I had seen bomb victims in worse shape physically.
None of them had broken me like that sight did.
Me mudé a la cama y toqué el único parche claro de piel que pude encontrar cerca de su hombro.
“Tessa,” I whispered. “I’m here now.”
The machine answered for her.
El médico entró un momento después, un hombre mayor, ojos cansados, postura de alguien que había dado demasiadas malas noticias en una vida. Miró hacia el pasillo antes de hablar.
—Treinta y una fracturas —dijo suavemente—. “Traumatismo de fuerza contundente. Golpes repetidos”.
The room narrowed around those words.
“Will she live?”
He paused long enough for honesty to show through professionalism.
“She’s alive now.”
Then he left.
I stood there counting breaths from a machine because if I started counting fractures, I might have torn the building apart.
Detective Miller came in a minute later. Mid-forties. Cheap suit. Sweat gathering near the collar despite the cold room. He held a notepad but didn’t look eager to use it.
