by Rada Jones
She does the things ER docs do. They usually involve blood, puss, and other body fluids better left unsaid. It’s not a glamorous profession - pretty nails and hair are rare. Sex in the closets only happens in the movies.
Like her ER folks, she thrives on the adrenaline rush, dark humor, strong bonds and gallons of coffee.
She lives in Upstate New York with her husband, Steve, and Paxil, his deaf black cat. She’s dreaming about moving to Thailand, but she hasn’t sold her snowshoes yet. Dreams take time to grow true, like books do.
Her medically related, often humorous essays are soon to be a book of ER humor: Smile Today. Tomorrow will be worse.
Find out more at RadaJonesMD.com.
Contact her at [email protected]. She loves hearing from you.
Afterword
Thank you for buying my book. Even more, thank you for reading it. I hope it was worth it.
If you love it, please leave a review. That may help MERCY become a best-seller. Or at least stop it from bombing.
Look up OVERDOSE, Book 1 in the ER CRIMES series, where Emma and her gang encounter other villains, fight more evil, and give us new thrills. Check out the following excerpt.
See you soon.
Overdose excerpt
Spider
“He’s not on.”
They’re lying. “He told me to come back tonight. He said he’ll be on after 3,” I say, smiling like I like them.
Fuck them. Fuck them all.
“He’s not,” says the fat one with the droopy mouth. She rechecks the papers.
“No, not tonight. You’ve got it wrong.”
I shrink under her gaze. I take out the package. I show it to her.
“I got this for him.”
The package is tired. I’ve been carrying it around. I got it squished under my arm so many times it’s shaped like my armpit. It’s still white-like, but the bow’s about to fall off.
It looks secondhand. It is. I found it in a garbage bin. It smells it too, like smoke and booze and sweat.
Never mind, the knife inside it is sharp. I checked. I sliced through a tree branch with a flick of the wrist. It’s an old hunting knife shaped like a fish, its scaly handle growing into a long, smooth, solid blade thick enough to cut through ribs.
I’m the hunter. I’m gonna get my kill.
Tonight or tomorrow, I’m gonna get him.
I make myself small. They like it when you’re small. Makes them feel big and strong.
I bend my good right knee a bit more and slump my shoulders.
“Got it wrong then. Sorry. When’s he on?”
She looks at me, her sharp eyes getting soft. I don’t matter; I’m nothing to worry about. I’m small and old and dirty. She’s sorry for me.
“I can’t tell you,” she says. “It’s against the rules.”
I rub my left eye, the one with the infection. It tears. “I just wanna thank him,” I say. “He helped my son; he’s a great doctor.” I look down and make myself smaller. “I have a gift for him.”
I show her the box again.
She breaks. She looks at the papers and says, “Tomorrow. Tomorrow at 9. He’ll be here.”
I rub my eye and thank her. I leave slowly, limping on the left like I always do.
I don’t rush until I’m out in the dark and I know she can’t see me. They can’t see me.
Tomorrow at nine.
My knife and I, we have a date.
