Read Bloodborn for Free Online Page B
Authors: Kathryn Fox
hands.
Moving out to let them take the bed away, Anya turned around. The two paramedics were still by the nurse’s station. One was in his thirties, the other in his fifties.
“Excuse me, Doc,” the older man said. “But if you’re going to stay with Sophie, could you give her this?”
In his hand the man held a silver and gold medallion on a thick chain.
“Does it belong to her?”
“No…but, it’s got me this far safely and now I figure Sophie needs it more than I do.”
Anya took the medallion. On it was the image of Saint Jude, the Catholic patron saint of hopeless cases.
“I don’t know if she’s a believer or not, but it might protect her. Can you make sure she gets it?”
Anya nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
An alarm sounded as the bed wheeled past them, Jenny Rafferty clinging to the young girl’s head.
“Blood pressure’s dropping. She’s bleeding again. We need to get to theater now!”
The older paramedic’s face tightened as he closed Anya’s hand around the medallion. “Don’t let it out of her reach. It may be the only thing than can save that poor kid’s life.”
6
Anya left the operating theater an hour and a half later, with three surgical teams still fighting to save Sophie Goodwin’s life. In the change room she took a few minutes to wash her face in cold water and absorb exactly what she had witnessed.
Never before had she seen injuries so severe on a survivor. It was the degree of trauma that might be found following a fatal road trauma or plane crash.
Despite all the years of pathology and examining wounds, it was difficult to accept that a human being had done this to a young girl. She could only imagine the pain the sister had gone through before dying.
She was grateful for the way the gynecologist had not hesitated to take the vaginal swabs while examining Sophie, who remained unaware of the bodily trauma thanks to the anesthetic. Anya had managed to collect important samples while the vascular team tried to repair the massive neck wound. She included clippings and scraping from fingernails along with a short dark strand of hair from Sophie’s sparsely blonde pubic region. Each item was meticulously labeled.
Anya did not want to make any mistake with these specimens.
Unusually, none of the surgeons present objected to a forensic physician’s presence in the theater. Egos appeared to have been temporarily shelved. Each member of the team wanted Sophie to live, but the mood made it clear that everyone present also wanted the perpetrator to be caught.
Silence fell over the group when the gynecologist announced she would have to perform a hysterectomy to stem the hemorrhaging. The knife used to stab her had penetrated Sophie’s young womb. Removal was the only option. If she lived, she would be unable to have children and would have to face a gamut of medical complications related to premature menopause.
Armed with the bags and vials of forensic evidence, Anya headed downstairs. Outside emergency, she dialed Liz who had been with Sophie’s father in a private room.
Within moments of hanging up, Liz appeared from inside, black sunglasses masking her eyes.
“Guess you want a lift to the lab with that lot.”
“Considering you had me chauffeured here this morning…” Anya clutched the bags, relieved that her job was over for the moment.
“Sure, but we need to make a detour first. I want to check out the scene. It might be helpful for you too.”
Anya took an extra breath; visiting the scene would be draining for both of them.
Liz unlocked the unmarked Commodore and Anya placed the bags on the floor in the back before getting into the passenger seat. She buckled her seatbelt as the car left the parking bay and waited until they were in traffic to speak.
“How’s the father?”
“As you’d expect. He’s just lost one kid and the other’s not expected to make it. So what do we do? Treat him like a suspect and interview him as he stares at the
Moving out to let them take the bed away, Anya turned around. The two paramedics were still by the nurse’s station. One was in his thirties, the other in his fifties.
“Excuse me, Doc,” the older man said. “But if you’re going to stay with Sophie, could you give her this?”
In his hand the man held a silver and gold medallion on a thick chain.
“Does it belong to her?”
“No…but, it’s got me this far safely and now I figure Sophie needs it more than I do.”
Anya took the medallion. On it was the image of Saint Jude, the Catholic patron saint of hopeless cases.
“I don’t know if she’s a believer or not, but it might protect her. Can you make sure she gets it?”
Anya nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
An alarm sounded as the bed wheeled past them, Jenny Rafferty clinging to the young girl’s head.
“Blood pressure’s dropping. She’s bleeding again. We need to get to theater now!”
The older paramedic’s face tightened as he closed Anya’s hand around the medallion. “Don’t let it out of her reach. It may be the only thing than can save that poor kid’s life.”
6
Anya left the operating theater an hour and a half later, with three surgical teams still fighting to save Sophie Goodwin’s life. In the change room she took a few minutes to wash her face in cold water and absorb exactly what she had witnessed.
Never before had she seen injuries so severe on a survivor. It was the degree of trauma that might be found following a fatal road trauma or plane crash.
Despite all the years of pathology and examining wounds, it was difficult to accept that a human being had done this to a young girl. She could only imagine the pain the sister had gone through before dying.
She was grateful for the way the gynecologist had not hesitated to take the vaginal swabs while examining Sophie, who remained unaware of the bodily trauma thanks to the anesthetic. Anya had managed to collect important samples while the vascular team tried to repair the massive neck wound. She included clippings and scraping from fingernails along with a short dark strand of hair from Sophie’s sparsely blonde pubic region. Each item was meticulously labeled.
Anya did not want to make any mistake with these specimens.
Unusually, none of the surgeons present objected to a forensic physician’s presence in the theater. Egos appeared to have been temporarily shelved. Each member of the team wanted Sophie to live, but the mood made it clear that everyone present also wanted the perpetrator to be caught.
Silence fell over the group when the gynecologist announced she would have to perform a hysterectomy to stem the hemorrhaging. The knife used to stab her had penetrated Sophie’s young womb. Removal was the only option. If she lived, she would be unable to have children and would have to face a gamut of medical complications related to premature menopause.
Armed with the bags and vials of forensic evidence, Anya headed downstairs. Outside emergency, she dialed Liz who had been with Sophie’s father in a private room.
Within moments of hanging up, Liz appeared from inside, black sunglasses masking her eyes.
“Guess you want a lift to the lab with that lot.”
“Considering you had me chauffeured here this morning…” Anya clutched the bags, relieved that her job was over for the moment.
“Sure, but we need to make a detour first. I want to check out the scene. It might be helpful for you too.”
Anya took an extra breath; visiting the scene would be draining for both of them.
Liz unlocked the unmarked Commodore and Anya placed the bags on the floor in the back before getting into the passenger seat. She buckled her seatbelt as the car left the parking bay and waited until they were in traffic to speak.
“How’s the father?”
“As you’d expect. He’s just lost one kid and the other’s not expected to make it. So what do we do? Treat him like a suspect and interview him as he stares at the