She drops her chokehold.
The nurse gags and reflexively brings her hands up to her neck.
“Thank goodness you’re here!” says the older woman.
I quickly scan her face. Her hair is jet black, her nose perfect, her skin taut and wrinkle-free. She looks like she wears makeup in her sleep.
“That vile creature attacked me!” she screeches in my face.
“You … attacked … me,” gasps the other woman.
“I did no such thing.”
“Ma’am?” I say. “I need you to move to the other side of the room.”
“This is my home-”
“Now!”
Yeah. I sort of shouted it.
“Mom?” says the boy, up in the higher level in his wheelchair. “Please? Do like he says.”
“You heard Officer Boyle,” says Santucci. “Move it.”
I look over to the nurse.
She’s my age. Maybe twenty-seven, twenty-eight. A mountain of dark, curly hair. Olive skin. Chocolate brown eyes that aren’t quite dark enough to hide her fear.
And, of course, I know her.
It’s Christine Lemonopolous. One of my old girlfriend Katie Landry’s best buds.
“Christine?” I say, arching up an eyebrow, hoping for a good explanation.
Her lips quiver into what she probably hoped might end up as a smile. It doesn’t.
“Can you breathe?” I ask. “Is your airway clear?”
She nods.
“What’s this all about?” I ask.