Chapter 319
Chapter 319
“Get her to the ER, now p>
“Ms. Jasper p>
Skyla vomiting blood again threw the whole room into chaos.
Blood dripped steadily through the fingers pressed over her mouth.
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Her face was pale as death. Bright red blood smeared across her lips in a way that looked almost grotesque. Her eyes were unnaturally red, whether from pain or heartbreak, making her look like a ghost dragged straight out of hell.
The poison sent violent tremors through her body. After coughing up blood twice in a row, she finally collapsed back onto the bed, unable to hold herself up any longer.
The room spun around her, and her consciousness started slipping away. As she stared at the man standing in the doorway, unmoved and cold, her heart tightened again and again. A chill sank into her bones, and somewhere deep down, she began to realize something.
As the medical staff rushed the gurney past Chris, she tried to reach for his hand.
Chris…
Couldn’t he see how much pain she was in?
Why would he not even come over to look at her?
Why was he looking at her with eyes that cold?
She had only wanted a little more of his attention.
She loved him too much.
She lifted her pale, bloodstained hand, but as her consciousness faded, her arm went limp and started to fall. Her fingertips brushed against something, and her fingers suddenly curled shut.
But her palm closed on nothing.
There was nothing there at all.
Only the sharp pain of her nails digging into her own skin.
Skyla’s eyes flew open.
The harsh surgical lights above her in the emergency room swayed in her blurred vision so violently that she
instinctively squeezed her eyes shut again. And the moment she did, she sank into a heavy sleep.
Minute by minute, time dragged on.
Chris wasn’t outside the ER.
Instead, he was standing outside that special intensive care room on the top floor.
He stopped at the door and entered a password into the display panel.
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The code changed every time after it was used. Unless someone had his encryption key, there was no way to predict the next one.
The screen lit up.
It was the live monitor feed.
The little boy was lying quietly in the specialized temperature–controlled incubator, already asleep.
His tiny hands were clutching a sterilized dress shirt Chris had worn. One short leg was draped over it, and his cheek was pressed against the fabric as he slept deeply.
But Chris knew that peace probably wouldn’t last long. Maybe in less than two hours, the boy would wake up crying from the pain in his body.
That happened two or three times every week.
Only in Chris’s arms could he be soothed.
Those big round eyes would brim with tears as he burrowed against Chris’s shoulder, rubbing against him until he slowly calmed down and fell asleep again.
The screen went dark.
Chris turned and walked away.
“Can the poison be treated?” His voice was colder than ever.
The look in his eyes was nothing like the one he had worn while watching the boy on the monitor. Now they were so cold they seemed rimed with frost.
The doctor hesitated. “We’ve identified the toxins in her blood, but we’ve never seen a poison like this before. We don’t know yet whether there’s an antidote.
“I’ve already sent word out,” he added. “I’m hoping someone in the field can get us an answer as quickly as possible p>
So there might be no cure.
Chris’s dark eyes looked like ink with no light in them at all. His hand hanging at his side slowly clenched, his knuckles tightening with a dull, restrained crack.
By the time Skyla opened her eyes again, she was back in a hospital room.
Her fingertip was clipped to the heart monitor by the bed.
The room was dim. Heavy curtains were drawn, so she had no idea whether it was still the middle of the night or already morning.
Other than the steady rhythm of the machines, the room was silent.
So silent it almost felt like she was already dead.
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Florence
A passionate storyteller who brings emotions to life through her words. When she’s not writing, she finds peace nurturing her garden.