Page 15 of Rules of Engagement

"This won't take very long," she said.

"Do whatever you need to do," I told her, drifting away in my mind while she checked my pulse and blood pressure, listened to my heart and gave me a cursory exam for injuries. When she was done, she wrapped her stethoscope around her neck. "I can prescribe something to calm you down," she said. "I know you've been through a lot tonight."

"I don't want anything, but thank you," I told her, beginning to shiver again. If I were medicated, or asleep, I couldn't tell anyone anything. The only power I had right now was to describe what happened as fast as I could and try to get the investigation jump-started. The longer it took, the more distance the shooter could put between us and them.

"If you change your mind, send someone to find me and I'll come back," she said, smiling warmly before she left.

"We need to do the interview now," said Garrett. "Ready?"

I looked up and tried not to cry. Instead, I nodded.

~

It was an hour before I could return to my family. By the time I got there, escorted by Garrett who, true to his word, remained with me throughout the interview, it seemed everyone had assembled. Garrett's wife, Traci, was there, along with my middle brother, Daniel, and his wife, Alice, who was still dressed in her nursing scrubs so I figured she must have just finished her shift. Serena and Delgado were there too. Serena sat with my mom while Delgado stood at the window, his hands thrust into his pockets, staring at the street. I don't think I'd ever seen him so upset.

Slumping into the chair between my parents, I rolled my head back against the wall, tipping my chin up and closing my eyes, wishing I could rest for a moment. No one asked me a thing. The whole corridor was silent.

I was in a strange state of not knowing if my fiancé were dead or alive. Like before, if I asked anyone, they might tell me he was dead. If I didn't, I was stuck in the awful limbo of not knowing. So I stayed in my purgatory, not daring to ask, and not wanting to hear the worst. Instead, I listened intently to what was going on around me. Someone was breathing hard near me. There was a beep of a text message. A phone rang and was quickly silenced. Two people, men, talked a short distance away. A rustle of a jacket. A machine beeping. Someone shouted. Then, footsteps.

When the footsteps stopped in front of me, I opened my eyes. A man in a white coat stood in front of me.

This was the moment.

My heart skipped a beat.

"Ms. Graves?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I'm Dr. Forsythe. I'm your fiancé's surgeon and you're listed as his emergency contact."

"Yes," I said again, holding my breath. I couldn't think of any words to say.

"Your fiancé is out of surgery and currently in stable but critical condition. We've taken him to the ICU, that's the Intensive Care Unit, so his recovery can be closely monitored. The surgery was difficult but successful."

"What happened? I mean, what... I..." I trailed off, unsure what I wanted to ask. Did I need to hear the details of the surgery? Or should I ask about his chances of recovery?

"We removed two bullets from Mr. Solomon's chest. One was relatively easy to remove although it nicked a large vein that we had to repair. The second bullet, however, was lodged very close to his heart. A quarter inch to the right and he wouldn't have made it. He's extremely lucky. There was a huge strain on his heart during the procedure and his heart stopped once. We managed to restart if within mere seconds and we’re giving it a high probability that no damage was caused by that event."

"That's great news," said Dad, squeezing my hand.

"When will he wake up?" I was dying to know.

Dr. Forsythe blinked, hesitated, and my breath caught again. "He will wake up?" I pressed.

"I can't say exactly when. Although the surgery was successful, Mr. Solomon is in a coma now. His body needs some time to recover."

"But he will recover?" I asked.

"I'll have some more information for you soon," said Dr. Forsythe, carefully evading the question, "but I am hopeful of a good prognosis. I'll send one of my nurses to take you to him. Ms. Graves, your fiancé is probably the luckiest man in the world tonight."

"Thank you." I watched him walking away, then I blew out a breath. Now that I knew the truth, I felt numb. Solomon was still alive but Dr. Forsythe was very careful not to make any guarantees about when he would wake up, or even if he would. What if it were weeks, or months, or even years? How could I bear to watch his life passing while he was trapped hopelessly in a nether world, not quite here, but definitely not dead either?

"Do you want to go and see him?" asked Mom.

I nodded, mutely.

"We can all come, or just me. Tell me what you want us to do," she inquired.

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