No Police
The waiting room smelled like disinfectant and stale coffee.
Bella paced.
Back and forth across the scuffed linoleum, her injured foot throbbing with every step. She didn't care.
Hela sat in one of the plastic chairs near the window, her elbows on her knees, her head in her hands. She hadn't moved in twenty minutes.
Mara was somewhere down the hall—getting coffee, maybe, or just walking to keep from screaming.
The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly. The clock on the wall ticked forward, each second stretching into eternity.
Bella stopped pacing and looked at the double doors marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Jack was somewhere behind those doors.
So was Markus.
Both of them fighting for their lives.
"He's going to be okay," Bella said quietly.
Hela didn't look up. "You don't know that."
"He has to be."
"That's not how it works." Hela's voice was flat. Empty. "People don't survive just because we need them to."
Bella's hands clenched into fists. "He's going to be okay."
Hela finally looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale.
"And if he's not?" she asked. "What then?"
Bella didn't have an answer.
The double doors swung open.
A doctor appeared—young, maybe thirty-five, with dark circles under his eyes and blood on his scrubs.
"Family of Jack Morrison?" he called.
Bella's heart stopped.
She crossed the room in three strides. "That's me. I'm—I'm with him."
The doctor looked at her, his expression unreadable. "He's stable. We've moved him into surgery."
"Surgery?"
"Yes. He has extensive injuries that require immediate attention. We're doing everything we can."
Bella's throat was tight. "Is he going to make it?"
The doctor hesitated. "I can't make any promises. But he's alive. That's something."
Hela stood, crossing to stand beside Bella. "What about Markus?"
"Out of surgery," the doctor said. "His recovery has been smooth. Visitors will be allowed soon."
Hela nodded once, her jaw tight.
The doctor looked between them. "You should sit. It could be hours."
"I'm not sitting," Bella said.
The doctor sighed. "Suit yourself."
He turned and walked back through the double doors.
Bella stood there, staring at the space where he'd been.
Hours.
She started pacing again.
***
It was three hours before the doctor returned.
Bella was still pacing. Hela was still sitting. Mara had come back with coffee that had long since gone cold.
The double doors opened.
A different doctor this time—older, maybe fifty, with gray hair and a calm, measured expression.
"Jack Morrison?" he called.
Bella was at his side in an instant. "Yes. That's me. How is he?"
The doctor gestured toward a quieter corner of the waiting room. Bella followed, her heart pounding.
"He's out of surgery," the doctor said. "He's stable."
Bella's knees nearly buckled. "He's okay?"
"He's alive," the doctor said carefully. "But I need to be honest with you about the extent of his injuries."
Bella nodded, her hands trembling.
The doctor pulled out a tablet, scrolling through notes. "Jack sustained severe trauma. His fingernails were ripped off—all ten of them. He has second and third-degree burns covering his chest and upper torso. Approximately sixty-five percent of his body is covered in scar tissue, both old and new."
Bella's stomach turned.
"He has multiple broken bones," the doctor continued. "Ribs, fingers, his jaw, his nose. Internal bleeding in his abdomen, which we've managed to stop. Extensive bruising across his torso and legs. His left eye is severely swollen—there's a possibility he may lose vision in it permanently."
Bella's breath caught. "Permanently?"
"We won't know for certain until the swelling goes down. But the damage to the orbital bone and surrounding tissue is significant."
Bella felt tears prick her eyes. "What else?"
"It's a miracle he kept all his teeth," the doctor said. "And frankly, it's a miracle he's alive at all. The level of trauma he sustained—most people wouldn't have survived it."
Bella's hands were shaking. "But he's going to live?"
"As long as we monitor him closely over the next few days—possibly weeks—yes. He should live. The physical injuries will heal. But—" The doctor paused. "This looks like gang-related activity. I'm mandated by law to report it to the police."
Bella's chest tightened. "I don't care about the police. I just want to see him."
The doctor studied her for a moment. "Visitors will be allowed as soon as his condition stabilizes. That should be within the next hour or two."
"Thank you," Bella whispered.
The doctor nodded and walked away.
Bella stood there, her hands still trembling, tears streaming down her face.
He's alive.
He's alive.
She sank into one of the plastic chairs and buried her face in her hands.
***
Two hours later, a nurse appeared.
"You can see him now."
Bella didn't wait. She followed the nurse through the double doors, down a long hallway that smelled like antiseptic and bleach.
They stopped in front of a room near the end of the hall.
"He's in here," the nurse said.
Bella nodded, her throat tight.
The nurse opened the door.
Bella stepped inside.
And froze.
Jack was lying in the hospital bed, his body hooked to everything imaginable.
An IV drip in his left arm. A heart monitor beeping softly beside the bed. An oxygen tube running under his nose. Bandages wrapped around his hands, his chest, his legs.
His face was a mess.
His left eye was swollen completely shut, the skin around it purple and black. His right eye was barely open—just a thin slit of white visible beneath the swelling.
His jaw was wired shut. His nose was bandaged. Cuts and bruises covered every inch of exposed skin.
He looked like he'd been through hell.
A nurse stood beside the bed, checking his vitals. She glanced up as Bella entered.
"You're his—?"
"Girlfriend," Bella said quietly. "I'm his girlfriend."
The nurse nodded. "He's stable. But he needs rest. Don't stay too long."
"I won't."
The nurse finished her checks and left the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
Bella crossed to the bed slowly, her hands trembling.
She sat in the chair beside him, her eyes tracing every injury, every bandage, every bruise.
This is my fault.
She reached out, her fingers brushing against his hand. His skin was cold.
"Jack," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."
Her voice cracked.
"I shouldn't have left you." The tears came now, hot and fast. "I should have fought harder. I should have done something—anything. I should have—"
"It's okay."
Bella's breath caught.
Jack's voice was rough, barely more than a whisper. But it was there.
She looked up, her eyes wide.
"Jack?" she gasped.
His right eye opened slightly, just enough to see her.
"You did the right thing," he said quietly.
Bella's chest tightened. "No. No, I didn't. I left you. I—"
Jack tried to speak again, but a cough tore through him. His body convulsed, his face twisting in pain.
The nurse appeared in the doorway. "Don't speak too much," she said sharply. "You'll tear your stitches."
Jack nodded weakly.
Bella wiped her eyes, her hands shaking. "Kain's dead," she said quietly. "He's gone. He can't hurt you anymore."
Jack's expression shifted.
Not relief. Not satisfaction.
Disappointment.
Bella frowned. "Jack?"
But his eye was already closing, his breathing evening out.
She wanted to tell him about Hela. About Markus. About everything that had happened.
But she couldn't.
Not now.
Not when he looked like this.
She stayed by his bedside, her hand resting on his, and let the exhaustion finally take her.
***
Bella woke to a hand on her shoulder.
She jerked upright, her heart pounding.
A man stood beside her—mid-forties, with a tired face and a cheap suit. A badge hung from his belt.
"Sorry to wake you," he said. His voice was calm, measured. "I'm Detective Bane. I need to ask your friend a few questions."
Bella's chest tightened. "He just got out of surgery. He needs rest."
"I understand. But this is important."
Bane moved to the other side of the bed, leaning over Jack.
"Mr. Morrison?" he said, his voice louder now. "Can you hear me?"
Jack's eye opened slowly.
"I'm Detective Bane," the man said. "I need you to tell me what happened to you."
Jack stared at him for a long moment.
Then he spoke, his voice flat and calm.
"I slipped."
Bella's mouth opened. "Jack—"
Jack's eye flicked to her—sharp, warning.
She shut her mouth.
Bane frowned. "You slipped."
"Yes."
"Mr. Morrison, I've been doing this a long time. I know what gang violence looks like. And this—" He gestured to Jack's injuries. "This is gang violence."
Jack didn't respond.
"You don't need to be afraid of retaliation," Bane continued. "The police will protect you. We can keep you safe. But I need you to tell me what happened."
Jack's expression didn't change.
"I slipped," he said again.
The calmness in his voice was unnerving. Wrong.
This was a man who'd been tortured. Who'd had his fingernails ripped off, his body burned, his bones broken.
And he was sitting here, speaking with the same calm detachment as someone ordering coffee.
Bane stared at him for a long moment.
Then he sighed.
"Alright," he said. He pulled a business card from his pocket and set it on the bedside table. "If you change your mind—if you decide you want to talk—call me. Anytime."
Jack didn't respond.
Bane looked at Bella. "You should convince him to cooperate. This isn't something he can just walk away from."
Bella didn't say anything.
Bane shook his head and walked out of the room.
The door clicked shut.
Bella turned to Jack, her voice low. "Why did you lie?"
Jack's eye was already closing.
"No police," he said quietly.
And then he was asleep.
Bella sat there in the silence, staring at his ruined face.
No police.
The weight of those words settled over her like a shroud.