The doors open and I stride out and down the corridor to her office, open the door in a rush to find her passed out on the floor. She’s in her red sports dress and sneakers, completely out of it.
“Kathryn.” I gasp as I drop to my knees and give her a shake. “Kate, wake up, are you alright?”
Silence.
I shake her again and grab her face in my hands and try and pry her eyes open.
Nothing . . .
“Shit.” I grab my phone and dial 999.
“Hello emergency.”
“Hi,” I stammer. “I need an ambulance to the Miles Media building, level ten immediately.”
“What’s happened, sir?”
“I’ve just found one of my employees unconscious on the floor. She’s out cold.”
“Is she breathing?”
“Hang on, I’ll check.”
“Put me on speaker, sir, and I can guide you.”
I put my phone on speaker and on the floor beside us and I hold her face. “Kate. Can you hear me?”
“Is she breathing?”
I put my ear down to her mouth.
“Check her chest. Is it rising and falling?”
Fuck.
Is she dead?
The room spins as I begin to panic. “Send two ambulances,” I bark. “I’m about to have a fucking heart attack myself.”
“Check her chest, sir.”
I put my hands on her chest and feel it rise and fall. “She’s breathing.” I sigh in relief.
“Can you feel her pulse?”
I close my eyes. How the hell do I do that again? My mind has gone completely blank; this is why I’m not a fucking doctor, I’m useless in an emergency.
“Put your fingertips on her neck just under her jaw,” the operator reminds me.
“Oh, right.” I put my fingers on her neck and feel a strong pump. “She’s got a pulse.”
“Has she fallen? Check her head for an injury.”
“What’s with the questions? Can you just send a fucking ambulance?” I cry. “She’s about to die any second.”
“I need to know what’s happened, sir, I can’t help you without all of the facts.”
I look around, and check for blood, but everything seems normal. Her work clothes are in a bag and then I notice something on her desk, a white box of prescription pills.
“There are pills,” I stammer as I dive for them. “Prescription.”
“What’s the name of them?”
I fumble with the box to try and read it out fast and drop it, and I scramble to the floor and under the desk to retrieve them. “Fuck it.”
“Calm down, sir.”
“Send a fucking ambulance,” I yell. “What is your name? I want your fucking name and rank.”
This bitch is going down.
Kathryn groans.
“Kate,” I whisper, and take her hand in mine. “Wake up.”
She frowns as she tries to come to.
“Are you there, sir? What is the name of the medication?”
“Um . . . Hydrocodone slash acetaminophen,” I reply.