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"I'll get you, you sonofabitch," Monroe shouted. Two plain clothed police officers at the courtroom for testimony intervened, the men grabbing and then holding Monroe back while John bent down to check me out.
"Are you okay?" he asked, peering down at me. He held up his hand in front of my eyes. "How many fingers?"
"Two," I replied, seeing them despite the wooziness I felt. "Vision's a bit blurry though."
"You may have a concussion," John said, shaking his head like he was angry with himself. "Please stay where you are. An ambulance has been dispatched."
As a neurosurgeon, I knew more than enough about the human brain to realize that I should lie still and wait for trained paramedics to arrive who would do a neuro assessment before moving me. I had an intense pain in my head though, and touched the back of my head to feel wetness. It was either from the street or, more likely from the viscosity of the liquid, it was my own blood. I reached my hand up to my eyes and sure enough, they were stained red.
"Damn," I said and showed John. "I've got some kind of cut. Do you have a first aid kit in your vehicle?
"I do," John said and jumped up, rushing to his car. The police dragged Monroe off and a crowd of onlookers gathered to watch my ordeal.
John returned and rummaged through the kit, finding some bandages, which he opened. He turned my head gingerly so he could apply them to the injury on the back of my head.
"My apologies, Dr. Morgan," he said, his voice angry with himself. "I didn't recognize him as a threat. He was with a group of people and peeled off at the last second when he was beside you."
"No, that's okay," I said, touching my cheek. "I didn't see him either. We never thought of him as a real threat in our briefings. His name never came up. You weren't in the courtroom, so you couldn't have known he threatened me."
He shook his head again. "Still, I could have been more situationally aware. My apologies."
I waved my hand, trying to allay his concerns. It was an ambush that none of us were expecting.
The ambulance drove up just as John was wrapping gauze around my head to hold the bandage in place. The EMT came over, his kit in his hand, and got a report from John.
"The p
atient is Dr. Drake Morgan. He was attacked and fell onto his back, hitting his head on the sidewalk. He was unconscious for about two minutes but is now conscious and is oriented to time and place. He's bleeding moderately from a cut, and has some bruising on his cheek."
"Thank you," the EMT said and took over, kneeling beside me. He did a full assessment, asking me questions while the other EMT applied a portable BP monitor and flashed a pen light into my eyes to gauge any neurological impairment.
"That's going to need stitches," the EMT said to me. "If you were unconscious, you should come into the ER for assessment and observation."
I agreed and they brought over the gurney, assisting me onto it. It felt strange for me as someone who was usually on the other side of the gurney to become a patient instead of the one who treated them. I was so used to being the one in control, the one making decisions about a patient's treatment, not the one being controlled and treated. I tried to take a back seat and let them do their jobs.
"Can you call Kate?" I asked John before the EMT closed the ambulance doors.
"Will do, Dr. Morgan. I'll let Mike know as well."
John drove behind the ambulance to New York Presbyterian and followed my gurney to the ER, waiting outside my room while I was examined by the ER nurse and doc. They called in the neuro who was on call, who luckily was in the hospital at the time checking on patients. Dr. Poindexter came in, wearing his white lab coat, his name stitched onto his pocket, and regarded me over a pair of reading glasses.
"Dr. Morgan," he said, a smile on his face. "Fancy meeting you here."
I managed a smile, remembering him as a joker in the first degree. "Yeah, not my usual role in NYP."
He then did a full neuro exam, and after talking through what tests I'd have, he left the room and the nurses finished their own ministrations. For the next hour, I spent time in various hallways waiting for the exam, and having blood work taken. Finally, I was moved up to the neurology observation ward and after getting checked over by the nurses there, I closed my eyes and tried to rest.
Sometime later, I woke, my eyes opening and slowly focusing. Beside me sat Kate, her face pale from worry, her eyes warm.
Beautiful Kate.
"You're here," I said when my vision cleared. I reached out my hand and Kate took it in hers. She stood up, leaning over to kiss my good cheek.
"I am," she said, tears in her eyes.
"How long have you been here?"
"Not long. How are you feeling?"
