Chapter 83
The shouts from the outside world slowly pulled Ivy back to consciousness, but she couldn’t even feel her injuries yet. Every nerve in her body was still numb, her mind blank.
Two police officers helped her out of the wrecked car just as the ambulance arrived.
Ivy’s body had always been frail, worn down by years of severe malnutrition.
This collision, while not life–threatening, left her ghostly pale and so dizzy she could barely stand.
The paramedics noticed blood on her face, and after a quick check, discovered a cut at her hairline where her forehead had struck the steering wheel.
It must have happened in the split second her body was thrown forward by the impact.
“Ivy, oh God, are you okay? Please talk to me…” Katrina’s voice trembled; she was on the verge of tears, terrified for her best friend.
“Relax, I’m not going to die,” Ivy managed a weak joke, despite the spinning in her head. Then she added, “Stay here and cooperate with the police, alright?”
Katrina nodded frantically. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll handle it. Just take care of yourself.”
The ambulance sped toward the city center, sirens wailing. Ivy drifted in and out of awareness, letting the medics examine her as best they could.
Soon, they reached the hospital. Ivy was wheeled straight into the ER.
A tall doctor in scrubs was just leaving the emergency room when the gurney passed by. Something about the patient caught his eye.
He turned, took a closer look, and asked in a low, steady voice, “What happened here?”
Ivy heard the familiar voice and, for a moment, thought she was hallucinating. She forced her
eyes open.
She wasn’t mistaken. The doctor standing over her was the last person she wanted to
see–Jamison.
Even with his surgical cap and mask covering most of his face, she recognized those eyes in an
instant.
Unbelievable. In a city as big as Neo Haven, with dozens of hospitals, why did she always end up here–and always run into him?
Jamison questioned the EMTs, who quickly replied, “Car accident. Laceration on the forehead, about three centimeters. Needs stitches. Vitals are stable, patient is conscious.”
Jamison had just finished assisting with an emergency and was about to leave, but something made him turn back. He walked over to Ivy, raised his hand to check her wound, and, as routine,
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asked, “Are you feeling dizzy? Nauseous? Any urge to vomit?”
Ivy clenched her jaw against the pain and snapped, “Doctor, I want someone else to treat me.” She recoiled at the thought of Jamison working on her.
Truth be told, this minor injury didn’t require someone of Jamison’s status. Normally, a nurse would clean the wound, disinfect it, and put in a few stitches.
A nurse had already started prepping the instruments nearby.
But Jamison seemed to take her protest as a personal challenge. He gave a cold little laugh. “What’s wrong? Afraid of me?”
“Of course,” Ivy shot back. “I’m terrified of being at the mercy of a cold–hearted quack with a grudge.”
As the two stared each other down, the nurse approached with a tray of sterile tools.
“Dr. Ludwig, I can take care of the patient-”
“I’ll do it. You assist,” Jamison said, snapping on a pair of gloves. His cool, unwavering gaze fixed on Ivy, and for a moment, she felt like a lamb about to be dissected.
The nurse blinked, surprised. “Dr. Ludwig, it’s just a small cut…”
“Haven’t done stitches in a while. Need to keep my skills sharp,” Jamison replied calmly.
Someone of his caliber usually only handled the most critical parts of a surgery; stitching up minor wounds was left to the junior staff.
It was overkill, to say the least.
But after his explanation, the nurse could only nod. Maybe he was having an easy day, or maybe he was just in the mood. She handed him the tools. “Of course, Doctor. I’ll assist.”