Riley Mackenzie - Beautifully Done

I pushed away from Lil and flew across the room.

“She’s not moving, Ash, Mom’s not moving.”

My heart locked.

Cracked.

And stopped beating.

Tal.

Tack was kneeling, bent over and brushing the hair from her closed eyes. “Ash, I think she’s been shot.” His panicked words were like a knife to my chest. The pain was indescribable.

I shoved my cell in his hand and cradled Talia’s beautiful face, kissing her, immediately searching for her breath. I needed to feel her breath. I needed it more than my own breath.

It was shallow and shaky, coming in short spurts, but she was breathing. She was alive. Thank God.

I slid my fingertips along her thin neck. “Tack, tell them she’s breathing, but her pulse is slow, I can barely feel it.” I was used to it bounding under me. I was used to it matching my own. A million thoughts swarmed my brain, all landing on how the fuck did this happen, why? I was staring at the only reason I have a future and she was slipping away.

How the fuck did I let this happen? I was helpless. I hated it.

Tack turned and screamed over his shoulder “Where are we, I need the damn address?” Dodd grabbed the phone and took over.

Sierra wailed, “They’re coming, Tal, they’re coming.”

“Hold on, Teeps.” I tried my best to control my emotion. But I was breaking. No, I was broken. “I love you, stay with me, Tal. Stay with me. Help is coming, you’re gonna be fine.”

Talia’s eyes drifted open at the sound of my voice. “Tack?” she choked out. “Lili?” she whispered.

“I’m here, Mom. I’m fine.”

“Here, Tal. I’m right here,” Lili cried as she sunk down next to me.

“Everyone is here, baby. We’re okay. He’s dead.” I began scanning, searching for where that motherfucker’s bullet hit her perfect body.

My fingertips stilled when she said, “Don’t move ... me, Ace.” Her voice was weak and raspy. I barely made out “back.” Her eyes closed and she no longer responded to our pleas. I felt her at my fingertips. I felt her in a way I never wanted to feel her. I gently slid my hand from under her and choked back the vomit burning my throat. Warm, wet and sticky. Her blood soaked my palm.

The next twenty minutes passed like a lifetime in purgatory. Paramedics and police descended in droves, barking orders and moving like practiced robots. Yellow tape secured the scene immediately, while pictures flashed incessantly. Gauze wrappers and needle caps littered the floor, walkie-talkie chatter was nothing but static. Chaos didn’t begin to describe it. But as I watched them cut off her clothes with blunt bandage scissors, brace her neck, poke and prod her, all noise ceased to exist. All I could concentrate on was the gentle rise and fall of her naked chest now covered in sticky monitors. The rhythmic beeps reminded me that my woman was asleep. Alive and asleep, because the alternative was never an option.

This wasn’t a drill.

This was my life.

This was real.

The motionless woman strapped to the stretcher was my life. My everything.

Detectives sequestered Dodd, Sierra, Lil, and Tack on the terrace for statements while paramedics speed-fired off questions I had no answers to. It was all a blur. Never in my life had I felt so ill-prepared.

“Does she have any medical problems, any surgical history?”

“Does she take any medications? Anything at all?”

“Any allergies? This is important, sir.”

I knew I should be focusing, trying to pull some answers out of the depths of my brain, but all I could hear was the growing impatience of the medic working on Tal.

“More pressure, I can’t stop the bleeding. We need to move, people…”

“Sir, stay with me, does she smoke? Drugs? Alcohol?”

“Any family history?”

“Last menstrual period?”

What? Why was he still in my face, why was he asking me this? Didn’t he hear the other guy? They needed to move. Can’t stop the bleeding. Fuck, that sounded bad. The crimson saturated gauze being pressed against her wound by the full weight of the taller medic looked worse. His blue gloves were now dripping in red blood. Tal’s blood. I could only focus on the growing ring soaking the white sheet lining the stretcher.

“No, no … I don’t know. What the hell does it matter? She’s bleeding—he can’t stop it. She needs to get to the hospital. Now. ”

Right now the only thing I was certain of was we were wasting precious time, minutes were ticking by because I knew jack about jack. The answers weren’t going to magically appear. What did it matter if she ever had surgery? That was then and this was now. My woman needed to be in a hospital. Now. Actually forget that, she needed to be there twenty minutes ago. I took a deep breath, praying like hell the extra oxygen would keep me from imploding. I needed to keep it together. Tal needed me to keep it together.

Another paramedic who looked younger than Tack came out of nowhere. “Mr. Craig, we’re getting ready to move.” About fucking time. “We have space for one, two at the most, do you want to ride with us?”

Balance, Cock, Torque, Strike.

“She goes, I go.”

He got the message. “Of course. And so you know, we got in touch with Dr. Colton as you requested. He’s been updated on our ETA. He’ll meet us in the ER.”

Autopilot clicked on. The others needed to know what was happening and I wanted to check on Tack. He was pacing the terrace, arms crossed, shaking his head at the officer. His anger and frustration were palpable. Yet when his familiar grey eyes nailed me, I saw through his stoic presence and composure. He was just a boy. A terrified and lost boy. Tal’s boy.

“We’re done here. You need more answers, meet us at the hospital.” I abruptly ended the questioning, not caring if they were finished. How much detail was necessary? Psycho’s suicide put a stray bullet in my woman. End of story. “Tack, bud, we have to go.”

Lil managed to do a one eighty, pulling herself together. She stepped right in. “My car’s out front. Tack can drive with me, we’ll follow right behind.” She grabbed his hand and forced his gaze. “Your mom wouldn’t want you to see them working on her in the back of an ambulance. She’s going to be fine, I know it. You don’t need that image burned in your brain.”

Seven minutes. What did you think of? Heaven.

I always did.

The ambulance ride lasted all of seven minutes. Seven minutes of roaring sirens and radio calls relaying vital signs and medical details. Seven minutes of staring at Talia’s closed lids and soft lips. Seven minutes of replaying every song she ever sang, every laugh that stole my breath away. Seven minutes remembering how a few hours earlier I asked her to be my other half, my forever plus one, yet I couldn’t answer a single damn question about her medical history. Because I never bothered to ask. Seven minutes of regret. Seven minutes of holding her IV pierced hand, wondering how the night went from good to great to horrific, all within a blink of an eye. Seven minutes of serious bargaining with the man upstairs.

We needed more time. We planned for a lifetime of more time. And now the clock was ticking. Every minute counted. Hell no, these were not our last seven minutes. She was a fighter. She was strong.

Seven minutes. What did you think of? Hell.

I always would.

It was the longest seven minutes of my life.

When the claustrophobic rig pulled into the ambulance bay, I blinked and tried to refocus. I was in the middle of, no, I was living a sick nightmare. Only a twisted mind fuck would explain the army of masked faces standing gloved and crossed-armed with fluorescent yellow gowns layered over their scrubs. For a split second I could have been on my couch watching a shit episode of Grey’s Anatomy, but then the metal double doors swung open and the small battalion engaged in force.

There was a three count and Tal’s stretcher was up and out. Everyone wore clear plastic goggles, warping their faces, but it didn’t matter as soon as I locked eyes with the only person I trusted. More meaning was exchanged with that look than could ever be said with words.

“Go,” Chase barked and the medic holding IV fluid bags above his head instantly started spewing coded information. “Thirty-seven-year-old female GSW to the mid-back, no exit wound, standard nine millimeter per officer on the scene. Bystander reported brief verbal and mobility before LOC, EBL twenty-five hundred, BP sixty over thirty, heart rate fifty and thready, respirations thirteen. Immobilized on the scene, two sixteen gauge ante-cubes placed with two liter bolus’ of LR. Unknown past medical surgical, no known allergies, unknown meds.”

It was the fastest hand off in history, and I prayed whatever he just said meant something to someone, because it meant shit to this bystander.

Two yellows flanked her on both sides; one plugged in equipment and repositioned big red carts around her stretcher. The other went straight for the only piece of fabric still remaining, her underwear. With one last cut she was completely naked and exposed. I hated it. The small EKG leads were affixed to her chest and a mask pumped oxygen into her lungs. She looked even paler against the bright white backdrop. She lay so still as the room swarmed around her, matching the feeling in my gut. My eyes jutted back and forth, watching the monitor, then her chest, then back to the commotion of people constantly touching her. The same medic from the house was holding pressure over her wound. He hadn’t budged. Someone tried to replace him, but he insisted he had ‘good compression.’ He was the only one as still as she was. I watched as the clear liquid that had been pouring into her vein was replaced with a tube filled with a dark red substance. That swarm in my gut began to sting. Blood. She lost too much blood. I nervously clasped my hands behind my head, never feeling more useless.