Having worked with Doctors Without Borders I've had my fair share of war zones where bodies pour into whatever we are using as a hospital and it was my job to stabilize the patient and, as was so often the case, perform minor surgeries when the doctors are swimming in patients. I was very good at my job, but after ten straight years of hell I decided to return to the states and take an easier job.
I hired myself to an inner-city clinic and I had no idea what I was in for. The waiting room is more often than not full of people who have ailments or injuries. There are days when all hell breaks loose and I feel like I'm back in a war-zone. Patients pour in with gunshot wounds they received when rival gangs clashed.
Gang members and innocent civilians alike would be gunned down and it would be my job to keep them alive and dig out the slugs so the doctors have less to deal with. Sometimes, it just feels like the world is coming apart at the seams and I'm the only one still holding it together, me and people like me.
Often enough my uniform is coated with blood, viscera and sometimes feces while I fly about the room and handle one crisis after another. Cutting and stitching patients together so they'll live long enough for me to attend to other, more critical patients and hopefully return to their side before too many complications rise.
Other times it's completely quiet with only the sporadic ringing of the telephone to echo through the waiting-room which always seems to have at least four people waiting to be seen. And if I'm not buried in patients then I'm buried in paperwork. Luckily, I have a competent enough staff to alleviate the weight that is constantly on my back. No, I'm not in charge, but it does feel that way.
Today is a quiet night. The waiting room is only half full and no one is in danger of dying. The doors burst open and a pair of paramedics wheel in a gurney while a police officer and a well dressed gentleman trail them. I spring into action and am immediately pulled away by the gentleman.
He introduces himself as Detective Willowbirch and shows me his badge. He tells me to take extra care of this patient as he is a key witness in a crime. I ask why, if he's a witness, has he been handcuffed to the gurney. He tells me he's a flight risk and will have an officer posted on him at all times.
I then ask him why he's come to a humble little clinic instead of a proper hospital? He tells me that he wants to keep this matter under tight wraps and limit the amount of people that have to be brought into the loop. I prepare an argument, but I can tell he's ready for it and the patient still needs me. I nod. There's nothing else I can do.
I move to the patient's side and ask for an update as I look him up and down. One of the paramedics tells me he's a white male, most likely in his thirties, one hundred fifty pounds and five foot ten. A description that agrees with my initial assessment. He's dressed all in black which includes boots.
The paramedic continues, he's been shot three times at close range. They cut his pants completely off his left leg and his shirt up to his pectoral. He has one hole clean through his thigh, another still lodged in his hip and a third that hit him in the gut and may have shattered. He's lost a lot of blood so they gave him an IV and a blood pack.
His wounds are not severe enough to be fatal, but there could be complications not yet detectable from the outside. He has been in and out of consciousness and may be a little concussed from his head hitting the floor, though I do not feel he is in any danger of slipping into a coma or brain death.
I use my walkie to call the surgeon on duty. I'm informed by the nurse that he and the other surgeon are busy with another patient and won't be finished for another hour. I'm told to do what I can. The same old tune they like to play. They lean on me cause they know what I can do. I can take it, but sometimes, I wish they wouldn't lean so much, or so often.
I take charge and wheel the patient into a room with one other patient who is busy reading. I help the paramedics transfer the body to the bed as well as hooking the bag to a stand before thanking them for a stellar job as they wheel the gurney out. Their contribution to this affair is now over. I use the walkie to call for a nurse. After which, I shoo the police out of the room, but not before I'm warned not to talk to him beyond what is medically necessary.
The nurse comes in before the door has a chance to shut on the policemen. Time to see how good a first aid the paramedics performed. The thigh has been wrapped with an ace bandage to give sufficient pressure to keep the blood from continuing to flow. I unfasten the clasp and unwind the pressure dressing before handing the soiled thing off to the other nurse to be disposed of.
The next thing to come to my attention is the gauze that has been wrapped around the leg. I unravel the stuff and am glad to see the paramedic applied ointment to keep it from sticking to the open wound. This makes it a great deal easier to peel off and far less painful for the patient. I hand it off to be disposed of.
I inspect the hole that greets my eye. Powder burns indicate that he was shot at close range and it almost looks like the wound is already healing. I lift the leg and probe the area I cannot see with my hand and identify the exit wound which is slightly larger than the entry wound. The bullet passed right through and did not hit any bone. A lucky break for sure.
A bit of gauze with some ointment and I wrap the wound good and tight. I apply a fresh ace bandage and keep sufficient pressure. A clip is applied and it's set proper. I move onto the hip. This one has a simple square bandage that has been sealed on all sides with medical tape. I gently pull it off and find more ointment slathered on the other side.
There's a hole with more powder burns. I gaze at it and am astounded. There is no mistaking it, the flesh has already started healing itself. I don't know what allows for this incredible ability, but at this juncture it serves more as a hindrance than a boon. I have to get the bullet out or it will cause complications and, if left in long enough, could prove fatal. I give a quick feel of his backside and find no exit wound.
It's at this time that the patient wakes with a start and I have to hold him, with the help of the nurse, so he doesn't move about too much. "It's okay, it's okay," I assure him and hold him down with all my might.
"Where am I?!" he demands in a panicked voice as his eyes wildly seek to take in the surroundings.
"You're in a hospital," I inform him and lock down his flailing arm. "You were shot and we're taking care of it,"
His face goes deathly white. "I can't! I won't!" he spouts as his breathing becomes even more erratic and claws at the bed causing cuts to form on his restrained hand. "Not again! Never again!"
I nod to the nurse and she hurries off to prepare a sedative. "It's alright," I assure him and take hold of his chained hand. "No one's going to hurt you."
"No! She'll cut me open again!" he protests and continues to wriggle about as though he's strapped to the bed. "I can't let that happen!"
"What's going on in here?!" the officer demands as he steps into the room.
"Help me hold him down!" I shout and flash my eyes on him.
The officer complies with a nod and hurries to the bed. He takes hold of the flailing arm and leaves me to focus on my side.
I'm shocked to see the cuts healing up already, but maintain my hold while the patient continues to buck about wildly. The nurse hustles into the room with a syringe half full with a sedative. She pushes it into the plastic vein that feeds the necessary fluids directly into his bloodstream and waits on my order.
Something tells me to play this encounter differently from how I normally would. I grab him by the shoulders and push him against the bed with all my might. "Listen to me," I call out just loud enough to be heard. "I need you to relax so I'm going to give you a sedative. Nod if you understand me."
He continues to thrash all around.
I lean my elbow on his chest. "Listen to me," I demand of him and look deep into his face. "Everything is going to be alright. I promise you that. We're just going to give you a sedative so you can relax and I can dig the bullets out of your side. I promise nothing else is going to happen. Nod if you understand me."
He calms considerably, but maintains wild eyes and an erratic breathing pattern. I can see him struggling with the situation, but he flashes me a look and nods. I repeat the gesture toward the nurse who slowly depresses the plunger, allowing the fluid to enter his body and make its way into his system. The result of which has him going under by degrees.
The nurse fits the patient with a mask that continuously administers an anesthetic gas. She hands me a scalpel and I get to cutting. I make a two inch incision above and below the hole in his hip and cut straight down the middle. I pull the flaps apart and the nurse clamps them in place. I am simply in awe. The damage done by the bullet is already starting to heal and the new tissue is healing over the bullet.
I cut through the fresh muscle and expose the projectile. I find it completely crushed and lodged against the pelvis bone which has been cracked by the projectile, but is already sealing the fractures. I pull it free and am amazed at what I see. The bone has been compressed and should have a hole through it, but it somehow maintained its integrity and kept the projectile from breaking through.
I put the bullet aside and close up the flaps. It's time to move on to the trickier issue. The nurse starts sewing up the cut flesh while I gaze at another square bandage sealed on all sides. I call over the walkie for the surgeons. The nurse in charge informs me that there has been a complication, it will take at least another hour. I tell him the patient doesn't have another hour. He tells me I'll have to handle it. I was afraid they were going to say that.
I remove the bandage and gaze at the wound which is healing over itself. The hole is near the left kidney. I take a deep breath and make a six inch incision above and below the hole which are six inches apart. A final incision down the middle and I pull the flaps apart and clamp them. The nurse has finished stitching and is now assisting me.
I'm simply astounded. The bullet somehow ricocheted off the kidney and exploded sending shrapnel every which way. I'm cutting through the new tissue as I play hide and seek with the fragments. Once I'm relatively satisfied that I have found them all, I give myself a moment to study the anatomy before me.
Except for the fact that I should be looking at shredded insides, everything looks normal. If I hadn't seen the pieces of shrapnel myself I would even believe that I had cut into a mostly healthy individual. I release the clamps and stitch up the flaps while the nurse continues to assist me.
I pick up the walkie and talk to the head nurse. I tell him that surgery is no longer necessary, but he will need an X-ray and a proper once over. He tells me they'll get right on it. I give a nod to the nurse who's preparing the patient for his stay. After that I get swamped with work and don't go near the room for several hours.
I'm busy with paperwork when the nurse who assisted me pulls me away. She has something she wants to show me. I follow her and we both enter the room as the police officer, a different one from the first, gives us a sideways look. We ignore him and move to the shelving table on the side.
She opens one of the drawers and pulls out a black box. "I found this in his right cargo pocket," she explains to me and pops it open, revealing a bottle and a syringe nestled inside a Styrofoam shell. "I don't know what this is, but I don't think it's legal."
I pull the bottle out of its seating and look closely at it.
"I would very much appreciate it if you did not drop that," a weak voice speaks from behind me.
I turn around to see the patient with his eyes open.
"The lengths I have to go to acquire it is not something I look forward to replicating," he informs us as he struggles to sit up, but can't. "Whatever you gave me is some potent stuff. I'm still frantic on the inside, but my body is barely registering it."
"What is this," I ask of him as I hold out the bottle to him.
"I do not know what it would do to the common individual," he continues as he takes hold of it. "But to me, it will reveal the Truth."
"The truth?" I query as I hand the case over.
He takes a deep breath. "It lets me see things that I could not normally see," he endeavors to explain as he takes hold of the case and struggles to sit up.
"Sounds like drugs to me," the nurse chimes in as she crosses her arms.
"It does at that," he admits and seats the bottle back in its place before shutting the case. "But it costs a great deal more."
"Why do I have a feeling you're not talking about money?" I add to the conversation as I place a hand on the bed.
He just gives me a nod.
"I suppose, since you're awake, it's time to call in the police," I redirect and return my hand to my hip.
"I would prefer we not do that," he lets on and gazes at the door. "The answers they are looking for they will never believe coming from me."
"How do you know that?!" the nurse jumps in and fixes him with an eye. "My boyfriend is a cop and he's no dummy."
"It is not a matter of intelligence," he proceeds and lowers his eyes some. "If I did not know what I know, I would never believe me, even if I saw it for myself."
"And what is that exactly?" I ask and lean slightly forward.
"It is a matter..." he starts in before his attention is seized.
I follow his eyeline to the outer wall where I see a strange light stabbing through the wall. If I didn't know any better I'd say someone was cutting through the wall. I'm so enraptured by the sight that I don't even think to call the officer at the door. I watch as a person sized hole is created and pulled outside creating an oblong cut in the wall.
A red haired woman steps through wearing a cheap pair of black slip-ons and a tan trenchcoat, buttoned up and tied tight around her waist with sleeves that look as though they have been burned to the elbow. "Haven't you people heard of natural light being great to heal what ails? Why are there no windows on this wall?" she rails and stuffs her hands into her pockets. "And you call yourselves healers."
I can hardly believe what I'm seeing and half expect the woman to be a mirage. "Who the hell are you?" I manage as I turn to face her.
"My name is Candice," she introduces herself as she gives a bow with some flourish. "But I'm trying out a fancy name. Tell me what you think, Incendiary!" She declares as she raises a clenching hand.
The room falls silent.
"Wait, you don't get it because you haven't seen me in action. Watch," she speaks before grabbing the chain of the handcuff that keeps the patient chained to the bed. Her hand turns red and the chain melts away as liquid metal pours out of her hand and onto the bed. "See, I can melt metal, Incendiary!"
No one says a word.
"It'll hit you later," she assures them as her hand returns to its normal color. "Anyway, I think it's time we go." She helps the patient off the bed who is now dressed solely in a hospital gown and puts his arm around her shoulder as she takes most of the weight.
I step between them and the newly created exit. "I can't let you leave," I declare and place my hands on my hips. "The police need to question you and you are not yet recovered."
"Step aside or I'll burn right through you," Candice warns and stares daggers at me.
"You cut me open. You've seen how quickly I heal," the patient says as he gazes at me. "A night's rest and I'll be right as rain. What the police want I cannot give them."
"And what exactly do they want?" I challenge with complete sincerity as I hold my ground.
"They want what all people want, order from chaos," he proceeds and adjusts his body. "They cannot explain how they found two empty clips at the scene and only one person was shot. Nor can they explain how a slew of bullets ended up in the top wall from a straightforward trajectory."
"And these are answers you can give them?" I pry and focus all my attention on him.
"I can provide an answer, but not the answer they are looking for," he explains as he shifts his weight. "There is no reason for you to trust me since I've done nothing to earn it. All I can say is it is best that I stay at large rather than decorate a jail-cell or worse, an experimental table."
The weight of the situation nearly drives me into the ground. I don't know who this person is, but I can feel the sincerity of his words. Whatever it is he does, he truly feels that it is necessary. I take a deep breath and step aside while I give a confused look to the nurse who simply shrugs. I hope I know what I'm doing.
"Thank you," he breathes while keeping his eyes on me before looking to the sleeping patient. "Now, I need you to sit down at the far wall and call the officer once we have left the room. When you're questioned tell them an unknown assailant jumped you and kidnapped me. As for the more fantastical elements, I leave that to your imagination."
True to his instruction, I wait till they've left before calling out for the officer on guard. He bustles in the door with his pistol held high at the ready. He takes in his surroundings and assesses the immediate concern while taking note of all the people in the vicinity. He hurries to the hole, gives a quick look outside before moving out.
I and the nurse slowly stand up so as to sell our attacked story and take note of the officer returning shortly thereafter. He looks pale and he's holding what's left of his pistol which looks like it has been melted. He uses his walkie to call for Detective Willowbirch with a voice that stutters while he makes sure we don't leave the scene of the crime.
The detective is not happy with what he sees. He sequesters the three of us and interviews us individually. He asks me what happened. I tell him that I was busy tending to the patient when I was pushed to the side. I watched helpless as a woman, of whom I gave the basest of description since I'm certain the cop saw her, used a blowtorch to melt the cuffs and kidnapped the unconscious patient.
He asks how she made the hole. I tell him I don't know as I did not hear or see anything. He finds that hard to believe and I don't blame him. In the end he dismisses me and heavily mentions that should I remember anything else I should call him. I take the card that is offered and return to work.
It's been days since the incident and no matter how involved I am in an activity, my mind still rests in that moment. I wonder if what I did was truly for the best, but that hardly matters since the deed is done. I can only know that by letting them go I have made the world a little bit better a place. But for now, I have patients to see about.
I'm busy with my rounds when Willowbirch pulls me aside. He needs to talk with me. We find an empty room and I sit down on the vacant bed. He asks me if there isn't a single thing more that I haven't already told him. I tell him I do not. He asks me if I'm sure. This is feeling like a fishing expedition and I feel as though this fisherman has not my best interest at heart. I stick to my story.
He asks if I'm sure I didn't see my assailant. I tell him I did not. So I did not see a red haired woman with black slip-ons and a tan trench coat cut through the wall with her hand? His accurate description has me stymied. And I didn't see this Candice, or Incendiary if I prefer, melt the cuffs and drag the patient out of there? I have no words. And I wasn't the one who let them get away and waited till they were gone to call the officer on duty.
My eyes go wide. I try to speak, but find I have no words. He knows he's got me dead to rights. I really should be careful that all witnesses agree to the same story, he gloats. And I should really be sure there are no stray patients pretending to be asleep. One that will gladly sell their information for a few hundred bucks.
There is nothing more to be said, so I don't even try. Detective Willowbirch stands up and slaps handcuffs on me while he reads me my rights. I'm paraded out of the waiting-room as a slew of patients protest my arrest. They know that I'm one of the few people keeping this place going, but the cop pushes past them all.
He escorts me to the back of his car and buckles me in. Safety first, he tells me. I'm driven away while I'm forced to wrestle with the situation. I have no idea what I'm going to do and my mind is no help since it's currently playing all the worst case scenarios on repeat. All I can do is trust in my abilities and experience and hope they see me through.