Chapter 2 - Medical Assessment
The paramedics from the Oakridge Fire Department arrived twelve minutes later, rolling a heavy stretcher through the double doors with professional urgency. By then, I had moved my mother to a quieter conference room off the main hallway, shielding her from the glaring lights of the bullpen and the toxic stares of my brother and his wife.
A veteran paramedic named Martinez knelt beside my mother’s chair, gently opening his trauma kit. "Ma'am, my name is Martinez. I need to check your vitals and take a look at where you're hurting. Can you tell me what happened?"
My mother flinched as he gently parted the torn fabric of her cardigan to examine her right shoulder. The skin across her collarbone and upper chest was already turning a deep, angry shade of purple and black, with a distinct, straight linear contusion that could only be caused by a heavy, rigid cylindrical object.
"She was struck with high-velocity blunt force trauma," I informed the paramedic, keeping my tone objective and clinical despite the rage burning in my chest. "Suspect used an iron fireplace poker. Watch out for a potential hairline fracture of the right clavicle, severe deep-tissue contusions along the floating ribs, and localized soft-tissue damage to the right mandible where she took a secondary blow."
Martinez looked up at me, his eyes widening as he recognized the professional terminology, then nodded grimly. He pulled out a portable diagnostic light and checked my mother’s pupillary response before gently palpating her lower ribcage. My mother let out a sharp, ragged gasp of pain, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the edge of the table.
"We need to transport her to Memorial Hospital immediately for full diagnostic imaging and a CT scan," Martinez said, looking over his shoulder at his partner. "We’ve got significant point tenderness on the seventh and eighth ribs, possible pneumothorax risk if there’s a fracture displacement, and we need to rule out internal hemorrhaging."
As the EMTs began preparing the stretcher, the door to the conference room swung open. Chloe pushed her way inside, followed closely by Julian and Lieutenant Vance.
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"She doesn't need a hospital!" Chloe shrieked, pointing an accusing finger at my mother. "She’s faking it! She threw herself against the marble hearth to frame me after she tried to attack me in my own kitchen! You can't let them take her away—she needs to be booked and processed!"
I stepped directly into Chloe’s path, blocking her view of my mother entirely. "If you take one more step toward my mother, Chloe, I will physically restrain you and hold you in custody until federal marshals arrive. And Julian," I turned my gaze to my brother, whose eyes were bloodshot and filled with cowardly panic, "if you don't get your wife out of this room right now, you will be riding in the back of a federal transport van as an accessory after the fact to attempted murder."
