ACT I
Scene One
Roy killed the motor. He and Johnny sat as the laughter gave way to exhaustion. After a minute Roy pulled the key from the ignition and they exited the vehicle. They had just entered the dorm when
"Station 51, single vehicle accident with injuries."
Immediately alert, they were soon back on the road followed closely by Big Red and her crew.
Vince was there, waiting. There were no other police. None were necessary. They were in what had been an industrial neighborhood that, these days, was quiet during the day; it was deserted now. The front end of the once beautiful 1967 Plymouth Barracuda was now crushed against the wall of the long abandoned warehouse.
"Wish this was more like the last one," Vince said grimly when they had gotten their gear.
"What have we got," asked Cap.
"Drunk driver," the officer replied. "Just a kid, from the looks of her, but I can't get close. I tried a couple of times, she got hysterical."
The things people find to do to themselves, Johnny thought as they went to the car. They were still a few yards away when the distinct odor of tequila reached them, strengthening with each step they took.
Vince was right. The driver looked barely eighteen. Her head was thrown back, her eyes were closed tight and she was murmuring.
"Ma'am," she stiffened at the sound of Johnny's voice. "We're with the fire department; we're here to help you." He opened the driver's door and knelt beside her. "Ma'am, where are you hurt?" Her legs were pinned under the folded dash and the steering wheel was pressing into her belly. "Ma'am, can you look at me," Johnny continued.
"No," she whispered tearfully. He threw a glance to the windshield. It was badly cracked but had held together, no flying glass. The side windows were both rolled down. "Please no." He reached across her to release her safety belt. She cringed and let out a cry. "Please don't."
"Can you tell me your name," Johnny asked.
"No," she repeated. "Please." Her eyes remained clenched, her breathing grew ragged.
Captain Hammer came over. There was no gas leaking, no sparks; Roy put up a hand to stop him. Cap repeated the signal to the rest of the crew, sit tight. Meanwhile, Roy made his way to the passenger side and slid in next to her. "It's OK," said Roy soothingly. "No one is going to hurt you, I promise. You've been in a car accident. We're paramedics. We need to make sure you're not hurt too badly." As he spoke he released the belt and gingerly passed it to Johnny, being careful not to touch her or let her feel what he'd done. "I'm going to take your hand now. I need your wrist to check your pulse, OK?" She bit her lip. "OK?"
She swallowed hard and nodded. She tensed visibly when he touched her but she allowed him to take her pulse. It was fast … too fast.
"Good," said Roy, still holding her wrist and monitoring her pulse. "Now my partner's going to take your blood pressure. Have you had your blood pressure taken before?" An almost imperceptible shake of her head. Johnny had already grabbed the cuff and was reaching for her arm. Again Roy raised his hand, palm flat. Stop."Wait," Roy mouthed to him. To her, in his gentlest voice Roy said, "He needs to put a cuff around your arm. It'll go just above your elbow. You'll hear pumping, then it'll get tight, and then he's going to slide a stethoscope between the cuff and your arm." He looked directly at Johnny. "He'll go slow and easy. Understand?" A long moment passed before she nodded. "Easy does it," he said as much for Johnny as for their patient.
Johnny didn't understand. He knew what Roy wanted him to do, he just couldn't figure why he wanted to do it this way. She was drunk, how did Roy expect to reason with a drunk? On the other hand, she's calmer now, and I guess slow is still faster than fighting with her first. He took her wrist as softly as he could. He noted a bruise that went about three quarters of the way around it on the inside. As he slid the bp cuff into place he spotted another angry bruise on her inner arm at the bicep. It was large and ugly and nearly round. He was able to get Roy's attention and point it out. Roy just looked down. Johnny followed his gaze to a matching bruise on her right arm. Strange.
Her pulse was rapid, her respirations high and her bp was low. They couldn't get a read on her pupillary response; she refused to open her eyes.
Johnny manned the biophone. He forgot all about slow and gentle as he sat by her and called in to Rampart with his full voice. She whimpered and drew closer to Roy.
"Take it easy," Roy hissed.
"Roy," Johnny snapped. She cried out and clamped down on Roy's hand with a vice grip.
Johnny had had enough. Before Roy could stop him he turned to their patient and said sternly, "Miss, you're injured, possibly badly. We need to check you out and that means we need to look at your eyes. Please open your eyes!"
Her eyes flew open. She was very still for a long moment, staring at Johnny. Then her eyes widened in fear and she tried to scramble away from him, panic setting in as she realized she was pinned. She screamed. It chilled the blood of every man there.
Scene Two
Roy had seen it before. One, like now, had led to a car accident. One victim had run away and fallen into a shallow ravine and one had locked herself in her apartment and frightened her family and friends when she'd ignored their calls. Once the actual rescues had been complete the care of these women had fallen to the nurses. Roy had watched, his heart in his throat. It used to be just police, ambulances if there were injuries. Now paramedics would be called on first, with or without additional accident or incident. For the first time since becoming a paramedic Roy wished there was a nurse along.
Johnny worked quietly. He had frozen when she'd looked at him. He'd never frozen on the job before, and it was only for a second, but he'd frozen. She was afraid of him. Tell the truth. She was terrified. He probably shouldn't have barked at her, but he was trying to help her, after all. Roy knows something. He tried to tell you. What does he know? What did Roy see that you missed?
She had fainted. It did make the job much easier. Not cool, Gage, he reprimanded himself. Her respirations and pulse had shown slight improvement once she was unconscious. She had a couple of cracked ribs and a broken pelvis. They'd also found two more of those large, circular bruises on her thighs. They'd reported their findings and followed Rampart's instructions. All that was left now was the transport.
Roy was squatting next to her, monitoring her IV's and vitals, whispering with Vince. What is Roy so angry about? Johnny took a step closer.
"I don't think she's drunk," Roy was saying.
Vince shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Roy, I am. You're probably right, but one doesn't change the other."
"It's not sympathy Vince. I really don't think she's drunk."
"Come on, she reeks of alcohol."
"Yeah, I know. I worked on her. It's on her, but I was right next to her when she screamed. I didn't smell it on her breath. I think it's on her clothes." Vince looked doubtful. "You're going to follow us to the hospital anyway, right? If I'm wrong you can always arrest her later. It's not like she's going anywhere, and if I'm right …"
Right about what? They heard the sirens that told them the ambulance was near. Roy stowed the last of the equipment and rose. "Hey, Johnny?"
"Yeah?"
"Grab my helmet, will you? I think I left it in the car."
Johnny trotted over to the now empty wreck. A quick glance revealed Roy's helmet in the back seat. When he couldn't quite get to it he knelt in on his right knee to extend his reach. As he stood he happened to glance at the seat, at the large, nearly round indentation his knee had left. He dropped the helmet.
The ambulance had pulled up, she had been loaded, Roy had joined her and they were pulling out. The engine crew's job here was done, everyone was waiting on him. He didn't notice. As he stared, the print of his own knee changed color, no longer the black leather of the car seat, it was now an angry purple. The color of bruises. He was sick with sudden understanding. Johnny ran behind the car to throw up.