He calls me Angel

48. Outside looking in

Further ahead, was the intensive unit for all the premature newborns. Prevention or early detection and treatment of complications is very important, which was why thorough clinical observation, examination, and instrumental monitoring, with ECG, pulse oximetry, heart, and respiratory rate, as well as blood pressure measurement are essential to their survival. 

Premature babies require particularly good monitoring in specialized clinics. And although there are many in Illinois, sending Cynthia and her baby as faraway as logically possible was the only way.

"How is he doing?" I asked the pediatrician who was taking notes by the cot, monitoring the tiny human in the baby incubator in front of her.

"He's stable. He received surfactant in the first half hour after he was born. We took the tube out about an hour ago, and he's now breathing through the oxygen mask on his own." I nodded at her words, turning away from her and towards the baby, as she continued to do her job.

He was fuzzing around, his movements slow, as he was wrapped in a soft blanket; tubes and wires connected to his small body. I reached inside the incubator through one of the holes, touching his fingertips. It was survival instinct, I knew that, but the minute he reached for my touch, wrapping his fingers around my finger in a firm grip, I felt tears pierce my eyes.

"He's a fighter," I said under my breath, only for the newborn to hear. "Just like his mom."

I knew ensuring a safe escape route for both of them was a priority, but I took another minute in the baby's company, as I repeated in my head everything I had to do, for the plan to work.

Dr. Marshall was out of the office today and couldn't help much, but sent me Alex's phone number, who was more than happy to cover for the transfer and put Cynthia into the FIB's witness protection program. The only thing left to do right now, was get her out of the state, and Indiana seemed like a great idea to get a head's start.

I didn't know if my patient would agree. I certainly hoped so. My biggest concern right now was for this plan to work. Not even Savi or Dr. Fisher's wrath, demanding my head, could stop me right now.

"Where do you think you're going?" A man wearing a black suit, tall and strong, grasped my wrist, pushing me away from the door's handle.

I turned to look at the hand wrapped around my wrist, before I returned my gaze to his.

"Who are you? And why are you out of my patient's room?"

"We're family," said the one next to the burly man still holding my wrist. He was wearing the same attire as his counterpart, but he seemed less violent and more levelheaded, as the lie flew out of his mouth so easily.

"I need to check up on my patient. Now, if you'll excuse me," I said through my teeth, forcing my hand out of his grasp.

"Be quick about it."

I turned away from them, quickly walked inside the room, before I closed the door behind me.

Cynthia looked to be in a daze, but the minute she heard noise, her eyes searched the room.

"Hey, Cynthia. You're already awake? How are you?" I asked softly, nearing her bed.

One minute she was calm, searching, trying to piece together what had happened, and the next she looked alert and panicked.

"Where's my baby? Did they take him? Where is he?"

"Cynthia-"

"Where is my baby?" She screamed louder, this time, trying to hoist herself off her bed unsuccessfully, since her body was still under the effects of the anesthesia.