Page 86 of Russian Roulette
The nurse bursts back into the room carrying a clipboard with an inch-thick stack of forms. “Everyone still doing okay in here?” she asks in a fake, cheerful voice.
I nod, though I don’t remember telling her I was feeling okay in the first place.
“The doctor will be in soon.” She says again, handing me the clipboard and a pen. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to get your forms. First, though, I’ll need to get your blood pressure and check your oxygen level.” She wraps a blood pressure cuff around my arm and slides a pulse oximeter on my finger. “Everything is good,” she says in a minute, quickly taking the devices back off. “I’ll go check on the doctor.” She turns to Kit. “Sir, when he comes in, you’ll need to step out to the waiting room. He’ll need to speak to the patient alone.”
“Why does he need to leave?” I’m puzzled why the doctor would need to examine me alone. I don’t like the sound of that. “I’d prefer for him to stay with me.”
“It’s hospital policy.” The nurse hesitates at the door and turns. “I’m sorry, I’ve been so busy that I’m scatterbrained today. How did you say this happened again? How did you get cut?”
I blink at her, caught off guard. I’ve spent my energy focusing on dealing with the pain, instead of coming up with a good explanation of how I ended up with my leg sliced open. Telling her I jumped into the middle of a knife fight between two men arguing over me might not be wise.
“It was a stupid accident,” I say. My brain whirls trying to find a good excuse for how I sliced my thigh. Coming up with a reasonable explanation for a cut hand is one thing, a sliced open leg is another. “I’m a klutz in the kitchen,” I blurt out. “I’ve always heard the saying not to catch a falling knife. Now I understand why. Trying to break the knife’s fall off the butcher block wasn’t smart. My brother always says I can’t be trusted around sharp kitchen utensils.”
“That’s why I’m doing the cooking from now on,” Kit says, adding to my story. “You’re not safe in the kitchen. It’s a good thing Mom taught me how to cook.”
She raises her eyebrows at me. “Like I said, he’ll need to step out when the doctor comes in.”
“Was that the best explanation you could come up with?” Kit whispers to me when she’s gone. “She didn’t believe you.”
“Part of the story was true. I can be a klutz in the kitchen. Cooking is a skill I’ve never acquired.”
“And the brother part?” he asks.
“I’m an only child, and I doubt she’ll fall for our story about you being my brother.” I glance over at his tall body and blue eyes. “We could tell her your father was a Viking and mine was an elf.”
“She would come closer to believing that than the falling knife story,” he replies.
We sit there waiting in the frigid room. The partitions separating the rooms are thin and we can hear the doctor going in and out of various rooms around us.
“I wonder what’s taking him so long,” I complain with a loud sigh. “It’s a good thing I’m not dying. In fact, it’s time we split this joint. My leg isn’t dripping blood anymore, and this is an enormous waste of time. We’ll be here all night.” I slide my legs over the side of the hospital bed and try to stand up. My leg buckles underneath me and I grab onto the hospital bed to keep from falling on my ass. “Damn! This will be the last time I jump into the middle of a fight between any of you.”
“Hang on!” Kit says, jumping up and rushing to my side. “You can’t leave without being seen by a doctor. At the very minimum, they could give you something for pain to help you sleep tonight. And the wound needs to be cleaned and stitched up. You also probably need a tetanus shot. You’re right about Vulcan’s knife. There’s no telling who or what he’s been carving up with it. We can’t screw around and let your leg get infected.”
“Have you noticed anyone rushing around to do anything to help my pain? Because I sure as hell haven’t. We need to go.”
He frowns at me. “I’m fairly certain you’re not allowed to leave without them formally releasing you. It’s against the rules.”
“This isn’t a jail. Who gives a shit about rules? What are they going to do? Call the police?”
The second I say the word police, a bad thought hits me. “Kit, we need to leave now. And I mean right this minute. Did you notice the way the nurse looked at you? What if she suspects you did this to me? They’re stalling to give the police time to get here to question me. That’s why the doctor hasn’t examined me yet. I have an unexplained knife wound. Health care workers are under duty to report violent injuries.”
He's unconvinced. “I’m not worried. We’ll just tell them the truth.”
“Which truth are you referring to? That a group of men kidnapped me and have been holding me for days? That the Russian mob believe I’m dead, and now will realize I’m not if I give the nurse my real name? That I tried to break up a fight between two of my kidnappers and ended up getting stabbed? How is this all going to sound, Kit? Let’s get out of here now before it’s too late.” I grit my teeth against the pain and try to take a step. “I’m leaving, with or without you.”
“You can’t put weight on your leg yet,” he says. “If you’re determined to leave, I’ll get you out. I don’t agree with your decision, though.”
“It’ll seem suspicious if you carry me out,” I say. “Stick your head out the door and look for a wheelchair. Then you can wheel me out as if I’ve been discharged. We’ll fake it until we make it.”
He opens the door and slips out, then returns quickly with a wheelchair. “Great idea,” he says, pushing the wheelchair close to the bed. “Don’t try to stand without my help. Put your weight on me.” He loops my arm over his shoulder and carefully lowers me into the wheelchair.
I grimace when he lifts my injured leg onto the leg rest once I’m seated. “Check the cabinets for bandages and antiseptic. Anything I can use to clean the wound later.”
“I have plenty of first aid supplies at the house. Sometimes I need to treat the animals in an emergency until my veterinarian can arrive.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that before? Then you’re going to be the one who doctors me when we get to your house. I’m appointing you as my med tech.” I grab the jacket he placed over me and drape it over my leg. “If they notice Vulcan’s bloody shirt still wrapped around me, they’ll suspect I’m escaping.”
He quickly tucks the jacket sleeves around my leg and wheels me toward the door. “Let’s blow this joint,” he says. “The others are waiting right outside at the entrance to the emergency room. I texted Leroy to pull up right in front so we can make this quick.”