Emergency Contact - Sierra Aguirre-Stoker, Shane Barrett

Sierra is three hours into a seven-hour shift, watching the door of a building Pete has financial confirmation is functioning as a front for illegal garlic gas manufacture, when her phone rings.
It’s silenced, so she doesn’t have to worry about the ringtone giving away her stakeout location, but the screen lights up against the passenger seat where she’s set it, flipped upside down among discarded lime tortilla chip bags and Jolly Rancher wrappers.
It’s the local all-species hospital. Sierra’s needed to call them a few times, when they have injured fae or vampires on scene at a raid, or if she’s with Uncle John and Robin and it’s faster to get Robin there than Chimera.
She wonders if something happened to him. Uncle John may have lost his cell phone and be calling from one of the hospital lines.
She picks up, worry sending her heart into her throat.
“Hello, this is Sierra.”
An unfamiliar woman’s voice replies. “Sierra Aguirre-Stoker?”
“Yes.” Sierra is just confused now. And even more concerned. If John isn’t calling her himself…
“I’m calling because you’re listed as the emergency contact for a Shane Barrett.”
“Wait, what?”
“We’ve had to admit him with a case of silver exposure. Not un-life threatening, but serious enough so that we needed to contact you. We may need more information while he’s in treatment.”
Sierra can’t imagine why Shay would have listed her of all people as his emergency contact. Emma would make more sense. Anyone from the Luna would make more sense.
But this is not the time to question it.
“I’m on my way.” Sierra radios dispatch to send a unit to cover her stakeout location, waits until the lights of a green GTO appear around the corner, then takes off, tires screeching.
The hospital is pretty much like any other medical center she’s ever been in, but a poster on the walls explains what to do in case of exposure to, in various columns, Maca, Damiana, and MP, another chart shows the stages of vampiric infection, a pamphlet rack holds “Your child’s first Shift” and “Venom or Saliva: which is in your blood?”, and in a far corner a woman is holding a handkerchief, stained with bright gold blood, to her nose with her head between her knees.
She rushes up to reception, and the man at the desk recoils slightly, like he thinks Sierra might jump right over it. When she notices the clear plexiglass, scratched and slightly stained, between them, she figures it might not be such an irrational fear. Between starving vamps and feral shifters, this place probably sees some bizarre things.
“I’m here because someone called me as Shane Barrett’s emergency contact,” She says.
The man taps away at his computer screen. “I’ll need to see your ID.”
She pulls it out and hands it over. He checks it against the screen and nods. “Okay. Looks like we’re set for now. You can head on up. Room 338.”
The wall map says floor 3 is vampire trauma level, and the wing Shane is in appears to be the toxicity wing. Sierra takes the stairs, not wanting to climb into the elevator with the family whose teenage kid is spastically shifting back and forth between an energetic lemur and confused humanoid.
When she pushes open the door, there’s the sterile scent of any hospital, overlaid with the metallic tang of blood, both synthetic and real. It’s more disturbing than it should be, given she knows where she is.
She knocks on the door of 338, and a nurse opens it.
“I’m his emergency contact,” Sierra says.
“Oh good.” The woman nods her in. “We’re waiting on an interpreter right now.”
What the hell?
Sierra steps into the room and sees Shay in the single bed (apparently, single rooms are required when treating vampires), a white bandage around his neck and a vaguely glassy look in his eyes.
“Shay?” She asks.
He looks at her and smiles slightly. HI. GLAD YOU HERE. Clearly, he’s been learning some ASL for Kira like she and Pete did.
“What happened?”
FIGHT AT CLUB. HUMAN HAD SILVER KNIFE. He points to his throat.
“Someone cut your throat?” Sierra asks. “Did you report it?”
E-M-M-A CALLED C-H-I-M-E-R-A.
Sierra wonders why she hasn’t heard about it yet, then realizes she hasn’t checked her phone since the call came in. There’s a message from Lawson, and a few texts from Pete. Response protocol would be to send the closest unit, whether I’m technically the supervising hunter on his release or not. Only after the situation was contained would Chimera pass along the information outside a truly need to know basis.
That also explains why the hospital needs to keep him longer. A wound from a normal knife would heal with barely a cup of blood administered. Silver-inflicted damage like this might take a couple of days, depending on how severely Shay reacts to it.
“Are you okay? Do you need anything?”
FINE. DOCTOR SAY I GO HOME TOMORROW IF NO PROBLEM.
“That’s good.” Sierra leans against the wall. “When your throat is back to normal, though, you need to tell me why I’m your emergency contact. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I knew shit happened, but do you really think…”
YES. WANT THEM CALL YOU.
“Why?”
TRUST YOU. NOT LET PEOPLE DO THINGS I DON’T-WANT.
Suddenly, it does make sense. Shay’s previous experiences with the healthcare system can’t be stellar. No one knew what to do when he was bitten, and junkies aren’t exactly seen impartially by anyone, oaths or not. There’s got to be a hundred things he’s worried about, and he knows she’d sooner tear someone apart bare-handed than let something happen to him. Maybe that desk clerk was right to be concerned.
“Yeah. I’m in your corner. I promise. I’m sure someone from the agency will be here soon to take your statement. Do you want me to let them know to send an interpreter?”
CAN STILL WRITE.
“Oh. Right.” Sierra says.
BUT WOULD LIKE YOU HERE.
“Okay. I can do that.” She pulls out a chair and sits down. “I won’t leave until you ask me to.”