Chapter 3 - The Code Crimson
Twenty minutes later, an advanced life-support ambulance pulled into the emergency trauma bay of St. Jude Memorial Hospital in downtown Chicago.
Waiting at the ambulance doors was Dr. Marcus Vance.
At thirty-six, Marcus was the Chief of Maternal-Fetal Medicine and Chairman of the Hospital Ethics Board. He was tall, athletic, with sharp hazel eyes and an uncompromising moral compass. Marcus had been my late father’s protégé and had looked out for me like a protective guardian since my father passed five years ago.
When Marcus saw my drenched, cut-covered body on the gurney, his face drained of color before hardening into a mask of pure, clinical fury.
"Code Crimson in Labor and Delivery Suite 4!" Marcus barked to the trauma team. "Full fetal monitoring, emergency ultrasound, and prep OR 2 for a potential stat C-section!"
As the nurses cut away the ruined silk gown, Marcus placed the ultrasound transducer over my abdomen.
The rapid, rhythmic thump-thump-thump of my baby’s heartbeat filled the room.
Marcus let out a long, shuddering breath. "Placenta is intact, but you are experiencing acute traumatic pre-term labor induced by blunt force impact. Elena, look at me."
I opened my eyes, weeping. "Marcus... they left me on the floor."
Marcus’s jaw clenched so hard the muscle ticked. He signaled the head trauma nurse.
"Photograph every single laceration, contusion, and grip mark on her shoulders, back, and hip," Marcus ordered grimly. "File an immediate mandatory adult protective services report, and notify the Chicago Police Department Special Victims Division."
May you like
He took my trembling hand, his grip warm and immovable.
"You're having this baby tonight, Elena," Marcus said softly. "And I give you my word: none of them will ever touch you again."
