She sat on the floor near a piece of rug and some boxes, dragged her knees up and rested her arms on top of them. She refused to look at him again, though she could see him settle back down out of her periphery. She wanted to scream and demand to know where she was going but she was too scared. These men were responsible for one death and a kidnapping that she knew of, and she didn’t want to provoke them.
They drove for about twenty more minutes before coming to a bumpy stop. Shaun tensed and watched the men as they opened doors and slid from the van. The boss thug gestured at her to come forward. She shook her head and slid as far back as she could. Oh god, were they going to kill her here? Were they making some kind of political statement by snatching a foreign doctor and killing her?
“No, please,” she begged, cringing against the door.
He growled something incomprehensible and lunged toward her, catching her wrist and dragging her toward the door. He didn’t give Shaun a chance to find her footing, so she stumbled and landed hard on her knees in the van. He yanked her viciously out the door and let go of her wrist, allowing her to fall to the ground. She stared up at her tormentor, but he reached down, grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet, then yanked her toward an old house.
She frantically looked around, searching for help, trying to figure out where she was. There were only a couple of buildings visible in her field of vision, otherwise just a bunch of hills and empty fields. She opened her mouth to scream out, to call for help, but quickly found herself facing the barrel of a gun. She slammed her lips together and tried to breathe through the terror as her vision narrowed to that one point.
She tried to reassure herself as she was pulled into the dank, windowless stone house. He didn’t need to bring her all this way just to kill her. He could’ve killed her at the hospital, like he’d killed Danilo. They obviously needed a doctor. She just needed to play along until she found a chance to get away from them.
She was rushed through a corridor, then down a flight of old wooden stairs to the basement. The air became noticeably cooler, and she shivered and blinked after stepping into a large, empty room, attempting to see in the gloom. She turned to her captor, her heart pounding. Was this place going to become her prison? Her grave? Why would they bring her here?
He snapped his fingers and pointed impatiently past her shoulder. She glanced back, and realized they weren’t alone. There was a human-shaped bundle of rags on the ground. She stared at it for a few seconds, then took a tentative step forward, the doctor in her both curious and worried. If there was an injured person there, she would have no choice but to try to help them.
The stench of urine became strong as she approached warily. She dropped to her knees next to the bundle, realizing right away that she was correct, there was a person underneath the dirt, blood and torn clothes. She glared up at her captor before turning her attention to the man on the floor. She did her best to assess his injuries both visually and with her hands. He was still breathing, though his breaths were shallow. His pulse was weak but erratic and there was a blue tinge to his lips.
“You want me to attend this man?” she asked without looking up, her fingers flying over his injuries, while her brain assessed what she would need to heal him. She checked his circulation, airway and breathing. “It looks like he might be suffering from cardiac arrest, but I can’t know for sure without the proper equipment. He’s going to need the hospital. We need to transport him right away.”
Her captor grabbed hold of her head and wrenched it around until she was forced to look at him, his fingers biting painfully into her chin. She tried to scramble backwards, but his grip was so painfully tight that she had no choice but to sit still. He pointed at her, pointing two fingers to indicate her eyes, then he pointed at himself.
He let her chin go and stepped back.
“Y-you want me to watch you?” Was it possible that he was non-verbal? She’d been so terrified that she hadn’t questioned why he hadn’t said a single word during the kidnapping.
He lifted his hands and began making rapid signs. Her heart sank. Sign language. That was why she’d been chosen, of all the hospital personnel. She understood sign language, both Quebec sign language and French sign language, the latter being the version he was using. Shaun could sign back if needed, though she was rusty. She’d learned as a child, so she could communicate easily with her cousin, Monique, who was hearing impaired.
You fix him, he signed to her.
“Of course,” she readily agreed, then she hesitated. “But what will you do with me after? W-will you let me go?”
He stared down at her, and her heart sank even further. Of course he wouldn’t let her go. At least he wasn’t outright lying to her. He seemed to understand her though, so either he could read lips or he wasn’t hearing impaired.
“Are you going to kill me?” she asked bluntly.
He pointed at her, then toward the man on the ground, then signed, fix him.
“He needs a hospital!” she snapped.
No hospital.
“Then I can’t fix him, I don’t have what I need. I think he’s had a heart attack and there’s no way to treat that kind of illness without the proper medical equipment.” She sat back on her haunches and lifted her hands helplessly. The man was going to die in that dirty basement, and she was likely going to die alongside him.
Her captor pulled his gun from the holster underneath his leather jacket and pointed it at her head. She flinched back but held his gaze. If she had to die, then she preferred to see it coming. Preferred to look her executioner in the eyes. He held his hand steady and stared down at her, speaking with his stony expression. Either she fixed the man, or she died.
“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll do what I can.”
He reholstered his gun and signed to her, what supplies do you need?
She stared helplessly down at the guy. She’d been truthful when she told her captor that she didn’t have what she needed to fix the man. If he was indeed suffering from a heart attack, his pulmonary artery was blocked. Likely from the stress of the beating. She would have to do the best she could.
“Okay, get me some aspirin and a spoon.” She would try to crush the aspirin and administer it orally. It would work faster intravenously, but again, she didn’t have the equipment. Hopefully she could thin his blood enough to partially unblock the artery and buy him some time. Glancing over his other injuries, she added, “I’ll also need some bandages, antibiotic ointment, clean water, and a splint, I think, for his arm.” She would have to make do with a quick field fix and then hope that her captors would eventually allow her to get the man to a hospital.
“He won’t survive long without a hospital though… if your intention is that he should live.” She eyed the man towering over her skeptically. “If I’m correct, then he’s had a massive cardiac event and will likely need open heart surgery, which can’t be done in a dirty basement with no equipment.”
He didn’t answer, instead turning to stride away, going back up the stairs to the floor above, she assumed to find the supplies she’d requested. Shaun climbed to her feet and took a quick inventory of the basement. Dirt floor, stone walls, two windows, both tiny with bars covering them, no other doors besides the one at the top of the stairs. She reached over her head to try the bars on the window anyway. If she could pull the grate off, she might be able to crawl through the window. It was small, but Shaun was thin. Small breasts, no hips, nothing to get in the way. For once, Shaun was happy with her less than curvy figure.