"Oh, and that five-thousand-dollar reward you mentioned for reporting a thief. That's still on the table, right?"
The two guards hauled me off the floor.
My right arm hung limp at my side, the broken edge of bone pressing against the skin from the inside.
The pain was so bad my whole body shook.
But I still twisted around to face her.
"Mom, just make one phone call. One call and you'll know if I'm lying."
She ignored me, but she pulled out her phone anyway and dialed.
"I told your uncle to come pick me up. Once he gets here, let's see you keep up this little act."
She held the phone to her ear and waited.
After a moment, her expression shifted.
"Why isn't he picking up?"
She tried again. Still no answer.
Her brow furrowed. "Where the hell did he run off to..."
I stared at her face.
"Mom. Call Riverdale General. Ask the emergency department if they have a patient named Hal Fox."
She shot me a glare. "You're out of your mind!"
But she dialed the hospital anyway.
"Hello? Riverdale General? I'm calling to ask whether you have a patient in the ER by the name of Hal Fox..."
Her voice changed.
"You do? What happened to him?"
Something was said on the other end. Then her phone slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor.
The life drained out of her. Slowly, she turned to look at me.
Her knees buckled and she crumpled to the floor.
She crawled toward me and grabbed the hem of my pants.
"Dora, the hospital said your brother's trachea is severed. He needs surgery!"
"You're a doctor! Save him!"
I looked down at her and said quietly:
"Mom, a tracheal anastomosis requires incredibly precise work."
"In all of Riverdale, I'm the only one who can do it."
"But my arm is broken now. I won't be able to hold a scalpel again for months."
The color bled from my mother's face, shade by shade.
