Chapter 22
The graveyard shift had just started when I slipped into the Ward, weaving through the cavernous space.
Partitions, hanging fabric, and panels created hallways and tiny rooms with beds, cots, and chairs.
It reminded me of an ant colony; the doctors and workers scurried between each little nook.
It was quiet now, almost still. Occasional coughs or groans filled the room, echoing off the soaring ceiling.
Levi would be in the recovery section. Isla might still be with him as visitation hours ended.
With the shift change, the staff would update the incoming crew about the current patients while sweeping the rooms and escorting visitors out.
Everyone’s focus would be elsewhere. I ducked my head and turned left.
Moving silently, I traced my old route that led to records.
I pressed myself into the curtains as someone grabbed a handful of charts and documents and another dumped a pile on the oversize table: the Ward’s filing system.
The first time I saw the table, I saw it only as disorganized.
A few moons later I realized it could easily be used to the patients’ advantage.
By the end of my first year, I was constantly abusing the system, changing records to protect health scores.
I’d slip into the room beyond the table; within minutes, I’d have what I wanted and slip out again.
A familiar sensation pulled at my ribs for all the other forms I had lied on.
This time it was different. I needed two.
I stared at the chart in my hand. A perfect score.
There wasn’t a single mark against my health.
No Ward staff were around as I approached the table of current patients. An announcement filled the air.
“Visitation hours have ended. All non-Ward personnel are required to leave at this time.”
All movement in the Ward concentrated on the exit, giving me time.
I sorted through the pile on the table until I came across the chart I needed.
My hands didn’t shake as I peeled my identification number from the top of the document.
I held it on my finger as I removed the same part from Levi’s chart, ignoring the life sentence the marks solidified. I attached my name to it.
Footsteps sounded throughout the Ward. My time was up. I tossed one of the charts into the current patient pile before replacing the other chart in the archives. The first part was complete. I spun as the steps stopped, coming face-to-face with Kumar.
“So it is finally time, Death’s Angel,” Kumar said as he greeted me.
Of course he knew I was here. For as long as I had been in the Ward, very little happened within that Kumar did not know about.
He would make a wonderful sector leader when Dr. Uri stepped down.
“A chart doesn’t tell you anything about how a patient is actually doing. You have to see them.”
“I know.”
“Yet, here you are.”
“Maybe I’m not ready to see him.”
“Yes, you are, or you wouldn’t have come.” He turned and headed toward the section Levi would be in. “Would you like an update from me, or has the chart told you enough?”
“I’d like an update.” I followed him.
“Mr. Williams should make a full recovery barring any infection. It was a nasty laceration, but the axillary nerve wasn’t damaged.
He maintains full function of his hand. He will need PT for mobilization, and scar tissue could be an issue for the joint.
You were correct about the liver lac. Your administration of antibiotics and fluids was excellent.
You packed the wound wonderfully, and I applaud you on avoiding hypothermia with the temperatures above.
The walking blood bank you performed”—Kumar turned to me—“well, I am sure you have heard from your unit.”
“I haven’t.”
Kumar lowered his glasses, chuckling. It sounded pained.
“Of course you haven’t. You should ask them about it.
” He continued walking. “Alas, we both know you won’t.
They have been in and out, recounting the story to Mr. Williams. I believe words like the best, strong, amazing, dedicated, were all used.
However, the one with the hurt ankle, Mr. Cruz, his description of fucking badass was a personal favorite.
There was more, but we would have to confer with the nurses to be sure. They always have the best gossip.”
Several people in white aprons and white coats hurried past us.
My chest hurt as words became difficult.
I had heard similar words used before to describe a different Unit Seven member.
I couldn’t accept that they now used any of them for me.
Not when I did not deserve them. “They shouldn’t.
I am the reason Levi was injured. I made a call, and it ended with him here. ”
Kumar stopped again, removing his glasses. Reluctantly I stopped with him. He stared at me, his gaze heavy. “You made a decision that resulted in injury. A fatal injury. Mr. Williams is here because of the countless decisions you made in the aftermath, Sasha.”
I shook my head as my throat threatened to close. Kumar did not understand. He cleaned his lens on his coat before replacing them.
“Life is but a series of decisions in a game that ultimately ends in loss. The only certainty we all have is that we will lose. We have a finite time to play before we all end in the same place. It is why I chose this profession eons ago. That the decisions I had I would choose to help my fellow man.” His sure hand, speckled with age spots, stretched out hesitantly, giving me time to reject it.
I didn’t. His hand landed on mine. “You made a decision; you received a result. A window of time as imminent loss hurtled toward you. You stood in that window and made difficult choices. You had the knowledge, the equipment, and you fought, Sasha. It is why I wanted to train you to be a doctor. You are not like other people. You did not panic. You didn’t give up. You fought valiantly.”
“I didn’t know he would make it. Several times, I didn’t know,” I confessed thickly. I hadn’t said the words out loud. I hadn’t been able to accept how close I knew we had come to losing Levi. But I needed Kumar to know—to understand why I hadn’t come, why I hadn’t breathed properly since.
“Yet he did. He is alive because of you.” Kumar squeezed my hand once before he carried on. I wiped wildly at my eyes. I wondered if he let go to give me a moment. I followed him, my ribs squeezing my heart too tightly to add anything of value to the conversation.
“You now know that the name you abhor so much was my doing. I fear with the heroics of your excellent medical care, Death’s Angel is even more infamous.
Rightfully so, even though I know you will loathe the acknowledgment.
Nonetheless, not a day has passed that you have not been a topic of revered gossip.
The woman who, covered in gore, gave countless pints of blood without tiring as she ran, pulling her partner all the way back to Haven.
Already three doctors and six nurses have volunteered to train as medics. ”
I grimaced. “It didn’t happen like that at all.
Why would someone want to volunteer to do that?
” I had not done it alone. I would have failed alone.
What I had done—it hadn’t been heroic. Not in the moment and certainly not since.
The doctors and nurses, the people telling the story…
they didn’t understand. It wasn’t something to be talked about with adoration.
It had been hell. Horrifying and soul-altering.
I was not stronger or better because of it.
I had simply done all I could and would carry the damage, another fissure in my soul, until death finally found me.
“It depends on which perspective you’d like to take, the one that paints others in a good light or a bad one.”
“I want to hear both.”
Kumar smiled at me. “Always a realist. Another reason you’d make an excellent doctor. Which first?”
“The bad.”
“Naturally. I believe people hear such stories that portray a person as a hero based on an outcome, and they latch onto it. They want to obtain it because they see the success and not the process, the sacrifices and pain it took to achieve it. They glorify only the ending and convince themselves if they achieve it too, they will be worthy of whatever it is they are desperate to acquire. They will be a hero.”
“It wasn’t—I’m not a hero.”
“The people portrayed as the hero usually see themselves as the villain because they alone know what it took to get there. They still carry the sacrifices and pain. A villain, however, makes themselves appear as a hero.”
“And the good?” I asked, as more people in white moved about. A few whipped their heads toward me before breaking out in whispers.
“They find inspiration in the whole story and do not seek the outcome but the power, the decisions gifted to them, the ability to arm themselves and fight. They do not seek the recognition but a place for the things they have seen or carry. To save others from the same pain they know.”
“Dr. Kumar, Dr. May asked me to give these to you,” a young woman in an apron interrupted. She couldn’t have been more than twenty. I was thankful for the interruption, Kumar’s words too much.
“Thank you,” Dr. Kumar said, taking the charts. “Edra, let me introduce you to Death’s Angel.”
Crystalline blue eyes met mine as I shook her hand. Her raven hair was pulled back in a low braid. “It’s nice to meet you, Sasha.” She released my hand and left without another word.