I slump in my seat.
Fuck it.
I stare at her office on the screen while I contemplate my next move.
I mean, I could ask her out, but we both know how that’s going to end.
I don’t even want to go out with her. She’s a raving bitch, remember?
What the fuck am I doing?
I go to close down my computer and I see a foot coming out of the bottom of the screen. Huh?
I lean closer to get a better look.
It is a foot, wearing a white sneaker. What’s she doing on the floor? Is she stretching or something?
I run my finger back and forth over my lips as I watch; she’s dead-still.
What’s she doing?
A feeling of uneasiness creeps over me.
“Move,” I whisper.
I click through the camera angles as I try to see her better.
Nothing.
I rest my chin on my hand as I watch for five minutes while she lies dead still.
Ten minutes . . . fifteen.
Fuck.
Something’s wrong. I march to the elevator and hit the button for level ten. I watch the dial move slowly as it travels down through the floors. “Hurry up,” I mutter. “Hurry the fuck up.”
The doors open and I stride out and down the corridor to her office, open the door in a rush to find her passed out on the floor. She’s in her red sports dress and sneakers, completely out of it.
“Kathryn.” I gasp as I drop to my knees and give her a shake. “Kate, wake up, are you alright?”
Silence.
I shake her again and grab her face in my hands and try and pry her eyes open.
Nothing . . .
“Shit.” I grab my phone and dial 999.
“Hello emergency.”
“Hi,” I stammer. “I need an ambulance to the Miles Media building, level ten immediately.”
“What’s happened, sir?”
“I’ve just found one of my employees unconscious on the floor. She’s out cold.”
“Is she breathing?”
“Hang on, I’ll check.”
“Put me on speaker, sir, and I can guide you.”
I put my phone on speaker and on the floor beside us and I hold her face. “Kate. Can you hear me?”
“Is she breathing?”
I put my ear down to her mouth.
“Check her chest. Is it rising and falling?”
Fuck.
Is she dead?
The room spins as I begin to panic. “Send two ambulances,” I bark. “I’m about to have a fucking heart attack myself.”
“Check her chest, sir.”
I put my hands on her chest and feel it rise and fall. “She’s breathing.” I sigh in relief.
“Can you feel her pulse?”
I close my eyes. How the hell do I do that again? My mind has gone completely blank; this is why I’m not a fucking doctor, I’m useless in an emergency.
“Put your fingertips on her neck just under her jaw,” the operator reminds me.
“Oh, right.” I put my fingers on her neck and feel a strong pump. “She’s got a pulse.”
“Has she fallen? Check her head for an injury.”
“What’s with the questions? Can you just send a fucking ambulance?” I cry. “She’s about to die any second.”
“I need to know what’s happened, sir, I can’t help you without all of the facts.”
I look around, and check for blood, but everything seems normal. Her work clothes are in a bag and then I notice something on her desk, a white box of prescription pills.
“There are pills,” I stammer as I dive for them. “Prescription.”
“What’s the name of them?”
I fumble with the box to try and read it out fast and drop it, and I scramble to the floor and under the desk to retrieve them. “Fuck it.”
“Calm down, sir.”
“Send a fucking ambulance,” I yell. “What is your name? I want your fucking name and rank.”
This bitch is going down.
Kathryn groans.
“Kate,” I whisper, and take her hand in mine. “Wake up.”
She frowns as she tries to come to.
“Are you there, sir? What is the name of the medication?”
“Um . . . Hydrocodone slash acetaminophen,” I reply.
Kate’s eyes flutter open and she looks up at me.
“Are you alright?” I whisper.
“What?” She frowns and tries to sit up and onto her elbow.
“Lie down,” I bark.
“How many tablets has she taken?” the operator asks.
“How many tablets have you taken?” I ask Kate.
She frowns. “Huh?” She then flops back to the floor; she appears drunk.
“She’s disoriented,” I reply.
“She’s taken a strong painkiller. Count the tablets, sir. I need to know how many she has had.”
“Send a fucking ambulance before I put my hand through this phone and strangle you,” I scream.
This bitch is hopeless . . . no wonder people die every day.
“Count. The. Tablets.”
My fury bubbles and I count through the blister pack. “There are thirty-eight tablets here.”
“How many came in the box?”
I speed-read the directions on the box as I look for the amount. “Pack of forty.”
“So, she’s had only two?”
I stare at the dazed woman in front of me. “I think she’s had more than that.”
“Can you look through her belongings and see?”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
“Listen here, you motherfucker. I want an ambulance to the Miles Media building right now. If this woman dies I’m having you charged with . . .” I pause as I try and think of an appropriate charge. “Something bad,” I splutter. “Murder.”
“Just check her bag.”
I begin to rattle through Kate’s bag, wallet, keys, makeup . . . tampons. I wince and throw them over my shoulder.
“Well?” the operator asks.
“I’m looking, alright? There’s a lot of fucking crap in here.” Oh, screw this, I tip the handbag upside down onto the carpet and stuff flies everywhere.
“What are you doing?” Kate whispers as she sleepily sits up. “Get out of my bag.”
My eyes nearly bulge from their sockets. “Get out of your bag? Are you fucking serious right now?”
“What?” she whispers.
“What’s happening, sir?”
I grit my teeth. “The patient is about to get knocked back out. That’s what’s happening.”
“What is your name, dear?”
Kate frowns. “Kate Landon.”
“What’s happened?”
Kate frowns as she looks around. “I don’t know.”
“You took some medication?” the operator asks.
“No,” she whispers.
I hold the box up and widen my eyes. “Look familiar?”
“Oh.” She puts her hand over her forehead as she remembers. “Yes, I took some painkillers.”
“What were the painkillers for, dear?”
“Period pain.” Kate’s eyes flick to me.
I roll my eyes. Now I’ve fucking heard it all.