Chapter 2 - The Coin Beneath the Tape
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The doors to the ER bay slid open with a sharp pneumatic hiss. The sensory overload of bright fluorescent lights, frantic shouting, and the smell of antiseptic hit me all at once as two nurses wheeled my gurney into Trauma Bay 3.
"Multiple contusions, suspected rib fractures, severe soft tissue trauma to the anterior neck," the paramedic announced rapidly. "GCS is twelve. Patient is non-verbal."
Dr. Hannah Scott, the trauma physician on duty, stepped up to the side of my bed. Her sharp blue eyes moved over my swollen face, taking in the horrific purplish fingerprints dark against the pale skin of my throat.
"Get an immediate chest series and a neck CT," Dr. Scott ordered her team. "And bring the forensic photography kit. These aren't self-inflicted marks."
Beckett tried to push his way into the bay behind the gurney, his face twisted into a mask of frantic concern.
"Doctor, please! I'm her husband," Beckett insisted, holding his hands up. "I need to be with her. She suffers from severe psychiatric delusions—"
"Sir, you need to step back into the waiting area," Dr. Scott interrupted, her tone dropping into an icy register. "Right now."
Officer Thompson stepped between Beckett and the curtain, holding out a hand. "Let the medical team work, sir. Stay right here."
Dr. Scott turned back to me, gently cutting away the collar of my torn sweater. As her gloved fingers traced down toward my collarbone, her hand suddenly stopped.
"What's this?" she muttered.
She leaned closer, using a pair of sterile forceps to carefully peel back a square of skin-toned medical tape hidden just beneath my left collarbone.
Beneath the tape sat a tiny metallic disc—a high-density digital voice recorder no larger than a quarter.
May you like
Outside the curtain, Beckett glanced through the glass partition. The moment his eyes landed on that tiny piece of metal held in the doctor's forceps, every drop of color drained from his face.
Because he knew exactly what I had built.
