“I think I hear it at 140, over maybe 70?”
Hardly a confidence- building pronouncement, but I decided not to press it. He had a nice, strong radial pulse, which meant his pressure was Enough. I pushed the Narcan.
“This stuff usually works pretty quick,” I said. “We should see his breathing–Holy shit!”
The patient suddenly lurched up off the stretcher as far as the straps would allow and grabbed at the front of my uniform shirt.
I brought my left arm down across his wrists, grabbing his left, and put my right forearm across his chest, just below his throat, and leaned all my weight on him. I pushed him onto the cot, but he was a big man, and he was thrashing for all he was worth.
I hoped to restrain him without hurting him. At least, any more than I had to.
“Is that normal?” Samantha asked
“No!” I shouted. “Jump in here and help me!”
I didn’t have a lot of faith in the trainee, but the patient was strong, and I wasn’t sure how long I could hold him without needing to choke him out. I would if I had to, but in emergency medicine, that’s never plan A. The truck screeched to a halt as Nique reacted to the shouting. I knew she’d be charging through the back doors in a few seconds. With her back here, we could get this guy tied down and then continue to the hospital.
The new girl surprised me. She sat on his thrashing legs, grabbed his right hand from under me and pulled it to the side rail of the cot. I saw her tie a cravat around it and cinch it down with a crisp efficiency she hadn’t shown up to that point.
The back doors burst open as Samantha seized the man’s left hand. “I got it,” she said, the nerves gone. “You just hold him down while I tie.”
Nique jumped in to help, only to find most of the job done. She helped Samantha get his feet restrained before she looked at me.
“So we’re good?”
“Looks like.”
“OK. On to the hospital. You miss the line on that guy and piss him off?”
“I think he just really doesn’t like Narcan.”
“Fair enough.” She closed the doors. Soon the truck started moving again.
“So what happened?” asked Samantha.
“I’m guessing he was a polypharm OD. Multiple drugs. The Narcan knocked out the opiate, which was keeping him down, but now whatever else he’s on is doing this.”
“So what do we do?”
“Unless you have some more heroin on you, we ride it out,” I replied. “I didn’t give him much Narcan, and it doesn’t last very long.”
Shortly, the patient’s struggles slowed, his limbs went slack and he went back to semi consciousness. I stuck some electrodes from the cardiac monitor on him so I could keep an eye on his heart rhythm from a safe distance, and retaped his IV, which had miraculously not pulled out of his arm.
After we transferred care to the ER, we sat at the EMS desk and wrote our reports.
“Ok, “ I said. “No more free Narcan. If they’re breathing, we ignore them, and if they’re not, we bag them. If they wake up and act like an asshole, we just stop bagging until they pass out. Keep the junkies unconscious, just how I like ‘em.”
“Sam,” said Nique. “Why don’t you go grab a coffee at the cafeteria.” She handed over a ten- dollar bill. “Get me a medium, extra cream, one sugar, and Sean a medium with just a splash of cream and two sugars, and whatever you want.”
After the young woman had left, Nique turned to face me and said “OK, what the fuck?”
“I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”
“How can she know so little about EMS? We can’t pass her.”
“Well, she is clueless about most everything you’d expect her to know, but she jumped in when things got dangerous. And she knows how to tie a man up. I think we should give her a chance.”
“I didn’t think you were on the market,” Nique replied, bumping me with her hip.
“Ha ha. OK, I’ll grant she really isn’t where she needs to be on patient assessment, but when shit got real, she pulled her weight. That counts for a lot. Hell, we can teach her how to take a blood pressure. We can’t teach big brass ones.”
“Fair enough,” she said.
Samantha returned with a tray of coffee cups. “Extra cream and one,” she handed a cup to Monique, “and for Sean, dark with two. You like it dark and sweet?” she asked with a leer.
I hardly noticed. This is EMS. Everything is a double entendre.
“Nice job back there, by the way,” I said. “Where’d you learn to tie people up?”
“Play your cards right and I’ll show you,” she replied.
Monique smiled her bright, broad, sunny smile. The one that was every bit as comforting as a cobra spreading its hood. “Let’s take a walk while Sean finishes his report.”
I saw Samantha’s smile falter a bit, a little fear creep into her eyes as she nodded and rose to follow.
I wasn’t sure if Nique’s intent was to save me from temptation, to save Samantha from falling into the EMS slut stereotype, or to save her own gender from another example of the EMS slut stereotype. I felt it best not to interfere with the mission.
Chapter 4
SARAH SURPRISED ME at my apartment when I got off shift the next morning.
“Keep this up and I may get used to it,” I cautioned.
“You were on my mind all day yesterday,” she replied with a smile. But maybe a smaller, tighter smile than usual smile.
“So long as it was your mind, not your nerves I was on.”
That got a courtesy laugh. I made breakfast and small talk. She listened more than she talked.
“Something bothering you?” I asked.
“No,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”
“You just seem a little preoccupied. Big changes at work?”
“Yes,” she said. “That must be it. Shakeup in the department, new faculty. And lots of boring policy discussions.”
“How’s the new office mate?”
“He’s a poet.” She shrugged. “A dreamer and an idealist.” Her tone was just a shade more cynical than I expected.
“Horrors,” I said.
That finally brought out her big, genuine smile. The one I lived for. The one that radiated infectious joy and held just enough mischief that the sisters at St Mary’s School must have marked her down for extra scrutiny as a freethinking troublemaker.
“That might have been harsh,” she said. “But I spent a long day trapped inside with dull academics, missing you. Why don’t you show me what I was missing?” she finished with a leer, leaning across the table.
The sisters were probably right.
I slipped an arm around her waist, ran my other hand through her big, soft curls and kissed her, pulling her against me. She gave me a quick kiss and took my hand, leading me toward the bedroom.
Afterwards, she lay beside me and traced one of my scars with a finger.
“Where did you get these?” she asked.
I was surprised. She’d never seemed to wonder before.
“That one,” I said, “was a Japanese bayonet on Guadalcanal. I have a few on my back to match. Guy got me there first and after I fell down he stuck me a few more times.”
“Seventy years ago,” she murmured. “Have the scars kept fading?”
“Slowly. I don’t know if they’ll ever be totally gone. I still have a little divot in my thigh from a pistol ball from one of Cromwell’s men.”
She nodded, seemingly lost in thought. “So you don’t heal completely?”
“Nobody’s perfect,” I said. I wondered why this line of questioning after all this time. “I know I got my nose broken and it healed just a bit crooked. I don’t think it’ll straighten itself. If I broke a bone and it was set wrong, I think it’d heal that way. And I don’t really know the practical limits of my healing. I don’t know what’s the worst thing I could recover from.”
She nodded again, as though checking a box on some men
tal list.
“Is there something wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing.” She looked at me with the devil in her eyes and smiled her wicked smile. “Nothing at all. Let me show you everything’s alright.”
But it wasn’t. This wasn’t the Sarah I had fallen for, and I wasn’t sure I liked who she was right now.
“I hate to say this, but I’m going to have to plead exhaustion. I’m not as young and wild as I was back before Prohibition.”
Her brow wrinkled for a moment. I’d hoped for a smile at least.
“OK,” she said, after too long a pause. “Rain check.”
I drifted off to sleep eventually. I’d learned not to try to read into things too deeply after a twenty-four hour shift.
When I woke, Sarah was gone. I didn’t find a note, which was odd. That oddness highlighted other odd things about the visit.
Chapter 5
AT WORK, WITH TIME TO BROOD, that uncomfortable feeling settled in. Put down roots. Tangled itself around my brainstem.
“What’s the matter?” asked Nique. “You’ve been all quiet and distracted today. You haven’t made a single inappropriate innuendo to me. I’m starting to feel unappreciated.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’ll make sure to sexually harass you by shift’s end.”
“I should hope so. You know that I crave negative attention to validate my self image.”
Her language was a jab at our recent sexual harassment training. FirstLine Ambulance’s Human Resources Department had recently woken up and taken an interest in their employees’ interactions after hearing some (very likely true) rumors of gross misconduct. Given the fact that they employed a large and transient workforce made up of young, fit, relatively attractive, oversexed adrenaline junkies with only a fleeting respect for rules, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone. And, given that the job involved high stress, low pay, 24 hour shifts, coed bunk rooms, and minimal supervision, even people in HR should have known exactly the kind of employee they would attract.
I’m not throwing stones, mind. I loved the ambulance crews like family. Just saying that Captain Blood or Blackbeard would have found us an undisciplined lot.
But HR had to do something. So they put together a laughable PowerPoint presentation and had us watch it. Not sure it helped, but it reduced the company’s liability, which was the point anyway.
Gave some of the crew ideas for things we hadn’t already done, I’m sure.
“So what’s bothering you?” Nique asked.
“I’m not sure,” I replied. “I think something might be going on with Sarah.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I really like her. You didn’t screw it up, did you?”
“Not that I can tell.”
“So what makes you think something’s wrong?”
I thought about it. Maybe Nique could give me a woman’s perspective. I told her about the other night, and my misgivings.
She thought for a bit in silence while we drove through the city. “I don’t know, Sean. I mean, she could just be preoccupied with work, since the new semester is starting soon, or maybe she’s working something out, thinking about the relationship. She seems like she’s pretty stable, so I don’t think she’d get crazy on you and suddenly act different, but maybe you did something by mistake.”
“So what do you think I should do?”
“I’d surprise her with something nice. Flowers out of nowhere. A romantic dinner. See how she reacts. If it’s just normal life stress, that should shake her out of it. If it doesn’t, I’m afraid you might have to actually ask her what’s wrong.”
“A direct question?” I asked. “I knew you would have a cunning plan.”
“It’s a long shot, but it just might work.”
“So you think I’m being paranoid?”
She paused for a moment. A long moment. “I really don’t know. She seems nice, and I got the impression she was really into you. It’s probably nothing, but if you’re worried, it’s not a bad idea to check it out.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” she said. “You can let her know, subtly of course, that if she does break your heart, I’m not above cutting a bitch.”
“Your concern is touching,” I told her. “Really, it is.”
“Got to protect my stable,” she said. “Can’t have anybody else mistreating them. Look, Sean, try not to worry about this other guy. This poet or whatever. You’re a good guy. And you’re a badass. She’s seen you go all Rambo and save the day. That’s pretty sexy.”
Chapter 6
I GOT HOME EXHAUSTED from the shift, but I couldn’t sleep. I tried to lie down and close my eyes, but I kept thinking about Sarah, and the last time I’d seen her.
She was enthusiastic in her seduction, but something was missing. Tenderness, caring, I suppose was the best way to describe it. Oh, it was nice and all. Sex always is, but it felt more like a one night stand than an act of love and intimacy between two people who cared deeply for one another.
Better not ask Pete his opinion on that or I’d have to endure more of his questioning my masculinity. To be fair, I hadn’t really registered any problem, because I was having sex, and that generally isn’t a sign of trouble. To give Pete’s theory it’s due, I’d had better and worse ice cream in my life, but never bad ice cream.
But the emotionless sex, and then the questions afterwards, where she usually just wanted to bask in the afterglow. That was troubling.
Eventually, I gave up and threw off the covers. Sleep just wasn’t going to happen. I was too restless, and the only thing that would help was to do something.
I decided to take Nique’s advice. I had a coffee and a shower, shaved, put on a clean shirt with actual buttons and a collar, and no ambulance company logo on it. I cleaned Vlad the Impala so that there would be no take out bags or empty cups on the floor. On my way to the college, I stopped and picked up some flowers. I timed my visit for lunchtime, when I knew she had a gap in classes and the school was unlikely to schedule meetings.
If she was just stressed, then surprising her with a lunch date might cheer her up. It was also possible I had started taking her for granted without realizing it, and this would show her I was paying attention.
While this wasn’t my first dance, I had always handled my relationships with an eye on the door. Now, for the first time, I was in for the long haul, so maybe I did have something to learn about keeping the spark alive.
And if the whole thing was nothing, there were worse ways to spend my day off than taking Sarah to lunch.
I walked into the library, passed through the stacks of humanity’s accumulated knowledge, past the bored undergrad slouched behind the desk texting on her phone, to Sarah’s office in the back.
The door was closed, which it never was. I knocked. No answer. I tried the handle, but it was locked. That was odd. It was just before noon. She always finished class at eleven, came back and worked on papers then went to lunch just after twelve. She should be here.
I looked at the door, and saw a new brass plate screwed in. “W. Caruthers PhD.”
Well, he wasn’t here either.
Hmm.
I went back to the main desk and picked up a course schedule. I sat at a table and flipped through it, making a list of all the classes either of them taught. I knew Sarah’s schedule, or I thought I did, but I didn’t know Caruthers’ at all, and I wanted to compare. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was looking for, but intelligence gathering is like that. Look around and you’ll find connections, links, seemingly independent facts that show you what you didn’t know you wanted to see. Or wanted not to see, but not seeing a thing doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
Neither of them had a class now, nothing until two this afternoon.
A cold, sinking feeling grew in my stomach. Were they together right now? Is that what was wrong? Had she been measuring me up against somebody else? Thinking of leaving and giving it one more sho
t just to make sure before she moved on? Maybe to a suave, cultured poet?
I felt a surge of anger in which I recognized fear and uncertainty. Jealousy and loss like this were new to me. To really feel that awful hollow sinking feeling, you need to be deeply committed to the other person. The shock of your world crumbling can only hit you when you believe on some level that it was going to last forever.
Before Sarah, I’d always known I’d have to move on, that any relationship, no matter how close, was only temporary, and I’d held back enough to guard my feelings. I’d given Sarah more of me and let her in deeper than anyone over the centuries. So this sick, empty, vertiginous feeling was new.
I didn’t like it.
I took a deep breath. Forced myself to calm down. I was jumping to conclusions. Letting my worst fears and insecurities take root and create obstacles and pitfalls where there might not be any.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Sarah. No answer. Three rings, then to voice mail. Again, that was odd, but proved nothing.
Keep calm, I told myself. This is why we do recon. So we don’t go charging into barbed wire and minefields and ambushes. Check and make sure before you do something stupid.
I walked back toward the front desk. Maybe my bored undergrad would be able to tell me if either or both professors were due back soon. Maybe there was a meeting of the English Department and I was getting worked up over nothing.
The desk was vacant. I waited for a moment, just in case the young woman had wandered away and would be back, but I didn’t see any sign. The place was deserted. It was a beautiful late summer day, and the term had just started so there was no crowd of students cramming for finals. Maybe the clerk had decided to find someplace more comfortable to text.
I was thinking what I should do next when a man walked in through the front doors. He wore an Oxford cloth button-down shirt, a tweed jacket with suede patches on the elbows and khaki trousers. I couldn’t see his shoes past the rows of desks, but I felt confident they were penny loafers.
He had to be on the English Department.
I walked toward him. “Excuse me?”
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