Chris propped me up in the middle backseat of a stretch limo and slid in beside me. I was still holding my eyelid up when he cupped my chin and examined my face. “Jesus fucking Christ!” He looked at my pants. “Terry, you need to go to a hospital.”

“No …” I dropped my eyelid, leaving me in pain and darkness. If I couldn’t see, maybe this would all go away.

“You’re pissing blood!” To someone else, Chris said, “What’s the closest hospital from here?”

He obviously wasn’t listening to me, which was par for the course. I yelled out, “No!”

I heard Juleen’s voice. “She won’t go. She’s afraid they’ll take me away.”

“Then they’ll take you away,” Chris said. “It’s better than her dying.”

Someone started the car. We rode a few minutes, and I began to get motion sickness. I gagged a few times.

Chris said, “Stop the car.” I heard the car door open, and he held me as I threw up a third time, retching until I felt my stomach was coming up my throat. He said, “You’re also vomiting blood.”

I knew what that meant, but I didn’t care. I’d rather go out fighting. I hit him. “No … hospital!”

Chris lifted up my eyelid. “Listen to me, Teresa. If you don’t get help soon, you are going to die! You’re a fucking doctor. You know better.”

Gabe’s words almost to a T. I hit him again. “No!”

“Stop hitting me. It’s like an annoying gnat.” He was still holding up my eyelid, a brilliantly blue iris staring back at me. Then he let my lid drop and I was encased in darkness.

“This is against my better judgment.” He paused. “Okay, Terry, this is what I’m going to do. I’ll take you two back with me. I co-own a twenty-four-hour emergency room. I’ll take you there. I promise that no questions will be asked, okay?”

I nodded.

“We’re not equipped to handle this kind of situation. Most of the time, we just give out antibiotics or pain medicine, or wrap a muscle strain. The most we ever do is stabilize heart attacks and send them off to a bigger hospital in Elko. But I’ll call in and tell them what I’m dealing with. If the doc there tells me that you have to go to Elko, you’re going to Elko. End of discussion. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Start the car,” Chris said. “God help me if you die.” He was silent for a few moments. “What the hell is wrong with your arm?” He lifted my right hand and I screamed in pain. “I think your shoulder’s dislocated. Stop the car again.”

The driver obeyed.

Chris said, “I can fix this. It’ll probably take some pain away, but if your arm is broken it might make it worse.”

“Tape …”