Chapter 4 - Thirty Thousand Feet Emergency
Leah returned within thirty seconds, holding the plane's heavy blue Emergency Medical Kit. She knelt in the aisle beside Arthur, snapping open the plastic latches with shaking fingers.
"Are you a doctor, sir?" Leah asked, pulling out sterile gloves and handing them to him.
"I am trained in trauma stabilization," Arthur replied succinctly, slipping the gloves over his hands with practiced efficiency. "I need alcohol prep pads, two two-by-two sterile gauze pads, medical tape, and an ocean of saline wipes."
As Arthur carefully peeled back the bloody sleeve of Catherine's cardigan, the full extent of the injury became clear. The catheter insertion site on her forearm was torn and bruised, blood pooling around the shattered plastic hub of the needle.
Catherine winced, leaning her head back against the seat, her teeth gritting against the sharp, localized pain.
"I know it hurts," Arthur said softly, his fingers working with incredible precision. He cleaned the blood away, applied sterile pressure over the torn vein, and held it firm. "The vein is bruised, but it hasn't collapsed. We need to elevate her arm."
Leah grabbed two airplane pillows and stacked them on Catherine's lap, gently resting her injured arm on top.
"Is she going to be okay?" Leah whispered, her eyes darting nervously toward Karen, who was sitting rigid in 14B, staring straight ahead and trying to pretend she was invisible.
"She will be fine once we control the bleeding and prevent infection," Arthur said. "But her chemotherapy maintenance regimen has been compromised. We need to notify the flight deck."
Arthur turned his head to look up at Leah. "Tell the captain that passenger Catherine Reyes has suffered an acute traumatic disruption of an active intravenous central line due to physical assault. Request an immediate medical priority landing at the nearest suitable airport."
Leah nodded vigorously. "I'm going to the cockpit right now."
"Wait," Catherine gasped, her voice weak as she reached out with her uninjured hand, touching Leah's sleeve. "No... please. Don't divert the plane."
Arthur looked down at her, surprised. "Catherine, your line is compromised. You need medical evaluation."
"My daughter..." Catherine whispered, tears running into the fabric of her scarf. "Maya is waiting for me in Los Angeles. She... she thinks I'm coming home on this flight. If you divert... if I end up in a hospital in Omaha or Denver... she'll be alone. Please. We're already halfway there. Just... just wrap it up."
Arthur stared at her for a long moment. He saw the fierce, maternal determination in her pale face—the same strength that had carried her through seven months of agonizing cancer treatments.
"It will take us two hours to reach LAX," Arthur said gently. "Can you endure two hours of pain?"
"I've endured seven months of poison," Catherine said, her voice dropping into a quiet, unbreakable whisper. "I can handle two hours."
Arthur looked at Leah. "Cancel the emergency diversion, but tell the captain to request priority air traffic control clearance and an ambulance waiting at the gate at LAX. We maintain pressure on the arm until we land."
"Understood," Leah said, standing up and hurrying toward the front of the aircraft.
Arthur took a roll of white medical tape and expertly secured the gauze over Catherine's arm, creating a clean, tight pressure bandage. He then pulled a small blanket from the overhead compartment and gently draped it over her shoulders.
"Thank you," Catherine whispered, her breathing finally beginning to slow down. "Thank you, Arthur."
"You don't need to thank me," Arthur said. He picked up the severed, blood-stained tubing from the floor, wrapped it carefully in a biohazard bag from the medical kit, and sealed it. He handed the bag to the second flight attendant. "Keep this secure. It is physical evidence of a felony assault."
Karen flinched at the word felony, her knuckles turning white where her hands were tightly clasped in her lap.
"You can't hold that against me!" Karen burst out, her voice thin and panicked. "It was an accident! She was crowding me, and I tried to push the line away! I didn't mean to hurt her!"
Arthur turned to look at Karen. He reached into his dark gray jacket, pulled out a small black pen, and clicked it once.
"Mrs. Karen Whitmore," Arthur said, reading her full name without looking at a document. "Born March 14, 1972. Resident of Naperville, Illinois. Traveling on ticket number 892-004-119."
Karen's mouth dropped open. "How... how do you know my name?"
Arthur didn't answer her question. Instead, he reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a small silver badge mounted on black leather, holding it up just long enough for Karen to read the dark, engraved lettering.
Department of Transportation – Office of the Inspector General / Federal Aviation Administration Special Investigations.
Karen's face went completely drain of color.
"I have been sitting two rows ahead of you for the last two hours, Mrs. Whitmore," Arthur said, his voice ringing with absolute, terrifying authority. "I recorded your verbal harassment of Ms. Reyes during boarding. I noted your refusal to comply with flight crew instructions. And I witnessed you deliberately reach across her seat and assault her."
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"I... I didn't know—" Karen stammered, her voice shaking violently.
"You didn't know who was watching," Arthur interrupted, his voice dropping into cold, lethal precision. "Because you were too consumed by your own ugly arrogance to realize that the world does not belong to you. You are under federal arrest."
