Savage Things (Chaos & Ruin Book 2)

by Callie Hart

  “Flat line, Dr. Romera. No pulse.”

  I throw down the paddles and link my hands together, starting compressions on Millie’s chest. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,… I count to thirty, and then I start counting all over again.

  Fuck.

  At some point I feel a sickly crunching beneath my hands: I’ve broken Millie’s ribs. I pause, barking at the resident. “Check for a pulse!”

  He does. His eyes tell me what I need to know. Again, I start compressions.

  “Dr. Romera, she’s gone. You should…you should probably stop now.”

  Someone’s hand is on my arm. I rip it off, growling under my breath. “Step back. Step back right now.”

  …sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty… All the way to thirty again. I lean back, hands raised up by my head. “Check for a pulse.” The resident heaves a deep breath, shaking his head. He presses his fingers into Millie’s neck, eyes on the heart rate monitor, which is still reporting a flat line, and he sighs.

  “Still nothing. She’s gone, Dr. Romera. We need to—”

  I ignore him. I link my hands together again and I get to work. Everything becomes hazy. I know I ask for the resident to check her pulse one more time, but I don’t hear his response. I focus on pumping Millie’s chest up and down, pushing her blood around her body. Her cells need oxygen. Her brain needs a continuous blood supply. When Margate gets here, he’ll be able to do something. He’ll fix it. He’ll—

  “Sloane.”

  The sound of that voice cuts through the spiraling madness taking over my mind. I look up from Millie’s rapidly cooling body to find Zeth standing in the doorway of the MRI suite. His eyes are pinned on me, solid and grounding. “You need to stop now,” he says quietly. His voice is low, but it contains a commanding timbre that halts me dead in my tracks. “There’s nothing more you can do,” he tells me. “It’s done. It’s over now. It’s time to stop.”

  A deep, unwavering pain settles on my chest, making it hard to breathe. “But—she’s only six,” I whisper. “She’s only a baby.”

  They say all doctors get one. You can go through your entire career as a medical practitioner, treating your patients with the cool, calm reserve you need to be good at your job, and then one day, out of the blue, you’ll lose someone and it will feel like that loss will kill you. I’ve never broken down over a dying patient before. My hands have been steady, no matter what. Today, all of that changes. Poor little Millie, so young and so full of life, is my one. The one that will break me. My legs feel like they’re about to go out from underneath me.

  “What am I going to—what am I going to tell Mason?” Tears streak down my face. God, this isn’t how a senior resident is supposed to conduct themselves in front of their subordinates. I can’t seem to get a handle on myself, though.

  “You tell him you did everything you could,” Zeth says. “Because you did. I saw it all. It was an impossible situation, Sloane.” He enters the room, glaring at the resident and the intern. “Leave,” he growls. “Go get someone or something.”

  Both of them scurry out of the room. Zeth scoops me up into his arms and holds me against his body; I collapse, his heat and the security of his strong arms around me keeping me safe. I allow myself another moment of weakness, and I sob. She’s gone. I can’t believe it happened so quickly. We didn’t even get chance to assess her properly. The strain on her body was obviously too much.

  “You’re a wonder,” Zeth whispers into my hair. “You’re amazing. You fought so hard.”

  “Not hard enough.” I feel as though I failed. It’s normal for a doctor to feel that way, they tell us. That we’ll feel like we’ve let the ones who lose down. I know the truth: Millie was very sick. She was beyond saving. But at the same time, I can’t help but feel like she placed her trust in me to keep her safe, and that trust was misplaced.

  “Don’t.” Zeth kisses my temple, his breath blowing hot against the side of my face. “You’re not god. You can only do so much.”

  He’s right. It still hurts, though. It still hurts more than any pain I’ve ever felt. “You need to go,” I whisper. “They’ll be here for her body in a moment. You can’t be here when they come.”

  “Okay. I’ll check on Michael, see if he’s managed to locate Mason yet.” He leaves, and I’m left alone with the little girl on the table. She looks so small. So fragile. She looks like she’s sleeping.

  Above her on the wall, I check the plain white clock, its hands slowly ticking by the minutes, oblivious of the tragedy that has just occurred. My voice is nothing more than a whisper, and yet it feels as though I’m shouting.

  “Time of death, one thirty-six am.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  MASON

  I wake up to thumping. Sunlight’s pouring in through the gauzy, thin, frankly pointless material that hangs over the windows next to the bed I find myself in. Kaya’s bed. Somewhere I can hear someone shouting. Movement behind me. Kaya throwing an arm over me, her hand landing lightly on top of my bare stomach.

  “Oh my god. I will pay you a million dollars to go see who that is,” she groans.

  “No way. What if it’s your brother?”

  “My brother came home at four am. He has a key, remember?”

  Great. So I’m going to be sneaking out of Kaya’s bedroom in my underwear at…at six am in the morning? Shit. Wanda normally brings Millie back to the apartment at seven when she sleeps over. I have one hour to get home and showered before she shows up, otherwise I am in the shit.

  “Mason! Mason, open the fucking door!” Three loud bangs echo through the apartment. I am suddenly very, very awake. Whoever’s out there knows my fucking name. Is it one of Mac’s boys? Did the fucker finally wake up and order my death warrant. Where the hell is my phone? I need to get the fuck out of here. This place had better have a fire escape.

  “Who did you tell that you were coming here?” Kaya asks blearily.

  “No one. I told no one.” I scramble out of bed, searching for my boxers, which are proving hard to locate. I find them kicked under the bed, along with a balled up wad of denim that turns out to be my jeans. I get dressed in a hurry, grabbing my shirt from the lounge. My cell phone is sitting on the coffee table, dead—it goes into my back pocket. I hear the front door opening, and then a deep voice echoing down the hallway.

  “Mason doesn’t live here. If you don’t stop hammering on this door, I’m gonna knock your fucking teeth down your throat, asshole.”

  “Is that so?” I recognize the voice. Takes a moment to place it, and then it hits me; it’s not one of Mac’s guys, it’s one of Zeth’s. It’s Michael.

  I duck into the hallway, mostly dressed now but missing socks and shoes. Jameson stands by the front door, looking like he’s about to launch himself at the tall, well-dressed guy standing in front of him. Michael sees me and jerks his head back behind him. “Come on. We have to go.”

  Jameson does a double take. “What the fuck? Where did you come from?”

  “I’ll let your sister explain.” Snatching up my shoes, I slip past him out into the corridor.

  “Kaya!” Jameson does not sound too happy. I don’t hang around to find out what he thinks about me spending the night with her; it can only lead to trouble. I’m sure Michael’s presence signifies more of the same, but I doubt he’s going to try and tear me limb from limb. At least I hope he’s not.

  He grabs me by the shirt and begins to drag me down the hall. “Why the fuck haven’t you been answering your phone, you idiot?” he snaps.

  “The battery died. What…Jesus, tell me what hell is going on!” I wrestle myself free, hurrying after him.

  “We need to get to the hospital. Now.”

  The hairs on my arms stand up. My legs are lead weights. I can’t move another step. Oh god. God, no. I grind to a halt, my tongue nothing more than a thick piece of meat in my mouth. “It’s not Mac, is it?” I say softly.

  Michael turns to face me. His ghostly pa
le blue eyes are full of bad news. “No. It’s not Mac.”

  ******

  SLOANE

  The morgue seems especially quiet. Bochowitz has done his work, cleaning and preparing Millie’s body. There’s no need for an autopsy. The majority of Millie’s MRI scan was completed before she coded, and it showed a devastating amount of swelling to her brain. It would have killed her no matter what. The combination of drugs in her system, along with the strain on her heart, managed to kill her first though. Both Margate and myself signed off on the cause of death, which means Millie’s body won’t need to be cut open and investigated—a small blessing.

  Bochowitz left the morgue after his work was done—said he couldn’t bear to see Millie all laid up and silent after spending so much time with her here before, when she was very much alive and full of laughter. That has left Zeth and I standing vigil over her body, while we wait.

  To one side, I see something familiar and shiny sitting on a metal tray. The personal affects of the deceased are usually set to one side like this, ready for family members to claim, and Millie is no different. Except this time, there aren’t a handful of belongings quarantined, awaiting collection: wallet, phone, wedding rings, bunches of keys. There is only a scuffed imitation Rolex watch—my scuffed imitation Rolex watch. She must have been wearing it when they brought her in. I didn’t notice. I didn’t see. My heart throbs fitfully once more, aching without end. Slowly, I collect the watch. I don’t need it anymore. It’s Millie’s. I unclip the strap and thread it over her tiny hand, fastening it as tightly as I can. Her wrist looks so narrow and slender, so goddamn small. I feel like bursting into tears, but I don’t.

  Hours pass by. After a long time, Zeth sits himself up on the edge of the cold metal slab Millie is laid out on, where he takes hold of her and lifts her into his arms. He folds the sheet covering her body around her, wrapping her up as if to keep her warm, and he just sits like that, stroking her hair, rocking her in his arms. He doesn’t say a word.

  I try really fucking hard, but I can’t keep my tears at bay. Always, Zeth has seemed like an impenetrable brick wall. The weather and the tides crash against him and have no effect. All hell breaks loose, and he stands strong, unharmed. He holds this little girl in his arms now, though—a little girl he had never met before tonight—and he seems completely undone.

  Those huge hands of his move slowly over Millie’s fine, wispy hair, and after a while I can hear the deep, low rumble of his voice as he whispers softly to her. It’s a tender, painful thing to watch. I can’t hear what he says to her, and I don’t want to, either. That’s between him and Millie.

  Another hour passes.

  Zeth’s phone starts ringing in his pocket, but he doesn’t answer. Neither of us move to leave, because it doesn’t seem right somehow. Millie shouldn’t be left alone. Eventually, the door to the morgue opens and Michael slips inside. His shoulders are stiff, lines deeply creasing his forehead as he takes in Zeth rocking Millie in his arms.

  “God,” is all he can say. He rubs one hand over his face, placing the other one on his hip. “I found him. He’s outside. I didn’t know if I should bring him in or not.”

  I get to my feet, wincing when my hips and back complain. I’ve been sitting for too long. “Okay. Does he know?”

  Michael winces, too, though I think it’s his heart that’s hurting him. “I think so. I didn’t have to tell him. He followed me down here without saying a word. It’s like his body’s out there but his mind is somewhere else completely.”

  So he does know, then. He’s figured it out, and now he’s in shock. I’d like to think that means I don’t have to go out there and tell him his little sister is dead, but being informed is part of the process. He needs to hear me say it. I really don’t want to. It’s going to destroy me to part with the words, but no matter how badly it will hurt me, it’s going to hurt him a million times more. He’s cared for Millie for so long. She’s been his sole responsibility, the only real thing he’s had to care about in the whole world, and now she’s gone.

  I move out into the corridor in silence, closing the door behind me as quietly as I can. Mason is sitting on one of the plastic chairs opposite the entrance to the morgue, staring into space. I take a seat next to him, trying to pull in a deep breath without being too obvious.

  “Mason—”

  “I’ve never chased girls, y’know,” he says evenly. “I was really fucking young when I had to take Millie on, and all I wanted to do was drink and fight and fuck. I knew I couldn’t do that if I was going to be a solid figure in her life, though. I quit drinking so much. I never went out. I forgot all about dating and finding myself a girlfriend. I mean, what girl would have wanted to date a guy with a little kid hanging off his hip all the time?” He lets out a shallow huff, meant to be laughter. “I got through the last year of high school. I got a job. I worked for fucking years, keeping my head down, and then the one night…the one night I fuck up…that’s the one night she needs me. That’s the one night I’m nowhere to be found.”

  “Mason, she didn’t know you weren’t here. She was unconscious the whole time.” This is such a useless, worthless thing to tell him. It’s not going to make him feel any better and I know it. I hate myself for even saying it, but he needs to know.

  He makes a strangled, choking sound at the back of his throat. “When did she die? What time? Exactly?”

  “Around one thirty.”

  “It’s nearly seven now. That means she’s been gone for six whole fucking hours, and I was…I was asleep, in bed with some girl, and she’s been here, alone.” His voice cracks and breaks, choked with emotion. He tries to say something else, but instead he bursts into tears, leaning forward, elbows propped on his knees, face buried in his hands.

  “She was alone. She was fucking alone,” he sobs.

  “She wasn’t, Mason. We were here with her. We didn’t leave her for a second, I swear. We were here. We were here.” I repeat it over and over again, rubbing my hand up and down his back. I’m crying myself, unable to prevent a sea of tears from spilling down my cheeks. “Zeth’s inside with her now. And Michael,” I tell him.

  “Zeth?” Mason looks sideways at me, confusion all over his face. His eyes are brimming over, his cheeks mottled and red. He is the vision of a broken man. “Zeth came?” he asks.

  I nod. Who knows how Mason’s going to feel about Zeth being here. The last time they saw each other, I was begging my boyfriend not to kill the guy. Mason wrings his hands together, his body beginning to shake. “That’s nice,” he says under his breath. “I suppose it’s nice of him to come.” I don’t think he’s really comprehending what he’s saying right now, not really thinking about it. He seems numb, the shock hitting him in waves. Those waves won’t stop. They’ll keep on coming, hitting him for days. Weeks, even. Months. They’ll still be washing over him years from now, when he least expects them, washing over him out of nowhere, causing his heart to ache in the most exquisitely painful way.

  “Do you want to go and see her now?” I ask, whispering softly. “Do you want to come and say goodbye?”

  He looks at me once more, eyes filled with wild panic. “I can’t do that. Not yet. It’s too soon.”

  No point in trying to rush him. I don’t. I let him try to recover himself a little, but the fact of the matter is that his composure and calm will fly right out of the window as soon as he walks through that door and sees that little girl. I’ll be here for him if he wants me to, but Mason is really going through this alone.

  No one can feel the same pain he’s feeling right now. And, no matter how badly I might want to, no one can carry it for him, either.

  Chapter Twenty

  ZETH

  I never knew Lacey when she was this small. I would have liked to. I would have been a grade A asshole to her when we were kids, probably, pulling on her hair and teasing the shit out of her, but I would have loved her. I would have protected her. If we’d been little together, had a childhood
together, grown and formed as people together, no one would have laid a finger on her. I wouldn’t have let them. She would have grown up unharmed, and she wouldn’t have been so withdrawn from the world. She wouldn’t be dead right now, I know that much.

  “Hey, man. Maybe you should put her down now,” Michael says. He’s been leaning silently against the bank of silver drawers where the bodies are kept for the last fifteen minutes, watching me hold Millie. I could tell he didn’t think it was a smart thing for me to be doing, but he’s refrained from saying anything until now. I don’t say anything. I slide off the edge of the table and I carefully place Millie back down on the bare metal. She’s still covered by a sheet, but she looks uncomfortable. I find a dark blue cord jacket hanging on the back of a chair on the other side of the room and I bundle it up, tucking it under the girl’s head.

  One last look at her and I know I need to go.

  “All right, kid. Sleep well, huh?” I stroke her hair one last time, brushing a few stray strands back behind her ear, and then we go. Out in the hallway, both Sloane and Mason startle when the door swings open. Mason, poor bastard, looks like he’s about to die himself. I know exactly how he feels. When Lacey died, I couldn’t even speak properly for days. I fucking hate thinking about how raw the pain was back then. It was brutal, all consuming. I thought I was never going to emerge out of the other side of it. Some days, I feel like I still haven’t.

  I place my hand on Mason’s shoulder. “Sorry,” I tell him. It’s the only thing I can offer him. No platitudes or it-will-get-better-with-times. Those are pointless. Sorry is the only thing that actually means something.

  Sloane looks beaten down. She gives me a sad, tired smile, and I have to stop myself collecting her up in my arms and forcing her to come home with me. She looks like she needs sleep. She definitely shouldn’t be here, but she’s committed to her job. It wouldn’t matter if she didn’t know the guy sitting next to her from any other stranger on the street; she would stay with him and comfort him for as long as he needed her. She’s not walking away from Mason any time soon.