Irregular Heartbeat

by Chris Zett

  Diana’s defensive reaction wasn’t how she thought she should behave now that she was supposedly all mature and grown-up. She promised herself to keep the next conversations with Dr. Barnes on a more professional level.

  On her way back from the gym, Emily passed through the park. She lingered, hoping to meet Dr. Petrell again. And what would you say to her? Your first talk didn’t go very well either. She didn’t actually know where she had gone wrong. As Liz had done on Friday, she’d wanted to let her know that she had done a good job, but Dr. Petrell had reacted as if she had criticized her.

  And just as she’d thought she gained some ground, she had lost it all with the question about the nine-year gap in her résumé. She had said before that it was a private matter, and Emily probably should have respected that. But what if she’d done something that could potentially damage the hospital’s good reputation?

  An icy shiver ran down Emily’s spine. She wouldn’t allow that.

  Why was Dr. Petrell so closed off about her past? And why did Emily even care? Usually, she kept her distance from her co-workers, especially from the residents. They were only temporarily passing through her life. What made Dr. Petrell different?

  Emily sighed. Why was it so difficult for her to understand people? Including herself. Sometimes she cursed her parents for raising her isolated from other kids, but it wasn’t fair to lay the blame solely on them. She’d deliberately passed on enough chances at school and university to get out more, preferring the company of her books to that of her peers. If Jen hadn’t been after her to be friends instead of roommates, she wouldn’t even have a best friend.

  A final look around the park didn’t show her Dr. Petrell among the dense crowd of runners, bikers, skaters, and people out for a casual stroll. The same sunshine that had drawn them all out chased Emily back inside. If she didn’t want to end up with undignified freckles and red blotches, she had to leave now.

  She’d talk to Dr. Petrell on Monday. No, not talk, she’d just tell her that she appreciated her work. Direct and easy, no chance of another miscommunication.

  Chapter 4

  Only a week had passed, but Diana had already relearned her most important skill as an emergency physician: always hunting down fresh coffee. She deeply inhaled the bitter aroma; the scent was almost strong enough to kick her brain cells awake one by one. A shame it was still too hot to drink. She’d need the energy boost to attend a lecture right at the beginning of her shift.

  The furniture in the staff lounge had been rearranged so the sofas faced the wall opposite the door, and a large, white screen had been pulled down from the ceiling, covering most of the kitchenette. Diana stood in the back of the dark room, hoping to escape questions.

  Someone bumped into her from behind.

  She held her mug away from her body to avoid stains or, worse, burns.

  “Did I miss something?” Courtney’s whisper was not as unobtrusive as she probably thought. Running footsteps had announced her imminent arrival, and Dr. Barnes paused her lecture to glare at her.

  Grateful that she wasn’t the victim of that stare this morning, Diana refrained from answering.

  “Glad you could join us. Why don’t you come to the front and help us?” Dr. Barnes waited until Courtney wove her way through the small group of residents and students. “Since you’re late, I suppose you don’t need to learn any more about chronic rheumatic diseases and can teach us instead.”

  Courtney winced, and several others giggled.

  It was the first lecture Diana attended, but the other residents had warned her to stay below Dr. Barnes’s radar if she wanted to avoid humiliation. Being punctual was a no-brainer. She’d arrived fifteen minutes ago and still had been too late for one of the few seats.

  A couple of well-placed questions showed Courtney’s lack of preparation and sent her back into the fold.

  Soon Diana tried to balance her notepad on top of the coffee mug as she jotted down some notes. She looked around for a place to discreetly store the drink. Maybe at the window? Two residents leaned against the sill, and she moved toward them. She had been introduced to the shorter of them, a pasty guy with a prematurely receding hairline and a waist that showed his preferred method of stress reduction probably wasn’t sports.

  Diana tried to remember his name. Alex, Andy, Alec, or something like this.

  “The bitch is boring me to death this morning,” he whispered to his taller colleague.

  The other resident nodded and rubbed his eyes. The shadows under them were almost as black as his short hair.

  She paused. For her, the lecture wasn’t boring at all. Was she supposed to already know all this? It was more in-depth than anything she had heard in her last residency. She leaned closer to put the mug on the windowsill.

  Maybe-Alec grinned at her. “Coffee? Good thinking. I wish I had been early enough to get some.”

  “You can have mine. I didn’t drink from it yet.” She had been too busy listening and taking notes, but it was probably better not to tell him that. If the others all thought this was basic stuff, she didn’t want to give away her need to catch up. One of the first things she had learned in med school was that most of her classmates were highly competitive and used every available weapon to move up the ranks. Admitting a lack of knowledge was like swimming among sharks naked and covered in blood. She returned to her former place in the back to avoid further conversation.

  An hour later, Dr. Barnes concluded her lecture.

  Diana put her pen away and shook out her hand. She frowned at the almost ineligible handwriting. She’d need to transcribe it soon, or she’d lose the ability to actually use her notes for her work.

  “Thanks for the coffee. You’re the transfer, right? Diana?” Maybe-Alec and the tall resident had come over.

  She nodded. “Right. I’m Diana.”

  “I’m Peter, and this is Alec. Nice to meet you.” Peter just waved, but Alec offered his hand. He had the kind of limp handshake Diana had always hated.

  “Where’re you from?” Several others stopped on their way out and added their own questions. “What year?”

  While she wasn’t in the mood to get into her history now, this was probably the fastest method to get her story out. She had learned enough about information management, rumor control, and the importance of a good first impression in years of giving interviews.

  She addressed each colleague who had thrown in a question with her best PR smile. “I’m not a direct transfer. I used to work in LA but took a few years off. They’re still deciding which year they’ll place me in. Probably second.” That’s what the chief of staff had told her. It hurt. She should be grateful they even accepted those two years, but she had been only a couple of months short of finishing the fourth and final year of her residency when she had thrown it all away.

  Alec introduced some of the others around him. They all exchanged platitudes and made small talk about Seattle weather, the best bars, and how their work stopped them from exploring those.

  Diana deflected a few invitations to show her around the nightlife. The last thing she needed was a night out drinking and bitching about work. “Thanks, but I’m not really new in town. I went to U-Dub.”

  That comment led from complaining about work to a retelling of the worst memories of med school.

  Nothing had changed. Doctors were still like med students, always circling around the same topics of conversation: med school and work. It had gotten on her nerves nine years ago, and her patience was waning now. She was looking for a way out of the discussion when she noticed Dr. Barnes.

  She had to pass through the group to leave, and her effect on the chatting students and residents was impressive. They fell quiet immediately and parted like the Red Sea.

  “Don’t we have patients to see today?”

  The question caused the other residents and students to r
ush away.

  Diana smiled. Finally, she was able to hear her own thoughts. “Do you want me to follow you again today, Dr. Barnes?”

  She shook her head. “You did well on Friday. You’re free to choose your own work, but find me when you need me.” She started to leave but turned around after a few steps. Was that an actual smile? “Call me Emily.”

  It was a smile, completely transforming her features, softening the usually hard line of her lips. Even more surprising, Dr. Barnes—no, Emily—had paid her a compliment. And let her off her leash.

  Emily left before Diana could come up with an appropriate answer.

  Diana went to the next workstation and logged in to the electronic whiteboard. She grinned as she studied the abbreviations of the complaints, feeling like a kid in a toy store.

  On Friday evening, Emily stood at the foot of a gurney and watched Diana insert a subclavian line into her patient. He was unconscious and intubated. The team that would transfer him to the ICU waited impatiently at one side of the room.

  Emily wasn’t annoyed that she had to supervise her resident; she found herself enjoying watching her. Diana was able to do different things independently with both hands at a time. That was not very common for nonsurgical residents. Emily herself could do it, probably because of the endless hours of piano lessons she’d had to endure as a child. At least something good had come out of it.

  “Do you play the piano?” Emily had not planned on voicing her question.

  “Yes. Why?” Diana barely glanced at her and continued working. She had already placed the J wire and was threading the catheter over it into the blood vessel. After Diana had volunteered to place every central line in the last days, her speed had improved dramatically.

  “Um. Not important. Just a thought.” Definitely not a topic she’d go into in the middle of the ED. “Is this your last patient? When you’re ready, we can go over the other charts and head home for the weekend.” Due to some extra shifts, it was the first time in four weeks Emily would have two days off in a row, and she wanted to make the most of it.

  “I’ll be with you in a minute. Are you in a hurry to go home?” Diana’s tone was a little teasing.

  Emily hesitated. Her private life had always been off-limits at work. No one asked questions like this or teased her, ever. Not that she would admit it out loud, but Emily liked that Diana had relaxed around her since she had toned down her own reticence. It helped that Diana was still respectful.

  “No. Well, maybe. I’m meeting my best friend, and I can never guess what she has planned.” Okay, maybe that had been a little too much sharing for her own comfort, but she was nervous. The last time they had gone out together, Jen had tried to play matchmaker and had tortured not only Emily, but also a very nice and very boring acquaintance of Jen’s with an evening of forced conversation. She secretly hoped they’d go dancing at Jen’s favorite club instead, something she’d never dare on her own.

  Emily stopped her musings and concentrated back on Diana, who had finished and took off her gloves and disinfected her hands. Why couldn’t Emily stop looking at them? She abruptly turned around and called over her shoulder, “Come on, don’t dawdle.”

  Not waiting for an answer, she left the room in search of a free computer terminal and never doubted Diana would follow.

  The music was deafening, and Emily soon gave up on trying to understand Jen’s remarks. They had arrived at the club early. A DJ entertained the crowd before tonight’s concert, and the dance floor was already teeming with dancing women. Jen was supposed to be working, covering a new band for one of the music magazines or websites she wrote for. That didn’t keep her from checking out the women in the audience and pointing out her favorites. One of them would undoubtedly go home with Jen at the end of the evening.

  Emily gestured that she’d go dancing for a while and squeezed onto the crowded dance floor. The bass vibrated in her belly, calling her body to synchronize with the beat. She closed her eyes and relaxed into the rhythmic movement of her feet and hips. She became one with the music, swaying, flowing in the current. Other people were rocks in the stream, guiding the flow, but never stopping it. She touched their bodies, and they touched hers, and she was not alone anymore, submerged in the crowd. She was safe.

  The music slowed, and couples took the chance to connect.

  She made her way to the bar, desperate for a drink. She nearly bumped into Jen, who stared at a dark-haired woman standing with her back to them.

  Emily tried to get a good look at her, but other women kept getting in her line of sight.

  “Who’s that?” Emily spoke directly into Jen’s ear to avoid shouting.

  “Dee Dragon. Isn’t it great to see her here?” Jen turned and smiled widely.

  “Am I supposed to know her?” Emily could never remember the names of all the musicians Jen talked about.

  “You know Eos, the band?” Jen bounced on her toes. “She was their drummer.”

  Emily had heard of them and liked their music; she even owned a few CDs. But the name of the drummer didn’t ring a bell. “Isn’t that the band with the tiny blonde with the dark eye makeup and the tall, black guitarist? I don’t think I have ever seen a picture of the drummer.”

  “Yeah, that’s them. The guitarist is hot.” Jen fanned herself. “Dee Dragon wasn’t on the covers so much and stayed out of the media most of the time. About a year ago the band separated, and she suddenly disappeared from the scene. No announcement or explanation. There are a million rumors: drugs, alcohol, drugs, brain tumor, drugs… You get the picture. Maybe I can get an interview.” Jen turned around again and studied the woman leaning against the bar. “I just need a good conversation starter.”

  The crowd thinned, and Emily could get her first good look at Dee Dragon, at least from behind. She was tall, and her brown, wavy hair hung just below her shoulder. Her most striking feature was a large tattoo that covered most of what Emily could see of her back. An emerald-green dragon with open wings looked directly at her and spewed fire. Brilliant red flames sneaked over her left shoulder to her arm and wound around her biceps. The scaly tail mirrored the path of the flames on the right side.

  Emily’s heart rate escalated, and she had trouble breathing. This couldn’t be right. It must be a coincidence.

  Dee Dragon couldn’t be the woman from the beach who had been haunting her dreams for nearly fifteen years. But every detail from that night was imprinted into her memory, and she could recall everything as if it had happened yesterday. The hair was different now, longer, the shoulders maybe a bit wider, and the muscles even more defined. But the tattoo was the same.

  “I met her before.” Why did you say that? Her stomach clenched. Jen wouldn’t let it go now.

  “What? Dee Dragon? You just told me that you don’t even know who she is. Where?” Jen was nearly jumping up and down.

  “The beach.” The less she said, the better.

  Jen made eye contact. It was her patented I-know-you’ll-tell-it-all stare. “What beach? What are you talking about?”

  Emily tried to look away. “Remember the beach party you dragged me to, just at the end of college? I told you I was listening to the drumming circle all evening. I saw her playing there.” Years later, she had admitted to having realized at the party that she was a lesbian. Hopefully, Jen didn’t remember that confession.

  “Are you sure? That’s perfect. I can use this to chat her up.” Jen took Emily’s hand and pulled. “Let’s go and talk to her.”

  “No.” Emily pulled her hand back. “I can’t.”

  Jen studied her. “What’s wrong? Why not?”

  She would not get into it here, in the middle of a club. “I have to go. To the restroom.”

  Before Jen could ask more questions, Emily walked in the opposite direction, away from the bar and Dee Dragon and her mesmerizing tattoo. In the bathroom, she wash
ed her hands and pressed the cool fingers to her temples, careful not to smudge the carefully applied makeup. The eyes staring back at her from the mirror seemed unnaturally large in her pale face. Her upper lip trembled. She was hyperventilating and grabbed the sink to hold on. Deliberately, she slowed her breathing. Passing out would be really embarrassing. Maybe someone would call 911, and the paramedics would bring her into her own emergency room.

  She snorted, not sure if she already qualified as hysterical or merely panicking. She had never met the woman and couldn’t imagine talking to her. What would she say? Nice to meet you. You’ve been the woman of my dreams for years. Or Hello, you are even more beautiful than in my masturbation fantasies.

  And now Jen had set her sights on her. Emily knew what would happen. Jen would make small talk, invite her to a few drinks and dances, and the evening would either end in bed or with an interview, probably both. She was persistent, resourceful, and usually successful. Dee Dragon didn’t have a chance. The thought hurt like a kick in the stomach.

  A fire kindled in her middle, slowly spreading through her chest to her head. It burned off her panic and helped her to regain her composure. She looked down at her hands that still clutched the sink. Her knuckles had nearly taken on the color of the porcelain.

  Emily released the death grip and deliberately stretched her fingers. She would not go out there to watch her dream morph into a distorted version of her fantasies. She would just leave and let Jen work on her target on her own.

  On her way to the door, she had to pass the bar, so she hid behind a large woman with broad shoulders and tried not to look at Jen and Dee. It was like passing an accident on the highway. She involuntarily decelerated and couldn’t keep her gaze off them.

  Jen stood between the bar and Dee, talking and laughing. Dee’s back was still turned toward Emily, and the mesmerizing tattoo caught her gaze again. She forced herself to look away.