Secretly Watching Over Her

Chapter 10: In the Space Between Us

Ling's world narrowed to the searing pain radiating from the two gunshot wounds in her abdomen and chest. Each breath came out ragged and shallow, every inhalation like knives carving through her insides. The metallic tang of blood filled her mouth, and she knew, with a creeping dread, that she was losing too much of it. The adrenaline coursing through her veins fought a losing battle against the cold numbness that began to creep up her limbs.

The sounds around her were a blur—urgent voices, the screech of wheels on tile as she was rushed down the hospital corridor on a stretcher, the chaotic clang of medical instruments being prepared. Ling barely registered any of it. Her mind was slipping, her consciousness teetering on the edge as darkness encroached from all sides.

"Stay with us, Ling! Don't you dare give up!" A nurse's voice pierced through the fog, but Ling could barely comprehend the words. It felt like they were speaking to her from the other end of a long tunnel. She tried to hold on, to keep her eyes open, but the effort was Herculean, and she felt herself fading.

As the stretcher burst through the double doors of the operating theater, Ling caught a brief glimpse of the blinding overhead lights before they were eclipsed by the familiar face of Dr. Bow. Even through her haze of pain, Ling recognized the worry etched into Dr. Bow's features. She tried to say something, to offer reassurance, but all that escaped her lips was a faint, choked gasp.

"We're losing her," a nurse said urgently, glancing at the vitals monitor. The numbers were plummeting, and everyone in the room knew they were racing against the clock.

Dr. Bow, dressed in scrubs and a surgical mask, stood at the head of the table. She was more than just Ling's surgeon tonight—she was her friend, her confidante, the one person Ling had always trusted implicitly. The weight of that relationship bore down on Dr. Bow as she prepared to operate. The pressure to save Ling, not just as a patient but as someone she loved like family, was immense.

"Prep for emergency surgery," Dr. Bow ordered, her voice steady but laced with a tension that belied her calm exterior. "We need to get those bullets out, now."

The team moved in unison, skilled hands working swiftly to hook Ling up to IV lines, apply anesthetic, and prepare the tools for the delicate operation ahead. The first bullet was the most critical, lodged dangerously close to Ling's heart. Dr. Bow's hands, usually so steady, trembled slightly as she made the first incision. Every movement had to be precise—one wrong move could end Ling's life on the table.

Ling's vision darkened further, the world around her becoming a blur of shadows and light. The pain, once all-consuming, began to ebb away, replaced by a profound sense of exhaustion. She could hear the frantic beeping of the heart monitor, each beep more spaced out than the last. A cold sweat broke out across her skin as her body fought to stay alive.

"We've got the first bullet," Dr. Bow announced as she carefully extracted the projectile, holding her breath. The monitor's beeping quickened for a moment, but then—suddenly—it flatlined.

A shrill, continuous beep filled the room, the sound of life slipping away. Ling's heart had stopped.

"She's coding! Get the defibrillator!" a nurse shouted, and the room erupted into chaos. Dr. Bow's heart leaped into her throat as she grabbed the paddles. This wasn't happening—this couldn't be happening.

She applied the defibrillator pads to Ling's chest, her hands trembling. "Clear!" she shouted, sending a jolt of electricity through Ling's body. Ling's chest arched off the table, but the heart monitor remained flat.

"Again!" Dr. Bow's voice cracked with desperation. "Clear!" Another jolt, but still nothing. Ling's body remained lifeless, the monitor's piercing beep unyielding.