attempt to explain my predicament.
“They’re about to pick you up, Sophia. Just wait one more minute.”
Since I don’t really have a choice right now, and I’m unable to do it on my own anyway, I do as he instructs. They check me out thoroughly before rolling me over and slipping the backboard underneath me. After I’m securely fastened to it, I’m lifted on to the gurney and thrust into the back of the ambulance.
“I will meet you at the hospital, Sophia. I’m following right behind you in my truck,” Tucker calls out from the back door of the ambulance.
“Girl,” I urgently whisper.
“What girl?” the medic asks, clearly perplexed but also concerned.
“Inside,” I manage to respond before one medic rushes out of the back of the ambulance.
The cop stops him, “I have to clear the house first. Wait here.” He unsnaps his gun from its holster and moves quickly toward the house. After a few minutes, the cop returns to the front door and yells for the paramedic to come with him. Tucker sternly instructs the second paramedic to stay with me as he also runs toward the house. A few minutes later, I hear a call come across the radio requesting a second ambulance for this address, telling me they found the girl that Harrison left inside.
I exhale a sigh of relief. I’m so thankful for the help and care I’m receiving. This gurney isn’t the most comfortable, but it’s so much better than the hard, rocky ground where Tucker found me. I know there’ll be questions for me later–from the cops and the paramedics. But the ones from Tucker are the ones I dread the most. These are my last thoughts as I allow the darkness behind my eyelids to overtake me.
The hissing of the oxygen flowing is the first sound I hear as I wake from the best sleep I’ve had in weeks. The mask over my face immediately makes me feel claustrophobic and I clumsily fumble to rip it off my face. A large, warm hand gently wraps around mine and stills my movements.
“Sophia,” Tucker says softly, “let me.”
Gladly lowering my hand, I let Tucker pull the mask down my face to my neck. I can still feel the oxygen flowing, and knowing Tucker, this is his way of compromising with me. The chair scraping across the floor is my notice that he’s moved his chair closer to my bed.
“Where?” I whisper and immediately wince. My throat is raw and my neck muscles are sore, even the slight movement from trying to talk is extremely painful.
“You’re in Baylor Medical Center, Sophia. You’re very lucky. We came in last night and you’ve been in here for about eighteen hours now. You’ve had an MRI, a CT scan, and X-rays, but the good news is there’s no permanent damage. You have a lot of soft tissue damage– like bruising and swelling –that will take time to heal, but no brain bleeds or anything permanent,” he quickly explains and I try to grasp what he is telling me.
No permanent damage is the general gist of his message and I’m happy with that for now.
“Your voice will take a couple of weeks to get back to normal. Harrison was choking you and the pain you feel is from the swelling inside. The doctor said you have to keep from talking as much as possible or it’ll delay your healing.”
I nod and gloomily think that I have no one to talk to anyway, so that really doesn’t matter. The thought of Harrison getting to me when I can’t scream for help fills me with fear, though. Trying to open my eyes is another feat that feels impossible. My lids feel like they’re weighted down with cement blocks and, again, I only manage to open one eye.
“Your eyes are really swollen, Sophia. You have some pretty bad shiners. That’s why you’re having such a hard time opening your eyes. Once the swelling goes down, your vision will be back to normal,” Tucker explains in a way that’s much more gentle than I’m accustomed to hearing from the big brute.