Page 9 of Fool Moon First Aid

I know it. Even before they say the words, I know.

“Sir, we need you to come with us,” Miller repeats, glancing at me with a hint of sorrow. “We need you to identify the body of Isabel Martinez-Thompson.”

I close my eyes, feeling the hand on my shoulder slowly fade away, leaving me to face reality alone. Mama.

Ava

Not today, memory lane, not today.

The memory of that night loops around and around in my brain as consciousness threatens to drag me under from the lack of oxygen. I can already imagine the kaleidoscope of bruises that’ll paint my skin tomorrow.

“Bean,” I hiss, irritation lacing my voice as the snake continues to twitch from side to side on my neck, her scales cool and smooth against my skin. I press on the bookshelf, a hulking mass of dark wood laden with books and knickknacks, hoping to dislodge it. All it does is thump back onto my chest, making a sharp pang shoot through my already sore ribs. “Move,” I squeak out, the word barely escaping my lips.

“Ava, the ambulance just pulled in.” The operator’s voice, distant and tinny, filters through the speakerphone by my head. If I had thrown my phone any farther in my earlier panic, I’d be a goner, lying here with a snake poised like a regal necklace gone wrong. “Stay with me until you hear them come in,” she adds, her voice a lifeline in my cluttered clinic.

“The door’s unlocked,” I barely get out, the words laborious and heavy.

“Hello?” The distant shout, muffled by the clinic walls, barely reaches my ears, but there’s a glaring problem—I can’t shout back.

“Hello,” I grunt, exerting enough effort for Bean to lift her head, her reptilian gaze meeting mine with an air of offended dignity. “I’m going to feed you to a hawk,” I threaten, though it’s an empty promise.

“Ava Martinez,” a voice, closer now, calls.

“Ava,” the operator chimes in, “I have confirmation that paramedics Ethan and Tyler are on the scene. Good luck.” The line goes dead, leaving me in silence, save for the distant echoes of the clinic.

Aren’t they supposed to remain on the line?

The sound of boots squeaking on the bleached linoleum floors grows closer. Someone sneezes, the sound reverberating down the hall.

A sudden realization hits me—the door! In my fall, the door shut itself. “Door!” I try to warn them with a strained voice, but the sound is barely a whisper.

“Ava, I’m going to crack the door,” a voice, smooth and warm like molten chocolate, says from the other side. It washes over me like a comforting blanket, one I wish I was under rather than this damn shelf. “I’m Tyler, and my partner went to grab our kit, maybe even a saw.”

I let my head thump back against the cool floor, prepared to count the water spots on the ceiling all over again—a makeshift constellation in my own little universe. There are twelve. I’ve counted them over and over, a monotonous distraction.

“Hello,” I rasp to Tyler.

“Hello, Ava.” Amused, yet calm, and delicious. How can a voice be this attractive right now? I’m pinned under a bookshelf because of sheer clumsiness with a snake playing the role of an unwanted scarf, and he can’t even open the door.

Green eyes, bright and mischievous, peek through the crack in the door, almost dancing with amusement at the sight of Bean. “Well, hello there,” he says, his playful tone suggesting he’s more entertained than concerned. It takes me a moment to realize he’s addressing the snake, not me. “I bet you caused all this drama, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” I manage to squeak out, my voice strained under the weight of the bookshelf. I attempt to turn my head to see him better, but pain shoots through my muscles, reminding me of my precarious position.

“Don’t move your head, Ava, just in case. Stay still,” he instructs, his voice smooth and comforting, like warm honey. “Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

All I can muster up is a grunt in response, but internally, I’m wrestling with an unexpected surge of jealousy. The thought of him calling anyone else sweetheart ignites a fiery sensation within me, a feeling I’ve never encountered before.

Down, girl.

“What do we have?” another voice asks. It’s deep and gravelly, contrasting sharply with Tyler’s. It’s like distant thunder, rumbling through the clinic’s walls.

“According to dispatch, a woman in her late twenties is trapped under a bookshelf,” Tyler replies, his voice laced with professional concern.

“I’m taking the door off,” Ethan declares, his tone gruff and decisive. I remember now. Ethan and Tyler, the unlikely duo here to rescue me.

“Hinges are on the other side,” Tyler tells him, the sound of the door rattling under Ethan’s inspection.

“Then I’m going through the window,” Ethan decides with determination, his footsteps receding down the hall.

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