Page 3 of The Devil of Downtown

Sloane doesn’t hesitate. “We’re going to the hospital. Now.”

The taxi ride seems endless. Elsie curls into Sloane’s lap, feverish and nauseous, her breathing going shallow every time the car jolts over a bump. My thumb traces slow circles along her shin. I keep my face calm for her, but the fear sitting in my stomach refuses to budge.

The taxi jerks to a stop outside the ER.

The automatic doors slide open and Elsie flinches against Sloane, her fingers digging into her mother's coat as the ER noise erupts around us. She buries her face into Sloane’s neck, like the world is suddenly too loud, too big for her small body to handle.

“She’s burning hot,” Sloane says to the triage nurse, the words tumbling over each other. “She’s been vomiting. She’s shaking. I—I can’t get her temperature down.”

The nurse takes one look at Elsie’s flushed face and nods. “Okay. Let’s get her through. Room three.”

The exam room is small, too bright, the bed already being adjusted as we step inside. A doctor follows us in almost immediately.

“Hi,” she says, already moving closer. “I’m Dr. Murphy. What’s her name?”

“Elsie,” Sloane says, her voice tight. “She’s never been this sick. She was fine earlier. And then she just—”

“You did the right thing bringing her in,” Dr. Murphy says, not unkindly, but brisk. “How long has the fever been high?”

“A few hours. We tried paracetamol, but it barely touched it.”

Dr. Murphy makes a small note on the chart, then turns her attention to Elsie. “Hey, sweetheart. I’m going to listen to your breathing, okay? You’re doing really well.”

Elsie nods weakly, her fingers still fisted in Sloane’s shirt.

The doctor’s touch is gentle as she listens to Elsie’s chest, presses lightly at her stomach, checks her pulse. The nurse is already moving beside her, snapping gloves into place.

“This looks like a viral infection,” Dr. Murphy says, glancing back up at Sloane. “A nasty one. She’s dehydrated and her temperature’s high. Kids can tip fast at this age.”

Sloane’s face goes pale. “Is she—is she in danger?”

“We can treat it,” Dr. Murphy says firmly. “But I want to keep her in so we can bring her fluids up and monitor her closely. We’ll get the fever down and make sure she stabilizes.”

She softens slightly as she looks back at Elsie. “We’re going to give you some medicine through a tiny straw in your arm, okay? It’ll help your body feel better.”

Elsie nods, though her mouth trembles.

Beside me, Sloane’s posture stays calm on the surface, but her fingers slip to the chain at her throat, winding it twice around her finger before she stills her hand. She’s done that for as long as I can remember. It’s how I know she’s holding it together.

Dr. Murphy glances up at Sloane as the line is secured. “You can stay right there with her. Talk to her. You’re helping more than you think.”

She shifts her attention to the nurse. “Nurse Rivera will stay with you. You’re in very capable hands.”

Sloane doesn’t let go of Elsie’s hand once. Not when the nurse threads the IV. Not when Elsie whimpers and turns her face into her Sloane’s side. Sloane’s free hand hovers uselessly, smoothing Elsie’s hair, straightening a blanket that doesn’t need fixing.

Her phone buzzes on the bedside table, lighting up insistently. Sloane flicks her eyes toward it and back to Elsie, jaw tight, fingers threading harder around Elsie’s hand. The phone vibrates again, each buzz another reminder of the world she’s meant to be holding together outside this room.

She ignores it for as long as she can.

Finally, she breaks.

“Ivy...” Her voice fractures around my name. “She needs me here. But if I don’t show up at work tomorrow, if I miss London prep, they’ll replace me. Dane Black doesn’t tolerate weakness. I’ve taken far too many sick days already.”

Her eyes shine, and for the first time tonight, she looks scared.

“Surely, if you explain, he’ll understand.” Even as I say the words, I know it’s futile. If the rumors are true, that man doesn’t have a heart.

“He won’t,” she says, clutching my hand. “I lied to HR to get that job; they could fire me. And I can’t—” she swallows hard. “I can’t lose this job. We won’t make rent.”