ma’am. What is your name?”
“R-Rose Meyers. There’s a man in an alley. He looks bad—I, uh, found a pulse but it’s weak. Oh god, I hope he’s not dying,” she replied, her voice trembling.
“Stay on the line, ma’am. What is your location?”
Rose scrambled to describe where they were, being new to the city. She hastily gave the closest cross-street she could recall and explained, “We’re in an alley off the street. A few blocks down from the bus stop. Please hurry. There’s blood on his face…”
“Yes, ma’am. An ambulance has been dispatched to your location. Please remain on the scene until they arrive if at all possible. Are you injured or in danger, as well?”
“N-no, I’m alright,” Rose answered, shaking her head.
The man on the ground breathed shallowly, the blood smear glistening on his cheek. His fingers were still curled tightly around Rose’s hand, like something in his unconscious mind had forced him to hold onto her. She knew what it felt like to be abandoned and left out in the rain, at least metaphorically, and she was determined to stay with him until he was safe.
A few minutes later, Rose heard the welcome wail of an approaching ambulance. The white emergency vehicle pulled over and a team of paramedics jumped out of the back, bolting down the alley toward Rose and the mystery man.
“Oh, thank God!” she shouted, relieved. The guy on the ground certainly did not look good, and she had been terrified that he might die holding her hand.
“Is he your husband, ma’am?” asked one of the EMT personnel.
“What? No. I found him like this.”
“So you don’t know this man?”
“No. Not at all. Sorry.”
The team carefully lifted the unconscious man onto a wheeled stretcher, his hand never releasing Rose’s.
“Uh, he’s still got my hand,” she remarked awkwardly, still unable to pull her hand from his grasp. He wasn’t letting go, no matter what. The paramedics tried to pry his fingers off of her, but to no avail and their great surprise.
“Damn. Well, he might be knocked out but he’s still got one hell of a vice grip,” commented one of the paramedics, staring with bewildered eyes.
“Do you mind riding along?” asked another one.
“Oh! Um, I guess that’s okay,” Rose replied, still flabbergasted. She picked up her purse and ran alongside the stretcher, following the team into the back of the ambulance. When the doors shut behind them, the sirens screamed and the vehicle took off down the street, hurtling toward the nearest hospital.
“Is he going to be alright?” Rose asked nervously, still gazing down at the man’s face under the dim light of the ambulance. He was remarkably attractive, with smooth tanned skin and full lips. His hair was rather short and very dark, tousled in a way that suggested its dishevelment was not just a symptom of his attack, but a regular part of his appearance. There was a shadow of dark stubble along his jaw, and he wore all black. He looked like a renegade priest, or perhaps had ties with some dangerous people. Rose shook away her increasingly dramatic imagination. He might be just a victim of a robbery gone wrong.
“His vitals are good,” replied one of the paramedics.
“What about the—the blood on his face?” she pressed, gesturing gingerly to his cheek.
The paramedic put some gloves on and took a sanitary towel and cleaned the man’s cheek, clearing away the scarlet streak to reveal the solid, unmarked skin underneath. There was no laceration there at all. He then checked him for head wound.
“The doctor will be able to tell you after a thorough examination,” the EMT said, shrugging.
“Yeah,” Rose murmured softly, peering at the man’s gorgeous face. “I’m sure.”
When the ambulance arrived at the hospital, they managed to find a gurney wide enough for Rose to wedge herself in and sit beside the man as he lay there. She felt more than a little awkward, being wheeled around a hospital,
“R-Rose Meyers. There’s a man in an alley. He looks bad—I, uh, found a pulse but it’s weak. Oh god, I hope he’s not dying,” she replied, her voice trembling.
“Stay on the line, ma’am. What is your location?”
Rose scrambled to describe where they were, being new to the city. She hastily gave the closest cross-street she could recall and explained, “We’re in an alley off the street. A few blocks down from the bus stop. Please hurry. There’s blood on his face…”
“Yes, ma’am. An ambulance has been dispatched to your location. Please remain on the scene until they arrive if at all possible. Are you injured or in danger, as well?”
“N-no, I’m alright,” Rose answered, shaking her head.
The man on the ground breathed shallowly, the blood smear glistening on his cheek. His fingers were still curled tightly around Rose’s hand, like something in his unconscious mind had forced him to hold onto her. She knew what it felt like to be abandoned and left out in the rain, at least metaphorically, and she was determined to stay with him until he was safe.
A few minutes later, Rose heard the welcome wail of an approaching ambulance. The white emergency vehicle pulled over and a team of paramedics jumped out of the back, bolting down the alley toward Rose and the mystery man.
“Oh, thank God!” she shouted, relieved. The guy on the ground certainly did not look good, and she had been terrified that he might die holding her hand.
“Is he your husband, ma’am?” asked one of the EMT personnel.
“What? No. I found him like this.”
“So you don’t know this man?”
“No. Not at all. Sorry.”
The team carefully lifted the unconscious man onto a wheeled stretcher, his hand never releasing Rose’s.
“Uh, he’s still got my hand,” she remarked awkwardly, still unable to pull her hand from his grasp. He wasn’t letting go, no matter what. The paramedics tried to pry his fingers off of her, but to no avail and their great surprise.
“Damn. Well, he might be knocked out but he’s still got one hell of a vice grip,” commented one of the paramedics, staring with bewildered eyes.
“Do you mind riding along?” asked another one.
“Oh! Um, I guess that’s okay,” Rose replied, still flabbergasted. She picked up her purse and ran alongside the stretcher, following the team into the back of the ambulance. When the doors shut behind them, the sirens screamed and the vehicle took off down the street, hurtling toward the nearest hospital.
“Is he going to be alright?” Rose asked nervously, still gazing down at the man’s face under the dim light of the ambulance. He was remarkably attractive, with smooth tanned skin and full lips. His hair was rather short and very dark, tousled in a way that suggested its dishevelment was not just a symptom of his attack, but a regular part of his appearance. There was a shadow of dark stubble along his jaw, and he wore all black. He looked like a renegade priest, or perhaps had ties with some dangerous people. Rose shook away her increasingly dramatic imagination. He might be just a victim of a robbery gone wrong.
“His vitals are good,” replied one of the paramedics.
“What about the—the blood on his face?” she pressed, gesturing gingerly to his cheek.
The paramedic put some gloves on and took a sanitary towel and cleaned the man’s cheek, clearing away the scarlet streak to reveal the solid, unmarked skin underneath. There was no laceration there at all. He then checked him for head wound.
“The doctor will be able to tell you after a thorough examination,” the EMT said, shrugging.
“Yeah,” Rose murmured softly, peering at the man’s gorgeous face. “I’m sure.”
When the ambulance arrived at the hospital, they managed to find a gurney wide enough for Rose to wedge herself in and sit beside the man as he lay there. She felt more than a little awkward, being wheeled around a hospital,
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