“Please, sit down,” the woman said, urging Elly back toward one of the chairs, but Elly drew away from her.
“No. I’ll stand. Please get Dr. Douglas now.”
“Yes. All right.” And the woman ran out of the room.
* * * *
Jerry was finishing his examination of a constipated lop-eared rabbit when his receptionist barged through the door.
“Sally!” Noting her pale expression, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Mrs. Benson is here. She brought her dog with her. I think you need to see them. Now.”
With another client in the room, Jerry had to struggle not to rush out in alarm. “All right. Would you ask Jenny to finish up here with Buttons and Mrs.—”
“Yes. I’ll do that. Just hurry. Please. Exam Room One.”
That was all it took to get Jerry rushing over to Room One. Slightly bent, arms wrapped about her middle, Elly stood swaying near the stainless steel table. Blood dripped steadily from her temple down the front of her light blue sweater, leaving several blotchy-looking, dark purple stains. After snapping on a pair of examination gloves, Jerry gathered up a handful of gauze pads and placed a finger under Elly’s chin to examine her wound better. The cut was deep and would need stitches, but he kept light pressure against the laceration to help stem some of the bleeding.
“What happened?”
“Arthur kicked Muffin. I think he may have broken one of her ribs.”
He glanced over at the trembling animal he hadn’t noticed before and pushed a button on their phone system so a red light came on instantly.
“We’ll take care of Muffin, don’t worry,” he said, speaking in a calm, reassuring voice. “What happened to you, sweetheart?”
“Nothing. I’m fine. Please see to Muffin. She was screaming in pain earlier and I’m afraid—”
When Sally stuck her head in, Jerry said, “Call Dr. Devon and ask him to come over here right away. Next, have Jenny—”
Elly’s eyes rolled back and he grabbed her under the arms as she collapsed. “Get me an armful of warm, clean towels and page Devon now, Sally. Then ask Jenny to take this poodle and x-ray her for internal as well as external injuries.”
“Yes, Dr. Douglas,” Sally answered, rushing back out as Jerry gently eased Elly down, noticing for the first time that blood was also running down her legs. Great God, she was hemorrhaging. What had the bastard done to her? Unfortunately, his clinic wasn’t set up for human patients, so other than the waiting room, he had no place to lay Elly out but the floor. And until he’d assessed her injuries better, he didn’t dare risk moving her into his home.
Sally returned with the towels. “There,” he said, pointing to the chair near his right side. Grabbing a couple as she put them down, he spread them over Elly in an effort to keep her warm. Then he grabbed a few more and raised Elly’s skirt. “She’s bleeding heavily. We’ll need to get her to the Denver hospital stat. Call for emergency transport.”
“Yes, sir. Right away.” Sally rushed out again as Elly’s eyes fluttered open.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re bleeding from somewhere internally and I’m going to try to contain it. I realize you’re hurting, Elly, but I’ll be as gentle as I can,” he promised, easing the towels beneath her hips. Wishing he had an ultrasound machine in his clinic, he gently pressed the edge of a towel against her. She let out a hiss of pain and he frowned. “Lift your knees for me, honey. It will help raise your pelvis and provide a better angle. I’m sorry, Elly. I know this isn’t easy for you, but I’d like to at least slow the bleeding if I can’t stop it.”
She gave a nod and raised her knees. The vivid angry, red welts and bruises on her buttocks were in full view as he maintained a light, constant pressure against her swollen labia to try to contain the bleeding. The fucker must have caned her last night. Elly started panting with the pain.
A quick knock at the door and a smiling Marcus Devon stuck his head in. Jerry often called him over for a game of chess in the afternoons, and the doctor most likely assumed that’s why he’d been summoned this morning. “I hear you have need of—” The smile instantly vanished to be replaced by the consummate professional. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure. I thought it was just a laceration near the temple with risk of a possible concussion, until she passed out and I noticed several red streaks running down her legs. She’s hemorrhaging, Marcus. At the rate she’s losing blood, I fear she may go into shock. I’ve called for transport.”
“I heard,” Marcus said, kneeling down by Elly’s head where he examined her temple. “Elly, do you know who I am?”
She nodded, but kept her teeth gritted against the pain. Jerry hated thinking he might be hurting her, but she’d already lost a pint or more of blood on his clinic floor. He feared she was miscarrying even though she’d said she and Arthur weren’t ready to start a family, yet. Sometimes nature had its own way of determining these things.
“Very good. Respiration twenty.” Devon checked her pupils. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Two,” she replied, her voice growing hoarse as her throat constricted. She swallowed.
“Also good.” Pulling out his stethoscope, he wrapped his blood pressure cuff around Elly’s arm and inflated it. “90 over 60,” he called, deflating the sphygmomanometer and replacing it in his bag. Jerry knew that was too low, but they weren’t quite at the critical stage, yet. Next, Marcus Devon reached for Elly’s wrist, except she promptly pulled it back.
“Quick response and good motor skills, but I only want to take your pulse, Elly.” Both of them noticed the gauze bandage encircling her wrists, yet neither mentioned them. There’d be enough time for questions later.
Despite her pallor, Jerry thought a trace of a blush graced Elly’s cheeks.
Keeping his gaze fixed on his watch, Marcus timed her pulse. “Forty,” he reported aloud before smiling at Elly. “No lower, okay?” Forty was borderline. Right now, she was at the top of the triage trauma score, but if her blood pressure, respiration or pulse went much below their current levels, she risked going into hemorrhagic shock.
“I’ll try,” she murmured, shutting her eyes.
“Okay, Dr. Douglas, move over a bit so I can take a look, will you?”
Jerry inched over as far as he could without removing his fingers from Elly.
“That’s fine.” Devon slipped on a pair of gloves. “Okay, pull the towel back a little and let me see the flow.”
Jerry slowly did as Marcus requested, but when the blood started to spurt out, Marcus gave a concerned shake of his head. Jerry replaced the towel and resumed applying light pressure.”
“Good job. Okay, you keep that up and I’ll check what’s holding up transport. We’ll get you taken care of, Elly. I know you’re uncomfortable, but we’ll give you something for the pain as soon as we can. I promise. All right?”
Elly nodded again.
“Good girl.” Removing his gloves, Marcus gave her knee a squeeze, then rose to step out of the room.
“Stay with us, sweetheart,” Jerry coaxed. When she attempted to give him a smile, he smiled back. “That’s my brave girl. You’re going to be fine.”
Seconds later, paramedics arrived with a stretcher. “We’ll take it from here, sir.”
“No,” Marcus said, interceding. “He’s trying to keep her from bleeding out. Work with him, gentleman.”
“Right,” one of the technicians replied, sliding a blood pressure cuff up Elly’s arm and inflating it. “85 over 55,” he reported, reaching over to take her pulse. “Thirty-eight.”
Not good at all.
“We’ll start her on an IV as soon as we get in the ambulance.”
Devon nodded. “Excellent.” He gazed at Jerry. “Want me to take over? I can accompany her to the hospital.”
“No,” Elly protested, struggling to reach for Jerry’s other hand. Her movement caused the towel to slip and more blood spurted out.
Jerry pressed
in a little harder and she gasped. “Don’t try to move,” he ordered, giving her trembling fingers a squeeze. “I need you to remain still, sweetie. We’ll hold hands once we get in the helicopter. Okay?”
With a shaky nod, she did as he asked, but her face had grown even paler now.
Devon gave him a significant look. The doctor understood exactly what was going on, and Jerry did nothing to hide it.
“You’re both doing well. I’ll stay in touch, but call me once the dust settles in Denver.” And that was all he said.
Working as a team, Jerry, Devon and the paramedics managed to get Elly onto a stretcher and into the ambulance that would rush them in relative comfort to the helicopter, cutting the hour drive to Denver Memorial down to fifteen minutes.
Once she was covered in warm blankets, Jerry did his best to stay out of the technicians’ way while they sliced open Elly’s sweater to attach electrodes to her chest. Next, they placed a pulse oximeter on her finger and wrapped an automatic blood pressure cuff around her arm before adding a nasal cannula to give her oxygen. Elly was awake and compliant until they attempted to insert an IV. At that point, she objected. Realizing she needed fluids to bring up her dangerously low blood pressure, Jerry intervened.
“Elly, enough,” he said quietly. “Let these men do their job. That IV is an absolute necessity, so be a good girl and do as they say.”
She lay quiet after that, so he gave the paramedics a nod and they continued their tasks unhindered by their patient, who remained sullenly cooperative. Apparently, little Elly didn’t like needles and her expression let him know that without a doubt.
Once they’d moved over into the helicopter, however, Elly reached for Jerry’s hand again.
Inching a bit more to the right, he managed to give her fingers a squeeze and started to pull back, but stopped when she gripped him fiercely.
“You said we could hold hands,” she whispered. Realizing then how scared she really was, he gave a nod. They continued to hold hands until members of the hospital emergency staff gently moved him aside and wheeled her into an examining room to stabilize her for surgery.
An orderly took Jerry by the arm and led him to a square cubicle with a table and chairs.
“I’d like to stay with her,” Jerry insisted.
“She’s in excellent hands right now, but we’ll let you get back to her in a few minutes, sir,” advised a nurse wheeling in a portable computer. “We need to gather some information first. Are you related to the patient?”
Chapter Seven
Brent Carmichael glanced up from the new application he’d received when Jerry Douglas stormed into his office with the wrath of a Colorado thunderstorm darkening his face.
“We need to do something!” Jerry demanded, slamming his fist down on Brent’s desk. Good thing it was made of sturdy oak.
Maintaining a calm, cool, demeanor despite his own fury over what had happened, Brent inquired, “How’s Mrs. Benson?”
Jerry ran his fingers through his hair and dropped into one of the chairs in front of Brent’s desk. “I left when they wheeled her into surgery. I need to get back to the hospital, before she wakes up, but the doctors told me they believe she’s cracked at least one rib and injured her spleen, among other things.” His fingers curled into tight balls of fury.
Brent’s eyebrows rose. “The doctors spoke to you about her condition?”
Jerry shrugged. “Why not. I’m her brother, didn’t you know?”
Though a part of Brent wanted to laugh, the situation was far too serious for humor. “You could get in a lot of trouble for lying, Jerry.”
“Like I’m worried about that right now. I don’t care what we have to do, or how we do it, but I want that fucker hung up by his balls, Brent.” Brent straightened. Jerry didn’t swear. Ever.
Jerry continued. “Benson handcuffed and caned Elly until she bled or passed out last night, then he kicked her and her toy poodle, Muffin, this morning. I’m sure of it.”
“What does she say happened?”
Jerry made a noise that was a half-snort, half-exasperated sigh. “The first time I tried asking her, she passed out. I didn’t get another chance to question her until we were in the helicopter. Since a discussion about abuse is not what you want to be yelling at the top of your lungs, I haven’t heard her side of the story, yet. But we x-rayed her dog and those pictures showed Muffin suffered three cracked ribs. An animal, especially a small dog like a toy poodle, doesn’t get those sorts of injuries unless it’s been kicked. And from the pictures we took, I suspect Arthur Benson kicked Elly’s poodle like a football.”
Brent regarded his young friend carefully. He wasn’t surprised Jerry became a vet. The lad had been collecting injured animals and “healing” them since he was old enough to make a splint out of Popsicle sticks. He was one of the gentlest men Brent knew. What surprised him was Jerry’s phone call asking if they had any openings in Corbin’s Bend. Seems the intrepid vet did some research into domestic discipline and found the practice answered a protective, nurturing need within him, though the women he’d dated didn’t quite agree with the concept. Furthermore, Jerry’s parents considered spanking abuse. Finding out after ten years that his young friend held a deep-seated desire to spank women who lied to him, were openly nasty or unkind to other people, or did things harmful to their own health or well-being, managed to rob Brent of words for a moment during their phone call. And shutting him up wasn’t easy to do.
“Accidents happen, Jerry, and dogs can’t make depositions. So, unless Mrs. Benson is willing to file a legal claim against her husband, our hands are tied. This community is based on tolerance and acceptance. That means if the couple are both consenting adults, we don’t interfere.”
Jerry leaned forward and swallowed hard. “She collapsed and had a miscarriage in one of my exam rooms, Brent, right before my eyes. A miscarriage. I practically had my fingers inside Elly Benson’s vagina as I tried to staunch the flood of viscous red fluid streaming out of her body with every beat of her heart.” Jerry swallowed again and his eyes grew moist. “Can you imagine what that was like? That red flood represented a life, Brent. A potential human being. And her bastard of a husband murdered their baby as well as critically injuring her. I’m sorry, but I refuse to accept she’d consented to that.”
“I understand how you feel, Jerry, but—”
“Do you? Honestly? What if that had been Char lying in a pool of her own blood? What if Nathan Korven had injured your girl in that way? Would you still be sitting there telling me your hands were tied because you couldn’t interfere?”
Brent closed his eyes as his gut cramped at the thought. “No. But Nathan isn’t a member of Corbin’s Bend, Jerry. Until Mrs. Benson admits what happened, or we get hard evidence she’s been abused, I have to grant Arthur Benson the same consideration I would give anyone else in this community, even if I personally disagree with their practices.”
“Fuck that!” Jerry shouted, rising to his feet. “I need to get back to Elly. I don’t want her asshole of a husband anywhere near her if I can keep him away.”
Brent stood up. Though every inch of his being ached to protect Elly Benson, unless or until she admitted her husband hurt her, he couldn’t go against the tenets of the community he helped build. However, if it turned out Jerry’s assumptions were correct; Arthur Benson would be escorted out of Corbin’s Bend with Brent’s shoe print emblazoned on the seat of his pants.
Realizing Jerry’s anger stymied his ability to reason objectively, and fearing his young impulsive friend might do something rash, Brent strove to keep Jerry from rushing out of his office in a rage. “Jerry, I’m sure Mrs. Benson is emotionally fragile right now. If you go to her filled with anger, you’re only going to upset her more. Calm down and think. She needs your support and understanding, not your fury. When you get back, why don’t you schedule an appointment with one of our therapists and ask them how an injured spouse can separate herself from an abusive relationship.
If you do, take care not to reveal any specific information about Mrs. Benson’s situation.”
Jerry gave a short nod. “You’re right, of course. Just like you were when we were kids. Thanks. I’ll get it back under control before I’m with her again. Promise.” Turning on his heel, Jerry Douglas strode out, leaving Brent with a migraine.
* * * *
Lost in thought, Jerry occupied a physician’s rolling chair next to Elly’s bed in the ICU and watched her sleep. Her unit was separated from the others in intensive care by small partitions, which gave the patients a sense of privacy without hindering the nurse’s movements from one patient to the next.
Elly looked so vulnerable and frail with tubes running in and out of her. So fragile. He wanted nothing more than to protect her, but a part of him was furious with her too for not coming to him as he’d asked. He could have prevented this from happening, but she was too proud. Too insistent she and Arthur were fine, and everything that happened between them was the result of a simple misunderstanding. A part of him swore if she even tried to say those words to him again, he’d turn her over his knee and spank the truth out of her.
He shook his head and sat back. Brent was right. She needed his support and understanding now, not his fury, but he wouldn’t be at all happy if he caught her in another lie.
The moment her eyes started to flutter, he reached for her hand. The surgeons had been able to stop the bleeding, but only after they’d done a partial splenectomy and a D&C. Most of her blood loss had been due to the miscarriage she’d suffered, but the blunt trauma to her spleen had caused internal hemorrhaging as well. She’d lost so much fluid, they’d ordered two units in an effort to stabilize her before they operated, and she had another one going in her now. Though the wound at her temple had bled heavily, the doctors listed it as a mild concussion. She had quite a lump, however, so they intended to keep a careful watch out for complications. In addition, she’d sustained hairline fractures in three ribs, which they predicted should heal without complication. What she needed now was undisturbed rest so she could recover. And he intended to ensure she received it.
A Simple Misunderstanding (Corbin's Bend) Page 8
