Part 5: Escalation and Intervention
“Let her try,” I said, holding Martha’s gaze without flinching. “CPS is already on the phone, Mrs. Harris. And so is the hospital legal department. Security, please escort this woman out of the clinical area and secure her belongings until the police arrive.”
Before Martha could lunge or scream another threat, two burly security guards stepped on either side of her, their large hands gripping her arms firmly.
“Unhand me! Do you know who my husband is? You’ll all lose your licenses by morning!” she shrieked as they dragged her backward down the linoleum corridor, her heels clicking and scraping against the floor until her voice faded past the double doors of the waiting room.
I turned back to the gurney. “Let’s move. We’re losing time.”
We burst through the double doors of the operating suite, where Dr. Vance, our chief vascular surgeon, was already scrubbed and waiting by the sterile table. His eyes took in Leo’s condition in a single, comprehensive sweep.
“Good lord,” Vance muttered, stepping up to the table. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Necrotizing fasciitis secondary to a closed fracture left untreated in a sealed, unpadded cast for over four weeks,” I reported crisply, transferring the monitoring leads to the OR equipment. “We’re looking at severe vascular compromise from the elbow down. Radial pulse is absent on Doppler.”
Vance nodded grimly, his scalpel already extended in a nurse's gloved hand. “We’ll try our absolute best to salvage the limb, Sarah, but looking at the extent of the necrosis, amputation may be the only way to save his life from the spreading toxins.”
“Do whatever it takes to keep him alive, Vance. He’s only eight,” I whispered, stepping back to let the surgical team take over.
As the surgical lights flared blindingly bright over Leo’s small form, I stepped out into the scrub sink alcove, leaning against the cold tile wall. My hands were finally beginning to shake—the delayed crash of adrenaline leaving my system.
Marcus walked out behind me, tossing his soiled cap into the bin.
“CPS picked up the phone on the first ring,” Marcus said quietly, handing me a small paper cup of water. “I gave them the rundown. They’re pulling records on the household. Apparently, this isn’t the first time an emergency call has come from that address under strange circumstances.”
I took the water, my mind racing back to the mother’s chilling words: He's my masterpiece.
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“What do you mean, not the first time?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“According to the preliminary database check Marcus pulled up while you were scrubbing in,” a voice interrupted from behind us. It was Detective Miller from the city precinct, badge gleaming on his belt as he strode down the sterile hallway. “Dr. Jenkins? I’m Detective Miller. I understand you have a severe child endangerment case on your hands.”
