Chapter 280 |
A man in a blood-spattered doctor’s jacket nearly bowled me over, white-knuckled hand clasped over his mouth, eyes glazed with shock as a woman’s accented voice yelled all-manner of colorful expletives after him.
“Come back around once the hard part is over to get scanned, you simpering fuck.” Ansari yelled. Judging from her blood-soaked appearance she’d seen better days. Her forearms bulged as she leveraged considerable strength to hold down the writhing figure on the operating table. The man was conscious but not lucid, actively fighting her as he struggled against the straps that fastened him to the gurney.
“Tighten the bindings!” She grunted at me.
I moved on instinct, seeing the issue and grabbing his leg before he slipped a foot free, fumbling with the corresponding strap beneath until I figured out what to pull to tighten it. The man on the table was in terrible shape. The surgical incision on his ribcage was a clean cut, but all his struggling had torn it open wider than intended. Despite that, he was giving as good as he got, slamming his weight from side-to-side—the table started to tip, and I slammed my weight down on the rising side, barely stopping it from flipping over.
“Why isn’t—” He slipped out of my grip, and I grunted, readjusting my hold and applying more pressure. “Why isn’t he under?”
“This infection is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.” Ansari grimaced, “Nothing works. My ‘colleague’ miscalculated and gave him enough morphine to kill a horse, and he’s still conscious.”
Shit.
My mind raced. “Then how do we deal with it?”
“You need to go out there and make sure no one leaves. With the noise he’s making it won’t be long before people start losing their minds.” Her brow furrowed.
Ansari blinked. “That’s… a relief.”
I nodded and tapped the table. “What next?”
The doctor glanced down at the man and shook her head. “Nothing good. The growths are tumorous. In ordinary circumstances it would be simple enough to operate and remove them, debriding and disinfecting along the way. The inefficacy of sedation poses a multitude of problems. Despite that, I wanted to try—until that spineless chutiya lost his nerve.” She stared down at the man, a vein standing out on her forehead. “It was always going to be a long shot, regardless. The only humane course of action is to ease his suffering.”
Seeing how the usual hospice option—stacking him with meds until he passed from natural causes—wasn’t possible in this case, it wasn’t hard to read between the lines.
Cracked fingernails clawed at my forearm. The adventurer stared down at me, mouth breaking a rictus of agony as he struggled to form words. “Please. Please. It hurts. Keep her away from me. It hurts.”
Ansari already hates you. She’ll be watching you closely. Anything you can do to help could raise suspicion. He didn’t listen, earlier, now this is the price he pays.
I shook my head, trying to ignore even as part of me wondered if it was right.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
“Look, doc, I get we’re not exactly friendly. Regardless of our history I genuinely want to help here.”
“Are you a medical professional, Mr Matthias?” She mocked.
Technically no, which she probably assumed. I had an extensive repository of knowledge on the subject of anatomy and biology, but my advanced medical knowledge was entirely lacking in real-life experience. “I know enough to assist.”
“How?” Ansari challenged, clearly not ready to take me at my word. “You’re too young to have gone to nursing or medical school. Unless you are some sort of prodigy, which frankly, I doubt.”
The bar was already on the ground. A little honesty wouldn’t make her like me more, but it might help my case here. “Not a prodigy. I—uh—I just—“
“Spit it out.” Ansari snapped.
“I scored well-enough on the MCAT for admission to med school.”
Again, the doctor seemed surprised. Until her eyes narrowed. “And why would someone who should be more concerned with college achieve such a goal?”
“Because I needed rent and my clients were willing to pay for it.”
“You cheated,” She accused.
“They cheated.” I scoffed. “I did it the hard way.”
An awkward silence followed. This admission was a gamble. No medical professional who’d put in the all-nighters, godless amounts of study, and put up with years of skull-fucking-stress would look kindly on their fellow professional who took shortcuts, and by proxy the people who made those shortcuts possible. But it was my only move. All I could do now was hope Ansari’s desperation and rationality overshadowed her pride.
“To be clear…” I added, as she was taking too long to answer. “I could never do this without you. No question. I’m not telling you this to flex, or belittle your position. Hell, I’m not even sure if what I know would be of help.”
“Then why offer?” Ansari snapped.
“So you can make the call.” I sighed, leaving it entirely in her hands. If she had a god complex—and to varying extents, most doctors did—she’d appreciate the deference. “I can stabilize and assist however you need, and I have a method of detecting the corruption. I’ll do whatever you tell me to.”
Ansari squinted, something dangerous glimmering in her eyes. “And if I tell you to get the hell out of my operating area?”
“I’ll give you the detection item and fuck off.” I shrugged.
For a moment, she was about to. Then the reality sunk in. Operating solo was difficult enough when the patient was unconscious. Without an extra set of hands, she simply couldn’t hold him and operate at the same time. Her tone changed, rapid-fire and stoic. “Did you study the questions or the material?”
“Both.”
“Switch places with me and hold him as still as possible.” Ansari commanded. Now that she’d decided, her hostility disappeared almost instantly. I did as she asked, bracing the man’s shoulders. As soon as her latex-clad fingers touched his chest he thrashed, moaning in panic.
Ansari swore. “I cannot help you if you keep fighting me.”
From the shellshocked lack of focus and full-blown panic, he wasn’t processing anything, entirely fixated on the possibility he’d soon feel pain again. Not great. But the primal state made him far more susceptible to .
I leaned down and whispered in his ear. “Go somewhere else.”
Slowly, I cycled through the usual images that often worked when I needed to impart tranquility. A library, the faceless warmth of a mother’s embrace. The usual go-to’s didn’t work. I kept iterating, trying one after another until something stuck.
The forest at night. Light of a stone-circled campfire glowing orange, crackling, casting long shadows into trees that shelter owls and other creatures of the night. Solitude. A little cold, but with your warm jacket and its fur hood, you barely feel it. There’s no ambient noise, no people, only you. No demands, no quests, no expectations or transpositions. The purest peace. Nature is your church, and it accepts you into its silent arms, asking nothing, imparting everything.
All at once, the struggling stopped. The man’s face went slack, his expression blank, as he slowly surrendered reality for fantasy.
“What did you do?” Ansari asked. She was looking between me and the man on the table, scalpel held loosely in her hand.
“Talked to him.” I said, forcing a smile. “I’ve had some practice managing panic.”
She stared at me for a moment, then moved on. “Well, keep doing that. This is the most relaxed he’s been since the beginning.”
“Got it.”
Slowly and laboriously, Dr. Ansari cut. Over time, I got the sense that she was acting as a surgeon by necessity rather than choice. After one last dubious look over the mask, she seemed to resign herself to the situation.
“Think you can handle changing the IV?”
