It was strange, working a job that teetered on the edge at all times. I saved a life, brought a man back from death, and I wouldn’t win any awards for it, wouldn’t get any thanks, any bonuses, any medals—only the satisfaction of knowing that if I hadn’t acted when I did, that man would be gone.
I returned to my station, sweaty and trembling from the adrenaline. Mary put a hand on my shoulder and sat down next to me, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes. “Funny how that goes,” she said.
“I know.”
“You did good in there. I think he’d be gone without you.”
“Thanks, Mary. Same goes for you.”
“We make a good team.” She laughed and stretched. “Why don’t you go and get cleaned up? You look exhausted. I saw you’ve been pulling a lot of late shifts and overtime, huh?”
“Can’t help myself, I guess I just love it here at Mercy.”
She laughed again and waved me on. “Go ahead, get cleaned up, I’ll hold down the fort.”
I stood and nodded my thanks. “I’ll be back soon. I appreciate it.”
The hospital seemed quiet as I made my way toward the staff lounge bathroom nearby. It always felt that way after an emergency: the wild, incredible intensity of saving a life, of doing everything possible to keep a person alive, contrasts with the otherwise mundane existence of a hospital.
Fact was, a lot people healed on their own. We kept them stable, but the human body is pretty amazing about recovering. For the most part we make people comfortable, make sure they’re not getting worse, and give them time. Some need aggressive intervention; many don’t. That’s not exciting, or flashy, or loud, and so mostly my days are spent in quiet boredom, punctuated by moments of incredible, intense action.
I reached the lounge and put my hand on the knob—but heard someone call my name.
I looked over and spotted Maria coming toward me. She had a placid smile on her face and worse a smart, comfortable black pantsuit. I went completely still and felt my blood run cold with fear.
Saving a life didn’t make me freeze up. When a man’s existence hung on the balance, I did what I had to do and didn’t think twice. But staring down the barrel of Maria’s politician-smile, I wanted to turn and bolt, but couldn’t make my legs move.
“Fiona, how are you?” she asked, stopping nearby.
“Doing fine,” I said. “How are you?”
She shrugged. “Not too bad. Funny running into you again. Weren’t you just up on my floor recently?”
“Oh, right,” I said, pretending like I forgot and doing a horrible job. “That’s funny.”
“Of course, you were with Dr. Coarse last time. How is he doing? He’s a very busy man, or so I hear.”
I shook my head. “I wouldn’t know. We don’t work together often.”
“And yet the two of you made a visit to my office the other night.”
My mouth fell open and she kept smiling at me like nothing was the matter. I felt a scream sit on the edge of my lips and nearly force itself out but I pushed it back and swallowed it down. I smiled back like my life depended on it, like she’d open up her jaws and eat me whole if I couldn’t pretend like this was no big deal.
Maria was a snake. She had to have a little reptile in her if she wanted to be able to reach the heights she’d reached. People didn’t become the head administrator of a large urban hospital without a little bit of ruthlessness in them. She had to play the game, the political game, and manage to win more often than not—and that made her a scary, formidable person.
I hadn’t thought about it before, and I wish I had.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said. “We were on that floor to—”
“I have a camera on my bookshelf.” The words came out and her smile faltered, only a little bit, but enough to show the rage lurking behind her fake grin. “It’s motion-activated.”
“Oh,” I said. “Right. Okay. That. I can explain that.”
She stepped closer. I wanted to step back, but I was too close to the door. I looked around like someone might come and save me, but the hallway was empty and the building seemed almost cavernous and immense.
“I want you to think very carefully before you answer me, Fiona. I want you to take a deep breath, and think about this.” She stared at me, eyes dead and cold. “What did you find?”
I took a deep breath, like instructed, and let it out. “Nothing,” I said. “We were looking—”
“Don’t lie to me,” she hissed, and in that moment, I realized what was happening.
She was scared. She didn’t know what we found, and that freaked her out. If she was innocent, there was no way we’d be having a conversation right now. She would simply show the video evidence to HR and have me fired on the spot—and maybe press criminal charges. Instead, she was worried about what we found, and she hadn’t done any of that yet, because she probably thought we’d release any damning documents if she tried to get rid of us.