Red Zones and Locked Doors

They didn’t use sirens. The ambulance moved in near silence through the service roads, headlights dimmed, escorted by two black SUVs. Luke sat up front, tense, phone glued to his ear. Amelia stayed in the back with Frederick, fingers wrapped around the edge of the stretcher, eyes locked on the man bleeding beside her.

Frederick Blackwell, too pale and too quiet, looked like a ghost of himself.

Every bump in the road made his body jolt.

Every beep from the monitor sent a fresh wave of nausea through her gut.

When they reached the private hospital which was a quiet, unbranded facility in the hills outside the city, the doors opened without questions. A team of staff in dark scrubs and no visible name tags met them inside. Everything was quiet. Efficient. Too clean.

“Patient is male, mid-thirties,” she said, rattling off vitals as they wheeled him down the hall. “Multiple contusions. Possible cracked ribs. Deep lateral wound. Head trauma.”

Amelia watched them wheel him away and she said a silent prayer. She's been in healthcare for 6 years and the last time she felt this way was in her first year when she had lost her first patient only this time Frederick was still alive. Well, barely.

The doors to the trauma wing swung shut. And Amelia was left on the other side.

Alone.

The quiet hit her like a slap. The adrenaline started to burn off, leaving her empty, cold, and shaking.

She didn’t sit. She couldn't. Not when he was on the other side of the building.

She paced the hall instead, floorboards muffled, fluorescent lights humming above her. The waiting room was too polished, too white. Like it had never seen anyone actually bleed.

Luke finally returned ten minutes later.

She didn’t give him a chance to pretend.

“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked immediately.

“We don’t have all the details yet.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Luke hesitated. “There’s a reason this was coordinated so tightly. They knew his route. They knew he was alone. They even knew which car he’d take.”

“So it was an attack. And on top of that, it was internal."

“I don’t have proof.”

Amelia stared at him. “But you believe it.”

He looked away. That was answer enough.

She sank into the nearest chair. Her hands were stained. Her shoes, ruined. Her throat hurt, and her chest felt like it had been cut open and left raw.

“I should’ve stopped him,” she said quietly.

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I should’ve known.”

Luke sat beside her, less formal now. “He didn’t want you involved. That was the point. But you came anyway.”

“He didn’t give me a choice.” Her voice cracked. “I watched him bleed in my hands. The blood on my clothes, they're his. And for one second Luke, one terrifying second, I thought this blood will be the last I'll have of him with me."

Luke, who was either really good at hiding his emotions or did not have any, placed his back to the wall and blew out a breath.

"Frederick's been on a case for a while now. He's suspected a mole for months now. With his birthday getting closer and the will, he had to take you up..."

"That's why I got that note." She scoffed. "Someone doesn't want Frederick inheriting the company. Translation: someone doesn't want us getting married."

"Exactly." Luke said with a tone that made Amelia feel like this was the first time he was hearing how grevious it sounded out loud.

They sat in silence for what felt like forever.

Then a nurse appeared.

“Mrs. Blackwell?"

She stood instantly. “Yes?”

Luke narrowed his eyes at her and she suddenly felt self conscious. She had just at the ready answered to the Blackwell name.

“We stabilized him.”

She exhaled, shoulders slumping.

“But..." the nurse added, and the word felt like ice.

Amelia froze. “But what?”

“There’s something on the scan we need to talk to you about.”