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The beach house is the designated location since it's the closest, and time is vital

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The beach house is the designated location since it's the closest, and time is vital. When the helicopter lands, it rolls into a garage built into the base of the estate. My grip hasn't left Madison's hands. For the whole ride, her limbs are lifeless, too limp for my liking. Her skin is freezing; her temperature is low. I've never encountered icy hands before, not even my own in the wintertime. She's a living corpse...her olive skin is pale. When the propellers slow down enough to speak, I ask Robert, "why is she so cold?"  

"Comatose. Don't worry; the use of targeted temperature management will correct this." 

I help them load her bed up the stairs, which automatically flatten into a ramp. Madison's arms dangle like noodles. I don't like that. Not one bit. My docs need to correct her temperature. I think she's close to death. We all push the bed up the ramp. I push faster than the others. For some reason, a doomsday clock counts down in my head. I hope that's just my mind acting up. I slide the windows open.   

As soon as I do, the room's warm lights switch on. The bedroom has a wall full of cherry wood windows, corner chairs, bookcases. A flatscreen tv, two nightstands: life-sized tropical portraits, and a pure white California king-sized bed. Lori receives a standing monitor from a closet and sets it up while we slide Madison onto the bed. Four IV tubes are linked to the beeping monitor. 

I watch Lori gather multiple fluid bags. "What will those do?" 

"One is anesthesia to prevent convulsions. The second is cooling saline; to counteract her temperature, and the last two are standard IVs." She plugs each tube into Madison's veins. Her heartbeat is still faint when it registers on the monitor, still at 50 bpm. I watch it, barely blinking. I'm glad that she's still getting oxygen. The docs remove her bandages, applying a thick serum to each wound. The cloth around her head is unwrapped, her blonde hair is stringy underneath. Is it a cold sweat? Or a hot sweat? The monitor screen has her body heat at 86°F. I hope it rises soon. 

Sticky bandages are put in place of the cloth ones. For the next few hours, the trio shuffles around her with hand scanners that probe her entire body. Thermometers and stethoscopes are used too. A few shots are injected into her arm.

I open my mouth to ask why, but Lori cuts me off, "steroids for her heart." I sit in the armchair, knowing I should stay close if something bad happens. I'll have to stake out to guarantee that doesn't occur. It may be superstition, but I think my presence will help the odds. I think my energy will guide Madison back. When Madison's heart is a bit faster, now at 55, my team approaches me. "Her rate will continue to climb throughout the night. We'll be alerted if it becomes too rapid." Lori states calmly. "As of now, Ms. Hart is stable." 

"What about her temperature?" I look to Robert. 

"It will climb to 88 degrees in about 4 hours. That range isn't normal, but it'll be better than it is now."

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