Chapter 13 - THE NIGHT GABRIEL STOPPED BREATHING
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There are sounds nurses never forget.
A monitor flatlining.
A mother screaming in a hallway.
A doctor saying “again” during CPR.
And the sound a body makes when a bullet enters it.
Gabriel didn’t scream.
He looked surprised.
Then angry.
Then he dropped.
“Gabriel!”
Marcus raised the gun again.
I moved before thinking.
I grabbed the metal medical tray beside the vault entrance and threw it.
Terrible weapon.
Excellent distraction.
Marcus flinched.
The shot went wide.
Gabriel reached for his gun from the floor.
Marcus kicked it away.
I slammed the vault control.
The steel door began closing.
Marcus lunged.
I grabbed Gabriel beneath the arms.
“Move!”
He tried.
Blood spread across his shirt.
Too much.
Marcus reached the door.
Gabriel used his remaining strength to kick Marcus backward.
The vault sealed.
We were trapped inside.
Good news:
Marcus couldn’t shoot us.
Bad news:
Gabriel was bleeding heavily and we were inside an airtight evidence vault.
I ripped open his shirt.
Bullet wound high left chest.
No exit.
His breathing was shallow.
“Look at me.”
“I am.”
“Don’t talk.”
“You told me to look at you.”
“Gabriel.”
His mouth almost smiled.
Then he coughed blood.
Not good.
Very not good.
Possible lung injury.
I pressed fabric against the wound.
There were medical supplies inside the vault because apparently even evil research companies prepared for emergencies.
Gloves.
Gauze.
Needles.
Plastic packaging.
I made an improvised chest seal.
Gabriel watched.
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m allowed.”
“You’re a nurse.”
“I’m your nurse right now. That’s worse.”
His eyes softened.
“Norah.”
“No.”
“What?”
“Whatever dramatic thing you’re about to say, don’t.”
“Could be important.”
“It can wait.”
The vault speaker crackled.
Marcus.
“Norah.”
I ignored him.
“Open the door.”
Gabriel’s breathing worsened.
Marcus continued.
“I can get him medical help.”
“By shooting him again?”
“He forced my hand.”
Gabriel laughed weakly.
I glared.
“Do not laugh with a chest wound.”
“New rule?”
“Yes.”
Marcus’s voice:
“You have twenty minutes before the ventilation cycles stop.”
Gabriel looked at me.
“He’s lying.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
“You don’t know.”
“I know men like him.”
I snapped.
“Stop saying that like it makes you immortal.”
Silence.
Gabriel stared.
I kept pressure on the wound.
His fingers wrapped around my wrist.
“Okay.”
“What?”
“I’m not immortal.”
“Thank you.”
He looked pale.
Too pale.
“Norah.”
“No dramatic speeches.”
“I love you.”
Everything stopped.
Even panic.
I stared.
“You absolute idiot.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“That wasn’t the response I expected.”
“You waited until you were bleeding inside a vault?”
“I’ve been busy.”
I laughed.
Then cried.
Then hated myself because none of that helped his oxygenation.
“I love you too.”
His eyes opened.
“You do?”
“Don’t look so surprised.”
“You insult me often.”
“I contain multitudes.”
The speaker crackled again.
“Touching.”
Marcus had heard us.
Gabriel’s expression hardened.
“Open this door and I’ll kill you.”
Marcus laughed.
“You can barely breathe.”
Gabriel looked at me.
“Fair.”
I searched the vault.
Old emergency panel.
Independent alarm line.
Cut.
Backup ventilation.
Locked from outside.
Then I saw an antique fire suppression pipe.
Older than the modern vault.
Original building infrastructure.
If I triggered it manually, pressure might trip the external alarm.
Or flood the vault.
Great options.
I broke the cover.
Gabriel watched.
“What are you doing?”
“Improvising.”
“Benny?”
“Influence.”
I pulled the emergency valve.
Nothing.
Then—
Alarm.
Loud.
Somewhere beyond the vault, mechanical systems activated.
Marcus cursed through the speaker.
Success.
Maybe.
Gabriel’s head dropped.
“Gabriel.”
No response.
“Gabriel!”
I checked pulse.
Weak.
Breathing—
Stopped.
“No.”
I lowered him flat.
Started rescue breathing.
Pulse still there.
Come on.
“Gabriel.”
Nothing.
I kept going.
My training took over.
Airway.
Breathing.
Pulse.
Time became meaningless.
Then the vault door jolted.
Someone outside.
Marcus?
Leo?
I couldn’t stop.
The door opened.
Men rushed in.
I screamed.
“Don’t touch him!”
Leo.
Samuel.
Federal tactical officers.
“Ambulance!”
They moved Gabriel onto a stretcher.
I followed.
Marcus was on the floor outside.
Handcuffed.
Blood on his face.
Alive.
I stopped beside him.
He looked at me.
“Norah.”
I slapped him.
Hard.
Then walked away.
The ambulance doors closed.
Gabriel lost his pulse twice on the way to St. Anne’s.
I wasn’t allowed to treat him because I was emotionally involved.
For the first time in my career, I hated medical rules.
Surgeons operated for five hours.
Bullet damaged his lung.
Missed his heart by less than an inch.
Rosa arrived.
Then Leo.
Then Vincent.
Then Benny, still wearing his apron.
Samuel sat beside me.
Nobody spoke much.
At 4:12 a.m., the surgeon came out.
“He’s alive.”
My knees nearly gave out.
Stable.
Critical.
But alive.
I entered ICU after sunrise.
Gabriel looked smaller surrounded by machines.
I sat beside him.
“You are never allowed to confess love like that again.”
No response.
“Flowers.”
Silence.
“Dinner.”
Nothing.
“Normal human timing.”
His eyes opened slightly.
“You talk too much.”
I froze.
Then started crying.
He frowned.
“Why?”
“You were unconscious.”
“Was resting.”
“You died twice.”
“Exaggeration.”
“I saw the monitor.”
He closed his eyes.
“Okay.”
I leaned closer.
“I love you.”
His eyes opened again.
This time, no surprise.
“I know.”
“You are unbelievably annoying.”
“I know.”
I kissed his forehead.
Three days later, Marcus Vale was charged with attempted murder, conspiracy, unlawful detention, and crimes connected to the Vale Clinic.
The archive went under federal seal.
Dozens of families were notified privately.
Some investigations became public.
Others remained protected.
Evelyn turned herself in.
She had helped Marcus locate me.
But she also provided evidence proving he had ordered the attack at Benny’s.
When I asked why, she said:
“I spent my whole life trying to make him choose me.”
I understood more than I wanted to.
Marcus didn’t choose daughters.
He chose usefulness.
Gabriel stayed in the hospital for eleven days.
He hated every minute.
Especially the food.
On day four, he stared at the tray.
“I’m not eating that.”
I folded my arms.
“The hospital did not poison your mashed potatoes.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Gabriel.”
He picked up the fork.
Progress.
Then one afternoon, while Gabriel slept, a man wearing a physician’s coat entered the room.
I looked up.
“Can I help you?”
He closed the door.
His badge said:
DR. MATTHEW REED.
But I knew every physician on Gabriel’s care team.
He wasn’t one.
May you like
The man reached into his coat.
And I realized Marcus Vale had not been the last person protecting the secrets of Vale Clinic.
