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She remembered the bookshelves falling with her.
Someone must have caught them, or lifted them off her. As for the fate of the award—she had no idea. If the pain was anything to go by there was a possibility it was still embedded in her head.
There was a crashing sound and the doors to her office burst open.
Really, did no one knock these days?
Gayle tried to open her eyes and give someone her scariest stare, but they felt too heavy.
She heard more voices, this time firm and confident—presumably the EMTs.
‘What’s her name?’
Why was he asking her name? Didn’t he recognise her? Everyone knew who she was. She was a legend. She’d just won an award for being inspirational, and if they couldn’t see the actual award then surely they could see the award-sized dent in her skull.
She was going to write to the organisers and suggest a brooch for the next winner.
‘Gayle, can you hear me? I’m Dan.’
Why was he calling her Gayle when they’d never met? She was either Ms Mitchell or GM. Young people today had no respect. This was why she insisted on formality in the office.
This ‘Dan’ barked out some instructions to his partner and proceeded to assess her injuries.
Gayle felt herself being poked and prodded.
‘Has someone contacted her family? Loved ones?’
‘Her…what?’ That was Cole, sounding stressed and confused.
‘Loved ones. Nearest and dearest.’ The EMT was pressing something to her head.
‘I don’t think—’ Cole cleared his throat. ‘She doesn’t have loved ones.’
‘She must have someone.’ Dan eased Gayle’s eyes open and used a flashlight.
‘That’s probably the first time anyone has looked into her eyes in a long time.’
Funny, Gayle thought. Until that moment she hadn’t even realised Cole had a sense of humour. It was a shame it was at her expense.
‘Partner?’ Dan again, doing something that apparently was meant to support her neck.
‘No. Just work. She loves her work.’
‘Are you telling me she has no one in her life?’
‘Well, there’s Puccini…’
‘Great. So give this Puccini guy a call and tell him what’s happened. He can meet us at the hospital.’
Gayle wanted to roll her eyes, but her head hurt too badly. She hoped this EMT knew more about head injuries than he did about culture.
‘Puccini was a composer. Opera. GM loves opera. People? Not so
much. She isn’t a family type of person. GM is married to her work.’
Dan clipped something to Gayle’s finger. ‘Oh, man, that’s sad.’
Sad? Sad?
