Chapter 6: Wait, who did you say you are?

The next day, I pull myself out of bed around one and take a shower. I listen to my messages while I brush my teeth, making mental notes to myself as I go. Call Mom sometime today, Doctor’s appointment Thursday at two…

When a sales call comes on, I tune it out and search my cupboards for something – anything – worth eating. Buy groceries, I add to the list. A new voice catches my attention and I perk my head up to listen.

“Kalliopia Pensington? I need to speak with you immediately. My name is Dr. Ikoda; please call me. My number is-”

A knock at the door diverts my attention. I look through the hole to see a man and a woman, both in suits. I open the door a little, leaving the chain-lock in place, and ask, “Yes, can I help you?”

“Kalliopia Pensington?” The woman asks and I wince.

“Yeah,” I tell her. I really hate the sound of my own first name. Twice in one day is almost unbearable.

“We need you to come with us, Miss. There’s been an accident. I was told you could help us.”

My training kicks in immediately; I don’t think about the oddness of the request, or wonder who would have told them where I live, or even question why they would have chosen me. I just react – I grab a jacket and my purse and I slam the door shut, move the chain, and fly out the door.

“Where?” I ask. “What kind of an accident?”

The woman pauses to look at the man as we continue down the stairs – we’re almost down to the ground floor.

“Traffic,” she tells me. “Three cars and a tractor-trailer. A few blocks from here. We can drive you there, it will be faster.”

A sudden chill sweeps over me and I freeze in place. There’s something wrong here. There’s something they’re not telling me, something they don’t want me to know… Struck with a sudden realization, I take a step back. “Wait, if there was an accident, why aren’t there sirens? There should be sirens…”

“You just can’t hear them from over here,” the man tells me, but after his mouth stops moving, I hear, You can’t hear them from anywhere.

I look down the hall, silently praying that someone, anyone, is standing out there right now. But the hall is empty.

“She knows,” the woman says sharply, “Grab her!”

Without thinking I dart down the hall. I can’t hear them behind me – all I hear is the sound of my blood pumping and the constant refrain of Why me? – but I know they’re chasing me. To my left, another apartment door swings open as a man is leaving for work. Darting toward the door, I pull him in with me and I slam the door shut. I barely have time to get the bolt in place before someone tries the knob.

“What do you want?” the man demands looking both angry and afraid.

“Get me the phone,” I say hoarsely. “I need to call the police.”

When the police arrive twenty minutes later, they first take the name of the gentleman I had imposed myself upon and then escort me back to my own apartment. “I don’t know what to tell you,” I tell them. “I don’t understand it myself.”

“Just tell us what happened,” the officer says.

So I do. I tell him all about how they showed up at my door and told me there was an accident. I tell him about my sudden realization that there had been no sirens. And I tell him about the chase down the hallway and my final escape.

“Did you know them?” he asks.

“No, not at all.”

“And they didn’t give their names?”

“Nope.” I describe them briefly, but admit that I didn’t pay much attention after the words ‘accident’ and ‘help’.

“Is there any reason someone might want to abduct you?” Are you in a gang, do you buy or sell drugs… I hear the rest of his thoughts as easily as his words.

“I’m not in a gang and I have nothing to do with drugs, sir. There’s no reason someone would try to kidnap me.”

“Alright, well, I’ll file a report. Is there somewhere else you can stay tonight?”

“I have work at 5,” I explain. “I won’t be home for the rest of the night. I’ll just head in a little early.” Which would make it a twelve hour shift, but I don’t mind.

“Okay, then, have a nice day, Miss, and be careful.”

I smile and thank him. When he’s gone, I sink into my couch with my cats and cry. The hysterics only last for about five minutes, but when I’m done, I feel so much better.

I arrive at the hospital at four o’clock. Rose had heard the police dispatch over her scanner, and she confronts me as soon as I walk in. “Did you hear about the abduction attempt? It was at your apartment complex, Kalli!”

“Rose,” I snap irritated, “It was me. They were trying to abduct me.”

“No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t your apartment number,” she says dully, obviously shocked.

Isn’t it amazing that someone will argue with you about something like that? “Yes, Rose, it was. I ducked into someone else’s apartment. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to get report from someone and get to my patients.”

“Oh,” she says stupidly. “Oh, you’re supposed to go talk to the charge nurse when you get in. That’s what I came to tell you.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Don’t know.” As she walks away, I can tell I’ve hurt her feelings.

“I’m not in any mood to care,” I tell myself. Still, I know that I do care. I’ll make it up to her later…

At the nurse’s desk, the charge nurse nicely informs me that I won’t be working the ER today. “We’re short three nurses in peds” – pediatrics – “so I need you up there.”

“But why me?” As if my day wasn’t bad enough…

First patient: female, 12 years old, pre-op, npo, c/o abdominal pains to lower right quadrant, pain meds prn. This meant I was dealing with a twelve year old girl with appendicitis. Oh, and since she couldn’t have anything by mouth, I had to stick her pain meds up her butt. Great fun, that. Second patient: flame-head, again. Apparently you don’t get sent home the next day after catching your head on fire. Go figure.

Third patient: male, 17… I freeze, reading over the long list of lacerations and ecchymoses. My word, what happened to this kid? According to his chart, he’s been in and out of consciousness for the last 24 hours… obvious signs of trauma… possibly r/t caregiver abuse.

I shake my head silently as I walk into his room. Standing at his bedside, I mentally note all of the bruises and lacerations while I count his respirations. Seven in fifteen, which means twenty-eight in one minute. I take his blood pressure, using the arm with the least amount of bruising – his legs are too bruised to consider using one of them. 88/46 – low. I look at his chart again. At the worst it had been down at 76/38. Shaking my head again, I take his temperature – 100.7 F – and document all of this on his chart. Normally we wouldn’t take vital signs at four o’clock, but his are being monitored. I check his IV bag, line, and insertion site. All look good.

Turning, I walk to the door, ready to get away from the boy in the bed and the feelings I get from seeing him lying there, so helpless.

“Uhhhnn.”

Instincts kick in and I’m at his bed in moments. “Can you hear me? Cyrus?”

His eyes open, slowly, hesitantly. “Don’t hurt me…,” I hear, though his lips don’t move.

“I won’t hurt you. You’re safe here,” I tell him. “Do you know where you are?”

He shakes his head with obvious trouble and his eyes begin to drift shut again.

“Cyrus. Come on, Cyrus, stay awake. Cyrus.”

I sigh. He’s out cold again. Carefully, I brush the hair from his forehead and look down at him. He looks so young, and yet he’s only five years younger than me.