Truth or Lies? by A. Gomez (books to get back into reading TXT) 📕

but I still couldn’t see. I felt him take my hand and check my pulse. I wanted to answer, I wanted to say “Yes, I can hear you,” but I couldn’t seem to talk.

“Fucking moron! You filled her prescriptions for her, don’t you check what you prescribe?”

“Ben, David, please just get her to the hospital! You can argue there.” My mother was crying. Oh no. This must be bad.

“Of course, Dr. Langley.” Ben’s voice sounded more civil now. “The other agents already have an ambulance here. The paramedics are coming in as we speak.” Someone grabbed me by my wounded arm and I let out a groan.

“Isabel! Honey! Mama’s here, talk to me, sweetheart.” She was still crying.

“Mama?” My voice was a feeble whisper. I heard the paramedics come in with a gurney.

“Take her to Chicago Memorial,” Ben said to one of the paramedics. “You’ll have a police and FBI escort. Two other agents will be in the ambulance with you.” Ben’s voice was very brusque and direct. I had never thought that man could lose his temper.

“Why so far? Cook County is closer and I can help her there.” David sounded aggravated and panicked.

“This is possibly your doing, so she will not be going anywhere near the hospital you practice at,” Ben said with authority. “David Summers, you’re staying here and answering a few questions.”

“This is ridiculous! I would never do this to Isabel!” David’s voice was booming. Ouch! It felt like needles were being jabbed in my head when he yelled.

They whisked me away. I could hear my mother beside me the entire way to the ambulance. I didn’t know where she went off to after a few minutes. I wanted to look around for her to see where she went but I still couldn’t open my eyes.

The ambulance ride was very bumpy and loud. The paramedics in there with me kept talking to me and it was making my head hurt more. I wanted to tell them to be quiet or talk softly but I couldn’t get the words out. My eyes wouldn’t open, my voice didn’t work and I couldn’t lift my arms or hands. The best I could do was, “Shhhh.” They went wild and started praising me as if I were a toddler who uttered her first declarative sentence. They were saying things such as, “good job,” or “I knew you could do it,” and “do it again.” They stopped talking and I could feel someone take my arm out of my sleeve and poke me hard with a needle. I groaned and pulled my eyebrows together.

“You’re doing great, Isabel. You’re responding nicely. We’re almost to the hospital,” said the faceless, male voice. I could still feel the needle. It must have been an IV he started and it was hurting bad. I wanted to tell him to take it out but I couldn’t find my voice. Every bump the damn ambulance took made my head hurt more and now the poorly positioned IV as well. I started groaning again and was trying with all my might, to no avail, to lift my other arm so I could pull it out myself. I groaned louder so perhaps that way he could see I was in pain. All I got was, “You’re doing so great.” The ambulance hit another bump and pain resonated through my head and arm.

“Take this damn thing out of my arm,” I told him in the loudest voice I could muster, which I think, was just above a whisper. I started blinking my eyes, trying to focus, also to no avail.

He looked at me, pleased with my state of consciousness. “Welcome back, Isabel. We’re just pulling in. I’m surprised you’re responding so quickly after what you took.” Was this guy ignoring me? My irritation increased. I forced myself to lift my arm and yank out the IV. I dropped it on the floor and let my arm fall on the gurney. That felt so much better. I felt the ambulance come to a stop and the doors immediately flew open. The paramedic saw what I did, a little too late, and yelled, “Isabel, why would you do that?” He was putting pressure on my arm and trying to place a bandage where the IV once was. They hurried me out of the vehicle and took me to the ER. There was a doctor waiting to see me,

My mother was already inside but she was alone. Belín and Charlie must have stayed back. I didn’t see Ben either. I was once again hooked up to several machines and a nurse was starting an IV on my other arm. She did a much better job. My head was still pounding—the bright lights and a cacophony of different sounds made it worse. I tried to talk again but finding my voice was more strenuous than I thought.

“Doctor,” I said in a scratchy voice, “can you please make my headache go away?”

“Well, now,” he answered, sounding delighted. “You can talk. So, you have a headache? On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, how bad is it?”

“Ten,” I whispered.

“That’s probably from what’s in your system right now. Don’t worry, I can fix that.” He gave instructions to the nurse who had just finished my IV. She nodded and quickly injected a clear liquid into my IV. The pain started to calm down.

I closed my eyes for what I thought was just a minute and when I opened them again, I was in a private room with my mother next to me in a chair reading. I looked around the room and heard a beeping noise that started to beep faster. Ben stood up and came closer to the bed. He heard the same beep and knew I was awake. His expression was that of relief.

“Isabel, you’re one strong lady. The paramedic