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22
AFTERMATH
Aithan’s skull throbbed.His ribs screamed and every breath stabbed his chest and shot pain through his shoulders and back. The world vibrated and rocked. Disoriented, he opened his eyes, but the light glaring into his face hurt too much and he closed them again. The darkness was better.
“Mr. Mazur, my name is Jennifer. You’re in an ambulance on the way to the hospital.”
The woman’s voice sounded distant. There was a wailing sound. A siren.
Ambulance?
He looked at her. “What happened?” The words came out garbled, weak, raspy.
“You were assaulted. You have head trauma and a punctured lung. Just remain calm. You’re getting the help you need. We’re pulling into the emergency entrance now.”
The siren stopped wailing. The ambulance slowed and stopped.
Jennifer started shifting things around as another paramedic opened the doors.
Aithan closed his eyes again. Too much light and noise. Too much motion. Too much pain. It all made his head pound and his stomach churn. The hospital smells didn’t help — antiseptics, rubber, and whatever strange soap all hospital sheets were washed in combined to nauseate him more.
The gurney rolled through hallways teeming with doctors and nurses. They asked questions.
“Do you know your name?”
“Can you tell me today’s date?”
“Do you know what happened to you, Mr. Mazur?”
“Where do you hurt?”
“Mr. Mazur, do you use any recreational or prescription drugs?”
“Do you smoke?”
“Have you been drinking tonight, Mr. Mazur?”
“Do you have any health conditions the hospital staff needs to know about?”
They took x-rays, a CT scan, and an MRI. Having people poking and prodding him and shoving needles into his veins seemed bad until they pushed a tube between his ribs. That was worse than being cracked in the skull.
Finally, a doctor came to his bedside and sent the others away.
“I’m Dr. Emily Nathus. I’ll be your attending physician for the rest of the day, Mr. Mazur.”
“Aithan.” He raised his hand. His voice sounded thick and slow, like his tongue didn’t remember how to form words.
She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. I wish it was under more pleasant circumstances.”
“Me, too.”
“I’m here to tell you about your injuries and discuss treatment. Think you can handle that?”
Breathing was tight and painful. He hated not being able to fill his lungs. “Sure. Not going … anywhere.”
She gave a small laugh. “No, not likely. You have a skull fracture and a concussion. Two broken ribs, three with hairline cracks, and a collapsed right lung. That’s the bad news. The very good news is that you don’t have intracranial bleeding or other internal injuries. I’m not gonna ask what happened. I have the general details and there’s a detective waiting patiently to ask you questions.”
Aithan grunted.
