by Sammie Joyce
Don’t get me wrong—I loved my work and the feeling of purpose it gave me but some nights, I just wanted to break down and cry at the endless suffering that came through the doors. Working in a hospital was nothing like they showed on Grey’s Anatomy—not that I’d really believed it would be, but maybe a small part of me had hoped for more than I got.
I’d known before my shift that it was going to be a terribly long night that Friday. Snow had begun to fall, making the roads a slippery mess and with the holiday season nearing, people were driving drunk with reckless abandon, as if Thanksgiving gave them an excuse to be idiots. Who was I kidding? No one needed an excuse to be a moron. The fact that it was Friday was good enough.
I’d barely been on rotation for an hour when the first of the bloodshed came in. Honestly, it was surprising that it had taken so long and for the hour before, I’d been on pins and needles, waiting for that very first call.
The head nurse had given me the heads up that an ambulance was coming into the bay and I moved to meet it, hearing the wail of sirens as I stepped into the cold. I shivered slightly as I snapped on a pair of non-latex gloves. It wasn’t much colder outside than it had been inside. I was sure that they hadn’t even bothered to turn on the heat in the hospital anywhere outside the NICU but that was St. Charles for you.
It didn’t matter. I would be running all night anyway and the cold would keep me awake when my nervous energy failed.
I turned my head toward the scream of the ambulance sirens and watched as the red vehicle appeared. The bus had barely stopped before Mickey threw open the back door, leaving me to face the horrific situation inside.
The EMT had had his work cut out for him when he’d stumbled upon the victim before me. Lap pads soaked through, pressure applied to various parts of the man’s body and I hardly knew where to start with the newcomer.
How I even knew it was a man inside was unclear. Nothing about the bleeding being inside was remotely recognizable. There didn’t seem to be a piece of skin that wasn’t soaked in red and my stomach lurched at the sight.
“A little help?” Mickey demanded and I realized I was frozen in place.
Snap out of it, my sensible, nursing voice hissed at me and I instantly rushed to the EMTs who wheeled the mangled man along on the gurney. Together, we made it inside but I could barely focus on what was happening.
“His blood pressure is dropping,” Mickey told me as I rushed to their side. “He crashed once already on route. I don’t even know how he’s still alive.”
“What the hell happened?” I demanded, my face paling as I tried to wipe the blood away from the cuts that littered his body. My heart hammered wildly in my chest I didn’t need to be told what this was—I inherently knew what I was looking at. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen something like this, after all.
Mickey grunted.
“He was found, unresponsive in an alley, four blocks away,” the paramedic replied grimly, helping me lift him onto a bed from the gurney. The emergency room was already overcrowded but this man was in far worse shape than anyone else I could see.
“Looks like stab wounds,” Mickey’s partner, Gloria added. “He’d been there a while. A homeless man called 9-1-1.”
This isn’t stab wounds, I thought, a wave of dizziness overcoming me. Surely they know that.
But did they? Or was it something that I had only figured out for myself? It was hard to believe that anyone working in health care in these parts hadn’t put two and two together by now.
I knew the shifters were at it again but was I alone in that belief?
I felt my breaths coming out in short, uneven rasps and my hands began to shake.
“Viv? Are you okay?”
Mickey’s voice seemed faraway and suddenly the world around me was spinning, but I refused to let the anxiety overtake me.
This man needs you. Get it together. You can fall apart after you know he’s alive.
The stern internal voice forced me into action and I prepped an IV as Dr. Sorenson appeared, taking over treatment from the paramedics.
“Get me the Epi pen! He’s having an allergic reaction!” Sorenson yelled. The words didn’t make any sense to me and I stepped back to stare at him blankly.
He’s not having an allergic reaction. He’s been attacked by a shifter.
Unbidden, a dozen other images popped into my mind and suddenly I was transported to another time and place. The emergency room melted away.
“Hunt! Hunt, the Epi pen!”
I heard him, in and out of my conscious mind but I wasn’t there. I was watching someone else die and once more, I was powerless to stop it. Someone set me aside and I didn’t fight it, feeling my body move away as Nurse Ellison took over.
“He’s stabilizing,” someone said, the relief in their tone and suddenly, I was back where I was supposed to be. I tried to step back into the fold but Andrea held up a hand to indicate she had it and I felt a wave of dread seize me.
“We’ve got this, Vivian,” the nurse said crisply and I saw that the patient had been stabilized, no thanks to me. “Give us room.”
I had no choice but to obey, knowing that I wasn’t helping by standing there and freezing every two minutes. A bubble of protest rose into my throat but it remained unspoken and my body fell back as the curtain closed around the bed and the medical staff continued to work, leaving me feeling angry and useless.
This was not good.
“Viv…”
I turned my head, chocolate eyes narrowing as they rested on Gloria’s face. Mickey was off at the nurse’s station, filling out paperwork and the pretty paramedic eyed me with concern.
“Yeah?” I mumbled, my hands going clammy. My mind wasn’t on Gloria or Mickey. It wasn’t even on the half-dead man who had just been brought in. I was thinking about how much trouble I was going to be in for dropping the ball, even if everything had worked out for the best.
“Are you okay?”
I forced myself to refocus my eyes on Gloria, my teeth clenching beneath my pursed lips.
“I’m tired,” I lied. I’d barely started my twelve-hour shift. I could do doubles with both eyes closed. I wasn’t tired—I was stressed. This was happening more and more lately and now I was caught.
“You looked like you’d seen a ghost when we brought that guy in,” Gloria said slowly. “Do you know him or something?”
I shook my head.
“No, of course not,” I said with more sharpness than I had intended. “I wouldn’t be treating him if I had. I…”
I trailed off. What could I say to save face? That the scene had just been too horrific? What kind of nurse can’t stand the sight of blood? Anyway, that wasn’t true. It wasn’t the blood or the scene that had triggered me.
Triggered. Seriously? You’re getting triggered now?
Every second I spent in my own head, I loathed myself a little bit more.
“You what?” Gloria asked gently but I shook my head again and turned away.
“Nothing. I have to go.”
I pretended to look at my pager but no one was looking for me at that moment, not when I needed to be called. I wasn’t sure I could deal with another patient in that moment anyway. I just needed a minute.
“Vivian!” Gloria called after me but I ignored her and headed down the hall, my rubber-soled shoes soundless as I disappeared through the corridor. I made my way into an on-call room and closed the door, locking it behind me as I dropped my head back against the wood. My heart was still beating frantically and I inhaled, counting my breaths to regulate my pulse but if anything, I felt like my heart rate was quickening, not slowing.
This has got to stop!
The words were sensible but to a woman on the edge, they didn’t resonate as they should have. The way I was acting, the shutting down, the flashbacks, they were contrary to my personality in every way. I was a trained medical professional. I was the one who was enlisted to keep others calm in high-pressure situations. I couldn’
t get away with this kind of reaction, not when my career depended on it.
And this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened either.
My pager vibrated and I reached for it with trembling hands, my frown deepening when I saw where the call was coming from. The message was simple and full of foreboding.
Report to Dr. Chamberlain STAT
The dread that had just started to subside suddenly overtook me, again knocking the breath out of my lungs.
I’d already been reported, on a busy Friday night, when staff was short. That could only mean one thing.
I was in big trouble.
* * *
Dr. Chamberlain was an androgynous-looking man in his late fifties with eyes that were slightly too close together and a mouth which never smiled. He had been the head of the nursing department at St. Charles Bend Hospital for almost fifteen years. It was evident to anyone who knew him that he despised his job but given his history with the hospital, I almost understood. Once, he had been an up and coming neurosurgeon but after being diagnosed with epilepsy, his duties had been restricted and he was stuck babysitting us nurses. Or at least that was how he saw it. Another man might have embraced the idea that he wasn’t doing surgery anymore but helping in another capacity.
Not Dr. Chamberlain.
His misery was almost palpable and while I could understand his pain, I wished he wouldn’t take it out on us as much as he did.
But just because I wished for it, didn’t mean it would happen.
And now I was directly in the line of fire.
Steeling my nerves, I knocked on the door to his office and waited for him to respond. As he always did, he took several seconds before barking out an order for me to enter.
“I got a page to report to you, Dr. Chamberlain?” I said innocently. I wasn’t about to give myself up if, on the off chance I was wrong about why I had been called to the principal’s office. I really couldn’t think of another reason for it but who knew? Surely I was owed a miracle for once in my life.
He scowled and nodded for me to close the door behind me and any modicum of hope I had vanished like wisps of smoke.
“Do you know what night it is?” he grumbled as I ambled toward the desk, my eyes slightly averted.
Don’t make eye contact. Don’t antagonize him. Don’t smirk…
I went through the checklist in my mind, even though it bothered me immensely. Playing a humbled female wasn’t really me but when it came to the job I had worked so hard to attain, I would bite the bullet. After all, how often did I really need to spend time in front of the anguished bastard?
“It’s Friday, sir,” I replied, wondering if that was the answer he was looking for. He snorted.
“It’s Friday night, Hunt, the beginning of the weekend,” he conceded. “And instead of stitching up drunk idiots and changing bedpans, you’re here in my office. Why do you think that is, Hunt?”
Is this rhetorical?
I chose to ignore the dig about bedpans. He knew better than anyone that the nurses provided much more than sponge baths and catheter changes to the patients. Without us, most of the doctors wouldn’t be able to do their jobs.
Still, Chamberlain liked to condescend us whenever he had the opportunity. He was like one of those memes:
Nobody:
Dr. Chamberlain: Having fun changing bedpans? Har har
“Well?” he snapped when I didn’t respond. I didn’t really have an answer anyway.
“I-I’m not sure, Dr. Chamberlain,” I lied. I still wasn’t willing to give away my position.
“You faltered in the ER. AGAIN!” Chamberlain roared, any semblance of decorum vanishing from his face as I’d known it would.
“Again?” I asked, mustering the best deer in headlights look I could. He snorted.
“Just because I didn’t call you in last time, doesn’t mean I don’t know about it, Hunt. I know everything that goes on around here.”
“Oh,” I sighed. “I see.”
I had already been lucky. I just hadn’t realized it.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snarled.
I balked, even though I’d been expecting it, his tone making my insides quiver.
Such a great bedside manner he has. It’s a blessing he’s not cutting into people anymore.
“I-I don’t know,” I said quickly, again shooting my eyes down. “I-I’m sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t going to cut it this time!”
Chamberlain thumped his fists on the desk and I swallowed the knot of nervousness in my throat.
“I’m putting you up for review,” he continued and my mouth gaped open.
“I-It won’t happen again,” I protested, hearing the desperation in my voice but he didn’t care. No amount of begging, pleading or cajoling would get him to change his mind now.
“Give me one good reason why not?” he snapped back, his gray eyes glittering as he glowered at me. “This is the third complaint I’ve had about you in as many months. If you’re not going to give me a reason for this unprofessionalism, I have no choice but to put you under review.”
Three?! Jesus. Why didn’t he warn me before?
I wisely refrained from asking. Instead, I chewed on the insides of my cheeks, unwilling to blurt out exactly what I wanted to say, that I knew the shifters were running rampant now and attacking us without provocation. Even as I stood there, a shudder of revulsion snaked its way down my spine.
If I say any of that and he doesn’t believe in the shifters, I’m going to be in twice as much trouble. Hell, they might even send me to the psych ward for a seventy-two-hour hold.
Nope. It was better to keep my mouth shut.
“That’s what I thought,” Chamberlain said with a smugness that I didn’t really understand.
You would have thought this bastard would want all the staff he could get this close to the holidays. Instead, he’s smirking about how he’s trying to ruin my life.
“Get your things and go home. You’re under review, starting now.”
My mouth parted in shock.
“What?! Now?” I demanded in disbelief. I needed the money. I couldn’t afford to be out of work, even just for a few days.
“I can’t have an unstable nurse on my floor. It’s dangerous and opens us up to liability,” he growled. “You’re on suspension until further notice.”
Ah. He’s worried about getting sued. Now I get it.
He turned his eyes back toward his computer as if I wasn’t still standing there. All I could do was stare at him in disbelief.
“And don’t even think about complaining to the union,” Chamberlain called out as I spun to leave. I knew there was no point in arguing with him. “I’ve already talked to them about you.”
I whipped my head around and looked at him again, my face burning with humiliation.
“What?”
“I covered my ass,” Chamberlain said cockily. “Now I suggest you do the same.”
He waved dismissively and I somehow managed to swallow the curse of profanity that threatened to spill from my lips. There was nothing I could do but go home and wait until my time would come to speak with the board.
Go home and stew about how I’d gotten to this point.
This is all because of those damned shifters, I thought furiously as I hurried toward the nurse’s locker room to grab my belongings. Charlie’s right—they really do need to be stopped, once and for all.
2
Marcel
I yawned and stretched as Annabella closed the door behind her. It had been an unusually long session even though it was the same fifty minutes it had always been. I wondered if I was outgrowing my patients or if my patience was just wearing thinner.
Immediately, I felt guilty at the idle question. I reminded myself that everyone deserved to be heard and even if some of their “problems” were nothing short of entitled, first-world issues, I was still being paid to hear them and work with them. And if anything, they to
ok my mind off Protector matters, if only for the workday. Gods knew, I spent enough time agonizing over them as it was.
But my job was more than just a paycheck. I’d always liked people, even those humans who seemed hellbent on destroying us at the time. When I was a kid, I would sit back and people watch, admiring the way they interacted and wondered what their stories might be. It was fascinating to me that behind all those “normal” looking faces were drug users and abuse survivors. There were murderers and secret millionaires. Everyone had a story and everyone wore masks. It was up to me to discover who was who and align their inner selves with their outer ones.
Of course, like any career, I had my good days and my bad ones, and for some reason, that day was just a little longer than the others.
With a sigh, I glanced at the calendar on my phone and noted that I had a new client lined up, my last one before lunch.
I found myself considering what to eat as I pulled open the file. I had virtually nothing to go off of. I made it a point to keep my mind broad and not put too much stock into what previous therapists say about clients but I needed to know what medications were prescribed and a general idea of medical history. In this case, I had nothing at all.
“Marcel, your eleven o’clock is here,” Courtney announced from the outer office. I pressed the intercom button to respond.
“Thanks. Send her in.”
I closed the screen on my computer and half-closed the laptop as the door opened and a woman entered.
For a moment, I found my breath catching as I stared at her, my icy blue eyes widening in surprise.
Nothing about the curvy brunette standing before me waved red flags in any way. If anything, she seemed almost timid as she stood uncomfortably at the threshold, the door still opened at her back.
“Vivian?” I said, rising to extend my hand. “I’m Marcel Rhodes. Come on in and make yourself comfortable.”
