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emergency responders went through on a daily basis, seeing the unthinkable ways people were injured or the gruesome ways people died.  
    No, most people went to work every day in their happy, oblivious little bubbles, never knowing what horrors transpire thousands of times a day, how unavoidable and merciless death can be, or the crushing stress placed on those whose job it is to clean up the mess.
    The pressure started to build in my chest. I swore I could still smell the burning flesh of that seventeen-year-old girl we’d lost four years ago.
    I used to be invincible.
    Not anymore.
    I’d already seen my fair share of death for one lifetime.
    I needed Erin to stop before it was too late.
    My throat felt tight again and damn near choked me seeing her long blonde hair floating in her wake.
    She didn’t need to see this.
    No, this was my cross to bear, not hers. I may never get free of the nightmares but I didn’t want her memories to become as tainted and bloody as mine were.
    Anything she would see now crushed in the mangled wreckage could never be unseen. Even the smell from pumping her own gas might trigger the shakes.
    I shouted her name but she ignored me. The anger that manifested from her blatant disregard came on like a tidal wave of heat through my veins.
    I grabbed her arm and yanked. “Stop! I need to get you out of here before you get hurt.”
    Her eyes narrowed on my hand then flashed back to stare me down. “I’m a trauma doctor. I can help. We need to help them.”
    Somewhere in the carnage, a man’s anguished wails and moans cut through the air, pulling her farther away from me, further out of my control. “This is not your turf. You follow my lead out here.”
    She nodded and grabbed my arm as we rounded the first car.
    “My name is Doctor Erin Novak,” she said to the man behind the wheel of the small four-door sedan. It used to be a green Mazda.
    I yanked on the dented passenger door repeatedly until I finally pried it open and climbed onto the empty passenger seat. A leather briefcase was smashed apart on the floor. Back seat was empty. The interior smelled like fresh coffee and the coppery stench of blood.
    “I need you to stay calm, all right?” she said. “What’s your name?”
    I looked around, trying to find some shred of fabric to use as a temporary bandage for the gash on his forehead.
    “Officer, you have latex gloves?” she asked, in between getting the victim’s current condition and trying to keep him from struggling and fighting her.
    “Easy, buddy,” I said to him, trying to keep him from attempting to get out of the car. He was not being cooperative and listening to her instructions. I pulled the only pair of gloves I had on me out of the large pocket on my cargos and handed them to her, keeping him steady with my free hand.
    The fact she was an ER doctor wasn’t lost on me watching her stay calm and collected while she worked. After doing a quick assessment and instructing several of my team how to attend to this one, she ordered me to follow her, snagging the sleeve of my coat and dragging me along with her like a damned puppy.
    We hurried over to what was left of the maroon SUV, finding a young male lying in the road near the opened driver-side door. He was pretty torn up and his foot was pointing in the wrong direction.
    Instead of freaking out, she was like a fucking machine, dropping down onto her knees on the icy wet street, ignoring the cameras that followed us.
    Fellow ATTF Officer Glenn Martucci trotted up behind us, pushed Ritchie and his camera out of the way, and froze. He pulled an extra pair of latex gloves from his pants pocket, handed them to her, mumbled something about God and vomit, and then quickly backed away. I heard the distinct sound of Ritchie gagging, too. It didn’t take long for us to lose the light of his camera.
    I watched her tear off her soiled gloves and pull the new ones on over her delicate hands, trussing back up as if she were in the