by Renée Jaggér
He had no idea what he had cut short. I refrained from saying that out loud. “What’s been going on?”
Simon beckoned for me to have a seat. I slipped into the chair opposite where he sat behind his desk. “Coffee?” he asked.
I did not suppress my surprise. No one ever offered me coffee, especially at work. “Yes, please.” I had been in such a rush this morning that I had skipped that part of my routine. “Ritual” was a better way of describing what my coffee-making entailed.
Simon smiled. “I didn’t forget you like coffee, Ang. You’re one of the only English people I know who does, and hardly anything beats coffee grown in the Caribbean.”
“It really doesn’t. What’s going on?” I replied as he handed me a freshly brewed cup. When I felt its warmth on my palms, I realized he prepared it before I walked in here. If he was trying to butter me up for something, giving me coffee wasn’t going to work.
Simon sat down across from me and answered my question. “It’s been strange.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and leaned forward. “It certainly hasn’t slowed down, and we’re admitting dozens more than we’re releasing every day. Fortunately, no one is getting to the point where they’re so sick they might die, but they’re sick enough that they’d rather be here than infecting anyone at home.”
I nodded with a grim expression and folded my arms. “I figured as much.”
He continued, “We’ve had to take some of our emergency team and put them in the wards to treat those patients, which means calls aren’t answered as quickly, and—” He swallowed hard as if he needed courage to speak his next words. “Let’s just say we’ve lost some people who could have been helped if we had more staff.”
I started. “I should have stayed. There was no great reason for me to go.” Frustration welled within me.
Simon waved his hand. “Ang, it’s okay.” He gave me a tired smile—a very tired smile. I noticed the dark lines under his eyes and that he had slumped in his seat. “I told you to go. Did you have a nice time?”
I tried to fight off my increasing frustration. If I had been here, I could have helped. Instead, I had listened to stories telling me I was a goddess and that I had to save the world. I couldn’t save anyone from a cottage on a hill. I should have been here.
Fighting the guilt stirring within me was doing jack shit. I’d been spending too much time thinking about my dreams and not enough about real problems. I swallowed hard and answered Simon. “I’m glad to be back. You told me I can't be of any use if I don’t take care of myself.” Although I agreed with his words, I couldn’t help saying them in a stiff tone.
Simon caught it, and worry flickered across his expression. He cleared his throat. “Whenever you’re ready to get back to work, please do. You’ll stay with the vehicles and do your normal duties, but between calls, if you could help in the pandemic wards, that would be wonderful.”
“I’ll work as long as I can,” I told him, rising. “Thanks for the coffee, Simon.”
My boss smiled. “Whatever I can do.”
“Mr. Bart Franklin is the crankiest patient we’ve ever had,” one of the nurses said to me after I entered the ward. “He doesn’t have the disease anymore, but he insists on staying. Says he can’t smell, and he has a cough. He thinks he’s good at fake-coughing.”
“Great,” I mused. One stubborn old man was taking up a bed someone who was sick could use. “Does he have any underlying health issues?”
The nurse shook her head. “No, he’s quite healthy for his age.”
“Why have we let him stay?” Sometimes, I felt I needed control in other departments. Too bad I had gone to school long enough to be an EMT.
“He’s been told he has to leave tomorrow,” the nurse responded. “Anyway, he’ll demand medicine, but he doesn’t need it anymore. Just make sure he gets a hot meal.”
I nodded. “Ah, the hot meal that shuts him up so everyone else can sleep?”
The nurse didn’t seem amused. “Good luck.” She left me in the ward, promising to return after she ate. I adjusted my mask since it had begun to slip and entered the room, where rows of beds were separated by curtains. I could hear coughs and the occasional whimper.
Bart Franklin was the final bed on the right. I had been informed that they had put him as far away from everyone else as possible. One, because he no longer had the virus, and two, because he was the noisiest snorer we had ever admitted.
“Ever” seemed like a strong word to me. Surely the nurses in their hospital hadn’t kept track of every snoring patient since they had been working here. The nurse’s words came from pure exhaustion. Perhaps Bart Franklin wasn’t so bad.
I was wrong. He was bad. Very, very bad and not in a cute-puppy kind of way.
As I approached his bed, I heard a yelp. Before I could walk any farther, the curtain opened, and a frazzled-looking nurse stumbled back. I ducked as something metal and gleaming came spinning from behind the curtain straight toward me. The object passed over my head and clanged on the floor.
A spoon? I thought as I glanced at it. Really?
“I’M NOT LEAVING NO MATTER WHAT YOU SAY!” a male voice shouted. “MY WIFE CAN’T GET SICK.”
The nurse gave me a look that said, “I’m getting the hell out of here,” then picked up the spoon, pressed it into my hand, and sprinted away. She didn’t leave the ward, but she found someone else to attend to.
I sighed. I’m already done with you, I thought at the old man. You think you’re the most important person here? How many other people could use your bed right now? I shoved my thoughts aside and pushed his curtains back.
“You dropped something.” I spoke in a cool tone and held up his spoon.
The man looked flabbergasted. His cheeks grew red, and he bellowed, “She told me it was my last meal here. What are you planning to do, STARVE ME?”
That wouldn’t be a bad idea, I thought before remembering that given my profession, I shouldn’t be thinking that way. Someone else is starving out there, mister, I wanted to say. I closed my eyes, then pulled in a deep breath and smiled. When I opened my eyes, I laid the spoon on his tray and said in a controlled tone, “Is there anything I can get you that will make your meal better?”
The man’s eyes glazed. “Well, I-I d-don't think so, ma’am. This looks quite good here. Yes, quite good. Uh, thank you very much.” His voice was much calmer and softer.
My brows rose. That was a quick change. Then, remembering the people I had encountered in Swartshire, I was able to name it. It was the Way of Kings, but why hadn’t Simon been affected by it? As if Gran was with me, the answer came. People I did not know would become infatuated, like this stuttering old man who was now obediently eating his hospital food. People I did know who had been around me some time were less likely to have such a strong reaction.
Regardless, Meg had been cheerful despite her immense fatigue, and Simon had given me more smiles than I had seen him give any one person in a short amount of time ever. Oh, no, I thought, my heart sinking to my toes. I don’t want them to see me any differently. I wanted them to just see...me. Angelica Morgan. EMT-turned-goddess, apparently. If I wasn’t careful, I might have an identity crisis on my hands.
I returned my attention to the old man. “I’m going to check on some others. I’ll be back for your tray when you’re finished.” The man nodded eagerly and started to say something with his mouth full, but I turned and closed the curtain behind me.
Why was I wasting my time with someone who didn’t even need me?
I asked the nurse who else needed attending, and in a matter of minutes, I was at a ten-year-old boy’s bedside as he laughed with her.
Time passed almost too quickly, and when the nurse came over to me and said, “I’m heading out, see you tomorrow,” I realized it was nine p.m. I told the boy it was time to sleep, checked on a few other patients, and left the ward.
That passed quicker than I thought, I told myself. No doubt, after months and months of it,
it passed slower.
The hospital was still bustling when I exited the ward, but since many of the patients were going to sleep, fewer workers were in evidence. I passed Simon’s office, and seeing he was still there, knocked and slipped inside.
He looked even more tired than he had this morning, but that didn’t stop him from managing a pleasant smile. “How was your day, Ang? I hope it wasn’t too hard.”
“It was just fine.”
Simon’s smile turned weak and tired. It did not reach his eyes, but he said in an amused tone, “A nurse made a snide comment about the fact that everyone in the ward likes you, even some cranky man named Mr. Franklin.”
I laughed nervously. Simon didn’t know the real reason for it. I wasn’t bad with people, but this new goddess power was certainly helping. Aloud, I said, “He’s a character. I came to ask you a question.”
“Shoot.” Simon motioned at the chair I had occupied that morning.
I sat down. “What happened to Mr. Brookson? I didn’t know he was retiring so soon, but I suppose—” My voice trailed off when Simon began shaking his head.
“He’s sick, but he’s staying home. He appointed me the interim emergency director, and although I was grateful to be asked, I must say it's put me in the most exhausted state I’ve ever been in.”
I smiled at him. “You are doing a great job, at least as far as I can see.” I rose. “That’s all I wanted to know. Let me know if I can do anything.”
“Your break seemed to do you good,” he commented.
I turned from the doorway. “Yes, it did.” It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to tell him I went out to the country and became a goddess. Simon appreciated a good laugh. We’d had plenty in Haiti but now didn’t seem to be the best time. Not while I was busy trying to figure out how being the Morrigan would fit into my current life.
Simon stared at me for a long moment, as though his fatigue had momentarily taken him to another planet. “Our hospital being short-staffed isn’t just because of the pandemic.” His voice was quiet. His eyes slid up to meet mine.
My heart sank and I stepped toward him, my curiosity renewed. “What do you mean?”
“The paramedics and EMTs have been experiencing an increased number of violent altercations. They receive calls from victims of abuse, arrive, and either get attacked by the victim while trying to get them here or by their abusers. The police get involved, but it’s becoming worse.” Simon dragged a hand down his face and stared at the stack of papers in front of him. “I wanted to warn you before you take calls tomorrow. I wanted you to have your first day back without having to deal with all that.”
I swallowed hard, remembering the little girl I had brought in just before Simon had sent me on leave. “Thank you,” I managed to say in a choked voice.
“No, thank you.” Simon stood. “You’re a hero, you know that?”
I laughed. Was that another word for goddess? “We all are.”
Simon nodded. “Well, I have to be going. I need to try to get some sleep. As the interim emergency director, I have to meet with Samuel Alphine tomorrow. He’s gathering funding for the hospitals from local businesses.”
My brows rose. I wasn’t sure how allowing a CEO to fund our hospital was going to help anything. Simon seemed to read my thoughts. “It’s not about the money. It’s about efficiency. We’ve been working with him and have found he’ll spend money but will not approve certain budgetary items that could help us become healthier faster. I need to meet with him and try to change his mind on some matters. Anyway, you don’t need to hear about this.” Simon waved a hand and sighed.
“No, that’s all right,” I replied. It was clear my friend needed to talk. “He sounds like quite the piece of work.” I remembered Bart Franklin and wondered if Mr. Alpine would react to my power the same way. Put us in the same room, I thought. However, deciding I already had enough on my plate, I kept silent.
“Yes,” Simon agreed. He gave me a weak smile, and as he passed me, he placed his warm hand on my shoulder. “I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow after my meeting.”
I said goodbye but knew I wouldn’t be seeing my temporary boss tomorrow. I was determined to be on call as much as possible.
I managed four hours of sleep before going in the next day. After attending to patients in the ward until their usual nurse arrived, I was finally put on call. Before I even got one, adrenaline pumped through me. My focus was settling in. I had been away for too long.
When the first call came, I took it. I had inspected and sanitized the emergency vehicle and was ready to go. The paramedics boarded with me, turned on the siren, and we were off. As we ventured down street after street, recognition settled in. “Wait…” I started. The paramedic nodded, affirming what I suspected.
We’re going to the place we found that little girl in.
It had been less than a week, but it felt like centuries had passed. After the vehicle halted, I jumped out and made my way inside, not waiting for the paramedics to join me. If I found the person who had hurt that little girl, they were going to pay.
The interior of the building was decayed, to say the least. It looked the same as when I’d left it. Wallpaper peeled off the walls, lying in piles on the creaking floor. Worn rugs dotted the floorboards. The doors of the individual units looked easy to break down. And the smells...
Well, they hadn’t gotten any better. I wrinkled my nose. Horrid. I wanted to wring the landlord’s neck. It wasn’t the pandemic’s fault these people had to live in these circumstances.
I knocked once on the door of the flat from which the call had been made. No answer. I knocked again, and this time I heard a whimper from inside. I tried the doorknob, and it turned with ease. Inside, pale sunlight filtered through a window from which a torn curtain hung. One of the glass panes was smashed. The tattered yellow sofa was piled with what looked like leftover lunch dishes and soiled laundry. The television was on, but the volume was low.
The woman huddled in the corner was barefoot and clutched the hem of her dress, which desperately needed washing. She sniffled, and I could see that her matted blonde hair was full of snot from her crying.
I moved forward, struck by a second realization. This was the flat we had found the girl in, except now there was an adult here—a beaten adult. I noted a large fresh bruise blossoming on the woman’s cheek. Additional bruises marred her neck and exposed collarbones. My fingers curled into fists, and my blood began to boil.
The police should have been called too. The woman was conscious but did not seem to notice me until I was in front of her. “Ma’am, my name is Angelica. You called the hospital. We’re here to help.”
The woman shuddered, and she looked at me with alarm in her wide gray eyes.
“Are you alone?” I asked, softening my voice so I did not scare her.
The woman began crying again, quieter this time as if she didn’t want to be heard. I sat beside her, and dust billowed up from the floor. “Any children?”
At this, the woman nodded and pointed a shaking finger at a closed bedroom door. I followed her finger. “We’re going to help them too.” The paramedics had entered and stood quietly on the threshold. I nodded at the closed door. A moment later, the paramedics found a little boy inside.
Paul spoke. “Not more than three. He’s okay.”
I placed a gentle hand on the woman’s cold arm. “Ma’am, can you tell me what happened?”
The woman clenched her eyes shut and shook her head. I fought back a sigh and sat in front of her instead of beside her and took her hands, looking at her with what I hoped was an earnest expression. “Your children need help. We found your daughter the other day.” I swallowed hard. “You need to talk to the police so you can protect them.”
A new fear settled over the woman, but as she stared at her hands in mine, she seemed to relax. Was she afraid for her children or of the police? As I wondered, the woman’s stiff posture relaxed, and her crying began to fade. She pus
hed tangled hair away from her face and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“Here.” I offered the woman a tissue and she accepted it, her expression open and grateful.
This would be a good time for the Way of Kings to work, I thought. For a long moment, the woman remained silent and stared at the floor. A moment later, the three-year-old boy approached them and slid into his mother’s lap with a whine. The woman didn’t seem to register the child in her arms. She looked at me with a blank expression and nodded. “I’ll talk to them.”
Relief flooded through me. “Will you come with me?”
The woman’s lips parted as though she were going to answer, but her opportunity was snatched away when a crash sounded from the kitchen. I jerked my head toward the sound, and half a second later, a figure stumbled into the den. I could see broken dishes on the floor behind him. I jumped to my feet. The man’s eyes flashed as he took in the scene. His pale face was framed by an unkempt beard and long, stringy hair. He wore a torn t-shirt and a blue-checked dressing gown. He smelled like cigarettes and piss.
The boyfriend, I realized, and the abuser.
His odorous breath lashed my skin. “Get out!” he seethed. When I stood, I noticed he was at least two heads taller than I was, but I didn’t care. Paul and the other paramedic shouted something, but I was distracted by the man’s flashing ice-blue eyes.
Before I could respond, his long fingers wrapped around my arm and threw me out of the way. Someone cried out, but I wasn’t sure if it was the woman holding the child or one of my colleagues. I landed on the sofa, and although I could have fallen against something much harder, pain still lanced through my back.
The man lunged at the woman holding the boy and screamed gibberish. “I’m calling the police,” Paul shouted in a frantic tone from the doorway.
I didn’t care if he did. This needed to be dealt with now. I stood up, pain lancing through my body but anger driving me. “Get off her,” I demanded, a growl rising in the back of my throat. The man didn’t seem to hear me, or if he did, he ignored me. He raised a fist toward the woman, and I shouted, “I said, get off of her!”
