Chapter 22: Sophia's Secret Medical Rescue

[ SOPHIA'S POV ]

She burned against my chest. Even through my apron and the thin cotton of her dress, the heat soaked into my skin like I was holding a live coal. I pressed my palm to her forehead God, it's worse and pulled her closer, my arms shaking under her dead weight.

"Miss Samantha!" My voice cracked, bouncing off the bathroom tiles. "Please! Open your eyes!"

Nothing. Her head lolled against my shoulder. Her lips were split open, pale as old bone, and every few seconds her whole body jerked small, violent tremors that made her teeth chatter even though her skin was on fire. I laid her back down on the cold floor, her hair spreading out like dark water on the white tiles. Her eyelids didn't even flutter.

I pushed myself up, slipped on the wet spot where the soup had spilled an hour ago, and caught myself against the sink. My knees hit the floor again. Hard. Pain shot up my legs, but I didn't care. I scrambled out of that storage room, my feet slapping against the service corridor tiles, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

Can't call the main doctor. Can't tell security. He'll kill me. He'll destroy me.

I didn't stop running. I skidded around the corner, nearly slammed into the kitchen door, and yanked my phone out of my apron pocket. The envelope of cash my whole month's wages fell out and scattered across the floor. I left it there. My fingers jabbed at the screen, dialing Dr. Thomas's number with a thumb that wouldn't stop trembling.

He picked up on the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"Dr. Thomas!" I pressed the phone so tight against my ear that the plastic dug into my skin. My voice came out a raw whisper, barely air. "I need you at the Kingsley estate. Rear service gate. Now. There's a woman she's dying" I choked on the word. " And nobody can know you're here. I'll pay you. I'll give you everything. Please!"

A pause. Then his voice, rough but alert: "Sophia? Is that you? Slow down"

"No time!" I hissed, my eyes darting to the main hallway where I could hear the night guard's boots echoing. "Just come! Fifteen minutes! Please!"

The line went dead. I shoved the phone back in my pocket, dropped to my knees, and scooped up the scattered naira notes, stuffing them back into the envelope. Then I ran back to the storage room, slid through the door, and dropped down beside her again.

Her breathing was shallow. Too shallow. I counted six breaths in a minute. That's bad. That's really bad. I grabbed the damp rag from the bowl, wrung it out, and wiped her forehead. The cloth came away warm. Her skin was so dry it felt like sandpaper under my fingers.

I waited. Tick. Tick. Tick. The old clock on the study wall seemed to scream each second. I watched her chest rise. Fall. Rise. Fall. My own heart hammered so loud I couldn't hear anything else.

Then a soft knock at the rear gate.

I nearly tripped over my own feet getting up. I sprinted through the service corridor, unlatched the small iron door, and there he was Dr. Thomas in his rumpled jacket, his leather bag slung over one shoulder, his face tight with worry.

"Where?" he said, not a single wasted word.

I grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. "This way. Quiet. The guards"

"I know." He moved fast for an old man, his shoes barely making a sound as I led him through the narrow passage, past the pantries and the empty staff quarters, until we pushed open the storage room door.

His flashlight beam cut through the dark and landed on Miss Samantha's face. He sucked in a sharp breath.

"Help me get her on those blankets," he said, already dropping to his knees beside her. His hands were steady, but his jaw was clenched.

Together we lifted her, her body limp, her head drooping, her arms hanging loose and laid her across the pile of old quilts I'd dragged into the corner. Dr. Thomas ripped open his bag, pulled out his stethoscope, and pressed the cold metal to her chest. He listened. His brow furrowed. He swapped it for a digital thermometer and shoved it under her armpit.

Beep.

He read the number and his eyes went wide.

"Forty degrees," he muttered. "Her body's in shock. Dehydrated. Malnourished." He looked up at me, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Sophia. Who did this?"

I shook my head, tears spilling hot down my cheeks. "I can't please, just" I fumbled in my pocket, yanked out the envelope, and shoved it in his chest. "Take it. All of it. Just save her!"

He looked at the envelope. Then at me. Then he pushed it back so hard it hit my stomach.

"Keep your money." His voice was low and hard. "I took an oath. Now hold her arm steady, don't let her move."

I grabbed her shoulder, my fingers sinking into the burning flesh. Dr. Thomas swabbed her inner elbow with a cold alcohol pad, the sharp smell stinging my nose. He pulled out a syringe, tapped it, and slid the needle in with one smooth push.

Miss Samantha's body jerked. A weak groan scraped out of her throat so faint I almost missed it but her eyes stayed shut.

"That'll bring the fever down." He worked fast, taping a thin catheter to the back of her hand, hanging a clear saline bag from the old wooden coat rack. The fluid started dripping drip, drip, drip and I watched it snake down the tube into her vein. "This'll rehydrate her. But she needs food and warmth when she wakes. I can't leave more supplies too risky."

"Thank you," I breathed, gripping her clammy hand. "Thank you, Doctor. God bless you."

He zipped his bag and stood. "Watch her breathing. If it changes if she stops or starts seizing call me. I don't care what time." He was already at the door.

I led him back through the dark corridor, unlocked the rear gate, and watched him disappear into the night. Then I ran back.

The room was quiet except for that soft drip-drip-drip. I sank down beside her, took the damp rag, and wiped the sweat from her brow. Her tremors had stopped. Her skin was cooling, still hot, but not blazing. Her chest rose and fell in slow, even rhythms.

I pressed her hand between mine and leaned my forehead against her knuckles. "You're gonna be okay," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I'm here. I'm right here."

Then click.

My whole body froze.

Click. Click. Click.

Leather soles on marble. Slow. Measured. Coming down the East Wing corridor.

I knew that walk. I'd heard it every day for three years.

Mr. Kingsley.

My blood turned to ice. I looked down at Miss Samantha the needle in her hand, the IV bag swinging gently, the smell of antiseptic thick in the air. There was no time to hide it. No time to explain.

Outside the door, a key slid into the lock.

The tumblers turned with a sound like a gun cocking.

I grabbed the blanket and pulled it up to her chin, covering the IV line. I pressed my back against the wall and held my breath.

The door swung open.