couldnât change her past, but she could help stop the terror for another child.
Isnât that why you wanted to be a nurse, to help people? Is there anyone more deserving of your help than an innocent little boy?
She saw Nathan in his hospital bed with the bulky dressing on his arm. She heard him cry in the treatment room as the doctors peeled dead flesh from his mangled hand. She felt sad at first, but then became aware of a white-hot rage that grew inside of her. As the voice spoke she let her anger reach a hellistic crescendo.
She listened more carefully to the instructions telling her what she would do.
Â
* Â * Â *
Â
Steve must have passed out at the sight of the man called Clark. It seemed like only a split second, but when his eyes came into focus again, the thin, white face with its hidden eyes and slit of a mouth no longer stared down at him. So he waited. He wasnât sure for how long. Time spent staring at a white ceiling with its black lines was very hard to measure.
By the time Mr. Clark came back, a woman with a mask and blue shower cap on had put a rigid tube in his mouth, which sucked the vomit out. She had cleaned up his face.
The hissing had faded to background noise and the periodic pressure of his lungs being filled with air no longer freaked him out, though it felt no less miserable. The feel and taste of the plastic tube, which went through his mouth (it was cool on his tongue and had the rubbery taste of a balloon), drove him crazy. The more he tried to force his mind to something else, the more he found he could only think of that damn snaking tube in his throat.
He guessed it was attached to some kind of breathing machine . He couldnât get used to not being able to move, although he had gotten good at blinking, thank god . His eyes were so dry they felt like little particles of glass were peppered over them. He could move them a bit if he strained, although they would drift back to center after a few seconds.
Before Mr. Clarkâs return, he had heard an intermittent smattering of other voices whispering around him, saying things he couldnât understand. They talked about a medicine, he thought, sucking , or something like that, and about changing how it dripped . One voice kept mentioning how many twitches there were. They also talked about blood and typing and crossing , whatever that wasâsomething to do with his blood, he thought. And then they disappeared as he stared at his tiled ceiling. He listened to the sickening hiss and tried hard to see anything other than that goddamn ceiling.
And then Mr. Clark entered again. Steve felt an icy set of fingers on the side of his face. Then the damned hat-covered head, with the thin smile and the shadows where eyes should be, leaned over into the center of his vision.
âMr. Prescott,â he said slowly. âIâm sure you are wondering what is going on.â He paused, nodded so that his shadowed face bobbed in and out of Steveâs field of vision. âYes, I thought so. Wellââhe disappeared but the voice continuedââyou will figure it all out in due time. I am sure we will come to understand each other very soon.â He paused and Steve heard a rustle of activity. Mr. Clarkâs voice changed, talking to someone else. âIs the succinylcholine back? Is he light enough to blink?â Another pause. âGood.â
Mr. Clark leaned again into view, silhouetted in backlight from above. The thin lips parted and the dark, red tongue darted in and out as he spoke.
âMr. Prescott, are you sorry for what you have done? If you are, I would like you to blink twice, please.â
Still this bullshit!?
He assumed the pale freak meant Sherry and her little brat. Could it really all be about that?
Holy shit, how frigginâ crazy is this? What the fuck is wrong with these people? It was an accident, goddamnit.
Steveâs face flushed with anger. He wanted to clench
Isnât that why you wanted to be a nurse, to help people? Is there anyone more deserving of your help than an innocent little boy?
She saw Nathan in his hospital bed with the bulky dressing on his arm. She heard him cry in the treatment room as the doctors peeled dead flesh from his mangled hand. She felt sad at first, but then became aware of a white-hot rage that grew inside of her. As the voice spoke she let her anger reach a hellistic crescendo.
She listened more carefully to the instructions telling her what she would do.
Â
* Â * Â *
Â
Steve must have passed out at the sight of the man called Clark. It seemed like only a split second, but when his eyes came into focus again, the thin, white face with its hidden eyes and slit of a mouth no longer stared down at him. So he waited. He wasnât sure for how long. Time spent staring at a white ceiling with its black lines was very hard to measure.
By the time Mr. Clark came back, a woman with a mask and blue shower cap on had put a rigid tube in his mouth, which sucked the vomit out. She had cleaned up his face.
The hissing had faded to background noise and the periodic pressure of his lungs being filled with air no longer freaked him out, though it felt no less miserable. The feel and taste of the plastic tube, which went through his mouth (it was cool on his tongue and had the rubbery taste of a balloon), drove him crazy. The more he tried to force his mind to something else, the more he found he could only think of that damn snaking tube in his throat.
He guessed it was attached to some kind of breathing machine . He couldnât get used to not being able to move, although he had gotten good at blinking, thank god . His eyes were so dry they felt like little particles of glass were peppered over them. He could move them a bit if he strained, although they would drift back to center after a few seconds.
Before Mr. Clarkâs return, he had heard an intermittent smattering of other voices whispering around him, saying things he couldnât understand. They talked about a medicine, he thought, sucking , or something like that, and about changing how it dripped . One voice kept mentioning how many twitches there were. They also talked about blood and typing and crossing , whatever that wasâsomething to do with his blood, he thought. And then they disappeared as he stared at his tiled ceiling. He listened to the sickening hiss and tried hard to see anything other than that goddamn ceiling.
And then Mr. Clark entered again. Steve felt an icy set of fingers on the side of his face. Then the damned hat-covered head, with the thin smile and the shadows where eyes should be, leaned over into the center of his vision.
âMr. Prescott,â he said slowly. âIâm sure you are wondering what is going on.â He paused, nodded so that his shadowed face bobbed in and out of Steveâs field of vision. âYes, I thought so. Wellââhe disappeared but the voice continuedââyou will figure it all out in due time. I am sure we will come to understand each other very soon.â He paused and Steve heard a rustle of activity. Mr. Clarkâs voice changed, talking to someone else. âIs the succinylcholine back? Is he light enough to blink?â Another pause. âGood.â
Mr. Clark leaned again into view, silhouetted in backlight from above. The thin lips parted and the dark, red tongue darted in and out as he spoke.
âMr. Prescott, are you sorry for what you have done? If you are, I would like you to blink twice, please.â
Still this bullshit!?
He assumed the pale freak meant Sherry and her little brat. Could it really all be about that?
Holy shit, how frigginâ crazy is this? What the fuck is wrong with these people? It was an accident, goddamnit.
Steveâs face flushed with anger. He wanted to clench
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