The car is gone, but Luca is there in the intersection, completely still.
I’ve been tormented by the idea of my mother bleeding out in her car a million times. I’ve drawn blood from thousands of people. The notion of spilled blood haunts me, it drives me, and as I stare at the growing pool of liquid and broken glass on the asphalt, even in the dark, Luca’s blood seems so much redder than any I’ve ever seen.
“Luca?” I gently shake him. “Luca!”
No response.
Panicking and trembling violently, I scan his body. His right side, from his hip to his foot, is soaked in blood. Carefully, I roll him over, locating an enormous slash on his thigh. His femoral artery has been punctured, and I tear off my blazer, using it as a tourniquet around his upper thigh.
I press a hand to his face, crying out when his eyes flutter open. “Luca? Luca, look at me.”
“Em?”
I nod frantically. “I’m here. Don’t close your eyes. Stay with me.” My hands shake as I quickly run them over his body, looking for other injuries.
“I can’t feel…”
“Can’t feel what?” I’m trembling violently. “Luca, honey. You can’t feel what? No. No. Don’t close your eyes. No, no, no, no.” I shake him, but they don’t open again.
The air grows trapped in my lungs; I’m unable to inhale or exhale. I try to scream, but nothing comes out. I can’t move, frozen in the moment, frozen in fear. Shoving my breath out, I force myself to focus. If I panic, I can’t help him. There will be time to fall apart later.
With a sob, I inspect the wound on his thigh. The bleeding has reduced to a trickle by this point, and my mind screams at me to fix it, fix it, fix it.
If I hadn’t been late. If I hadn’t been late.
Pressing my fingers to his neck, I feel for a pulse but can’t find one. I reach for his wrist, setting my fingers against his radial artery—nothing—his inner elbow: also nothing. Panic chokes me.
“Help!” I scream, but nobody comes. It’s summer and everyone’s windows are closed tight, sealing the air-conditioning inside. “Help!”
I start chest compressions, pressing down hard and fast the way I’ve been trained.
Staying alive, staying alive, ah, ah, ah, ah, staying alive…
“Oh my God, Luca, please, no. No, no, no. Stay with me. Stay with me.”
Pausing, I fumble with slippery hands for my phone but remember it’s in my car, in my bag, wherever I threw it. The hospital is probably thirteen minutes away with no traffic. Luca doesn’t have thirteen minutes. He doesn’t even have three. Even if an ambulance was here right now, they might not be able to save him.
That’s when I freeze, remembering what else is in my car. Awareness sends a cold wash down my arms. I have seconds.
There’s only one thing I can think to do.
7EMERY
Em? You better not be calling me from your anniversary dinner.”
“Annie!” I shout into the car. “Where are you?”
“I was just about to leave. Is… is everything okay?”
Exhaling a harsh, terrified breath, I look back to where Luca is wrapped in a blanket and lying across my back seat. His skin is pale and he’s disturbingly still.
“I need you to listen to me,” I say, pressing heavily on the gas pedal. “Don’t ask questions, just listen, okay? Are there still gurneys at the loading dock at the back of the building?”
“The ones we use for veterinary emergencies? There should be.” She pauses. “Girl, please do not tell me you stopped for a wounded animal on the way to—”
“What about cameras?” I interrupt, veering around a slow-moving car. “Is it still just the one?”
“As far as I know. They talked about adding more because of the blind spot behind the concrete pillar, but I don’t think they ever did.” She hesitates. “Is there a reason you’re asking me this?”
