There it was. That surreptitious glance. You know, the one when people think they are far enough away to talk about you without you knowing it. But there is something about the malevolence in the air when it happens. Like a snap of the fingers inside your brain, awakening a long forgotten instinct. A protection from the wickedness of those around you. A quick look about the area to see who is putting off that energy and more often than not, you catch them.

 

      The nurse’s station was busy, as it normally was in the daytime. White curtains slid open and closed with patients maneuvering gingerly in half tied flimsy gowns. Standing in the middle of the hallway were two nurses in green scrubs, Judy Pickering and Charlene Willard. Judy was nodding her head to everything Charlene was saying. A look of disbelief on Judy’s face grew in steps, like a crescendo. Followed by jaw dropping, eyes bulging, and finally a hand over the chest. 

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      That’s when it happened. A pause. Then came the coordinated glance in her direction. Not a direct look. A kind of eyes tracing along the floor then up in her general vicinity. But she was already aware of their ill will and she stared right at them. They cowered of course. Turning away quickly, ashamed that they were caught, then scurried away like rats, as if they were busy with other things.

 

      What a bunch of assholes, Grace thought. She had gone through this kind of thing before and quite frankly it was getting annoying. Rumors and innuendo flying around the building until the damage to her reputation was irreparable. It got so bad at her last job she had to quit. Move to another city. She had only been here for five months and already it has started. How disappointing.

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      Well, she wasn’t going down without a fight. She would play along for now, pretending she didn’t know what they were doing. Until she found out what ploy they were going to use to try and get rid of her. Then she would counter. If they wanted a fight she would give it to them. Charlene and Judy would get a taste of their own medicine. Just like the last place she worked. They tried messing with her there too. 

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      That time, they thought they could get her frustrated enough to quit or have her lose her composure in front of her supervisors to paint her in a bad light. They took the sandwiches she made for lunch out of the refrigerator in the break room. They knew it was hers because she wrote her name on the outside of the lunch bag. She tried to catch them several times but failed. They knew to strike when she was busy with patients. Still, she didn’t let that deter her thirst for revenge. She calmly looked into the refrigerator when her sandwich was gone for the third day in a row, and went to the cafeteria.

 

      That evening she made her favorite tuna fish sandwich with fresh sliced sourdough bread. She carefully diced up the onions and green peppers, added shredded parmesan cheese and other seasonings, but replaced the mayonnaise with Gojo hand cleaner. It was the stuff mechanics use to get those stubborn grease off their hands and it held the tuna fish together just like mayonnaise. It looked delicious.

 

      The following day, she put her sandwich near the back, as if trying to hide it, but did not write her name on the bag. At lunch, when she opened the refrigerator, the sandwich was gone. She scanned the faces of the nurses eating there to find her culprit. There was one evil glare pointed in her direction. Who would have guessed the prissy do gooder would have been the culprit. She smiled, and went to the cafeteria once again to eat her lunch.

 

      Not long after that, the prissy nurse turned everyone against her. It was a coordinated effort to pin every failure on her until management took action. And what action did they take? They told her they no longer had the funding to keep her employed. There was no mention of the cruel and unusual treatment of the staff. And they could not fire her because they needed to prove incompetence, which they could not. So a financial decision was their way to get rid of her. 

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      “Grace?” said the head nurse on the floor. 

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      “Yes,” she answered, closing the filing cabinet. 

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      “I need you to help out in radiology. They are shorthanded today.”

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      Radiology? That was a job for techs. She was a RN. “Sure,” she said, quickly determining what was happening. This was how they would build a case against her. Giving her menial jobs and daring her to refuse. All so they could site examples of being uncooperative. The emergency room, where she worked, and Radiology were all on the same floor. But she had never been asked to go there before, nor has she recalled any other nurse to be reassigned there.

 

      It just happened to be after that little episode with Charlene and Judy. Coincidence? Unlikely. 

​

      “You can start with the patient in bay 5,” said the head nurse. “He needs to go down there. Stay with him until the MRI is completed. Doctor’s orders.” A file was handed to her. 

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      “Sure thing,” said Grace. She rolled her eyes after turning away, then headed down to get… she checked file… Mr. Jake Coltrane. This guy was in his final days. Inoperable tumor steady growing at the base of his skull. Tragic. It was only a matter of time. Is that how they would punish her? Babysitting terminal patients? 

​

Her squeaky shoes reached bay 5 and she stood outside the curtain. “Hello,” she said giving him notice. “Mr. Coltrane, is it alright to enter?”

​

      “Sure,” he said. She drew the curtain back and maneuvered the wheelchair through the opening. “Mr. Coltrane? I am here to take you down to radiology for your MRI. Can you make it to the wheelchair on your own?”

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      He nodded and stood. He was well over six feet tall. Closer to seven feet. He plopped himself down in the chair and bent his long legs until his feet were on the rests. He seemed to be in a depressed mood. As if the joys of life were sucked from his body. It was to be expected for someone in his situation. He was young and good looking. What a waste.

​

      “Are you ready to go?” she asked. 

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      He nodded and off they went. She took him through the hospital passageways, pressing the automatic doors whenever she came to them, escorting him down mostly empty corridors all the way to Radiology. They were greeted by Robert, the MRI technologist in charge of the test. She had seen him in the lunch room from time to time. Seemed like a happy fella. One of those people who sound like they are laughing while they talked. 

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      “Are you here to assist me with this?” he asked Grace.

 

      “That’s what I am here for.”

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      She performed the doldrums she was asked to do as part of her job. Attached the sensors to monitor the patient’s vitals and helped him onto the table. Injected the Gadolinium based contrast agent into the bloodstream via the wrist. Gave him comfort and assurance all was going to be okay once the procedure started. Then stepped back into the control room with the technician to relax once the procedure was done. Grace sat down in the comfy chair behind the monitor and crossed her legs covered in blue scrubs. She watched as the technician gleefully gave instructions to the patient, with arms crossed and a snare on her lips.

​

      Something foul is going on inside her ward. They are going behind her back in some way. Pushing her off to the side for a moment while they plot and scheme against her. The other day, Burt, another nurse she worked closely with, pretended he was too busy to talk. He used to talk to her all the time. The only one who would give her the time of day. But now, all of a sudden, he stopped. When she asked if something was wrong he smiled that fake little smile she had seen so many times and said, “Oh nothing. I’m just tired.” 

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      Then the next day it was, “There is just a lot on my mind.” The following day it was, “I’m focusing on other things.” 

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      Like, what the fuck is that supposed to mean? 

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      Blaring tones from the monitor interrupted her thoughts. She looked up through the glass and saw the patient’s long black legs shaking and convulsing outside of the magnetic chamber. He was having a seizure. It wasn’t a surprise due to the size of the tumor lodged at the base of his skull but then the flat line of his vitals was. The technologist had the machine pulling the patient out of the chute in seconds. 

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      Grace sprang into action. She was on the patient’s left side administering CPR by the time the others got to the bay to lift him off the table on onto the gurney for transport. They rushed him back to emergency where there was the space and equipment they needed to work. Bursting through the door was Doctor Phillips. He was a young looking doctor with black hair, but he was experienced, and he took his job very seriously. He ordered Grace to the paddles, while he barked out additional orders to the others in the room.

 

      For the next ten minutes they worked to get his heart started again. Administering drugs and performing CPR. Grace had the defibrillator and she shocked him more than once. With the top part of his gown pulled down to his waist, Grace was getting a good look at his body. He was kind of thin. Not much definition. She thought about how strong people with no history of cardio vascular disease usually recover. But with his weak frame and history of seizures it didn’t look good. But still they trudged on.

 

      Seven people in all surrounded the patient, working hard under the intense lights. For a moment it looked like there might have been some activity. A spark of life returning to his body. But as the minutes passed, the mood turned gloomy. It was fruitless. This guy had no brain activity. Had not had it for a while. Yet, the doctor wanted to save him. She could see it in the way he fought for this guy. But even he grew frustrated. Everyone was tired.

 

      Dr. Phillips read the room. He sighed and dropped his hands to the table hard. Finally. He gave the nod. The patient was pronounced dead. Grace had charged up the paddles and hit him at least three times previously. His muscles contracted each time, tensing up from the intense voltage, still it was not enough to restart the signals in his dead brain. It was time to turn the machine off.

​

      What bad luck she had. They had her wheel him around the hospital for a simple procedure and now he was dead. 

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      Wait! Was this a set up? 

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      Surely they could not blame her for this one. This guy was a walking time bomb. Yet, she could not help but wonder if this was part of some trap to get rid of her. She leaned over, looking into his brown eyes. Wondering. She thought she saw something. A spark or glimmer. That would be ridiculous. She tried to brush it off, but couldn’t. She leaned in closer, certain there was something going on inside. Deeper, she thought, until she could make out what it was.

 

      It was her. She saw herself. A reflection? No. She was looking at herself hold the paddles above the table. She was inside the patient looking out. 

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      She focused on herself standing there. Lifeless almost. Staring into the patient’s eyes, but with no life in those eyes. Like she was absent. She tried to will herself to move from the table. To get back into her body somehow. But she couldn’t. Everyone else in the room, Dr. Phillips and all the nurses, were wrapping things up. Moving around, oblivious to what was happening to her. 

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      “Hey!” she yelled. 

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      They couldn’t hear her. They were removing their masks and gloves. Walking around despondently. In the background she spotted the MRI tech. He had come to see how his patient was doing. He looked heartbroken. Shaken. One of the nurses, Liz, placed her hand on his shoulder to comfort him. But no one was paying much attention her. The one standing over the patient.

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      “Can’t you see something is wrong?” she screamed. “Help me!”

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      It was like looking up at a movie screen, seeing what was going on in front of her while at the same time aware of the darkness in the periphery. She turned away from what was happening outside to view her surroundings. Unsettling. If this was in the mind of the dead it was terrible place. How did that even happen? She heard the eyes were the window to the soul but that was not to be taken literally.

 

      “Dr. Phillips!” she screamed. He was close by, looking frazzled and defeated. Tightening his jaws to keep from screaming.

 

      “Fuck him, look at me!” she said. She kicked and screamed but her real self would not move. It was frozen, staring into the eyes of the dead man. There was a sweltering heat that grew suffocating, making it hard to breathe. She turned around, startled that she could. She was in a place that was dark with a hint of red everywhere. Like a tint. She was naked. She could feel the drops of sweat trickle down her spine to her butt crack.

 

      This had to be something conjured by her mind. The real her was still in her body and this version was her mind conjuring a scenario within a semi-conscious state. Perhaps she had blacked out from the excitement. Wait. She meant to say stress. Why did she say excitement? Okay, maybe death did electrify her. Just a little. The sight of death might even trigger an ecstasy of sorts. But that was just her body’s way of processing the pressures of the job. Converting pain into pleasure. There was nothing wrong with that. It was her way of dealing with tragedy.

 

      Was this a moment of self-reflection? She shook it off. This was no time for her thoughts to cave in on itself and wallow with guilt. What use is that emotion? Guilt never served anyone anything except deny them of their true desires. She witnessed countless people handcuffed by their own remorse only to fail in life. That wasn’t going to be her. 

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      The conjured world of hers was coming into focus. The murky shapes with red tint turned out to be the hospital she used to work, St Vincent’s just outside Philadelphia. This was the third floor. She could tell by way the hallway intersection had a 45-degree angle instead of a sharp 90. It was her first job, she worked there three years and had many fond memories of that place. Whenever she dreamed of work, it was often at St Vincent’s. It made sense that is where her mind would take her. She decided to walk to through the halls and explore, see if her memory matched what her mind had fabricated. 

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      It was run down slightly. As if it had been closed. Everything there as she remembered it. Just old. Probably in relation to the time she had been gone. She left five years ago and everything looks as it had been in storage since then. Untouched, unwanted, not cared for. Even something so ordinary as an office chair appeared lonely and discarded. Computer terminals seemed abandoned. The nurse’s station at the intersection had an empty coffee cup, stained with old residue dripping down the side, sitting on the counter.

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      The mind was an incredible thing. Recreating this illusion for her, from her own thoughts, to keep her sane during tragedy. It was like a dream. A flurry of different situations thrown together where things don’t work as it should. It is said that dreams are simply your mind storing all the events that occurred in the past day or so. As they are filed away during REM sleep you can see them all mixed together. It was like being able to see multiple computer downloads of video all at once. To make sense of it, you might pull one scene and blend it with another to create something completely different. That’s how you see it in dreams at least. 

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      Speaking of dreams, what was taking so long? They should have noticed her frozen there and could have administered smelling salts to snap her out of this trance. 

 

      “Heeeeyyy!” she screamed in frustration.

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       “Hey,” said a young voice. 

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      Her head turned quickly. Startled. There was a young boy standing next to her in a flimsy off-white gown. His hand was on the IV pole, a half-full bag was on the hook, with the catheter attached to his wrist. He was no more than eight years old, pale with darkened circles around the eyes. She knew him. He was one of her patients. She also had on clothes. She was wearing her preferred choice of scrubs, blue with long sleeves.

 

To be continued