An deeply tanned Indian arm drew across her forehead, wiping away the sweat that had beaded there. She had to catch her breath after the last call of her shift. Dark eyes studied the ambulance's interior, all silver with red seats and plexiglass cabinet sliders. The crimson stain of blood was swirled over the floor intermingled with IV caps, Jelco needle wrappers, nitrile gloves, and enough little 2 x 2 squares of gauze to make a bloody mosaic out of. Outside of the ambulance was the sound of a young man heaving, tossing his lunch into the parking lot behind the squad building. Nasreen shook her head.
She stood with renewed vigor after a short break and grabbed the water hose which had been pulled into the ambulance so that she could begin pressure-washing out the bottom of the ambulance before she disinfected it and did a final wipe down with Cavi-Wipes. As the blood and water mixture spilled over the back folding step, the young man- now paled and ghastly- walked into view. He rubbed his head and studied the Indian medic with blue eyes outlined by faintly bloodshot sclera. He wiped his mouth and shook his head.
"How do you deal with it?" He said, catching the water hose when she tossed it out of the back to him. Nasreen grabbed a mop and began to push the excess water either out of the back or out of the side door and down the steps.
"Time kid." She said, no accent despite her pitch raven hair and skin tone. "After a while, you'll become tolerant to a whole lotta' shit. Eventually, it just doesn't bother you anymore. Y'know. I still think to myself sometimes... How can vets work on animals? That'd tear my nerves up. Then again, I can shove the equivalent of a metal sickle down someone's throat or cut a hole in their upper airway while going down the highway, sixty miles per hour, like it's as easy as handling secretarial invoices." She shrugged her shoulders and the young man laughed. Lots of young men tended to show up, looking for excitement and thrills. Some couldn't take it.
She knelt down in her BDUs and would begin wiping the metal plated floor down in Cavi-Wipes.
"So why are you leaving?" The boy said, coming closer to the back of the ambulance opening, careful not to touch the doors before she disinfected them.
"Not leaving kid. Transferring somewhere." She glanced up at him as she propped herself up, one knee on the ground and her other up so that she could sling a tired arm over it. She flashed him a charismatic grin- the grin she'd given plenty of kids she'd trained and precepted for this line of work. "I gotta' better job waiting for me somewhere. Gonna' do more good than I do now. But I'll still be doing this." She gestured to the ambulance before she began to wipe the floors and seats down again. When she stood, she progressed to the handles and walls.
"Cleaning nasty messes?" The boy joked, the color coming back to his face.
"Haha, smartass." She shook her head. "More like patching up boo-boos and doing my little bit for the people." She flashed him a wink and he would finally get his nerve back to get into the ambulance and help her clean.
It was a somewhat sorrowful departure. She'd told them she'd come by every so often to help, volunteering and training the young ones. They were all a family, but Nasreen never could connect as deeply as she wanted to. There was a distance and difference between her and them. These were good people, and the cops she dealt with all were very kind. She was too, but she felt a stronger desire to do something than they did. It wasn't just a job. A sense of vigilance burned in her veins like an addiction she wanted to sate and release.
All of her major things were in the back of her charcoal 2014 GMC Terrain. Thank God she'd gotten this car not too long ago, because she had enough stuff to fill it up. There was her turnout gear, her rescue jump bags, her gear, her bag of nothing but files, paperwork, connections, a whole directory that she'd made to outline the functions of law enforcement reactions, and dispatch routes several cities wide. Then there was her clothes and things in the back- perhaps the smallest percentage of her things packed.
Nasreen pulled up and put her car in park. There was the red line. She tied up her thick wild black mane into a low ponytail and would step out of her vehicle, grabbing three bags to start. The rest she could unpack later. The woman stood 5'6, with an athletic form. Her arms portrayed a sense of strength, flexing under the weight of several bags but not showing strain. She had equally strong looking legs, if not more-so than her upper body. She'd fought men twice her size, and having to plow through a burning house carrying a fellow firefighter in all of her turnout gear with air-tank included had toughened her up quite a bit. Her lackluster femininity was displayed by how she chose to dress and also her choice to avoid make-up altogether. Instead she approached looking quite tomboyish in a white T-shirt and a pair of urban camo cargo pants with about ten pockets- as the over-abundance of pockets felt like a necessity to her after eight years in her career field.
At the door with the mark of Hermes, she gave a knock and checked her weary old digital watch. She was late- she figured she would be when her station surprised her with a going away surprise party before she'd left. She shook her head- they knew she'd be back, they just wouldn't see her as often as usual. As she awaited an answer, she'd latch her callous fingers around the well woven straps of her bags and fixate her stance to one of idle waiting, glancing around at the surroundings. She sized up her scene well and packed it away to memory. She even took a moment to revisit how she and Booker had met, which was an ironic encounter where she'd used her charisma to get into the home of a well off doctor who had told one of Nasreen's patients that they had no worth in their life. So she took several quite invaluable things of the doctor's, as if she was stealing the worth of his life. Material possessions occupied narcissists' need to be above and beyond in impressions after all. At least, to them it did.
They'd run into one another and she didn't question it. He'd only caught the tiniest glimpse of Dr. Hammond's prized faberge egg from a foreign client that was tucked neatly into her pocket. From there, he'd found her easily enough. After all, if anyone pointed at her, they would smile and nod. Nasreen, one of the most wholesome individuals in the whole city, as good as they come- and one of the finest paramedics some might be chanced to meet.
She smirked and shook her head.
Guess this is my way of walking the road with you Jason, even though you're gone. We'll see how it goes, yeah buddy? She thought to herself, glancing to the sky as if to symbolize the brief talk with a deceased friend before she dropped her eyes unto the door.
