Untethered

42 | Waiting Game

On the way to the hospital, Ryan called Evan and left a message, telling him where to go when he arrived. He avoided giving any details. He didn't know exactly what happened inside that motel room, yet, and he was hoping wholeheartedly it wasn't as bad as it appeared. By the time he pulled into the parking ramp, he had no actual memory of how he got there. All he could see, in his mind's eye, was Emma laid out on that stretcher, bloody, bruised, and barely breathing.

Taking the first available parking spot, he rushed into the Emergency Room entrance, and waited impatiently to be called on. When the bored-looking redhead, snapping her gum, finally called him forward, he was trembling with impatience.

"There was a woman, brought here by ambulance. I need to know where they've taken her," he blurted out.

"What's her name?" She peered up at him expectantly over the rims of her dark brown, horn-rimmed glasses.

He told her, and waited, clenching and unclenching his hands, as she typed the information into the computer. At last, she looked back up at him.

"Are you family?"

Shit. He wasn't, and they probably wouldn't tell him anything if he told them that. So he lied.

"Yes, I'm her brother."

She nodded and clicked her mouse a few more times. "She's been taken into surgery—"

"What do you mean, surgery? Does it say for what?"

"...and then she'll be brought to the Intensive Care Unit after recovery." She continued speaking, as if he hadn't even spoken. "You can take the elevators up to the eighth floor, and speak to the receptionist at the desk for more information." She lowered her eyes, effectively dismissing him, and he gritted his teeth.

Rather than lashing out, though, he glanced around, and headed to his right, following the signs for the elevators. If Emma wasn't okay... He shook his head and walked faster. It wasn't even worth considering. She had to be.

When he finally reached the desk on the eighth floor, the receptionist there was more compassionate, but couldn't offer him any further information. She directed him to the waiting room and the half full coffee pot, before heading back to her post. Filling a cup with the bitter liquid, he took a sip, barely registering the stale, scalded flavor of the brew, and found a chair near the windows, overlooking the city.

He was acutely aware of the passage of time, but it had no real meaning for him. He checked the clock every fifteen minutes, and badgered the receptionist for more information every half hour or so, but he was there for hours without registering how long it had actually been.

Evan arrived, and for the first time, Ryan became aware of how long he must have been waiting. Rising, he greeted his friend with a strong embrace, rather than the brief, cursory clasping of shoulders they were used to. Evan's face was drawn and his shoulders slouched with weariness, but he didn't comment on it. Just as Evan didn't comment on how bloodshot his eyes were, and how disheveled he appeared.

Sitting a couple of chairs away from each other, they were both lost to their own thoughts, until, at last, the surgeon walked into the little room. He shook hands, introducing himself as Dr. Sorenson, and lowered himself into a chair across from the two of them, his face grave.

"Well," Evan demanded, his patience worn thin, "how is she?"

The corner of Dr. Sorenson's mouth lifted slightly, but his grey eyes didn't lose their seriousness. "Emma's body should recover fully, as long as infection doesn't set in."

"Thank God," the two men breathed in unison.

"But," the doctor cautioned, "she is far from out of the woods. I did the surgery to repair the internal bleeding caused by her broken ribs, but she lost a lot of blood. Additionally, she sustained major head trauma, which is more concerning in the long run. She is being monitored in recovery right now, and then she'll be moved to the ICU, where the neurologist will consult with you."