the hallway, Nelson, Reese, and Allie rushed forward.

  “She’s doing fine,” Pia said immediately, aware that that was all they really needed to hear and that they probably wouldn’t remember anything else from the initial explanation.

  “The bleeding?” Nelson croaked. Christ, there had been so much of it. When he’d followed Reese into the kitchen and seen Bri on her knees, blood pouring from her neck, he thought he’d pass out. While he’d stood rooted to the spot in helpless fear, Reese had jumped forward and clamped her hand over the wound in his daughter’s throat. “Jesus Christ.”

  “It’s stopped. KT and Tory found the bleeder and controlled it.” Pia surveyed the small group. Nelson was obviously a wreck; Allie was deathly pale, her eyes dark pools of anguish; and Reese—Reese vibrated with tension so palpable Pia felt it even though their bodies did not touch. “Are any of you hurt?”

  “No,” Reese replied abruptly. She glanced toward the treatment room. “We were just a little too far away.”

  “It was my fault,” Allie said. “I was behind Bri on the stairs, and I didn’t see him follow us. I let that fucker get to her.” Her voice was hollow with self-recrimination and pain.

  “We’ll talk about that when we debrief,” Reese said quietly. She looked at Pia. “What’s the plan?”

  Tory appeared in the hallway, announcing as she approached, “She’s stable. Her hemoglobin is just a bit above eleven. I’ll check again in a few hours, but she’s not going to need a transfusion.” She walked directly to Nelson and put both hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look only at her. “She’s awake. She’s all right. She’s going to be fine. She wants to see you.”

  Tears finally streaked his cheeks. “You’re sure—about her being okay?”

  “Yes. We need to keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t develop an infection, but the knife didn’t strike anything vital. She’s going to be completely fine.”