CHAPTER 8 — She Never Asked Whose Blood It Was

“That woman is going to touch my wound?”

A young police officer in uniform shoved Leila away.

“If you don't want me to, you can wait for someone else.”

“I have a choice?”

“Of course. But your arm is still bleeding.”

He looked down. Blood was running from a cut made by flying glass. Leila set disinfectant and gauze within reach.

“A medical professional needs to decide whether you require stitches. All I can do now is control the bleeding.”

He hesitated a long time before extending his arm.

“Make it quick.”

Leila chose not to treat that as an insult. Protesters, police officers and injured passersby had all come to the temporary relief center today. They distrusted one another. Their wounds made no such distinctions.

Someone shouted from the entrance.

“Another student! Over here!”

A young man with a torn school uniform staggered in, supported by a friend. Between rough breaths he kept saying he needed to get home. Leila called for the nearest medic. Without lifting her hand from the officer's wound, she asked another volunteer for sterile gauze.

“Why aren't you treating him first?” the officer asked.

“Because I started putting pressure on your wound first. The medical team will see him.”

He fell silent. A little later, his bandage was secured.

“Thank you.”

Leila gave a small nod.

“Next time, don't stand near broken windows for so long.”

“You think I get to choose?”

“Nothing went the way I wanted last night, either.”

Gabriel was standing across from the center. He'd heard the entire exchange. He had come to take a witness statement, noticed the casualties and notified the emergency service that more ambulances were needed.

Leila washed her hands when she saw him.

“No handcuffs today?”

“I have them. I'm on duty.”

“Decided who you'll arrest here?”

“There's not enough evidence yet.”

“That didn't stop you before.”

He didn't lower his gaze. He met hers.

“I've reported that my initial judgment may have been wrong.”

“May have.”

“That's what the facts established so far allow me to write.”

“How convenient for you.”

“I understand why you'd say that.”

His refusal to make excuses annoyed her even more. When someone wouldn't fight back, where was she supposed to put her anger?

“How's Julien?”

“He's regained consciousness.”

The gauze slipped from Leila's hand. It was the first good news the man who'd arrested her had brought.

“Really?”

“The doctors say he needs rest. He isn't well enough to give a full statement yet.”

“He doesn't have to say I saved him. I just want him alive.”

She went to wash an empty water container, only to discover the tap had stopped working. Gabriel held out an unopened bottle.

“This is water issued for field duty. If you need more, I'll ask the relief coordinator.”

Leila didn't take it.

“Isn't that your drinking water?”

“I have some left.”

“Then I'll take it. But next time, properly record the fact that we're short of water.”

“I will.”

She accepted the bottle and cleaned the medical supplies. Silently, Gabriel shifted a chair to widen the passage. Leila heard it scrape across the floor but didn't turn around.

As he set it down, a drop of blood fell from the back of his hand. She held out gauze.

“You're injured.”

“It's nothing.”

“You're free not to get treatment. Just don't drip blood on the floor.”

Gabriel laughed. Leila stopped, caught off guard by a face she'd never seen him make. He took the gauze and pressed it to his hand. She turned to another patient.

At the food table, exhausted people drank soup from paper cups. Leila watched the officer she'd treated give up his seat to the student's companion. Neither asked the other's name. Even in this city, it was still possible to make room for a stranger without demanding an identity.

Police sirens sounded without pause outside. Leila organized the volunteers' shifts and the night watch herself. It wasn't something Gabriel could do for her.

He said goodbye briefly before leaving. She didn't answer until he stepped over the threshold, then called to ask for a number she could use to confirm that yesterday's medicines were still being kept cold. He wrote down the responsible agency's contact. Once their respective roles were clear, neither had anything unnecessary to say.

Later that afternoon Adèle called.

“Leila, Julien managed to give a short statement.”

“Is he well enough?”

“Yes. He confirmed you were the person who pulled him out.”

Leila leaned back against the wall. For the first time, someone had said what she did was real. Yet what she felt first was relief that the officer had survived.

“That helps my case, doesn't it?”

“It does. But Julien remembered something else.”

“What?”

“Before the fire spread, he saw someone hand a red medical bag to another person outside the warehouse.”

Leila nearly dropped her water bottle. There were six bags.

“Has Officer Moreau heard about this?”

“The statement was passed on.”

For the first time she found herself waiting for an answer from Gabriel—not an assurance that she was innocent, but a promise to find whoever was responsible.