Chapter 9 - The Threshold of Life
Julian didn't bother knocking. He kicked the front door with all the force left in his body. The heavy oak door burst inward against the latch, crashing open into a warm, wood-paneled foyer.
""Who's there?!"" a booming voice demanded. An elderly man with stark white hair and wire-rimmed glasses emerged from the study, holding a heavy walking stick. He stopped dead in his tracks.
Before him stood a man and a woman drenched in blood, rain, and mud, wearing the ruined remnants of wedding attire, holding a dying child.
""Arthur!"" Clara cried out, her voice breaking. ""Arthur, it's Clara! She’s going into full anaphylactic arrest! Mastocytosis! Her airway is completely closed!""
Dr. Arthur Mercer’s shock vanished instantly, replaced by forty years of emergency medical instinct. ""Bring her to the dining table! Move!""
Julian sprinted across the polished floor, laying Ellie’s limp body on the long mahogany table. The chandelier overhead illuminated her pale, lifeless face. Her lips were dark blue, her eyes rolled back. There was no chest movement.
""She has no pulse,"" Mercer stated calmly, though his fingers moved like lightning. ""Cabinet in the kitchen, Clara! Blue medical tote! Grab the intubation kit and the concentrated epinephrine ampoules! Now!""
May you like
Clara tore into the kitchen. Julian leaned over Ellie, tears finally spilling from his eyes and washing through the dried mud on his cheeks. He clamped her tiny nose, tilted her chin back, and began delivering rescue breaths, forcing the very air she had given him back into her lungs.
""Come on, Ellie,"" Julian sobbed between compressions. ""Don't leave. Please, don't leave.""
