Chapter 9

Lana stumbled back half a step from Dr. Finch's shove. Her eyes narrowed dangerously behind her medical mask.

She did not retaliate physically. Instead, she crossed her arms and watched with a cold, analytical gaze.

Dr. Finch dropped to his knees. He ripped open Arthur's expensive tailored shirt to attach portable ECG leads.

The portable monitor beeped erratically. It showed severe ST elevation.

"Massive anterior myocardial infarction," Finch confidently declared. "A severe, but standard heart attack."

Slade Knight nodded rapidly. He trusted the man who had published dozens of peer-reviewed papers on cardiology.

Finch pulled a syringe of strong blood thinners and nitroglycerin from his trauma kit. He prepared to administer it immediately.

Lana's voice cut through the siren noise again. It was sharp as ice.

"If you give him vasodilators, his aorta will tear completely."

Finch paused. He glared up at Lana with absolute fury.

"Mitch, remove this lunatic from the perimeter!" Finch screamed.

Mitch stepped toward Lana. He placed a massive hand on her shoulder to physically drag her away into the crowd.

Lana effortlessly twisted her torso. She broke Mitch's grip with a fluid martial arts deflection that left him stumbling forward.

She pointed directly at Arthur's neck.

"Look at the unequal jugular venous distention," she told Finch.

Finch ignored her completely. He injected the medication directly into Arthur's IV line.

Finch then ordered Mitch to help him lift Arthur onto the specialized stretcher they just pulled from the response vehicle.

Slade hesitated. He remembered Lana's earlier warning about moving him.

"Time is tissue, Slade! Lift him!" Finch snapped.

Mitch and the EMTs grabbed Arthur by the shoulders and legs. They lifted him roughly off the concrete.

The moment Arthur's torso was elevated, a horrifying, wet tearing sound seemed to echo from within his chest.

Arthur's eyes snapped wide open in sheer, unimaginable agony. He violently coughed up a spray of dark, arterial blood.

The ECG monitor unleashed a continuous, high-pitched scream. The heart rate plummeted to zero. Flatline.

Blood began to pool rapidly under Arthur's skin. His torso turned a sickening, bruised purple in seconds.

Dr. Finch froze. His arrogant demeanor shattered instantly into absolute, unadulterated panic.

He dropped the syringe. His hands shook violently. He realized he had just triggered a catastrophic internal hemorrhage.

Slade screamed his grandfather's name. He grabbed Finch by the collar and demanded he fix it immediately.

Finch stammers. His face was pale. He frantically started CPR compressions on Arthur's chest.

Lana stepped forward. Her voice was devoid of pity.

"Compressions will only pump the remaining blood out of the tear faster, doctor."

Finch stopped compressions. He looked at his blood-stained hands. He was completely paralyzed by his catastrophic malpractice.

The EMTs stood back. They recognized that a ruptured aorta in the field was a definitive death sentence.

Finch looked up at Slade. His voice trembled.

"He... he is gone."

Slade dropped to his knees. He buried his face in his hands. A guttural sob escaped his throat.

Lana reached into her pocket. Her fingers brushed against the small, velvet-lined case she had purposefully reclaimed from the apothecary.