Excellent review! Thank you! The parts you describe are exactly the ones I was unsure of. I will revise. Thank you very much and glad you liked it!
Crime, Thrillers & Mystery / Found Wanting - Chapter 11 (Analysis)
Found Wanting
Chapter 11
Brian had stopped crying by the time he got home. He was worried Tammy might have decided to stay over and didn’t want her to see him bawling; he didn’t want to tell anyone yet what he now knew. After getting undressed and showering, he took a beer from the fridge and sat down in front of the TV with the remote in his hand. An hour later, the TV was still off, the beer warm and flat. He realized he had been sitting there thinking about Marc the whole time.
He carefully considered what Marc had said. They had talked about Ivan; Brian thought about him too. ‘This dude’s about as useful as the garbage on the street he lays in,’ were Brian’s own words describing Ivan. He thought about the dialysis patient who had mysteriously died while en route to the hospital. He had done nothing for himself; he forced everyone around him to take care of him. He didn’t even bother taking his medications. He had picked up Jimmy Givens three times with Marc. It was apparent that Givens was never a Navy Seal; but rather a crackhead who existed by stealing. Brian also couldn’t ignore the fact that Marc was a great paramedic. He had seen him save many lives. Today, Marc had saved Brian’s own life too. Marc had found his calling in EMS.
‘No!’ Brian shook himself out of his absorption. ‘I am not going to be sucked into that line of reasoning! No matter how non-productive a person is, they’re still a person.’ It can never be right to kill anyone, no matter how you judge them in your “balances.” I have to tell someone about this; it can’t be right no matter how well Marc tries to justify it.’
He thought about the oath he took upon becoming an EMT. Similar to the Hippocratic Oath that doctors took, it stated that he would “abstain from whatever is deleterious.” Marc took that oath too. But Marc was convinced that what he was doing was not deleterious. He viewed himself as a helper of humanity by eliminating “deleterious” aspects of society.
‘Stop, damn it!’ Brian chided himself as he considered Marc’s words again. He decided to quit thinking about it and try to sleep. He slept fitfully, tossing and turning through most of the night. On the occasions he actually was asleep, he dreamt of white birds on the back of a rhinoceros, picking ticks off. The birds kept picking and picking until they had consumed the entire rhino. The birds flew off, emanating the sound of a siren. Brian woke, hearing the sound of a real siren fading past his window. ‘This is gonna be a long night.’
Marc fared no better. He and Brian weren’t scheduled to be back at work for two days, so he had an entire day to torture himself. He imagined what prison would be like. He had been to Orleans Parish Prison many times to pick up patients and there were no tolerable aspects of the facility. ‘Maybe I could just deny it if Brian chooses to tell anyone. After all, there’s no evidence. All those patients died from “natural causes” brought on by their own health problems. If there are any autopsy reports, they just show there was hyperkalemia, or drug abuse or head injuries or whatever. I could say that he’s just being paranoid; that the stress of the streets and school is getting to him. That maybe EMS isn’t the career for him.’
That thought depressed Marc too. Brian really was a good EMT and he would be a fine paramedic eventually. Plus he liked Brian; he considered him his friend. He didn’t want to destroy Brian’s life and career in an effort to protect his own. Marc poured himself some bourbon, quaffed it down, then poured another and another, until he was blistering drunk. Finally he passed out on his bed. He dreamed he was sitting on the back bumper of the ambulance banging his clipboard against his head until the clipboard was bloody and bent. He woke up from his drunken binge in mid-afternoon, his head feeling exactly like it had been beaten with his clipboard. Marc had finished off his bourbon the night before, so he poured some orange juice and vodka and spent the rest of that day drunk too.
Marc woke up before the alarm. His head continued to pound. He had a couple of hours before reporting to work. ‘Will this be my last day?’ he wondered. He didn’t want to face this day hungover. Marc searched through the medical equipment that had followed him home from work over time. Every EMT has a pile of stuff off the ambulance for their own emergency use, and Marc was no exception. He spiked a bag of Lactated Ringer’s solution and started an IV on himself. A liter or two of IV fluid was the best cure for a hangover. He added a half a syringe of IV Dextrose to the bag and an ampule of Thiamine. It was a recipe that had worked many times on Marc and the other EMT’s when they had lingered too long at the bar after work. When the IV had drained, he spiked a second bag of fluid and let that infuse as well. After an hour or so, he felt great.
‘Let’s see how long I feel good,’ he thought as he donned his uniform. At the station, he saw Brian walking from his car to clock in. Marc put his gear in the truck; so did Brian. They checked out the inventory, oil, transmission fluid; the entire time neither said a word to each other or even made eye contact. Eventually it was time to go on duty. Both avoided the elephant in the room and sat silently as they drove to get their morning coffee, still not even looking at each other.
They were sent to cover New Orleans East. It was a slow day, and both medics wished for a call to have something to do besides try to ignore each other. Marc eventually could take it no longer. “Well? I guess you’ve had some time to think about our last conversation.”
Brian sighed. “Yes. Marc, I can’t let this happen. You can’t just go around killing people just because you think they’re a drain on the rest of us. Murdering the people who piss you off doesn’t eliminate the problem.”
“What do you mean? You’re going to turn me in?” Marc asked. “I’ve been thinking about it too, and it occurs to me that there’s no evidence to back you up if you were to make such a claim. You know I can always say that you just weren’t cut out for this job; that you can’t handle the fact that sometimes people just die in the truck. I’ve been working here almost as long as you’ve been alive! Who do you think they’re going to believe?” he said, now fully on the defense.
Brian slumped back into the driver’s seat. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said, feeling defeated. He was so preoccupied with trying to figure out what to do, he never paused to realize that Marc might have been doing the same thing. His anger burned that Marc had placed him in this predicament. He fumed at Marc, and thought about putting themselves out of service and calling the supervisor to ask to be put in another truck with a different partner.
Finally, dispatch called them to respond to a scene. “An eight-year old with a vaginal bleed,” said Hope over the radio. Brian drove, Marc stared out the window. He tried to change the subject. “This address sounds familiar. Do you recognize it? Maybe a frequent flier?” Marc asked.
Brian was still steaming. “I don’t know. If it is, are you going to kill them?” he responded viciously.
“Look, you goddamn asshole, I’m sorry you’re in this position, but you’re the one who brought it up!” Marc shouted back, seething at Brian. “You couldn’t just leave well enough alone! You had to push it after you dug through the fucking sharps container. What happens in the truck STAYS IN THE GODDAMNED FUCKING TRUCK!”
“Not this time, motherfucker! I was thinking about not reporting you to anyone, but so help me, I will see to it that you rot in fucking jail!” Brian shouted back.
“Really? We’ll see about that. You’re still on probation and I’ll make sure you never set foot on one of these ambulances again! Suck on that for a while,” Marc said angrily.
They turned onto the street where the address was. Both EMT’s tried to stifle their emotions and put on a somewhat professional front to deal with the patient, even though both wanted to slug the other one in the jaw. “This is probably some eight-year old who got her period early. These idiots can’t recognize a normal biological function if it bit them in the face,” commented Marc, transferring his anger at Brian to the patient and her family.
“Damn, what the hell is going on here?” Brian said as he approached the address. Six police cars were out front of the house. Several officers were interviewing people in the front yard.
As they exited the truck, one of the cops pulled Brian and Marc aside before they walked in. “The little girl was raped. We just want you to make sure she doesn’t have any life-threatening injuries; the rape squad is going to handle it and take her to the hospital for the exam.”
“Oh, shit. How old?” Brian asked, his anger at Marc momentarily forgotten.
“Eight,” said the policeman.
Marc closed his eyes, nauseated at the thought. Brian was likewise sickened. Both medics found a subconscious place where their feelings met in sorrow for the child. They turned and looked briefly at each other, realizing that despite their argument on the way to the scene, they both still felt compassion.
The house looked strangely familiar. “I have a weird deja-vu going on right now,” Marc whispered to Brian.
“We have been here before,” Brian observed. “We coded an old lady here a while back,” he said as they entered the very bedroom where they had done CPR on an elderly grandmother.
There were two cops and two other adults next to the bed. As Marc announced his presence, the adults moved aside to allow Marc to examine the patient. As they moved out of the way, Marc and Brian instantly recognized the frilly pink dress the little girl was wearing. There were only a few sparkly barrettes in her hair now, but Marc was transported to the last conversation he had had with this same girl. ‘“Thank you for trying to save my grandma, mister. You did all you could, but I know she’s in a better place now.” “You’re welcome, darling. I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more.”’
Marc gasped when he recognized her. “Hi, sweetheart. Are you okay?” he asked, kneeling down so he was below her eye level.
The girl looked at him and appeared to recognize him, but said nothing. She was far from okay, but didn’t know what to do or say.
Before touching her, Marc gently said “I’m going to try to help you, okay? Does anything hurt?”
The girl responded wordlessly. She nodded and touched her groin.
“I see. What’s your name? I’m Marc,” he said softly.
“Tamara,” she said in a tiny, frightened voice.
“Tamara, I just need to check that you’re not badly hurt, okay? I need to look where you’re hurting, and the police will be able to help you. Is that all right?” Marc said with his eyes locked on hers, in a way that made Tamara feel like their conversation was completely private, as if there were no one else in the room.
Even Brian felt like an outsider from the way Marc spoke to the girl. He realized he had a function too and likewise knelt down next to Tamara.
“Okay,” she told Marc, fear still in her voice.
Marc moved his hands slowly to lift up the girl’s dress. She backed higher onto the bed, afraid that whatever Marc was going to do would hurt her more.
“Tamara, it’s okay. I’m only going to look. I promise I won’t do anything that hurts. You know you can trust me; I tried to help your grandmother, remember?”
Tamara relaxed just a little. She pulled her pink dress up just above her waist. Her underwear was torn and there were trickles of blood on her thighs. Marc pulled the elastic band on her panties just enough for him and Brian to peer inside for a few seconds. The girl’s tiny labia were bruised and her hymen was torn. A drop of blood fell out into the underwear. Marc removed his hand from near the girl’s privates.
“That’s it, Tamara. I’m done. See? I promised I wouldn’t hurt you,” Marc said.
Like the last time they had met, the girl threw her arms around Marc. This time she hugged him again as hard as her little arms could muster. “Thank you, mister,” she said, crying.
“You’ll be all right,” Brian said, his voice cracking. As the words left his mouth, he felt hey were completely inadequate. The girl looked at Brian and gave him a smile also, but her facial expression to Marc had engendered trust, whereas the look she gave to Brian made him feel as if she had done him a favor by acknowledging his presence.
Marc grasped her hand gently and said “I’m going to go now, but the policemen and your parents will help you now. Okay?”
Tamara nodded. Marc and Brian stood back up and headed out the house. Marc glanced at the girl’s father, who months ago had managed to remain composed at his mother’s death. He now stood in the corner of the bedroom, tears streaming from his eyes.
Brian thought to himself ‘I have to hand it to Marc, he can handle tough scenes like that well. Better than me.’ He found himself on the verge of tears for the little girl and her family as well.
Outside the house, Marc talked to the officer again. “Any idea who did this?”
The cop responded, “Yeah, we apprehended him already. Some guy that lives around the corner. The girl gave us a description before you got here. Apparently he moved into the neighborhood a month or two ago and never registered with the sex offenders’ list.”
“Fucking monster,” Brian muttered upon hearing the policeman’s story.
As they began to drive away, the policeman ran towards the ambulance, waving at them. Marc rolled down his window and he told the medics “Can you drive around the corner and check him out? I just got a call over the radio that something’s wrong with the perp.”
“Oh great. Yeah, I guess so,” answered Marc.
“So now we have to treat this asshole too?” Brian said disgustedly.
They pulled up to the next scene where several police cars were also parked. Brian walked up to one of the officers, saying “Y’all have the perp of the signal forty-two around the corner?” referring to the rape by the police signal code, forty-two.
“Yeah, says he’s having chest pains. We had to call you to check him out. He’s in the car,” the officer responded.
“Is he violent or anything?” Marc asked.
“No, just an asshole. We ran his record. Found out he got out of jail a month ago and he’s been staying in his friend’s house here.”
“Got out of jail? For what?” Brian asked.
“Same thing. Sex offender. Got off on some technicality,” he said.
As he opened the door, the smell of alcohol and the perpetrator’s voice met their noses and ears. “I’m havin’ a damn heart attack. I need to go to the hospital! I’m gonna sue your ass if you don’t get me to the hospital!” screeched the man.
When they got him out of the car, Brian and Marc recognized him as the man they had picked up at the prison complex after being arrested for soliciting sex from a nine year-old. “Yes, indeed!” Marc said upon realizing who he was.
Brian’s rage had returned. Only this time it was directed towards the man in handcuffs before him, not Marc. ‘This creep again! I can’t believe it! Playing the same game as last time to try to get out of going to jail!’ Brian pictured the poor girl’s blood trickling down her legs after this man’s brutal crime. She shared the same name as his girlfriend, Tammy, Tamara. Hatred boiled within him. He suddenly had a flashback to the dream he had almost forgotten. Brian envisioned the cowbirds picking ticks off the rhinoceros, and thought back to Marc’s reasons for doing what he did. Through his rage at the perpetrator and sadness for Tamara and frustration at his own ineffectiveness, he had a moment of realization. He recalled Marc’s words from two days before, which now seemed prophetic: ‘When a rapist or child molester gets off scot-free on a legal technicality, is that right?’ Brian reached down and felt the man’s pulse. As he felt his wrist, he caught Marc’s eyes and looked meaningfully into them, saying “I think he may really be having a heart attack.”
The policeman next to them looked shocked. Marc stared back at Brian. A look of perplexity crossed his face as Marc checked the man’s pulse himself. ‘Heart attack? His pulse feels fine! What is Brian saying?’ Then a moment later ‘Is he telling me what I think he’s telling me?’ Marc wondered. “Go ahead and take off the cuffs,” Marc asked the officer while regarding Brian warily.
After removing the handcuffs, Marc held the man by the arm as they walked to the ambulance. The man kept on hollering at the cops “I’m dyin’ here! I told you I was and y’all are sayin’ I ain’t having chest pains and sayin’ I raped somebody! I’ll sue all your asses!”
“Just get in,” Marc ordered him. All three got into the truck. Brian instructed him to get on the stretcher; Marc closed the door. “They picked you up for assaulting that girl?”
Now out of earshot of the cops, the man spoke freely, much like the last time Brian and Marc had encountered him. “Yeah, so what? Who cares? She’s just some little nigger bitch anyway. Plenty more where she came from. What they serving at the hospital for lunch?”
Brian and Marc looked at each other. The pure disgust on both their faces was evident. Brian finally said to Marc “You know, I think I’m beginning to understand.”
Marc took a second to process Brian’s words in his head. A look of relief mixed with apprehension crossed his countenance.
“I guess we should treat his heart attack,” Brian offered.
“Yeah,” said the man on the stretcher. “I’m dyin’ here!”
“Yes,” Marc responded to him. “We’ll do all we can, sir.”
Marc applied an oxygen cannula to his nostrils and Brian started an IV. Marc opened the bag of equipment and stared at the contents of the medicine inventory. He pulled out the spray bottle of Nitroglycerine. It worked by dilating the blood vessels, increasing blood flow to the heart but reducing blood pressure. Each spray had four hundred micrograms of nitroglycerine. A patient was never supposed to have more than three sprays at a time because it could severely drop blood pressure to dangerous levels. There was enough in the bottle for two hundred sprays. Marc pulled the sprayer off the bottle and handed it to Brian to give to the man. “Make sure you swallow the whole bottle,” he instructed. “It will burn a bit in your mouth but it’ll help with your chest pain.”
Brian gave Marc a complimentary glance. ‘Not bad!’ he thought. The man took the bottle from Brian. “Cheers!” he said drunkenly, downing the entire bottle in one gulp. “Whoo, you were right! That does burn! Fuck!”
Marc reached into the bag again and pulled out another medication, Cardizem. “You know how Cardizem works?” he asked Brian.
Brian recited from memory what he had learned from studying pharmacology for paramedic class. “It’s a calcium channel blocker. Reduces blood pressure and heart rate by inhibiting the contractility of the heart and blood vessels.”
“Very good,” said Marc as he mixed the entire vial of one hundred milligrams with a syringe of saline solution. “Now how will this help our friend here?”
Brian pictured the man’s blood vessels dilating from the gigantic Nitroglycerine overdose. Such an enormous dose would cause his blood vessels to almost completely relax, reducing his blood pressure to next to nothing causing him to pass out from lack of circulation to the brain and heart. The Cardizem would increase that effect and reduce the pumping ability of the heart to nothing also. As Brian pictured the man’s blood pooling inside his body, not circulating, his thoughts drifted to blood pooling inside little Tamara’s knickers from her ruined genitals.
“Oh man, I feel weird,” the man said. My head is... killing me...” he said just before passing out on the stretcher. He was drenched in sweat, his skin pale from the relative hypovolemic shock he was experiencing from the Nitroglycerine.
“It’ll... it will make things better,” Brian replied to Marc’s question. Marc drew up the entire one hundred milligrams into the syringe and handed it to Brian. The correct dose for anyone was a maximum of twenty milligrams. “He should probably get the whole thing, right?” Brian confirmed as he injected all the Cardizem into the IV line.
Marc and Brian had deliberately left off attaching the EKG monitor so that it wouldn’t record what was surely a normal heart rhythm up until then. When they attached the leads and switched it on, it showed an extremely slow heartbeat, twenty-eight beats per minute. Marc printed a strip and watched as the Cardizem continued to take effect. The rate slowed to twenty, ten, then zero. The man on the stretcher was turning blue. “Guess it’s time to intubate him,” Marc said, handing Brian the airway equipment.
“I’ve never intubated anyone before.” Brian looked nervous, but took the laryngoscope and placed it down the man’s throat, peering inside. The membranes in his throat were pale, deprived of blood flow. Brian found the vocal cords and slipped the tube inside them. He attached the Ambu bag and gave a few breaths as Marc listened to his chest to confirm placement of the tube. “You’re in! Good job!” he congratulated Brian.
Brian reflexively continued to ventilate the man. Marc placed his hands on Brian’s and removed them from the Ambu bag. “I know, it’s habit,” Brian said. “This feels weird, not doing CPR.”
“What’s the first drug you want to give?” Marc asked, his hand reaching into the bag.
“Let’s see, he’s in asystole. Epi!” Brian answered correctly. Brian had worked enough codes that he knew exactly what drugs to give for each heart arrhythmia.
“Good!” Marc said, smiling as he squirted the Epinephrine into the wheel well. “Next?”
“Atropine!” answered Brian as began to get the hang of Marc’s modus operandum. Marc handed him the Atropine syringe and it followed the Epi into the wheel well.
Marc got out the carbon dioxide detector and placed it in his own mouth. “I guess I’m ready to go,” he said, his words garbled by the plastic attachment he held in his lips.
Brian gaped wide-eyed as he saw what Marc was doing with the CO2 detector. ‘Brilliant! I would never have thought of that!’ he thought to himself. Giving Marc a nervous smile, he got out the truck to get into the front and drive. A cop met him, startling Brian.
“Well? How is he?” the officer inquired.
Brian fumbled on his words for a second, panicking in his head. ‘Shit! What do I say? That I killed his disgusting ass? Fuck, think of something!’
“Looks like he really had a heart attack. He just went into cardiac arrest,” he answered the cop. ‘Please, please believe that!’
“Fuck!” exclaimed the cop. “That’s gonna be a shitload of paperwork!”
“Are you gonna be in trouble? That happening to an arrestee?” Brian asked.
“I hope not. It’d be a huge shitstorm if I hadn’t asked for the ambulance, though. Glad I did. Can’t say I’m sorry to hear that happened to that scumbag,” the cop answered.
“Well, okay, we’ll be at University,” Brian ended the conversation, glad he didn’t seem suspiciously nervous. ‘Hell, the cop’s probably more nervous about it than I am!’ he realized.
He drove to the hospital with his siren going the entire time, even when there were no cars in front of him. ‘Just because it’s legal doesn’t make it right - letting the parasites live,’ Brian remembered Marc saying. Now he understood. The rapist had gotten off from being imprisoned before. He likely knew how do so again. Often, charges were never even filed on rape because the family and the victim didn’t want to undergo the humiliation of reliving the events in a trial. If the scum in the back of the truck had gotten off again, who would his next victim be? He imagined the “beautiful chirren” that Joyce had said that he and his own Tamara would one day have. He pictured himself in the place of the weeping father he had seen today, his own little daughter raped, humiliated and bleeding from the assault of the man that now lay in the back of his truck. ‘If the man who raped my own daughter was killed by the paramedics that brought him to the hospital, I’d kiss their feet.’
Brian pulled up onto the ramp at University Hospital. Mignon St. Germain greeted them “Hey honey! We were having a good day till you brought us this!” she joked. “What ya got?” she asked as they rolled into the trauma room.
“He was under arrest, complaining of chest pain. We figured he was bullshitting to get out of going to jail but he was bradycardic and hypotensive on scene,” Marc informed, pulling out the EKG printout of the heart rate of thirty. “He coded on scene, he’s been in asystole ever since. he’s had five Epi’s, three Atropines, Bicarb, Narcan and Dextrose.”
“Under arrest? For what?” asked Doctor Lovejoy.
“Raping an eight year-old.” Brian said emotionlessly.
The ER staff took a collective breath for a second as they stared at the dead rapist on the table, then resumed working on the man. “Total down time?” the doctor asked.
Mark looked at his clipboard. “Twenty minutes.”
“Okay, let’s call it. Fifteen fifty-one,” announced Dr. Lovejoy, stating the official time of death.
And that was it. Brian felt like there should have been some huge investigation into the cause of the man’s death, but he realized he was just being paranoid. It was, after all, his first time eliminating a parasite from society. He felt nervous as he cleaned the stretcher trying to look as if nothing was wrong. Yet as he did, he thought to himself ‘That was easy!’
He jumped when Mignon came up behind him and put her hand on his back. “Hah hah! I startled you!”she said laughing. “Hey, when you get off work at midnight, you wanna come have drinks with the rest of us? I asked Marc too; he’s coming.”
Brian relaxed. “Sure, that sounds great! I’ll see you then!”
Later, when Marc had finished writing his report, he met Brian at the truck and smoked. “Well, how do you feel?” Marc asked.
Brian thought for a while, wondering how to put his many emotions into words. At last he answered, “I feel like the world is a better place. But you were wrong about one thing.”
“Oh?” Marc raised his eyebrows. “What’s that?”
“Remember you said ‘making the world a better place is never easy and seldom welcomed’?
“Yes.”
“It’s not that hard.”
Marc laughed heartily, saying “Brian, you really will make a great paramedic one day!”
You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.
Reviews
Sort Reviews by Newest | Oldest | Highest Quality | Lowest Quality | Newest Comments |
oknapp reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
This 591 word review has not been unlocked.
Bo reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
I over looked reading this chapter before the last review I did. However, it’s a very good story line. I like the constant dialogue between Marc and Brian and the “thoughts” each are having in between conversation. This is a very well thought out and written story with flawless grammar and punctuation. Each chapter makes you want to turn to the next chapter. I like the day to day of the story telling of events and repeats or frequent fliers. I’m sure this is real life. I have agood friend who is an RN and he says he gets sick and tired of the scum he has to treat on tax payers dole. I could easily see him being Marc—Great job
- add/view comments (0)
Trina reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
Awesome! That was one creepy idea. And remind me never to call an ambulance again. Ummm didn’t you say YOU were a medic? Hmmmm. Anyway, your facts were great, they added to the detail that made the story fascinating to read (like the hangover relief cocktail IV). The story itself was terrific (and this was my first read of chapt 11) The following are things that stood out to me for your future review if you go back for editing:
“On the occasions he actually was asleep”...This phrase is awkward, when we pass in and out of a fitful night we would not describe it like “ocassions”
“elephant in the room”....too cliche
“You can’t just go around killing people just because you think they’re a drain on the rest of us. Murdering the people who piss you off doesn’t eliminate the problem.”….sort of soap opera language…If I were saying this to you I would be more discreet and not use quite the forward vocab as kill and murder..you know?
The fighting in the truck and the language they used was awesome!...so believable, I wish I could be so blunt in my writing I can’t put it out there like that, it was really good.
“Both medics found a subconscious place where their feelings met in sorrow for the child”...You need more on “turning it off” that professionals have to do in order to face the brutal parts of the job. I felt this one line was skimmed over and could be developed into a lot more.
“in a way that made Tamara feel like their conversation was completely private”...This line and the following paragraph has a point of view problem. Since your point of view is through Marc and Brian, we would not be able to know Tamara’s direct feelings like you describe them in this entry. You have set your story in that omniprescent point of view and that needs to remain consistant…maybe say something like “He spoke in a manner that was designed to make Tamara feel at ease”
You first mentioned that the medics were supposed to be checking for life threatening injuries? How bout that BP?
....uggg yuk and squirm the intubation description…very effective at making the reader feel the level the men had stooped to!....
Over all a really cool book! Hope my comments help some. It should be great when it’s done! Best of luck!
Trina
Showing 1 - 3 of 3
Review item
Add to favesCreator
Item Stats
GENERAL
3 Reviews 2 Comments
Version 1
Latest Activity: 3 months ago
REVIEW QUEUE
Appeared in Queue: 5 Times
Skipped: 0 Times
Ratings & Rankings
