THE EXPERIMENT

I'm gonna be late...

TK's phone rang at quarter to eight...fifteen minutes before the end of his 24-hour shift. Smiling, he answered, "Babe...good timing. We just got back from a call. I'm really crossing my fingers that nothing else comes in in the next few minutes so I can hop in the shower and head your way."

"Ooh," Carlos did that adorable purring thing that drove him nuts. "So, you might actually be on time for dinner?"

"What is that saying you Texans use?" TK teased, putting on his best drawl. "Lord willing and the creek don't rise?"

Carlos laughed. "That is a thing some Texans say. The ones who are about seventy!"

"I'm putting you on speaker so I can finish re-stocking the bus for A-shift," TK warned.

"Ah. So watch the NSFW. Got it," Carlos joked.

"I'm so scared that alarm's gonna go off," TK said. "I hate late shift calls like that last one. Always feels like an omen."

"No, no omens!" Carlos pleaded.

TK chuckled. "Sorry. I will get lucky. I will leave on time, I will hit all the green lights on my way to the restaurant, I will find an excellent parking space, and we will be on time for our dinner reservation. 8:30 p.m. on the dot."

No sooner than the affirmations left his mouth did the 126's station alarm sound. TK froze with a groan. He knew Carlos could hear the alarm through the speaker.

Station 126, medical response needed for a young adult male thrown from a moving vehicle at Stratton and Barnes, northeast corner. APD also responding.

TK sighed, taking his phone off of speaker as he closed the bus doors and slid behind the wheel even as he glanced in the side mirror and saw Captain Vega hurrying across the upper floor. Satisfied she was on her way, he focused his attention back on Carlos. "Sorry, babe. I'm probably going to be a few minutes late. I'll try to get there so we don't have to forfeit our table."

"It's okay," Carlos replied, but the disappointment in his voice that he couldn't quite hide tore at TK. "You're worth waiting for. I just wish you hadn't picked up a shift on our first date night as husbands. I wanted it to be so special."

"I know. I'm sorry. But I couldn't say no. Nancy's dad is dying. I couldn't say, 'Sorry, Nance, but I have a date.' I'll still love you tomorrow. But she might not get the chance to say goodbye tomorrow."

"Oh, my God. I'm such an asshole!" Carlos moaned.

"Not an asshole," TK said softly as Tommy opened the rear bus door (which he only knew because any open door made a ping sound and lit an indicator on the dashboard). He glanced into the rear-view mirror, but she was already hopping down and closing the door again. "Just disappointed. I am, too. Gotta go. I'll be there as soon as I can, but if they tell you you have to give up the table, text me where to meet you, and there I'll be."

"I love you," Carlos said as Tommy secured the shotgun side seat belt with a click.

"Love you, too, babe. See you soon."

He hung up and hit the sirens and the gas at the same time.

oOo

They found the thrown passenger easily enough from the small crowd that had formed around him.

"Paramedics! Make some space!" TK called, striding quickly toward the figure on the sidewalk, one hand behind him pulling the gurney as Tommy pushed it.

"We gave him our coats," a woman said, clinging to a man's arm. "He's wet and it's cold tonight."

"Wet?" TK asked, already flashing a pen light in the guy's eyes. His pupils were blown wide, but not, TK thought, from injury. "Has he said anything to you?"
"Sir, I'm Tommy," the captain said, crouching at his other side. "Can you tell me your name?"

The guy rolled his eyes toward her voice and blinked but said nothing.

"Pulse is steady but a little slow. Low BP, too," TK said. "Breath sounds are good."

"Sir, can you understand me?" Tommy asked, gently peeling away the two coats the well-meaning strangers had covered him with. "Okay, we have blood. Are you in any pain?" The guy just blinked. Gently, she lifted his t-shirt to find…nothing. No wounds. Just the smears of blood.

"Sir," TK asked, "Whose blood is this on your shirt?"

Blink. Blink. A tear escaped. Then a grunting sound. But no words.

With the coats pulled away, their John Doe began to shiver violently.

Tommy glanced up at something over TK's shoulder. "Looks like some kind of OD," she told the officer standing behind TK, "but he's non-verbal at the moment. And this is not his blood," she said.

"Whoa," TK said, running his fingers near a discoloration on the guy's right inner wrist. "What is that?"

Tommy used her pen light in the darkness. "That...looks like an electrical burn. We need to move him," she said.

TK slipped the c-collar around his neck, then eased him to his side so Tommy could insert the board under him.

"Ready?" she asked him.

"Yep. One, two, three!" he said, lifting his end as Tommy lifted hers.

"I'll ride with him," Tommy said.

TK nodded, closed the bus doors, and got back behind the wheel, still puzzling over the guy's condition. Wet, drugged up on something, non-verbal, with a nasty electrical burn on his wrist. What the hell?

At just past 8:15 p.m., in the ambulance bay at Presbyterian, Tommy helped him load the empty gurney back into the rear after transferring the still non-verbal guy to a bed in the ER. As he was about to close the doors, Tommy shook her head.

"Hop back there and change clothes. I'll drop you at the restaurant on my way back to the station."

"Change into…?" He then spotted his gear bag on the bench and broke into a grin. "When did you—?"

"You were so busy moaning to Carlos about being late, you didn't see me tuck it in your bench back there...or get it back out after you rolled our John Doe inside."

He grinned at her. "Thanks, Cap."

"Get dressed!" she said again, closing the rear doors.

As he changed, TK realized with dismay that he'd forgotten his dress shirt. It was still hanging up at the station. Not wanting to hurt Tommy's feelings after all she'd done, he spoke to her through the open divider window. "You know, I forgot my dress shirt at home, but…" he checked the area around the restaurant on his phone, "there's a men's store at the end of the same block as the restaurant. Would you drop me there, instead?"

"Sure," she agreed.

TK tucked his wallet into one back pocket of his black dress slacks and his phone into the other, then put the gear bag back in the storage section of the bench. When she dropped him at the corner of 8th Street and Joliet Avenue, he tossed a "thanks!" over his shoulder and dashed into the men's shop, not even pausing to watch her drive away.

"Sir," a man said, striding quickly in his direction, "we close in…" he looked at his wristwatch, "five minutes."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'll be quick. I just need a collared shirt for—"

"La Entrada, three doors down?" the clerk, whose name badge read 'Clark', guessed.

"Yes. I forgot mine at work, and I'm meeting someone for an 8:30 reservation."

"You look like you're about—" Clark pulled an ice blue collared dress shirt from a rack near the registers, "—this size. Give it a try."

TK pulled the shirt on, buttoned it, fixed the collar, and checked a nearby floor mirror. "Wow. It's great. You really know your stuff," he said. Before he could button the cuffs, Clark smiled, reached over, and started to work the price tag off of the right cuff button.

"Shall I ring it up?"

Glancing at the price, TK winced. But picturing Carlos' appreciation (he loved anything that brought out, as he called them, TK's "baby blues"), he decided to splurge. "Please."

After extracting his wallet from his back pocket and handing Clark his credit card, TK pulled his phone from the other pocket. He nearly cheered when he saw the time...8:27 p.m. Before he could text Carlos, Carlos texted him.

I heard a rumor that you'll be on time!

I should be. Or five minutes late at most! TK added a heart emoji.

Carlos sent three hearts back.

TK put down the phone as Clark slid the credit card slip across the counter with a pen. He winced again at the figure but signed the slip and grabbed his credit card as Clark whipped around the counter, saying, "I'll walk you out. I have to lock the door, anyway."

Seeing as the guy had done him a favor, TK snatched his copy of the credit slip and tucked his card and the slip into his wallet and ducked out the door to Clark's rushed, "Thank you for shopping Hamilton's Menswear! Enjoy your dinner!"

He fought an amused grin as he heard the snick of a lock, then heard the sound of a motorized outdoor security grate sliding down like a metal curtain over the entire front of the store. He also heard the squeal of tires as a black van peeled away from the curb a couple doors up the street.

Then, as the van passed him, TK saw a man rolling on the sidewalk in agony in front of the shop next door and heard the blast of a horn behind him.

"Hey, man, are you—"

"I'm fine," the guy said, struggling to his feet. "That van! Someone just grabbed my wife!" he cried, pointing to the corner, to the source of the horn. A car slid through the intersection, honking angrily. Then a black panel van squealed around the corner onto 8th Street.

TK ran after it, hoping to get a plate number. Brake lights flashed as the side door slid open. "Hey!" he called, running toward it. Strong arms grabbed him from behind and something fabric was shoved down over his head. Heart slamming in his chest, he fought the unseen hold. Flailing, he connected with something or someone. Still blinded by the fabric over his head, he couldn't see his attacker or attackers. With a burst of pain against his right temple, darkness grew until it swallowed him whole.