Chapter 27: The Arrival
1093 Words
Aaron didn't slow down.
He flew through the emergency room doors in a blur of motion—glass doors slamming open, wind whipping through the sterile hallway.
His feet hit the polished floor.
He tried to stop.
Couldn't.
His momentum carried him forward—sliding across the tile like he was on ice, arms windmilling for balance.
He crashed into a row of plastic chairs.
They scattered.
Aaron didn't care.
He straightened, breathing hard, his eyes wild as he scanned the room.
Where is she? Where is she? WHERE IS SHE?
And then he saw them.
His father.
Director Mercer.
Standing side by side in front of a large observation window.
Both of them staring through the glass.
Both of them looking grim.
Aaron's heart stopped.
He ran.
"Dad!" Aaron's voice cracked. "Where's Ronnie? Where—"
He reached them.
Looked through the window.
And his entire world shattered.
Ronnie was lying on a gurney in the center of the room.
But she didn't look like Ronnie.
She looked like something broken.
Her face was swollen beyond recognition—her left eye completely shut, the skin around it purple and black. Her right cheek was split open, blood crusted along the wound. Her nose was crooked, clearly broken. Her lips were split in multiple places, dried blood caking the corners of her mouth.
Her arms were covered in cuts—deep gashes that looked like they'd been carved into her skin.
Bruises covered every visible inch of her body—dark purple, black, yellow—layered on top of each other like a grotesque painting.
Her suit was torn in places, exposing more injuries beneath.
Blood.
So much blood.
It covered the gurney beneath her.
Soaked into the white sheets.
Dripped onto the floor.
Aaron's throat closed.
He couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
Couldn't move.
This isn't real. This can't be real. This isn't—
"Where were you?"
The voice was cold.
Sharp.
Aaron turned.
Mercer was staring at him with dark, furious eyes.
"What?" Aaron's voice was barely a whisper.
Mercer stepped forward.
Closer.
Until he was right in Aaron's face.
"I said," Mercer repeated slowly, his voice low and dangerous, "where the f**k were you?"
Aaron flinched.
"I called you," Mercer continued, his voice rising. "I called you twice. Ronnie called you. And you didn't answer."
Aaron's chest tightened.
"I—"
"When I call," Mercer said, his voice like steel, "you answer. Do you understand me? When your partner calls, you answer. That's the job. That's the deal."
Aaron's hands clenched into fists.
"I didn't know—"
"You didn't know?" Mercer's voice was louder now. "You didn't know? She was out there alone, Aaron. She was fighting something she couldn't handle, and you were—what? Too busy? Too distracted?"
Aaron's jaw clenched.
His father placed a hand on Mercer's shoulder. "Cain—"
Mercer shrugged him off, his eyes never leaving Aaron's.
"She almost died because you didn't answer your phone," Mercer said coldly.
Aaron's breath hitched.
He looked back through the window.
At Ronnie.
Broken.
Bleeding.
Barely alive.
"Is she—" Aaron's voice cracked. "Is she going to be okay?"
Mercer stared at him for a long moment.
Then he scoffed.
"Now he cares," Mercer said bitterly.
Aaron's head snapped back toward him. "I've always cared—"
And then the world exploded into sound.
A loud, piercing buzzer echoed through the hallway.
Aaron's head whipped toward the window.
Inside the room, red lights were flashing.
A voice crackled over the intercom—calm, clinical, terrifying:
"Code Blue. Room 3. Code Blue. Room 3."
Aaron's blood turned to ice.
"No," he whispered.
His father moved first.
He ran to the window, pressing his hands against the glass.
Aaron followed.
Mercer was right behind him.
Through the window, they watched as the room filled with people.
Doctors.
Nurses.
All of them moving with frantic precision.
One of the doctors—a woman with short dark hair—leaned over Ronnie's body.
"She's crashing!" the doctor yelled. "Grab the paddles!"
Aaron's heart stopped.
No. No. No. No. NO.
A nurse ran to the side of the room and grabbed the defibrillator.
Another nurse moved to Ronnie's chest.
She grabbed the front of Ronnie's torn suit.
And ripped it open.
The fabric tore away, exposing Ronnie's chest.
She was wearing a black bra underneath.
Her skin was covered in bruises.
The nurse placed the defibrillator paddles on Ronnie's chest—one above her heart, one below her ribs.
"Charging!" the doctor yelled.
The machine whined.
A high-pitched sound that made Aaron's skin crawl.
"Clear!"
Everyone stepped back.
The doctor pressed the button.
Ronnie's body arched off the table.
Her back lifted.
Her arms jerked.
Her head snapped back.
Then she collapsed.
The monitor didn't change.
A long, steady beeeeeeeep.
Flatline.
Aaron's vision blurred.
Tears spilled down his cheeks.
No. Please. No.
"Again!" the doctor yelled. "Charging!"
The machine whined again.
"Clear!"
THUMP.
Ronnie's body arched again.
Fell.
Nothing.
Still flatlining.
Aaron's hands pressed against the glass.
His breath came in short, desperate gasps.
"Come on," he whispered. "Come on, Ronnie. Please."
"Again!" the doctor yelled.
"Clear!"
THUMP.
Ronnie's body jerked.
Fell.
Nothing.
Aaron's tears fell faster now.
His father's hand gripped his shoulder.
Aaron didn't feel it.
All he could see was Ronnie.
Broken.
Dying.
Dead.
"Again!"
"Clear!"
THUMP.
Nothing.
"Again!"
"Clear!"
THUMP.
Nothing.
Aaron's knees buckled.
He caught himself against the glass.
His forehead pressed against the cold surface.
Please. Please. Please.
"Again!"
"Clear!"
THUMP.
Ronnie's body arched.
Fell.
And then—
A sound.
Faint.
Slow.
Beep.
Aaron's head snapped up.
Beep.
The monitor.
It was beeping.
Beep.
Slowly.
Steadily.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"She's back!" the doctor yelled. "We've got a pulse!"
The room erupted into controlled chaos.
Nurses moved quickly, checking vitals, adjusting IVs, monitoring the machines.
The doctor leaned over Ronnie, checking her eyes, her breathing.
Aaron couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
He just stood there, staring through the glass.
At Ronnie.
Alive.
Barely.
His father's hand squeezed his shoulder.
"She's strong," Quinn said quietly. "She's going to make it."
Aaron didn't respond.
He couldn't.
Because all he could think about was the fact that she'd almost died.
That she'd been out there alone.
That he hadn't been there.
That he'd been with Katie while Ronnie was fighting for her life.
The tears kept falling.
Silent.
Unstoppable.
Aaron pressed his forehead against the glass again.
And he whispered the only thing he could.
"I'm sorry."
- Writer
