Fugitive Spy. Jordyn Redwood
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bruises of various sizes and shapes dotted his skin. Some were clearly triangular shaped, indicating an object had been used to create the injury driven into his skin at high velocity. The tip of a boot? Ashley’s fingers traveled up his forearm. His skin was cold, doughy under her touch. She pulled his arm away from his torso, looking for any injuries that could be more life-threatening than the hypothermia he was suffering from.
Are you a stalker? Is that why you have my picture? And if you are, why has someone beaten you? To protect me?
Working in the ER lent credence to this question. He wouldn’t be the first patient to take an unusual interest in her.
Ashley returned her attention to the unconscious man. Severely beaten was an understatement. In fact, he might find death a welcomed relief compared to the pain he would be suffering when his brain reengaged with this world. At least, Ashley hoped he would find his way back.
What little information they’d garnered from the Good Samaritan was he’d been found while he was out walking his dog in the woods. Upon discovering him, he then carried him to his truck and brought him here. It had been easier to lay him in the open bed of the pickup and he figured the short drive wouldn’t do any harm. That ride likely worsened their patient’s hypothermia. The story was strange and the actions of his rescuer somewhat odd, but it definitely wasn’t the tallest tale Ashley had heard in her years as an ER doctor.
What was Casper doing in the woods? Alone, all by himself? Essentially left to die.
The monitor triple-beeped—its better-pay-attention-to-the-patient-because-he’s-trying-to-die tone. Everyone in the room glanced at the mysterious man’s heart tracing and each knew in their gut this man was starting to circle the drain.
“Start CPR. Get the defibrillator pads on him,” Ashley ordered.
The ER tech and Lance turned Casper on his side and slid a CPR board underneath his back. As the tech started CPR, Lance placed two large white adhesive patches on Casper’s skin.
“Charge to one-hundred-and-sixty joules,” Ashley said.
Katie dialed in the electricity. The machine toned it was ready. “Everyone clear!” she yelled.
The medical staff close to the bed backed up one step. The man’s body jerked slightly as the electricity coursed through his chest. Within seconds of the shock, the man’s eyes bolted open and he sat straight up in bed, his brown, nearly black eyes wide with confusion. He grabbed Katie’s wrist and held it firmly, his breath heaving.
Ashley’s heart galloped in her chest. She’d heard stories like this, about a shock waking a patient up, but never had she seen it. She took three quick steps to the bedside and rested a gentle hand on her patient’s shoulder, hoping her touch was reassuring enough to calm him down.
“Sir, you’re at Castle Peak Medical Center in the emergency department. I’m Dr. Ashley Drager. You were brought here after someone found you unconscious.” Ashley smoothed her hand down his arm over the tense muscles to his hand that held viselike onto the nurse. “Please, let her go. You’re safe here.”
The man’s eyes locked her gaze. A flash of something, perhaps recognition, was gone as quickly as it came. Did he know her? Would he be able to tell her about why he had her picture? All that remained in the darkness of his irises was terror.
“Do you remember what happened to you?” Lance asked.
Ashley curled her fingers around her patient’s and began to pull his appendages up one at a time. The man allowed her to do so and when the last one was released, Katie rubbed her wrist, the skin reddened from the grip.
“Do you know your name?” Ashley asked.
The man blinked at her several times and remained silent.
“Your driver’s license states your name is Casper English. Is that correct?”
He began to shiver. Ashley walked to the warmer and grabbed another blanket. Her patient remained sitting, and she unfolded the worn cotton to drape over his shoulders. Just as she was about to release the linen, she saw the tattoo that branded him between his shoulder blades. The medical staff inked in black superimposed over a blazing red biohazard symbol.
Identical to the one her father had. In the same exact spot as his.
Her missing father. Gone for just over two years.
Ashley began to tremble and held the warmed blanket to her chest to drive the chill away. Her mouth gaped open, her lungs hungry for air but seemingly unable to draw breath. The room grew hazy.
“Ashley?” Lance asked.
Lance’s voice brought her back to the present, and she shook her head to reengage her brain. She dropped the blanket over the man’s shoulders.
What were the odds this man would possess the same unusual mark as her father?
Did this stranger hold the answer to her father’s disappearance?
She had called him Casper. Dr. Ashley Drager. That was what she called herself.
The nurses were gone from the room. He huddled into the blanket she had placed over his shoulders. Never in his life could he remember being this cold. It was as if his bones were solid ice and would never stop leaching frigid water into his veins. Her hands, small, soft, yet determined, eased him back onto the raised head of the gurney.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” she asked.
Her dark blue eyes seemed a safe place to be. They exerted a trusting nature, an open mind, almost a pleading for information.
The name she called him...Casper...seemed to ring true, but neither was he positive that was correct. He searched his mind for an answer to her question and all there was to draw upon was a blank well of darkness.
Casper’s stomach clenched. He couldn’t remember. What was the last thing he could clearly recall? What had he been doing to end up here? He pulled the blankets down that covered his chest to examine his injuries. An IV was in his left hand. He touched it lightly, the fluid running into his veins warm and soothing. He tugged at the large patches on his chest, but Ashley grabbed his hand and pulled it down as if he were an intemperate child doing something he shouldn’t. In truth, it’s how he felt—young, uncertain. He honed in on her face for approval with each movement he made. Gingerly, he touched his jaw with his fingers. Several mounds of swollen flesh protruded from his skull in abnormal places, and even the slightest touch caused sharp spindles of pain to spread throughout his head. He settled against the pillow.
“I can’t remember.” Was this how his voice normally sounded?
Dr. Drager pulled her stethoscope from her pocket. “Let me see if I can find a reason why you’re having trouble remembering. Your body temperature is very low. That could be part of it, but I’m doubtful that’s the cause. You’ve sustained several blows to your head and that could be the answer right there, but we need to be sure you don’t have any bleeding inside your skull. We’re going to send some lab work and I’m going to get a CT scan of your brain.” She laid the stethoscope against his chest. The normal chill he expected was warmer than his skin. “Sorry about the rude awakening. Your heart was in a lethal rhythm and the only quick way to fix that was with a little electricity.”
Little?
He rested a fist in the center of his chest as counter pressure against the remnant of pain from that dose.
Clearly, there were things he did remember. He knew what things were—particularly in this room. A pen. A stethoscope. An IV. He could identify the contraption in the corner—a rapid fluid infuser. The device they’d used to get his heart rhythm normalized—a defibrillator. He knew what a doctor was. What a nurse was. He knew how to put an IV in and could easily recall other medical procedures—his fingers itching to perform them. Muscle