Page 48 of Lose to Win: Lost Trilogy: Part 3
“Emily Stewart,” Steve barks out. “And her father is going to get you fired if you touch one hair on her head.”
The officer doesn’t seem to care one way or another about Steve’s empty threat. There’s some shuffling, then I almost feel his breath on my cheek.
“Emily, can you hear me?”
I let out a small whimper of distress. I want to ask him to take me away from here, more importantly, away from Steve, but I am so out of it, I can barely open my mouth. I want so badly to tell them to save my baby, but I can’t.
“Has she taken any drugs?”
“What?” Steve’s voice sounds high pitched and distressed. “What drugs?”
Light shines in my eyes, and it hurts. I try to push it away, but I can’t.
“Her eyes are dilated, she may be in shock. Call an ambulance, stat!”
The words are said so fast, I can’t think. Who do they need an ambulance for? Me? I feel fine other than not being able to open my eyes. Or speak. Or move in general…
“She is fine,” Steve insists.
“Sir,” a new voice addresses him. “If you know what Ms. Stewart ingested, you need to tell us immediately. We’ve had quite a few overdose cases in the area lately. We are here to investigate the neighborhood. Ms. Stewart’s house came up as a possible hot spot.”
“She did not ingest anything,” Steve yells. “I swear on my life.”
And he is not lying, I chuckle but only to myself since I can’t seem capable of forming words.
“Who is her next of kin?” someone asks. “They need to be notified.”
“I am,” Steve declares.
“Since you are not her spouse, and Ms. Stewart doesn’t have anything legal filled out, you cannot be recognized as a next of kin party, Mr…. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Steve Proctor,” he says without thinking, I’m sure.
“Mr. Proctor, stand to the side so we can get the stretcher in. Also, please have your driver’s license available for us to verify you are who you say you are.”
“This is ridiculous,” he mutters loud enough for everyone to hear. “She is fine, just tired.”
“Sir, please step back.”
Something is being pressed to my mouth.
“Ms. Stewart, can you hear me?”
I whimper again, a little louder than before.
“Can you take a deep breath?”
I try, but it’s not what they’re looking for, I can tell.
“We’re going to get you out.”
The whisper is almost like a soft butterfly kiss against my ear. In fact, I worry that I just imagined it. I want to cry that I’m dreaming, and I know how disappointed I will be when I wake up lying next to Steve.
I don’t mutter another sound as I am being transferred from the couch to the hard stretcher. They strap me in and roll me out of the house and into what I imagine is the ambulance.
The ride to the hospital is quiet and not as bumpy as I was expecting it to be. In fact, it is relaxing, making me want to snuggle more under the blanket someone had the forethought to throw on me on our way out.
I think I am asleep after that, and the next thing I know is that I am listening to my father’s voice speaking quietly somewhere in the background.
