The police burst into the room behind her, guns drawn, though there were no enemies to point them at. The paramedics weren’t far behind, but it didn't matter to Dakota anymore. The world had dimmed, the edges of everything were blurry, and the only thing that stood out in sharp relief was her father. She stroked his thinning white hair, and whispered to him. As a child she used to have terrible nightmares where she was being chased. In her dreams there would be a monster, but she could never see what it looked like. It was always lurking in the shadows. She would try to run, but it was like the air around her was thick as molasses, her legs and feet dragged and no matter how hard she tried, she could never get them to move any faster. She would go slower and slower, and the monster would get closer and closer. When she finally awoke, crying out for help, it was her father who found her. He would turn on the Little Mermaid lamp by her bed and hold her in his lap as she sobbing told him what happened. He would sooth her and rock her until, before she even knew it was happening, she was back asleep.

 

Now it was her turn to hold him, to comfort him and tell him everything would be all right. She felt like she was lying to him, as she brushed his hair off of his forehead. She was telling him it would be all right, but would it? Would he live? Would he get better? She had no way to know. All she could do was continue to make promises she didn’t know she could keep.

 

Flashing lights flew around her father’s room as the police shouted questions at her. She didn’t have any answers for them. She didn’t know what had happened or who had done it. They faded into the background and all she could see was her father’s rapidly greying face beneath her. Finally the paramedics gently pulled her off the bed and out of the way.

 

“What medications is your father on?” they asked.

 

“What?” she asked, confused.

 

“Does your father take any medication?” The medic asked as they transferred her father from the bed to the gurney. He looked so frail and light. The two men on the team picked him up and moved him easily.

 

“In the bathroom, by the sink,” Dakota mumbled, her eyes never leaving her father. “Something for high blood pressure and another thing for his hair. Can I ride with him?” she asked.

 

The ride to the hospital was a blur of medical jargon Dakota didn’t understand. But from their tone and the way the paramedics would glance at each other over his body, it was clear that the news wasn’t good. Now she was in a fancy waiting room, sitting at an oak table with three flat screens showing the six a.m. news. It was a private hospital; her grandmother had donated the children’s wing.

 

Dakota had no sense of place or time. Sometimes she would look at the clock after what felt like hours only to see that a minute had passed. She was dressed in a set of pale blue scrubs. When she had come in, her clothes had been covered in dark blood. For a while she had sat in them, numb to how uncomfortable they were. Finally a kind nurse had gently helped her change into a pair of scrubs and had held Dakota while she cried.

 

“Dakota, are you all right?” a deep voice asked as a nurse escorted an older looking gentleman into the room. It was six-eighteen in the morning and his best friend had just been shot, but still James Hastings looked impeccable. He was wearing a blue three-piece suit with a red and white striped tie and a matching pocket square, his shoes reflecting the light from the overhead lamps. Dakota started to cry again the second she saw him.

 

“Shh, there there, it’s all right. Everything is okay,” John said as he sat down next to Dakota and enveloped her hand with his. “Your father is made of strong stuff. He won’t let a few extra holes slow him down.”

 

Dakota scoffed at that, and tried to stop her tears and calm down. She had been crying almost non-stop for the last four hours and was always surprised when her body managed to produce even more tears. Every time she thought she couldn’t cry again, she would hear or see something and it would begin again. She was unable to control anything.

 

“Here,” John said, handing her a Starbucks cup. “Triple cafe, skim milk latte with sugar free vanilla, right? We can’t have you drinking the hospital swill.”

 

“It’s a pretty nice hospital,” Dakota managed to say.

 

“I suppose it’s all right,” John responded and he sat down across from her at the table. “Tell me what happened.”

 

“I don’t know. I woke up to gunfire. By the time I got to Dad, whoever it was, was gone.”

 

“You must have seen or heard something.”

 

“Just an engine and the sound of someone driving away fast, nothing else.”

 

“The cameras, did they catch anything.”

 

“The police are looking at them now. Hopefully they’ll know soon.”

 

“I don’t love having the local PD be in charge of this. There has to be a consultant or someone we can hire who can move faster, get more done. I have the number for someone. I’ll give it to you.”

 

“No,” Dakota said, shaking her head. “No, thank you. My father was a big benefactor with the local cops. We’ve had the commissioner over for dinner. I trust them on this.”

 

“Well, I may have my man look in on this. Two sets of eyes are always best. But in the meantime, how are you? What can I do for you?”

 

“I don’t know. I feel like I can’t do anything until I know how he is. I can’t even think past the next second, because what am I going to do if it’s the worst?”

 

The door behind her opened and Dakota turned to see a woman in a scrubs and a white lab coat walk in. Her nametag said Kelly Farraday and, beneath that, “Trauma physician.” This is it, Dakota thought. She felt out of breath, and then she was crying again, tears pouring from her eyes.

 

“Dakota?” the doctor asked gently, pulling out a chair and sitting next to the crying girl. “I’m Dr. Farraday, I treated your father today. I want you to know that he’s alive.”

 

Dakota let out a choked sob of relief, pulling the short doctor into a strong embrace.

 

“Thank you,” she cried. “Thank you.”

 

“He’s still in intensive care, and he hasn’t regained consciousness yet. The bullets did a lot of damage to his left lung and kidney, and he lost a lot blood, but he’s stable at the moment. We’re going to try to keep him stable and wait for him to improve before we do any major surgeries.”

 

“Why the wait?” James asked.

 

“Surgery is hard on a healthy body. It’s prudent to wait until we can be sure that his heart can take it before we do anything more complicated.”

 

“Maybe we should get a second opinion on that,” James said to Dakota.

 

“I’m sorry, sir. What is your name and how are you related to Mr. Kane?”

 

“I am James Hastings, John’s oldest friend, and this girl’s godfather,” James explained, his annoyance showing on his face.

 

“Well, James, Mr. Kane is well known around this hospital. The Chief Resident and the Chief of Surgery are personally looking after Mr. Kane. You’re free to seek a second opinion, but it’s the opinion of everyone who’s treated Mr. Kane that we should wait.”

 

“The doctors know what they’re doing, James. We should trust them.”

 

“Thank you,” Dr. Farraday said.

 

“Can I see him?” Dakota asked.

 

“Briefly, but he’s not conscious. You can see him for a few minutes, but then I think you should go home and get some rest. Your father won’t be waking up anytime soon. He’s heavily medicated to help him rest. Your father is well looked after, Ms. Kane. You should take care of yourself.”

 

“Yes, I completely agree. You need rest, Dakota. I’m calling for a car and sending you home and I don’t want to hear one single word of argument,” James said as he stood, taking a moment to adjust his suit before walking out of the waiting room.

 

“It’s good that you have someone who’s looking after you. You shouldn’t be alone in times like this,” Dr. Farraday said.

 

“Thank you,” Dakota said. “Can I give you my cellphone number so you can call me if anything goes wrong?”

 

“Of course, and I’ll walk you over to see your father.”