Chapter 7 - The Code White
Clara didn't hesitate. She buried her boot into the gas pedal, ignoring the engine's agonizing metallic death-rattle.
The Subaru limped up the heated concrete ramp of the hospital emergency bay. The moment the tires hit the red-painted ambulance zone, the transmission gave out completely with a catastrophic snap. The car died, coasting to a halt inches from the sliding automatic glass doors.
Clara scooped Leo into her arms, wrapping the blankets tight around his tiny body. She kicked the dented driver's door open and charged through the hospital entrance into the bright, sterile warmth of the intake lobby.
"I need a doctor!" Clara roared, her voice echoing off the linoleum tiles. "Hypothermia! Four-year-old child, locked in the snow! Help him!"
Within three seconds, two triage nurses and an ER physician sprinted toward her, wheeling a pediatric gurney.
"Get him on the bed," Dr. Patel ordered, snapping on latex gloves. "Pupils sluggish. Core temp is down to ninety-one degrees. Peripheral capillary refill is over four seconds. Get warmed IV saline, stat! Where are his shoes?!"
"His stepmother threw him out bare-handed and locked the door," Clara said, tears finally cutting hot tracks down her soot-and-blood-streaked face. "He was out there for at least fifteen minutes in twenty-below weather."
"Nurse Sarah, document every centimeter of bruising," Dr. Patel commanded as they wheeled the gurney past the double swinging doors. "Get photos of the facial contusion on his cheek. That's a ring impact mark, not a cold fracture."
"Mommy! Don't leave me!" Leo wailed weakly, reaching his tiny, red-raw hands out toward her as the doors swung shut.
"I'm right here, baby! I'm not leaving! I'm not going anywhere!"
Clara stood in the sterile hallway, her canvas coat dripping brown slush onto the immaculate floor. Her hands were shaking so hard she had to grip the nurse's station counter to keep from collapsing.
Suddenly, the automatic ER doors slid open with a sharp swoosh.
Two county sheriff deputies stepped inside, their hands resting cautiously on their duty holsters. Behind them walked Richard Vance, holding a bloody gauze pad to his forehead, his tailored suit ripped at the shoulder, accompanied by a woman in a crisp charcoal pantsuit holding a leather briefcase.
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"That's her, Officer," Richard said, his voice smooth, controlled, and dripping with fabricated grief. "That's my mentally unstable ex-wife. She assaulted my current wife, broke into our home, and abducted our sick son."
Cliffhanger: The lead deputy unclipped his handcuffs and stepped toward Clara. "Ma'am, put your hands behind your back. You're under arrest for felony kidnapping and domestic assault."
