Mercy

by Rada Jones

  He remembered everything, and a tear ticked his left cheek. He tried to wipe it away, but his hands were still tied. The ties were long enough to let him write on the notebook in his lap, without letting him reach his tube.

  The door opened.

  Faith smiled. She bent over and kissed his forehead, then pulled a chair and sat.

  “How are you doing, honey? I missed you.”

  Her finger traced the line of his jaw, the curve of his ear, the hollow in his throat.

  I must be dreaming,

  He turned his head. Door to the left. Window to the right. Machines beeping everywhere. The tube in his throat.

  I’m not dreaming. God can’t be so cruel as to make me dream my ICU imprisonment. And Faith. This is real.

  He wished he could ask. He remembered his notebook.

  “Why?” he scribbled.

  “I missed you. I came to say good-bye. Remember our good old days? We were in love, you and I. You were the only one in the world for me. I was the only one in the world for you. Nobody else mattered.” Her smile melted. Her eyes became ice shards.

  “You had to spoil it all by obsessing about Dick.”

  Me? I spoiled it? By obsessing about Dick?

  “Yes. Everything would have been fine if you didn’t act out.”

  Carlos stared.

  “Then, when father got sick, you didn’t support me. You were so wrapped up in your jealousy that you didn’t even hear me ask for help. Remember when I told you I couldn’t bear it anymore?”

  Her eyes left his face. She stared at her ring, twisting it around her finger.

  My ring. She’s still wearing it.

  “It was horrendous. All that screaming. Day and night. Screaming. No sleep, no food, no peace, nothing but screaming. All the time. It drove me crazy. It inhabited my dreams. It woke me up from sleep. It got my food stuck in my throat. I couldn’t bear it anymore.”

  She pushed her silky golden hair behind her ears and leaned back in her chair. She crossed her legs, showing off the sharp line of her ironed green scrubs. He’d never seen anyone ironing scrubs before Faith.

  “I had to do something!”

  She stared at him, her eyes open so wide the white showed all around the blue. Carlos shivered.

  “His doctor prescribed morphine. He refused it. He wanted to show God he was worthy. I tasted it. It was sweet. I thought about baking him a cake. ‘He won’t eat enough of it,’ I thought. Ice cream? I don’t know how to make ice cream. I made Jell-O. Morphine Jell-O. Ever had morphine Jell-O?” She laughed.

  “Me neither. I flavored it with almond extract. It smelled like cyanide, but it wasn’t. It was morphine. He loved it. I gave him more. He fell asleep. I poured the rest of the morphine down his throat. He choked, but he was too zonked to care.”

  She smiled.

  “He stopped screaming.”

  Carlos shivered.

  “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. You kept on about Dick. About me dragging you here. Like it mattered! All that mattered was that I stopped the screaming. I helped the nasty old bastard! What a shit he was! With his God, his crappy death, and his nasty attitude toward life. The son of a bitch ruined my life, my mother’s life, and his own life, the stupid, bigoted piece of shit. Did you listen? No. You left me.”

  She sobbed.

  “I tried to be understanding. You were upset. Your manliness was threatened. I gave you time.”

  Carlos broke into a cold sweat.

  “Something had changed in me when I came back. All those old people suffering. It hurt. It made me relive the nightmare with Father. I couldn’t stand it. Then it dawned on me. I could help. I had some fentanyl left over from Dick. I gave it to her. I freed her from her pain. She was grateful to die. She called me an angel. I had made a difference.”

  Her eyes returned to him.

  “I was happy. I was so happy I gave you a second chance. I took you back in my life. Back in my bed. And you? You ran away. That was stupid.”

  Her eyes darkened with anger.

  “You said I’m disgusting. I disgust you, you, dirty little spic! I had to punish you. I killed your patient. The back pain. Yes, it was me.”

  “They came after you. I let you take the fall. It would be fun to see you in jail, I thought. What if they put you in with Dick? You two have a lot in common. But then you ran away again, you bastard. You ran away again!”

  Faith smiled.

  “You didn’t make it far. It’s good to see you again, honey.”

  She caressed his cheek and straightened his hair. “You’ve always had nice hair. You need a shower though. Don’t worry, they’ll wash you afterwards.”

  She leaned over to kiss his forehead. Her perfume, chocolate, jasmine, and honey, got through to him, in spite of the tube in his throat.

  Sweet and intoxicating.

  “It was nice talking to you, but I have to go. I just wanted to say good-bye.”

  He stared at her, his eyes wide. She understood.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. Wherever the wind takes me. But I have to take my baby first.”

  She opened her red bag.

  I gave it to her for Christmas. It was a month’s salary, but it was worth it. She loved it.

  She took out a syringe. Carlos’ heart skipped a beat.

  “It won’t hurt. It’s going to be all right. You won’t feel anything, I think.”

  “Why?”

  He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t move.

  She knew.

  She laughed.

  “Are you kidding? You didn’t think I was going to let you live after telling you? I wouldn’t anyhow. But look at the bright side: You got to understand what happened. I bet you racked your brains trying to figure it out. Now you know. You can die happy.”

  She attached the syringe to his IV. She pulled the plunger to check the line. It flashed red. It worked. She looked him in the eye. She smiled and pushed the plunger in the whole way. She detached the syringe and dropped it in her bag.

  Sick with fear, Carlos stared.

  “What is it? Surprise.”

  She waved, then left closing the door.

  Carlos waited. Nobody came.

  The terror filled him like darkness. He was dying. He knew he was dying. He didn’t even get to clear his name. She was going to get away with it, like she did with all the other murders.

  I need to tell them I didn’t do it. She did it. The notebook.

  His heart fluttered. His eyes got blurry, as if he was under water. He blinked to clear them. It didn’t work. The world became a blur.

  He scribbled blindly on the notepad.

  His heart fluttered again, like a bird locked in his chest, trying to fly out.

  His brain fogged. He forgot what he was writing.

  He forgot he was writing.

  He forgot he was…

  78

  Down in the ER, Taylor checked her watch. The end of her shift was getting close. She straightened her back. It hurt. So did her feet, especially at the end of a twelve-hour shift. But, all in all, she was doing better. She hardly ever got sick any more. Just the opposite. She lived thinking about food. She started drooling, imagining a succulent burger. Biting into it with her mouth fully open. Juices running down her chin. She swallowed her saliva. Two more hours. Then she was going to Burger King. She’d get a Double Whopper. With cheese. No. Two. She started drooling again. She took a sip of water, wishing it was a smoothie. She got back to work.

  Today she worked with Faith. Faith was nice. Since she’d heard that Umber was her baby’s father, she’d been even nicer.

  The day Taylor passed out, Faith sat with her.

  “It must be hard for you. So young, pregnant and alone.”

  “I’m not alone.”

  “But he’s…he’s not here.”

  “I have Eric.”

  “Yes, but it’s not the same thing. He’s not your baby’s father.”

>   “No, but he’s a good man and a good friend.”

  “You’re so brave! Do you miss him?”

  “Umber?”

  “Yes,” Faith said.

  Taylor didn’t miss him. I hope he rots in hell. I hope his jail mates cut off his dick and make him eat it. He had lied to her. He had betrayed her. He was the scum of the earth. A newt classified higher than Dr. Dick Umber in Taylor’s book.

  “No.”

  “Not even a little bit?”

  “No.”

  Faith smiled and nodded. She didn’t believe her, but she was exceptionally kind to Taylor, and Taylor was grateful.

  She took another sip of water and went to triage to get the new patient, a large girl with purple hair and a nose-ring. She got grounded after stealing her mother’s car, then threatened to kill herself when they took away her phone. Her friend called 911, so Police brought her in for an emergency mental health evaluation.

  A few months ago, this could have been me. I’m no longer who I was in February, thank God. Or thank the ED. I look at this girl and I think there, but for the grace of God…

  “She needs to change,” Faith said.

  To stop them from hurting themselves or the staff, mental health patients got changed into blue paper scrubs. Their belongings got inspected down to the last used condom, then locked away.

  “I’ll get the blues,” Taylor said.

  The clean utility room was in the back end of the department. She punched in the code, opening the heavy metal door to the cave-like, dim room. Heavy metal shelves sagged under the heavy bundles of blankets, pillows, and scrubs.

  She found a large bundle of XXL blues on the bottom shelf. As she bent over to free a top, she heard the door behind her. She managed to get a top, then she struggled to break free a bottom. It wouldn’t come. She pulled harder.

  She felt a sting in her hip. A hand grabbed her neck and pushed her down.

  She fell on top of the scrubs, her arms protecting her belly.

  Hands pushed her to the ground. The weight on her back forced her into the floor. She tried to resist. She couldn’t.

  She rolled.

  Faith, her face distorted by hate. Unblinking blue eyes, staring into hers. Feral teeth, gleaming white under rolled lips. Faith, rabid, ready to bite off her throat.

  “You, miserable little bitch. You took my man. You took him and threw him away. You bitch.” Her voice, low and cracked, held nothing human.

  Taylor gasped. Her heart raced. Her brain too. She lost her mind. What’s she talking about? I’ve never been near Carlos.

  “No, Faith, I’ve never had anything to do with Carlos, I swear! He just helped me get those labs…”

  Faith’s rictus reminded her of tetanus. She’d seen pictures. What did they call it? Risus sardonicus. It wasn’t funny.

  Her arms got heavy. Her whole body did.

  “You took my man, you lying slut. You took him, but you aren’t going to take my baby.”

  Her baby?

  Taylor shuddered. Her whole body went into a spasm. Then again. And again.

  She couldn’t move.

  Faith let her go.

  Taylor tried to get up, but she couldn’t. Her body was too heavy.

  Faith’s hand reached for her pocket. She took out a scalpel.

  “I’ll take my baby now.”

  She’s crazy. Totally crazy.

  The scalpel descended toward Taylor’s belly.

  She’s going to cut me to take him out! This is insane. She wanted to tell her that it was too early. The baby couldn’t live out of the womb. Not yet.

  It’s too early. He needs at least another couple of months inside!

  She couldn’t speak. Her tongue was lead. Her face was heavy. Her arms weighed tons.

  She couldn’t move. She lay there, watching.

  Faith undid the tie of Taylor’s scrubs. She pulled up the top. Set free, the pink belly glowed, lighting the dark room. Grotesque. She took a bottle of iodine from her pocket. She opened it and splashed it over Taylor’s belly, painting the skin brown.

  The chemical fumes burned Taylor’s eyes, but she couldn’t blink. She watched the scalpel come closer. And closer.

  Faith smiled. She pushed the scalpel blade open with her thumb.

  Taylor’s brain sank in darkness. The black engulfed her. Everything was dark, but the blade. The blade caught the meager light, reflecting it. It glistened closer and closer to her skin.

  To her womb.

  To her baby.

  79

  That morning, Emma had to force herself to return to the hospital. She hated being there. Now, that she was on leave, there was no place she’d be happier to avoid. Well, maybe the ER. But she had to see Carlos again. She needed his help. Nobody but him could help her expose Faith.

  She opened the door to the ICU. The place was in chaos. Carlos’s room was a cacophony of alarms, screams, and people rushing. Emma couldn’t believe it. It can’t be Carlos. He was doing so well last time I saw him. We worked so hard to keep him alive.

  It was him. Dead.

  A sweaty nurse moved aside from doing CPR to make room for another.

  “What happened?” Emma asked.

  “He coded.”

  Thanks, Nurse Obvious. What the hell happened?

  She waited, hoping they’d bring him back.

  They didn’t. The intensivist called the code.

  “What happened?”

  He shrugged. “No idea.”

  Emma sighed.

  There’s no talking to Carlos. He can’t help me anymore. Unless…

  She went back to the room. They were cleaning the room, preparing it for the family.

  There’s no family. But Faith.

  She sat in the chair by the bedside, looking at him. Dead, he looked serene. Emma remembered him alive. His passion. His troubled life. His struggles. His sorrow. His work as a nurse. The patients they saved together.

  He had told her that he didn’t kill their patients. As if she didn’t know. The notebook…

  “Was there a notebook?” Emma asked his nurse. “I lent it to him. I need it back.”

  The nurse checked the bag with his belongings: keys, belt, phone, the notebook. He handed the notebook to Emma. She grabbed it and left. She wanted the keys too, but couldn’t think of a good excuse to ask for them.

  I’ll think of something and I’ll come back

  Shoulders slumped, heart heavy, she dragged herself to the cafeteria. She sat at the remote corner table, sipping on cold burned coffee. She turned the pages. Not many.

  His unsteady writing on the first page: “I didn’t do it.”

  Page two: “Kill those people.”

  She felt sick. It must be the coffee. She pushed it aside.

  Communications with the nurses: “Too cold.” “Turn me.” “Chest hurts.”

  The last page said “Why?”

  Emma wondered what that was about. Nurses telling him they were going to keep the tube another day? The doctor was going to be late?

  Lower down, on the same page, two thin, shaky, hard-to-see letters.

  “Fa…”

  That could be anything. He was Catholic. He may have asked for Father O’Meara. Maybe he asked them to call his father. No, he said he never knew his father.

  Fa for Faith?

  Faith what?

  “Faith killed me”.

  I’m getting ahead of myself here. But it makes sense.

  I wish he’d completed that sentence.

  80

  Deep in thought, Emma walked slowly to her car. She didn’t want to meet anyone, so she had parked far away, in the night lot parking. She didn’t want people staring at her, wondering what she did to earn her disgrace. She didn’t want them asking questions.

  She opened the door but couldn’t get in.

  Something was pulling her back.

  I have to go to the ER.

  She slammed the door and headed back, mad at herself.

 
I have no business going there. I’m on leave. Everybody knows it.

  Her cheeks burned with humiliation. She wanted to go home and get drunk. Very drunk. This was not about wine appreciation. This was about numbness and pain relief and forgetting that she was incompetent and useless, like Mother said.

  I knew Carlos was in danger. I wanted to protect him. What a good job I did!

  Deep inside her head, Mother laughed. “It’s your fault that he died. You fucked up again.”

  She wanted to go home and drink. She wanted to forget how she’d fucked up her life. That’s the one good thing about Alzheimer’s. You forget a lot of crap. I wish I could forget Mother.

  She didn’t want to go to the ER but she had to. She didn’t know why, but her gut told her to. And her gut never lied.

  She punched in the code. The door opened. She wandered in, not knowing where to go. She didn’t know what she was there for. People saw her and smiled. She bristled. They’re laughing at me, damn it.

  She went to the desk. Kayla was watching the cameras. a frown on her face. They covered the hallways, the med room and the mental health rooms. Kayla saw Emma and her face lit up.

  “Go to the clean utility room.”

  Emma didn’t ask why. She sprinted there and punched the code. The door opened to the gloom inside. Taylor, laying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Faith, bent over her, holding a scalpel.

  That’s not how you hold a scalpel. That’s how you hold a kitchen knife.

  The scalpel descended toward Taylor’s chest.

  Not the chest. The belly.

  Emma leaped forward. Faith turned.

  Emma’s right foot front-kicked toward the scalpel. She missed.

  She got Faith’s ribs instead. Faith slumped, but she didn’t fall.

  Emma’s foot hurt. This is different. Workouts never hurt. But of course, you hit nothing but air. Here, you need to connect.

  Eyes glued to the scalpel, she threw a right hook to Faith’s cheek. She connected. A loud crack. Searing pain. A boxer’s fracture? That’s going to screw up my work. Fortunately I wasn’t working anyhow.