Graveyard Shift

by Melissa Yi

  I heard St. Joe’s staff drop to the ground around me.

  Charles Packard spun to face the officers. He adjusted his gun before he tossed it to the ground a metre to his right and knelt on the tile, hands straight up like telephone poles, and shouted, "The suspect has been neutralized."

  The police fanned through the ambulance bay, each staking a position.

  "POLICE! ON YOUR KNEES, HANDS UP!"

  Uh oh. I was on my stomach, technically disobeying them.

  I risked shifting onto my elbows, which raised me above the worm’s eye view. My neck was getting tired anyway. Luckily, it wasn’t hard to balance on those elbows, tuck my knees underneath me, and come up to kneel, raising my arms as straight as Charles Packard’s.

  An officer stalked perilously close to me, but he paused at Charles’s gun before aiming his assault rifle at the man himself.

  "The suspect has been neutralized!" Charles repeated.

  I couldn’t read the officer’s expression under the gas mask, and my clogged ears couldn’t process much of anything, but he must have called another officer, because a second, slightly shorter officer bagged the gun while the first officer kept his gun locked and loaded on the security guard.

  "I know it's against the rules for a security officer to carry a firearm," said Charles Packard, keeping his hands up. "We're licensed for a taser and a baton, but no higher level weapons. Still, when Dr. Chia told me about the bomb, I notified you and came to assess the situation myself."

  The hairs rose on the back of my neck. Somehow, Dr. Chia had woken up to the Code Black. She must have called 911 and snuck out her back door to inform the head of security.

  And then she’d returned to the ER, risking her own life.

  The taller officer said something I didn't catch, and Charles Packard let them handcuff his wrists behind his back. "I’m not denying anything. You have the firearm. You can run tests on it. I knew it was dangerous, but I'm an excellent shot. I took a calculated risk in taking out the suspect."

  "Found two more!" shouted an officer, nudging two men out of the conference room hallway.

  Two men I recognized.

  Two men who must have unlocked the conference room door with their skeleton key, only when Dr. Chia had hovered in the hallway and attracted Bomb Guy's attention, they had frozen behind her.

  "Don’t shoot! We’re security guards!"

  Michel and David thrust their hands in the air and dropped to their knees.

  David’s nose twitched. Michel drew back from the smoke, the charred fibreboard, and the cries inside the ER.

  "Those are my men, the security guards of St. Joseph. I called them in for backup," said Charles.

  I couldn’t hear if the officers replied, but the shorter one didn’t lower his weapon.

  "I needed my firearm when I entered the emergency department," said Charles. "I knew it was against the rules. I knew I’ll be fired and tried in a court of law, but I needed to rescue these people. I've worked here for thirty years. This is my family."

  "What about Patrick?" I called. More coughing. I willed my vocal cords to function. "Patrick Warren, the security guard shot in the throat tonight."

  "Yes, absolutely tragic," said Charles, never breaking eye contact with the taller officer.

  I cut in. "Two indigenous visitors were beaten on New Year’s, when Patrick Warren was on duty. So were you, Mr. Packard, along with David and Michel here."

  "That very unfortunate case is under investigation right now, so I can't comment. You understand," Charles returned.

  "You won't comment, but Patrick was going to. That's why he wore a suit the other day, right? To see his lawyer. To testify against you for using undue force."

  Charles frowned. David watched his mentor for cues, but I could read the agony in Michel’s hunched posture.

  "You felt betrayed," I said to Charles. "You took Patrick in when he failed the police force exams. You were like a father to him."

  Charles gave the slightest nod.

  "But you’re not the law." I turned to Michel and David. "Did you two shoot Patrick for him tonight?"

  David’s core muscles tensed under his blue shirt.

  Michel licked his lips.

  "Don't answer her," said Charles.

  I kept my eyes on Michel. He was the one who was the most like Patrick, the one most broken by his death. They'd probably been friends.

  Michel stared back at me, eyes glazed.

  David shook his head. "We don't say nothing without a lawyer."

  "You don't need a lawyer," said Charles. "We didn't do anything wrong."

  I peered in the direction of Bill's body on the other end of the ER.

  Charles snapped then. His face flushed, and I noticed his knuckles blanch behind his back. "I saved your life."

  "Thank you for shooting the bomber. But when his minions grabbed me in the parking lot, you left your station at the ER doors. Those men could’ve killed me or Dr. Chia." Coincidence? Or had Charles, the smug bastard, secretly aided and abetted Bill? I continued, "Afterward, maybe Patrick ran outside to try and catch them. Or you sent him out to round again. Either way, you or David or Michel shot him in the throat while everyone was fussing over me in the ER."

  Michel’s mouth opened.

  "Shut up, tabernac," hissed David.

  Michel shook his head, still speechless, while someone shuffled toward us from four o’clock. It had taken her this long to make it over, and she was flanked by a third officer, but she had arrived, body rigid with pain and fury.

  David sneered.

  Michel averted his eyes. His body seemed to hinge in itself, trying to squeeze away from her.

  "You told me that you'd leave us alone if I got him to change his mind," Alyssa said. "I was thinking about it. I wouldn't even talk to Patrick the last time I saw him." Her voice broke as she envisioned it.

  She shook her head, willing her tears away before she spoke again. "He's dead now. I don't give a shit what happens to me. I'm going to put you two away for fucking up my face, and your boss away for killing the love of my life. Just watch me."

  32

  Alyssa's words continued to haunt me while I saw Roxanne off.

  Roxanne waved a cheery, one-handed goodbye as the paramedics transported her to University College Hospital. "Don't worry, Andrea. I always wanted to be the bionic woman."

  The bomb squad evacuated the emergency department. That was chaos in itself, but we followed their orders and got every patient and staff member out. Three of them had already left in handcuffs.

  The police reeled us all into the station for questioning. After I finished my statement, I roamed the hall, asking for Alyssa.

  A French black female officer answered me. "She's gone with her sister. She said she'll call you, and something about plastic surgery."

  "Thanks." I smiled a little, imagining Alyssa putting her face—and eventually, her life—back together.

  I grabbed a yellow taxi (could not deal with a bus or wait for an Uber right now, price be damned) and sank into the back seat, not caring about the dust on the window frame. Better than blood.

  The sun had risen, shining bravely while people brushed snow off their car windshields. Like it was an ordinary day.

  I checked my messages. Still nothing from Tucker, but I called my parents back. "I'm fine. Don't worry."

  "Why would we worry?" said my father cheerily.

  It took me several seconds to respond. I didn't want to stress them out if they hadn't checked the news. "Uh. Just letting you know."

  "We were going to call you anyway," he said. "We're coming to Montreal next weekend."

  "We'll stay with you!" my mom chimed in.

  "I, uh..." Oh, God. I hadn't actually broken the personal news yet. I swallowed. My throat twitched, but obeyed me enough to issue the syllables without coughing. "I’m moving next weekend."

  "What? You need us to help you move?"

  "You could. But I'll, uh, have a roomma
te."

  "You're getting a roommate?" said my little brother, Kevin. "Who is it?"

  "It's not settled yet, but it would be...JohnTucker." I said his name very quickly, in case it might come out more girlish that way.

  "John Tucker?" my mom repeated. "Who's that?" From her slightly marvelling tone, it was clear that she might as well have been thinking, What is that?

  My cheeks burned. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to tell you this way." Worst. Night. Shift. Ever. "You’ll like him. He's a good guy."

  "He?" repeated my father.

  "Yes," I said. "You remember, when I got off the airplane...and with the hostage taking..." I didn't want to explain any more than I had to.

  "You mean that pale one?" said my father.

  "Right, with the blond hair!" Mom put in.

  "He's her boyfriend," said Kevin.

  "I thought Ryan was her boyfriend," Dad said slowly.

  "He is—he was," I corrected myself. I was crying again. "He's not talking to me right now."

  "Because after the airplane, you started going out with Tucker?" said my mother.

  "Sure." It was close enough, and easier to explain than the fact that I'd been juggling Ryan and Tucker simultaneously, or as they might say, jerking them around, since August. I blew my nose.

  "But why? Ryan is perfect!" said Mom.

  "He is." My heart ached.

  "Then why..."

  "It doesn't matter!" said Kevin. "She had to pick one. She picked the white guy. Now he can be her bodyguard, okay?"

  I almost laughed between my tears. My nine-year-old brother was the fastest on the uptake, but he smashed my heart. And what a cliché, to pick the white guy. It wasn't even true. Deep in my soul, I still couldn't choose. "I don't want to worry you."

  "Do you have a cold? You sound like you have a cold," said Dad.

  "Daddy!" Mom chided.

  "What?"

  "She's crying!" said Kevin. "She misses Ryan. But there was no way she could have both of them forever. And Ryan's okay. I talked to him through Discord last week—"

  "You talked to Ryan? Where is he?"

  "I don't know," said Kevin, after a pause. I couldn't tell if he was lying over the phone.

  "Where did he go?" said my mother.

  "I have to go to the bathroom," said Kevin.

  "KEVIN!"

  But he was gone, and my parents couldn't help me. At long last, I hung up when they promised to coax Kevin out of the bathroom to call me back. After I got a few hours sleep, I'd drive to Ottawa myself and wring it out of my brother if I had to.

  My phone buzzed twice, like an angry hornet. New text message.

  I found him.

  I stared at the screen.

  Was Tucker serious? Was he kidding me? Where was Ryan? Could I talk to him?

  He’s ok.

  What did that mean? It certainly wasn’t great. Also, I don’t really like OK as an abbreviation. It felt cut short, an ominous omen when it came to Ryan. I started tapping out my response, but a third text bubble from Tucker stopped me.

  I promised to leave him alone now.

  That meant...

  I love you. I’m coming home.

  I texted back, I love you too.

  Then I barraged him with questions. Where was he? How did you find him? I started to call him, but the next text came through first.

  He was in a monastery.

  Whoa. I shouldn’t have been surprised, since God was Ryan’s first love, way before I charted in his life.

  On the other hand, how many guys headed to a monastery in the 21st century? How did you find him?

  Terry

  I'd die of old age before we got through this. I called Tucker to get the straight scoop. "How did you convince Terry to tell you?"

  "Roxy."

  That was bizarre. "What? You took Ryan's dog—"

  "Terry was walking Roxy. Ryan had left her with Terry while he was retreating with the monks. Terry walked her early, before going to work. I hung outside the apartment with some dog biscuits."

  This didn't hang together for me. "You're a stranger. Why would Terry tell you?"

  "I brought Ryan's mother too."

  Truly strange. "You stopped by Mr. and Mrs. Wu's house in the middle of the night—"

  "I reached out to her. She was frantic. Willing to try anything. I got her to calm down, and she told me to go to Terry's house. 'He knows something,' she said."

  "Why didn't she do it herself?"

  I could almost hear Tucker shrug. "She's not you, babe."

  "And Mr. Wu let her go with you? My new boyfriend?"

  "He came, too."

  "Do I have to pry all of this out of you?"

  He sort of laughed. "You want a play by play?"

  "Of course. You should have videoed it."

  He sighed. "Mrs. Wu was almost out of control. Well, you heard her. Not knowing where her son was—she needed to know that he was okay, right? Mr. Wu was finally willing to call the police, but she said it would be better to put the pressure on Terry. She had me sleep over at their house, and then bundled us out of there at 5:00 a.m. so we could wait for him to go to work. When we saw him with Roxy—"

  "What was he doing with Roxy? She should have been with Rachel, the other dog foster person."

  "She flaked out, I guess. That was why Ryan had Roxy in the first place, even though he knew he couldn't take her to the monastery. He had to bring Terry in at the last minute, and Terry was a bit burnt, having to look after a dog and work and come home at lunch to walk her and stuff. Once I offered to take Roxy off his hands—"

  "You have Roxy now?" My new boyfriend was looking after my ex-boyfriend's dog?

  "Mr. and Mrs. Wu aren't crazy about dogs, and Terry had some stuff at work that was taking him into overtime. I said I could do it. I like dogs, and my family will always help. No big."

  My head spun. It hadn't worked out for the two of us to adopt another dog, and now Tucker had a hold of Ryan's dog. "He's going to kill you."

  "Nah. He'll be all spiritual after meditating for two weeks, or whatever it is they do in monasteries."

  "I wouldn't count on it. You'd better get Roxy back to his parents first."

  "Yeah, they said they'd take her if they had to. They want Ryan more than anything. They'd put up with a fire-spitting monkey or a drunk polar bear."

  There was stuff I didn't understand. Like why Ryan hadn't told his parents where he was going. That pushed against everything he'd stood for.

  "They're driving down to the monastery this morning."

  I rubbed my eyelids, beyond tired, but Ryan could drag me back from the gates of hell. I’d catch a few z’s and head out. "Okay. Where?"

  "Uh uh. Can't tell you, babe."

  "What?" My voice was so loud that the taxi driver slammed on the brakes before staring at me reproachfully.

  "That was part of the condition. You can't know. You can't go. He was super clear about that."

  "Ryan was, or Terry?"

  "Both, babe. You're...persona non grata."

  I bet they called me worse than that. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to count every blessing instead of keening.

  No one had blown me up last night. My heart still thumped inside my chest. Ryan was alive, avoiding both suicide and homicide. He’d run back to God. He might vomit if he ever caught sight of me again, but he was alive on this earth and rebuilding his life. Without me.

  My hand spasmed on my phone. I opened and closed my mouth soundlessly, reminding myself of Michel, the security guard.

  The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

  I clapped my hands over my own face to cover my grief. In the end, only Ryan’s parents would visit him. I wouldn't get to sob all over his manly chest. Tucker wouldn’t get to gloat in real time that he’d gotten the girl.

  Anyone who didn’t have impaired judgment would say that was for the best.

  "Okay," I finally managed to force out.

  "Okay." Tu
cker deliberately lightened his tone. "I'm coming back to you. Was your night shift okay?"

  I cracked up laughing. Clearly, he hadn’t checked my messages, any of his favourite social media platforms, or the news. I’d so limited my texts to loving reassurance that I’d fooled him.

  "No," I said, gazing at the silent, black apartment building standing before me. I refused to check the cemetery on the opposite side of the the street as I counted out the driver’s fare plus a two dollar tip. "It wasn't okay."

  "Aww. Were you up all night?"

  "Yeah. You could definitely say that." I zipped my wallet in my backpack and heaved it across both shoulders.

  His tone shifted. "Hope. You didn't...meet any murderers, did you?"

  I slammed the door behind me and laughed so hard that it made me cough.

  I waved as the taxi sped away, still coughing and now enveloped in car exhaust. My kingdom for some warm water, honey, and lemon. I should have at least swiped another butterscotch candy on my way out of the ER.

  Tucker swore. "I'm coming."

  Why didn't he know this already? I checked my text to him about bullets in the parking lot. Autocorrect had changed it to bullies in the parking lot.

  "I’m on my way. Are you okay?" he asked.

  I cackled again. I might have fooled someone less observant, but Tucker's voice tightened. "Oh, God, Hope. Not again. I'm pulling over, you can tell me everything—"

  "Don't get into an accident," I said, sobering up. I’d rather deliberately keep him in the dark, the way we sometimes did when calling in families for a Code Blue, saying that their loved one was "very sick," rather than give them news over the phone and risk a car crash. "I’m fine. FINE, as Louise Penny would say."

  "Fucked-up, Insecure, Neurotic, and Egotistical?" he said. He’d read her books, too.

  "Exactly. And breathing. So take it slow and easy. I'm...no more screwed up than usual, okay?"

  "Okay," he said, but for the first time, Roxy barked, sensing his mood.

  "Hello, Roxy. Well, I’ve got to go," I said. My voice cracked. I needed to rest every part of me. The cold January air stung my nose.

  "You've got to chart?" he said. "Your shift's over."

  "No, for once, I think they don't care too much about charting," I said, remembering the smashed computer at the nursing station. I laughed again. "SARKET is at a standstill for now."