“Even so, you should stay overnight for observation,” Dr. Harris replies. “Plus, I’m getting your blood work back and can hopefully identify the cause of your blackouts.”
Dax pushes his legs off the bed, woozily sitting up. “I don’t need those results. I know there are no drugs in my system besides whatever the nurse gave me.”
Dr. Harris sighs and turns to Cindy. “Give us a minute, will you?”
Cindy nods. She turns to me, gesturing for me to leave the room with her. A chill runs over me, and I set the book down on Mrs. Gibson's table. I give her an apologetic smile and hurry out of the room as Dr. Harris pulls a curtain around the Dax’s bed.
When I reach the nurses’ station with Cindy, concern colors her face. “Everything okay, Vanessa?”
“Oh, umm, I…” I blink hard, taking my attention away from the room. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just feel bad about leaving Mrs. Gibson.”
Cindy swats a hand. “Don’t worry about that. I need to give her another dose of medication. She’ll be out again soon.”
Cindy moves on to another patient, and Trisha approaches the desk, writing in a patient’s file.
I gesture at room 1-12. “Do you know much about the boy in that room? Do you think he’ll be okay?”
She nods, keeping her head down as she continues to write. “Yeah, he’ll be fine.”
“And you already know him?”
“His name is Dax Malone,” she says through gritted teeth. “The Malones run The Scorpions.”
“And is it just a club? Or something more sinister?”
“I’d say it’s closer to organized crime.”
Queasiness grips my stomach. “Oh.”
Trisha huffs, looking down at the papers in front of her. “Why in the world did he need to walk in here?”
“But he collapsed,” I reply. “He needed help. Didn’t he?”
She looks up with consideration. “Those bruises didn’t just happen. If he’s been having multiple blackouts, I’d suspect he has an illness. We’ll know more when the lab results come in.”
A weight sits on my chest. “Well, I hope whatever he has is treatable.”
“This job is taking it out of me.” She wipes her brow. “I’m losing my empathy.”
“Don’t be tough on yourself. It’s been a long day.”
She winces. “All I see in that bed is a young thug. I don’t see the sick boy.”
I step away, unsure how to reply.
Trisha hugs the file. “He has something wrong with him, but I’m just terrified of treating him. Part of me wishes he’d stolen medication and left.”
My mouth falls open at her words.
She walks away with disdain dampening her posture.
I exhale hard, staring at room 1-12’s doorway. I can’t imagine trying to steal medication when on the verge of collapse. Even if he’s part of a crime-riddled family, he deserves better care than that.
A small voice inside my head begs me to let this go. I stand taller, willing my mother’s voice to stay on mute. She’d tell me to pay no attention to this boy. But there’s something about him.
Something both exhilarating and terrifying.
Something I can’t ignore.
