They remained heavy in my thoughts as I strolled into the hospital.
It was the first moment I stepped inside Temple University Hospital as an intern, in my first year of residency. The first day of what would be a gauntlet run, or so I thought at the time. July had never seemed hotter, and the ink on my medical school diploma had barely dried. The world expected me to apply my knowledge in the gravest of manners, though, in the emergency room of a hospital located in the heart of Philadelphia.
And I was scared to death.
Senior residents barked orders at me. The entire world seemed tipped on its axis while spinning quickly at the same time. My first week provided me precious little sleep and by the second week, I wondered how I would make it to the other side of three long years. One especially frustrating shift found me sitting in the locker room, holding my head in my hands. Two weeks in, and my nerves were already shot to hell.
As I strolled back into the emergency room, I passed a nurses’ station and found myself scowling at the women as they tried to speak with me. I was not vexed with them so much as I was simply angry with the world at large and bent to take it out on everyone. A portly, middle-aged nurse raised an eyebrow at me, but I turned away before she could speak. The intersected gaze was enough, though. She stood to give chase and I sighed, aggravated enough to spin on my heels as I heard her approach.
She smiled in the most disarming way possible, extending a hand. “Well, hello there, young man. I’m assuming you’re one of the new interns. We haven’t been properly introduced. The name’s Chloe Poole. Who would you be?”
I mustered as much of a grin as I was apt to reciprocate. “Peter Dawes,” I said, shaking the outstretched hand. “Yes, I’m an intern.”
“Thought as much.” Her grip was firm, almost a challenge or a dare, but relaxed within seconds. “Those senior residents work you fellows ragged. I always have pity on the interns.”
“Yes, they’ve been . . . ” I ran my fingers through my hair, peering at the other doctors before regarding Chloe again. “This behavior’s normal for them?”
Her grin became a smirk. “Honey, it’s a tradition. The world likes to shake you up and see what you’re made of from time to time.”
“So noted.” I frowned. “I don’t know if I can take much more of this. It trumps even the shit my instructors used to put me through.”
“Well, this is life in the E.R., Pete.” Her eyebrow arched again. “Why did you become a doctor?”
I sighed, recalling the first time in my medical school career I had been asked that question. “Because,” I said, reciting the same thing to her I had told my teachers, “I lost my parents in a car accident. Couldn’t help them, but I wanted to be able to help somebody else.”
“Ah, you’re one of the idealists.” Chloe started to walk, motioning for me to follow her. I did so, glancing around while listening to her speak. “I see it happen so many times, Pete, when pre-med and med school doesn’t take the luster out of an intern’s eyes and they get thrown into this lion’s den without instructors to hold their hands. It’s not the gold medal marathon the movies make it out to being, but when you help somebody who needs helping . . . ” Her smile brightened. “It’s worth all the other horse shit you need to shovel along the way.”
I nodded. “I haven’t gotten to the part where that’s happened yet.”
“Then you’re looking at it the wrong way.” She pointed toward one of the occupied beds. “I know it’s hard to find something noble about treating the same alcoholic who fell down another flight of stairs, but even the people who come in here with minor sniffles and sneezes aren’t wasting your time. They’re everyday people and they might not be bleeding and broken, but you’re helping them get on with their lives.”
Turning my attention toward another bed, I saw a young woman raise her eyes toward me in an apprehensive manner, a blanket pulled up to her shoulders with dark circles framing her eyes. Chloe slapped a chart against my chest that I reflexively took in hand while shooting a glance toward the nurse.
She smiled. “Go save the world, Dr. Dawes. Don’t get cynical like the rest of us.”
Nodding slowly, I watched Chloe walk away and opened the chart she had handed to me. Inside, I found the information taken down by whoever had first spoken to the patient. Persistent insomnia. No medical insurance, but a quick note scrawled across the bottom said it had gotten to the point where she had nearly been involved in a major car accident. My heart sank to think about what could have happened. Did she have a family who could have been harmed? Could she have been like the drunk driver whose car impacted ours all those years ago? Looking up at the young woman, I drew a deep breath inward and started my examination.
She left not too long afterward with a prescription and a few bits of additional information regarding her condition. The next patient complained of persistent stomach pain, and I determined he had a burgeoning ulcer, which would only get worse if left untreated. He thanked me while confessing the stress he faced every day and even as I sent him on his way, he spoke of a wife and children dependent upon his income to make ends meet. Each patient, it seemed, had some story to tell which struck a chord with me that night. When I entered the hospital for my next shift, even the badgering of the senior residents could not deter me from grasping firm hold of my newfound perspective.
Not that every night from that point forth bore a resonance of ‘sacrifice for the greater good’, but it helped me limp through the months until I met Lydia. From that point forth, she constantly reassured me that I was a noble person, even when a hard day of work failed to make me feel accomplished. The universe seemed bent to affirm her, though. I can yet recall saving a woman’s life and following up with a compulsion to check on her the next evening.
As I said, “Feel better,” to her I caught sight of something which caused me a moment’s pause. She wore a wedding band, replete with a matching diamond, and had a dozen red roses poised beside her on her tray table. I excused myself to continue my shift, but happened upon the thought several times that night that I had helped mend somebody’s wife. Perhaps that is why I held Lydia a little tighter that evening. It could be I was simply glad it had not been her. Whatever the matter, I experienced a moment both sobering and vindicating at the same time.
The idea of helping the helpless infatuated me, this much I could not deny. It had been a small, but very real, slice of pleasure I relished until I met Sabrina and started down into an endless spiral. Monica was quite astute, though, to think my old place of employment would be the best place to take me. No matter what transpired, I knew exactly what job I had to do and how to handle the challenges presented to me.
It would be a valuable lesson as I faced a test of a different sort.
***
Strolling into the building, I found myself staggering from the wave of nostalgia impacting me. It was hard to believe it, but there I stood, in the middle of the hospital that used to be my second home.
I did not bother looking at Monica when I spoke. “Are you certain this is the best place to bring a vampire?” I asked, perking an eyebrow.
“No,” she said, “It’s definitely the wrong place to bring a vampire.” As I turned my head to regard her, I saw the corner of her mouth curl in a grin. “But it’s a great place for a seer to be. Call it a moment of perspective, Peter, because that’s what we’re here for.”
She swatted me on my back. I frowned and continued walking with her, glancing about the vicinity in as idle of a fashion as I could manage. When one commits double homicide and then becomes a vampire, one does not have much of a chance or inclination to notify their place of employment they shall not be returning. As such, I speculated on what the other doctors might have thought when I vanished.
Had they heard about Lydia’s death? Were they questioned by the police? My stomach twisted and I wondered why the hell Monica had been so foolhardy as to bring me there. My old friends would recognize me and I would be forced to
do something idiotic to avoid being detained. Suddenly, my temples throbbed despite the absence of a pulse.
Raising my hand to adjust my sunglasses, I kept my gaze fixed on the ground while burying my hands inside my pockets. I did my best to avoid making eye contact with anybody, but this did not prevent somebody from stopping in the middle of the hall. I winced as they called out my name.
“Pete?”
Monica ceased walking, but I continued onward. The woman who recognized me was not to be deterred, though, and I knew why the moment she spoke again. The all-too familiar voice sparked mountains of recollection my simple brush-offs would not assuage.
“Dr. Peter Dawes? Is that you?”
The footfalls hurrying toward me broke into a jog. I sighed, resigning myself to the imminent conversation and turned to face my pursuer. Mustering a halfhearted smile for the short, chubby nurse was as cordial of a gesture as I could manage. “Chloe, it has been ages,” I said, hoping she did not hear the strain latent in my words. “You look well.”
Truth be known, she looked tired far more than I recalled her being when I worked with her. She huffed and shook her head. “Oh, stop bullshitting me. You always were a terrible liar.” Reaching forward, she threw her arms around me without hesitation and I froze in place. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Reluctantly, I embraced her in return, weighing myself against the knowledge that this was my first physical contact with a mortal since my detoxification. Granted, I had taken company with Monica, but Chloe knew no protective incantations and unknowingly exposed herself to a moment of closeness with a predatory sadist. The part of me that was yet Flynn scoffed at tainting his lips with her blood, though, which might have been Chloe’s saving grace. “It is surreal to see you as well.” Pulling away before the temptation became too much, I nodded. “I hardly know why the sight of me would constitute being ‘for sore eyes’, but thank you just the same.”
“Are you kidding?” Chloe laughed. “We all wondered what happened to you. You wandered out of the E.R. one night and never came back.”
“I have had . . . an interesting five years, Chloe.”
“I’m sure.” She glanced at Monica as the sorceress strolled carefully toward us. “What brings you back here?”
As if on cue, Monica’s face contorted and she clutched her gut. I perked an eyebrow at her. “Ow. Oh shit . . . It’s starting to hurt again.” A gloved hand reached to pat my upper arm, then returned to its position on her stomach. “Thanks for helping me to the hospital, Pete,” she said. Her eyes glinted with mischief when they met mine. “I think I can find my way to the reception from here.”
I resisted the urge to growl at her as Monica hobbled away. “You are . . . welcome,” was all I could manage, teeth gritted and feet rooted in position for the lack of a better reaction. I found myself staring at Monica until she rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.
Chloe furrowed her brow, watching with me. “Should you tell her she just turned the wrong way?”
“She shall discover this eventually.” My gaze returned to the nurse when I felt I could relax my facial expression. “She has been taking far too many liberties in trying my patience lately. If she gets lost, it is her fault.”
“Seems like a strange girl.” Chloe shrugged and turned her sights back to me. Her eyes traced up and down my body, and for a moment I felt somewhat self-conscious, wondering what I must look like. Black suit. Pale complexion. Dark sunglasses over my eyes. She frowned, just as I thought she might. “Running with the Goth crowd these days?”
“No.” Despite her frown, I was amused, though I tried hard not to smile and jar her with the sight of my fangs. “But I can see where you would assume that.” Clearing my throat reflexively, I pointed toward where Monica disappeared. “She is . . . ah . . . a friend. Monica has been complaining of stomach pains for the better part of the evening, so I persuaded her to finally receive a proper examination.”
“I see.”
“She shall be alright.” I shuffled my feet and dug my hands into my pockets. “It is probably a case of indigestion or something of the like.”
Her brow smoothed and this time, it appeared she believed me. The smile returned to her face, albeit in a solemn manner. “Well, whatever brings you in here, it’s good to see you nonetheless.” Chloe stepped closer. I fought the urge to groan when she placed a hand on my shoulder. “I heard about what happened to Lydia. I’m so sorry.”
My eyes shifted to the floor. “Thank you, Chloe. I apologize for never saying goodbye, this has been . . . ” I reluctantly looked toward her again. “ . . . a dark period in my life.”
She nodded. “I know. I’m just glad you’re not dead or something. A few people thought . . . ” Chloe stopped abruptly and shook her head, nervously shifting a chart from one hand to the other before tucking it under her arm. “It’s not important. It’s just funny how things happened. Everything hit the fan right after you left. Things started getting strange. The morgue has seen some freaky shit and we’ve been treating odd patients.”
Nodding, I stared at her and skimmed her surface-level thoughts. Images of conspicuous gashes and odd puncture wounds drifted into my mind, many of which reeked of my handiwork. I frowned, confronted with the reality of the monster I had become. “I am sorry.”
“It’s just a weird city, Peter. Always has been.” She lifted the chart. “Take this girl, for example. She came in covered in scratches and animal bites, and she’s been catatonic the entire time. I’m supposed to get personal information from her when she can’t even say what happened.”
“How was she brought in?”
“Ambulance. Somebody found her and called 911.”
“Might I take a glimpse at her chart?” I extended my hand. Chloe nodded and handed it over. Flipping it open, I begun paging through the notes already penned by the paramedics and her attending physicians. She skirted close to the edge of hypovolemic shock, and if the loss of blood had not been alarming enough, the scratches from a struggle and eerily placed puncture wounds were enough to inspire even a skeptic toward belief in the paranormal. Some vampire had done a woeful job of attempting to dispatch of her. I felt revolted at their sloppiness.
“How do you see with those sunglasses on?” Chloe asked.
“I had an accident shortly after Lydia’s death which makes me sensitive toward light.” The lie came easily, though I was far from proud of it. Glancing up at Chloe, I perked an eyebrow. “I know I am not a doctor here any longer, but if you wish me to speak with her, I could. I think I might know how to help her.”
Chloe perked an eyebrow. “How?”
I frowned. “Hard to explain without sounding insane, but I can help.” I paused. “If you still trust me, that is.”
She studied me intently. I could hear it turning around in her mind, all the questions I expected. Were the rumors of me killing Lydia true? No, of course not, she thought. This was Peter. Peter had simply been so traumatized over the loss of his girlfriend that he buried himself in a pit for five years, even if his disappearance reeked of guilt. I fought the urge to confirm how close to the truth she was.
“Okay, Peter,” she said, motioning for me to follow. We strolled together down a corridor, in silence at first, until Chloe looked up at me again and sighed. “What happened to you? I mean, I recognize you, but barely. You look like you haven’t seen the light of day in . . . ”
“ . . . Five years?”
Chloe tensed at the comment. I nodded, looking straight ahead. “I am not certain what you are looking for in the way of answers, but I have none for you which you would care to hear. I only have my pledge that I shall not harm this girl.”
“Why did you disappear, though?” She stopped walking and turned to face me. “One minute you were here treating people and the next . . . Poof. You were gone. People have said terrible things about you being involved in Lydia’s murder and I”
“Chloe.” I sighed, looking at her. “That is not a
question I can answer to your satisfaction.”
“Please tell me the truth.” She frowned. “The Peter I knew wouldn’t have harmed a hair on anybody’s head. I know something’s changed, and I doubt you could give me an answer any weirder than the stories I’ve been hearing lately.” Chloe shook her head. “Every time I think I’ve seen the strangest thing possible, something else happens and I just . . . want to know how bizarre things truly are.”
“No, you do not.” I perked an eyebrow at her. Leaning close, this time of my own volition, I attempted to ignore her scent as I whispered, “The things being said about me might all be true. Far worse things might be true as well. There might be things out there you do not wish to believe in and I shall only confirm them to you. Whatever the case, if you have any sense, you shall continue helping these people and stay far from the darkness.” I nodded. “I shall not burden you with my presence past tonight. Please allow me to be of some benefit to you before I depart.”
Chloe stared at me for what seemed like an eternity, her mind a discordant wave of thoughts too confusing for me to sift through. Her eyes pierced right into me as though she possessed the same abilities I had, until she nodded and looked away. “Alright, Peter,” she said, starting to walk again. I followed her without responding.
We paused by the door of one of the rooms nestled at the edge of the emergency area. I stole a glance down the corridor, at the flurry of activity in the main thoroughfare, another sense of nostalgia nipping at me like an unpleasant harbinger. “This is it.” Chloe’s voice stirred me back to the task at hand. “If you can do anything, it’d be a huge help to us.”
I nodded, handing the chart back to Chloe. Without another word, I opened the door and closed it behind me after I entered.
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