“Crashed Part 18“
When they brought her into the room, Patty’s instincts took over immediately.
Cellima had already lost more blood than any human could survive. Patty didn’t know anything about her biology, but she knew enough.
Blood loss was blood loss.
“Ken, help me—easy… lay her down.”
They placed her on the bed. The suit was stiff now, almost lifeless, torn where the dog had gotten to her leg.
Patty rushed into the bathroom and grabbed a towel. She ran warm water over it and came back quickly, pressing it firmly against the wound.
“Hold still… come on…” she muttered, more to herself than anything else.
Ken stood there for a second, watching, trying to think.
“Honey,” he said, “I just thought of something.”
Patty didn’t look up. “What?”
“I’ve got an old school buddy. He’s a doctor now. I don’t know what kind, but it doesn’t matter.”
Patty nodded. “Call him.”
Ken pulled out his phone and started scrolling.
“Carlson… Britt…”
He found the name and hit call.
It rang a couple of times.
Then—
“Dr. Britt,” the voice answered on the other end.
“Hello, Doctor Britt,” Ken replied. “I don’t know if you remember me, I’m Ken Miller. We went to school together for a short time at—”
“I remember,” Britt said.
Ken paused for a second, then continued.
“I hate to call you like this, but I’ve got someone here that’s hurt bad. Dog attack. She’s lost a lot of blood. We’re at a hotel off Route 1.”
There was a brief pause.
“How long ago?” Britt asked.
“Not long. Maybe twenty minutes.”
“Is the bleeding controlled?”
Ken looked over at Patty.
“Trying to be,” he said. “My wife’s got pressure on it, but it’s not stopping.”
Another short pause.
“I’ll need the room number,” Britt said.
“I’ll text it to you right now.”
“Do that. I’m on my way.”
The line went dead.
Ken lowered the phone and looked at Patty.
“He’s coming.”
“Good,” she said without looking up. “I need you over here.”
Ken moved quickly and took over pressure where she guided his hands.
“Right there—don’t let up.”
He nodded.
The room went quiet again.
Cellima’s breathing was shallow. Uneven.
Patty changed out the towel, pressing down again, trying to slow what she could.
“Come on…” she said under her breath.
Ken kept his hands steady, doing exactly what she told him.
Neither of them said anything else.
There wasn’t anything else to say.
A few minutes passed.
Then—
A faint movement.
Patty stopped.
“Ken…”
He looked down.
Cellima’s eyes opened slightly.
Not fully.
Just enough.
Unfocused.
She looked past them at first, then slowly shifted, her eyes settling on Patty… then Ken.
There was recognition there.
Faint… but real.
Her lips moved.
Patty leaned in.
“What is it?” she said softly.
Cellima tried again.
Barely a whisper—
“We… misjudged you…”
Her eyes drifted, losing focus again.
Then they closed.
Patty looked at Ken.
Neither of them spoke.
But something in the room had changed.
Outside, a car door shut.
Footsteps approached.
A knock came at the door.
Ken stood up slowly.
“That’s him,” he said.
Patty didn’t move from the bedside.
“Let him in.”
Ken walked to the door, paused for just a second, then opened it.
A man stood there, calm, composed, carrying a small medical bag.
“Ken,” he said.
“Carlson,” Ken replied.
Britt stepped inside, his eyes already moving past Ken, taking in the room.
The bed.
The blood.
The woman.
He set the bag down without saying another word and moved to her side.
Patty stepped back just enough to give him space.
“She’s been bleeding the whole time,” she said. “We’ve been keeping pressure on it.”
Britt nodded once and got to work.
“Keep holding that,” he said to Ken.
He peeled back part of the towel carefully, examining the wound.
Dog bites.
Bad ones.
But something about the resistance… the way the material around it sat…
He adjusted his grip slightly.
Then continued working.
“Stay with me,” Patty said quietly, watching.
Britt didn’t respond.
He was focused now.
Methodical.
Precise.
Whatever questions he had—
They could wait.
For now, she was just a patient.
And he was just a doctor.