Chapter 3 - The Broken Line
The plastic connector did not just slip apart; the sudden force tore the catheter tape away from Catherine's arm, pulling the small needle violently against her skin before the tubing snapped in two.
A sharp, burning pain shot up Catherine's arm. She gasped—a short, broken sound of shock and physical agony—and clutched her forearm as dark red blood began to seep through the gray fabric of her cardigan.
The small electronic pump on her hip immediately began to emit a high-pitched, steady alarm: BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
"There," Karen declared, tossing the severed tubing onto Catherine's lap as if it were a piece of trash. "Now maybe the rest of us can have a peaceful flight."
The silence that followed lasted less than two seconds.
Across the aisle, the young boy stopped chewing his pretzels, his eyes wide as he stared at the blood spreading across Catherine's sleeve. In Row 16, a man gasped, "Oh my God, she just tore her IV out!"
"What is wrong with you?!" a woman in Row 13 screamed, standing up in her seat to look back at Karen.
Karen blinked, momentarily surprised by the collective outrage of the cabin, but she quickly pulled her defensiveness back up like a shield. "She was violating my personal space! It was an unauthorized medical line!"
In Row 12, the silver-haired man stood up.
He didn't yell. He didn't scramble. He moved with a quiet, deliberate swiftness that immediately drew authority into the aisle. He reached up, pressed the flight attendant call button three times in rapid succession, and then stepped straight past Row 13 toward Seat 14C.
"Don't move your arm," the man said to Catherine. His voice was deep, calm, and steady, carrying a tone that instantly cut through the mounting panic in the cabin.
Catherine was hyperventilating, her hand pressed tightly over the tear in her cardigan, tears streaming silently down her pale cheeks. "It's... it's bleeding," she choked out. "The line... the pump is open..."
The silver-haired man leaned down, gently unclasping Catherine's seatbelt. "I know. Stay still. I'm right here."
He turned his head toward the front of the cabin, where Leah Martin was rushing down the aisle with a second attendant following closely behind, alerted by the chime and the commotion.
"Get the medical emergency kit," the man ordered the second attendant, his tone leaving no room for questioning. "We have a torn intravenous access line, active subcutaneous bleeding, and open medication leakage. Bring sterile gauze, pressure dressing, and saline wipes immediately."
Leah reached the row, her eyes widening in horror as she saw the blood on Catherine's sleeve and the severed tubing dangling from the alarm-shrieking pump.
"What happened?!" Leah cried out.
"She yanked it!" the passenger in 15A shouted, pointing directly at Karen. "The crazy woman in 14B grabbed her medical line and ripped it out!"
Leah looked at Karen, shock and disgust unmasked on her face. "You pulled her IV line?!"
Karen's face turned red, her chest heaving. "She was contaminating the air! She touched me! I had every right to protect my space from an unsterilized—"
"Be quiet," the silver-haired man said softly.
He didn't raise his voice, but the sheer, absolute gravity of those two words made Karen freeze. He looked at Karen for the first time—a sharp, penetrating gaze from steel-blue eyes that seemed to strip away every layer of her self-importance.
"You have just committed a federal crime on an airborne vessel," the man said, his voice deadly quiet. "You will sit back down, keep your hands visible on your lap, and you will not utter another word until this aircraft touches the ground."
"Who do you think you are?" Karen sputtered, though her voice lacked its previous strength. "You can't talk to me like—"
"Sit down," he repeated, his gaze unbroken.
Karen swallowed hard, looking around the cabin. Every single eye was on her—full of disgust, rage, and judgment. Slowly, her face burning with humiliation, she sank back into Seat 14B, pulling her hands tightly onto her lap.
The silver-haired man turned his full attention back to Catherine. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a clean white handkerchief, and gently folded it over Catherine's wounded arm, applying firm, steady pressure.
"Inhale through your nose, ma'am," he said softly, his blue eyes meeting her terrified green ones. "Exhale through your mouth. Slowly. My name is Arthur. I'm right here with you."
"The... the medicine," Catherine stammered, her body shivering from shock. "It's... it's open..."
"We are going to stop the pump and seal the line," Arthur assured her, his hands steady as he carefully disconnected the battery pack from the screaming device, silencing the alarm. "You are safe now, Catherine. Nobody is going to touch you again."
May you like
Catherine blinked, tears blurring her vision as the pain began to throb in her forearm. "How... how do you know my name?"
Arthur offered a brief, warm smile that didn't reach his eyes—eyes that remained focused on her wound. "I've been reading your file for the last two hours."
