Chapter 2 - The Breath of Life
The lead paramedic lunged forward, snatching the clear square from Emily’s hand and holding it under the surgical lamp.
“Duragesic,” the medic stammered, his face draining of all color. “One hundred micrograms. That’s enough fentanyl to kill three grown men.”
“Stop talking and draw the Narcan!” Emily screamed, shoving the pediatric resuscitation tray directly into his chest. “Intraosseous line! Point-one milligrams per kilogram, now!”
The room erupted into controlled frenzy as the paramedics abandoned their airway tubes and scrambled for the pediatric reversal kit.
“Frank,” I whispered, my voice cracked and broken as I stared at the translucent plastic square. “What was that doing on my son?”
“I don’t know, boss,” Frank said, his knuckles white against the grip of his weapon. “Nobody enters this floor without passing through security.”
“Push the naloxone!” the medic barked, driving the needle into the port secured in Noah’s tiny shin.
For three agonizing seconds, nothing happened. The flatline on the monitor hummed its terrible, unbroken note across the nursery.
I buried my face in Noah’s unmoving hand, praying to a God I hadn’t spoken to in twenty years. “Please, Noah. Please come back to me.”
Then, the monitor blipped.
Beep.
Noah’s tiny shoulders hitched inward with a violent, gasping shudder.
Beep... beep... beep.
A wet, choking cough broke from his throat, followed by a thin, fragile cry that shattered the silence of the room.
The paramedics exhaled in unison, two of them slumping against the wall with their heads in their hands.
“Heart rate is climbing,” the medic announced, his hands trembling as he checked Noah’s pulse. “Ninety... one-ten... one-thirty. Color is returning to the nail beds.”
Noah let out a loud, furious wail, the sound echoing off the high plaster ceilings and filling the empty hollow inside my chest.
I scooped my screaming son into my arms, tears streaming freely down my face as I pressed his warm, living cheek against my neck.
“He’s stabilizing,” the medic said, looking up at Emily with a mixture of reverence and utter confusion. “How... how did you know to look for a transdermal patch?”
Emily stood up slowly, brushing the dust from the knees of her maid uniform. “Because my six-year-old sister died from one three years ago.”
The nursery fell completely still again as everyone turned to look at the twenty-three-year-old girl standing among armed guards and million-dollar furniture.
“She found a discarded pain patch in our apartment building’s hallway,” Emily said, her voice completely devoid of emotion. “By the time the ambulance arrived, my mother had wrapped her in three heated blankets because she was shivering. She never woke up.”
I looked at her, my throat tightening with a debt I could never repay. “Emily... you saved my boy.”
“Someone tried to kill him, Mr. Carter,” Emily replied, her eyes narrowing as she looked past me toward the doorway.
May you like
I turned my head and saw Margaret Collins, our fifty-eight-year-old night nanny, standing in the shadows of the corridor with her hands trembling against her apron.
Frank took one step toward the hall, his eyes locking onto Margaret. “Nobody moves. Not a single person leaves this wing.”
