Missed Call
My body feels stiffer than usual as I close my eyes, rolling my neck to ease the tension and aches from moving this weekend.
I groan and force my eyes open, blinking against the glare of the desktop monitor, and gently massage my temples.
I just spent the entire weekend packing up my life and escaping him. This is just exhaustion.
This chart won’t file itself. I force my focus back to the monitor. I scroll down the digital intake log, comparing the alphanumeric billing codes and digitized trauma notes.
Bleeding in the brain. A spike of pressure forms behind my eyes. What happened to this woman? I look away from the glare of the screen. Did I bump my head while loading the truck?
I shake my head and force myself to focus as I scroll down.
ICD-10-CM Code: S22.49XA - Multiple rib fractures
I hiss as I grip onto the desk with one hand, the other pressing against my left ribs. Damn it. I should have let Jack and Ben help me. I knew moving alone would be hard, but I couldn’t risk anyone else.
I glance at the clock, 2:50 PM. Ten minutes left. I just need to clear this screen and get out of this building.
ICD-10-CM Code: S52.202A- Left ulna forearm fracture
Based on what I’m seeing, this is likely a defensive break.
ICD-10-CM Code: S02.2XXA- Broken nose
I wince, as if on cue, when a throb pulses directly across the bridge of my nose. I force my eyes closed as the screen appears brighter. Note to self: Get nasal spray and some ibuprofen.
ICD-10-CM Code: Z65.4- Victim of a crime.
My breath catches. The words stare back at me.
The truth of her condition comes down to this.
This woman was found brutally beaten. She raised her arms to shield her face before a final blow sent her into a two-week coma.
A victim of a crime left with no name, no wallet, and no history.
My heart weighs more heavily as I reach for the keyboard to enter the final code to close the record.
ICD-10-CM Code: Z51.5- Encounter for palliative care
The code for withdrawing life support. For pulling the plug and letting her go peacefully.
I press Enter, expecting it to refresh and clear my screen. Instead, the monitor freezes, and my heart pounds in my ears as the sounds of the office seem to get louder. A massive, bright red dialogue box jumps to the center of the screen.
SYSTEM ALERT: CRITICAL DUPLICATE DETECTED. EXECUTING AUTOMATED CHART MERGE.
No. No. No. Before I can grab the mouse to cancel it, the text fields start to flicker as the placeholder data is erased to make room for a verified identity.
The name at the top of the screen glitches. I watch as the letters twist and reset. I am helpless to do anything but watch as the system pulls the information from the mainframe.
My name.
My birthdate.
My driver’s license number.
I let out a sob as I stand, the fields below continue to dump forensic, police, and ICU data.
Found unconscious. No identification. Fingerprint scan confirmed match at 2:49 PM. Intubated. Unresponsive. Two-week observation window expired. Patient flatlined at 2:50 PM.
No. I shake my head violently, rejecting what I see. No, no, no. He found me.
Panic floods through me. The new apartment, the burner phone, the new job.
None of it mattered. Jacob is a software engineer.
He knows networks. This isn’t just a medical glitch.
This is him sending a message. He is showing me what he plans to do to me.
Victim of a crime. Encounter for palliative care.
The air hangs heavy around me as a silence takes over. Sarah’s half-full mug of coffee is still steaming. Tom’s jacket is still hanging on his chair, but everyone is gone. The low hum of the fluorescent lights and distant office chatter have completely vanished.
Bzz. Bzz.
My phone vibrates against the desk.
A missed call notification flashes across the screen. No ringtone. Just my number on the caller ID and a single notification: Voicemail (1).
My hands are shaking as I swipe the screen and bring the phone to my ear.
Static fills my ears. “Don’t… go… in there.” A voice that sounds like my own says before the line abruptly dies.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Breathe, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. My skin heats as my heart pounds in my chest. It’s just a trick.
My fingers tremble as I quickly find Jack’s number and press to call for help.
Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up and try again. The mechanical voice on the other end repeats once more before disconnecting.
No, no, no.
I slide down the cubicle wall, tears stinging my eyes as I grab my purse. If he knows where I am, he could be anywhere. He could be downstairs.
Ding!
The elevator announces its arrival.
I force myself to my feet, ignoring the pain in my ribs and the phantom ache in my arm.
I can’t stay here and wait to see who is behind that door.
I shove my phone into my purse just as it vibrates.
The air smells sterile as the elevator doors open to a blinding fluorescent white.
The janitor, dressed in green, pushes the cart out.
Deep Coma… The likelihood of survival is… The words spill through the static on the radio on the cart. I don’t waste time and rush toward one of the staircases to head to the lobby.
My chest tightens as I run down the stairs and brace my weight against the exit door, stepping out into the warm and bright summer day as it flings open.
I immediately rub my arms together, trying to soak in the sun’s warmth.
My teeth chatter against the unnatural freeze that has settled deep in my bones.
As I make my way to my car, my fingers find the keys inside my purse, gripping them tightly, ready to strike if Jacob shows up.
I won’t go down without a fight this time.
I reach my car, parked directly in the sight of cameras, and let out a sigh of relief as I open the door. Once I’m safely inside, I lock all the doors and pull my phone out.
Bzz. Bzz.
Go Home.
You have to get home.
Now!
Go!
It’s starting!
The text messages begin pouring in. I drop the phone into the passenger seat as if it’s bitten me.
There’s no time for this. I start the engine. The dashboard lights illuminate, and the steering wheel vibrates beneath my grip, but it rumbles to life with no sound.
The radio turns on, Radiohead’s Street Spirit begins pouring in through the static. The haunting rhythm of the guitar as he sings, “Fade out again… Fade out…”
I pull out of the parking lot and begin to drive. Just like the office, the roads ahead are empty. My head is pounding, but it’s just a panic attack. I just have to make it home. I breathe out, and I can see the cloud, despite the dash’s thermometer reading 85 degrees.
Bzzz!
Incoming call: Mom.
I press the answer button on the wheel. Dense, heavy static fills the car, nearly drowning out the voice on the other end. “Hel…lo?”
“Mom, I’m so glad to hear from you!” I shout as I grip the wheel. “Today has been weird, but I’m driving home right now.”
“Are you there, Cass?” It doesn’t sound like she is listening to me at all. In the background, a man’s clinical monotone voice breaks through.
…matching the description…fingerprints confirmed…coma for two weeks… actively failing…
“I’m here! Mom! Can’t you hear me?” I press down on the gas pedal, and the car accelerates down the empty highway as the edges of my vision begin to darken and ice forms on the windshield.
“Oh god, Cass. They found you.” Her sobs break through the static. I can hear the rustle of a jacket and the jingle of keys. She was never talking to me. “We’ve been looking for two weeks. Please tell me she’s still breathing. I’m leaving right now. I’m on my way.”
The static grows, swallowing her voice entirely before it sharpens into a single, continuous piercing tone.
“Mom! I’m right here!” I scream into the nothingness as I slam on the brakes.
The screech of my tires echoes through the silence as the car skids and comes to a halt. Ahead of me, the exit ramp to my apartment complex sits there. Inviting me in, promising me protection.
Go home. The reflection on the windshield from the passenger seat says.
My chest tightens as it gets harder to breathe. My teeth chatter violently as the flatline tone from the speakers fills the space. Everything in my mind tells me that my apartment means safety and warmth. I can lock the door and hide. I can finally rest.
“Two weeks… I’m on my way…” My mother’s words bring clarity.
My knuckles turn white as I grip the steering wheel. Hot tears stream down my face as I stare at the exit. The trees lining the road begin to jitter.
“No.”
I yank the steering wheel away, turning away from the exit ramp, and slam my foot on the gas. The engine roars to life. Warmth blossoms at my core, flooding through me, hot and alive.
The world around me begins to tear apart. Buildings flicker, streetlights shudder, and the asphalt ahead of me dissolves into a flat gray.
Beep.
The sound punches through, sharp and jolting. The afternoon sky begins to bleed, losing its color as the trees and distant horizon peel away, dissolving into weightless ash.
Beep.
The nothingness chases me down, silent. Threatening to take me anyway.
Beep.
The rhythmic pulse matches the frantic racing of my own heart. I fly down the highway, and in the rearview mirror, I see the warped world swallowed by the fog.
The steering wheel shakes violently as the highway ends, cutting off into a clean edge surrounded by a wall of white. There are no barriers and no road left to build.
I don’t lift my foot from the pedal, bracing myself as I drive straight into the stark whiteness. As the front tires cross the line, the engine sputters before cutting off, surrounding me in the silence.
I slam my hands against the wheel, frustrated. Not like this…
Panic surges through me, suffocating, as the void seals around me. I grab the door handle and yank. It clicks but doesn’t budge.
“Come on,” I hiss, throwing my shoulder against the metal.
“We want to keep her as comfortable as possible. Let’s increase her continuous rate.”
The voice cuts through the dead air, low and calm.
I scramble across the console and throw myself against the passenger door. It’s solidly in place.
My chest tightens as my breath comes in ragged, shallow gasps as I feel the white void surrounding me, locking me in.
“Her breathing is turning shallow… “
“Let me out!” I scream, balling my hands into fists.
I strike the driver’s side window. It vibrates stubbornly.
“It’s a natural part of the transition.”
“No! Please! I’m right here!” I strike the glass repeatedly, desperate to leave a mark, to force it to crack. Just… anything.
Through the glass, shadowed figures appear.
Don’t leave me.
I let out a sob as the silence suffocates me.
Through the void, one of the shadows rushes toward the car, slamming its hand against the glass, overlapping where my palm rests against the pane. I blink, and through the distortion and angry tears, I recognize the shape of her hair.
“Cass! Oh my god, Cass!”
Her voice isn’t coming from the speakers anymore. It’s loud. Echoing in a real, physical room.
The white light shatters like glass.
My eyes flutter open to the harsh lights of the hospital room. The taste of a plastic tube sits dry in my throat.
Through tears, the silhouette steps through the sliding glass door.
Keys hit the linoleum with a clatter. My mother’s face twists with an agonized relief as she rushes to take my free hand.
A tear slides down my face as I squeeze her hand.
“She’s waking up.”
I am finally home.