Chapter 4 A Criminal's Care
Elena couldn't focus to save her life.
She'd been staring at the same patient chart for at least five minutes, and the words kept swimming together into meaningless shapes. Mrs. Patterson, sixty-two years old, presenting with chest pain and shortness of breath. Possible angina. Recommend EKG and…
There's a man chained with my bras in my apartment.
She blinked hard and shook her head. Focus, Elena. People are counting on you.
But how was she supposed to focus when she'd left a bleeding stranger, no, a bleeding criminal, ied to her radiator? What if he managed to get free? What if he was angrier than she'd thought? What if he broke her stuff out of spite?
What if he died while she was here?
"Dr. Davis?"
Elena nearly jumped out of her skin. Marco was standing right in front of her, holding two cups of coffee and looking concerned.
"Sorry, what?" she asked, blinking at him.
"I asked if you wanted coffee. You look like you need it." He held out one of the cups. "You okay? You've been staring at that chart like it personally offended you."
"I'm fine," she said automatically, taking the coffee. "Just tired."
"Still not sleeping?"
"Something like that."
Marco studied her for a long moment, his dark eyes worried. "You know you can talk to me if something's wrong, right? We're friends."
Friends. Right. If only he knew what his friend had done last night.
"I know. I'm okay, really. Just a rough night." She forced a smile. "Thanks for the coffee though."
"Anytime." He didn't look convinced, but he let it drop. "Will you be joining us for lunch later?"
"Yeah. Lunch sounds good."
He walked away, and Elena let out a shaky breath. Get it together. You're a doctor. You've handled way worse than this.
Except she hadn't. She'd never handled anything even remotely like this.
The rest of her morning passed in a blur of patients and procedures, but her mind kept drifting back to her apartment. To Angelo—if that was even his real name, which she seriously doubted. To the fact that she'd committed at least three felonies in the last twelve hours.
By the time lunch rolled around, she was exhausted, paranoid, and desperately needed advice. But she couldn't tell anyone the truth. Couldn't risk it.
So she'd have to get creative.
The cafeteria was packed with the usual lunch rush, doctors scarfing down food between shifts, nurses gossiping about hospital drama, the persistent smell of bad coffee.
Elena sat down at a table with Marco and two other nurses from her floor—Lisa and Jen. They were already deep into a heated debate about some reality dating show.
"Okay, so," Elena said, interrupting them. "Hypothetical question."
All three pairs of eyes turned to her.
"Oh no," Lisa said immediately. "I know that voice. What did you do?"
"Nothing! It's hypothetical. For a friend."
"A friend," Marco repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes. A friend." Elena took a sip of her coffee, trying to sound casual. "So let's say this friend was driving late at night…"
"Already a bad start," Jen muttered.
"....and she accidentally drove into a dangerous area. Like, really dangerous. And there was gunfire."
Lisa's eyes went wide. "What kind of friend…."
"Hypothetical friend," Elena stressed. "So there's gunfire, right? And suddenly this guy jumps into her car. He's bleeding from a gunshot wound. He has a gun. He forces her to drive him somewhere safe."
"Oh my God," Lisa breathed.
"So she takes him to her apartment because he refuses to go to a hospital, and she treats his wound because, you know, she's a doctor and she can't just let someone die."
"Why wouldn't she call the police?" Marco asked immediately.
"Because he had a gun pointed at her! And she was terrified. Plus, if she called the police, they'd ask why she took him to her apartment instead of driving straight to a police station. She might get in trouble for helping him."
"That's..." Jen paused. "Actually a fair point."
"Right? So she treats him, and then she, um, restrains him. To make sure he doesn't hurt her when he wakes up. And then she just... goes to work the next day. Like normal."
Dead silence.
All three of them were staring at her like she'd grown a second head.
"Your friend," Marco said slowly, "tied up an armed criminal and then left him alone in her apartment to go to work."
"Hypothetically."
"Elena," Lisa leaned forward, her voice dropping. "This friend. It's you, isn't it?"
"What? No! I told you, it's hypothetical!"
"You are the worst liar I've ever met," Jen said flatly.
"It's NOT me! I'm just asking what my friend should do in this situation!"
Marco rubbed his face with both hands. "Okay. Fine. Hypothetically, your friend has lost her entire mind."
"Super helpful, thanks."
"She needs to call the police," Lisa said firmly. "Like, right now. Immediately. What if this guy escapes? What if he hurts her when she gets home?"
"But she already helped him," Elena argued. "If she calls the police now, won't she get arrested for aiding a criminal?"
"Maybe," Jen admitted. "But that's way better than being dead."
"She should've driven to a police station the second he got in her car," Marco added. "Gun or no gun. Now she's way too deep in this mess."
Elena's stomach sank. She'd known they'd say that. Of course they'd say that. It was the logical, sensible, correct answer.
"So you think she should definitely turn him in?" she asked quietly.
"Absolutely," all three said in unison.
"What if he's not actually that dangerous?" Elena tried. "What if he's just caught up in something bad? What if he's actually a decent person who made some mistakes?"
Lisa gave her a look that could melt steel. "Elena. Hypothetical friend. The man was shot. In a gunfight. He was armed. He forced his way into her car at gunpoint. Those are not the actions of a decent person having a bad day. Those are massive red flags."
"Like, billboard-sized red flags," Jen agreed.
"Neon flashing red flags visible from space," Marco added.
Elena slumped in her chair. "Right. Yeah. You're totally right."
But even as she said it, she knew she wasn't going to call the police. She should. They were absolutely right—she was in way over her head, and keeping Angelo in her apartment was dangerous and illegal and completely insane.
But something stopped her every time she thought about it.
Maybe it was the doctor in her, the part that couldn't turn away from someone who needed help. Maybe it was the way he'd looked at her this morning, more curious than threatening.
Or maybe she was just making terrible decisions because her insomnia-riddled brain couldn't think straight anymore.
"Thanks for the advice," she said, standing up with her barely touched tray. "I'll definitely tell my friend."
"Elena," Marco called after her. "If this friend ever needs real help, like, call-the-cops help, tell her we're here, okay?"
"Okay. Thanks."
She threw away her uneaten lunch and headed back to her floor, her mind racing with thoughts she couldn't shut off.
Her shift finally ended at four, and Elena practically ran to her car. She stopped at a grocery store on the way home, wandering the aisles in a daze.
What did criminals eat? Was there a specific diet for people recovering from gunshot wounds while tied up with sports bras?
She grabbed random items without really thinking—bread, eggs, chicken noodle soup, pasta, and some vegetables. Protein. He definitely needed protein to heal properly. Did he like chicken? Did he have any allergies? Why was she even worried about this?
She added cat food to the cart, Suzie and Darrel were probably getting low, and some extra medical supplies. More bandages. Hydrogen peroxide. Industrial-strength painkillers.
The cashier gave her a weird look when she checked out.
"Big week?" the cashier asked, eyeing all the medical supplies.
"You have absolutely no idea," Elena muttered.
She drove home in a complete fog, gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turned white. What if he'd escaped? What if he was gone? What if he was still there but furious?
What if he was dead?
She parked and grabbed all the grocery bags, her heart pounding harder with each step up to her apartment. Her hands shook as she unlocked the door.
Please don't be dead. Please don't have escaped. Please don't let this be a complete disaster.
She pushed the door open.
