Blue Bloods

Time slowed down, and Angela Merylin stared at the skylight. The screaming injuries, the crying children, the angry voices of two dozen stressed people all faded into the background. One by one, she sifted through possibilities until only one remained. Closing her eyes, she checked the facts against remembered diagnostic charts. Satisfied, she opened her eyes and looked back at the patient.

“Mr. Gerard, you have a headache.”

“I know that doctor. I called for you because I have a headache.”

“Unfortunately, that’s all you have.”

Roger Gerard didn’t reply. Instead, he looked pointedly at the dialysis machine hooked to his veins.

Angela rolled her eyes in response, nodding. “Yes, Mr. Gerard, I’m aware that you’re on dialysis. I’m aware you’re bordering on terminal kidney failure. However, in this case your headache is not, I assure you, a symptom of a worsening condition.” She shrugged, scribbling on a pad as she did so. “I suspect you’re slightly dehydrated, and that’s exacerbated by your stress. I can’t offer you medication, but I’m going to have the nurses make sure you drink more water.”

“I’m swimming in water already.”

“Yes, you are. It is actually possible that I may be shaving a few hours off the months you have remaining by doing this. It’s also possible I’m adding a few hours, since your quality of life will improve if you’re not constantly in pain. It’s your call. I can lead you to water, but I certainly can’t make you drink.”

Roger smirked at her. “Spare me your feeble attempts at humor, doctor. I appreciate the gesture, but if I’m that depressed, I’ll call the Improv and have them send someone.”

Roger rarely smiled, but he smirked a lot. He didn’t have much to smile about, she knew. He’d been a wealthy, powerful man six months ago. He’d been on the cover of Forbes. Now he lay tethered to a machine, unable to leave the hospital. He’d retreated to this particular hospital because it was close to the City without being too close to the City. He wanted to hide but couldn’t bring himself to be far away. Now he waited for a replacement kidney Angela could tell him wasn’t coming.

He was on the list. He was high on the list, possibly artificially so. But no amount of money could make him a match for the available kidneys.

He saw her looking, and his smirk melted into a scowl. “That will be all, doctor.”

“I’ll check back on you later tonight.”

“Don’t put yourself out on my account. I’m sure you want to go see the pretty lights.”

“I’m not. I’ll be watching from the roof. I’ll come down and check on you right before and right after.”

“Please, doctor, tell me you’re not one of those UFO freaks. If you don’t, I may be forced to rip my own dialysis leads out of the machine and drown in my own filth. Better that than dying of accumulated stupidity.”

“Mr. Gerard, we both know you’ll cling to life with both hands for as long as you can. Besides, I’m going up to see pretty lights made by a perfectly natural occurrence. No little green men involved.”

***

Jack looked listlessly around his hospital room. It wouldn’t be his much longer. He hoped he’d get a good view of the fireworks tonight. The way his luck had run lately, that wouldn’t happen either. Then again, he’d lost track of events recently. He might have seen the fireworks or missed them already.

The door latch clicked quietly, and his eyes snapped from the window to see who entered the room. Old habits died hard. Twelve years as a construction worker hadn’t dulled twenty years surviving the best efforts of men to make him dead. His ears heard the latch, his eyes tracked the movement as the door cracked open, and his hand…

His hand twitched, feebly. Radiation therapy could have that effect. They called it muscular degeneration. Jack called it karma. He’d killed more than one innocent man. Now it had caught up with him, killing him a bit at a time. If he could talk to his eighteen-year-old self, he’d go straight into construction. Most days the pay was nearly as good, and people were happy when you finished a job.

The woman coming through the door saw his hand twitch, saw his eyes track her. She opened the door slowly, moved into the room quietly. Her voice matched the rest of her; quiet, soothing. “How are you feeling today, Mr. Maliss?”

Her cheer was the act of a consummate professional. He appreciated professionalism, even that outside either of his areas of specialty. He replied with a smile for her act, “Not too bad, Dr. Merylin. I haven’t soiled myself yet.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I think I may be able to keep the Jello down. There’s always room for Jello.”

She gave him a small frown for his cynicism. “Anything else I should know about?”

Heck with it, he’d work on his depression when the cancer was gone. “Other than those? Still dyin’. Not too much else matters at this point.”

She shook her head with a sad smile. “Did you want me to turn the TV on?”

“Nah. That last Korean soap just finished up yesterday. Can’t abide the thought of goin’ to my grave wonderin’ how a new one will turn out.”

Her smile firmed up into what he suspected was her real expression, a frown of determination. “You’re not dead yet, Mr. Maliss. Tell you what, I’ll DVR it for you.”

“Oh, don’t go to any trouble on my account.”

“No trouble. Charlie set it all up.”

“Handy fella, that. He’s sweet on you.”

The doc didn’t even blush, which lent credence to her next words. “No, he’s not, Mr. Maliss. He’s just a friendly guy.”

“What, he’s gay? I ain’t got a problem with it if he is. Long as he’s not into dead guys. Knew a guy like that once. Really messed up dude.”

Now her natural smile came out, her banter cheerful as she ran a practiced eye over his charts. “No, Mr. Maliss. Charlie is ladies’ man, I’m afraid. I’m really not his type.”

“Why not? Them guys know how to treat a lady. I ought to know, I was one of ‘em way back.”

“Because I prefer breakfast in bed as proof I was something special, not a spot a guy’s ‘hook up’ list.”

“Ooh. That bad?”

Finished with her examination of his chart, Doc Merylin cocked her pretty blonde head, considering. “Well, maybe he’s not quite that bad, but he’s certainly not boyfriend material at this point.”

“How am I lookin’?”

“Well now, you’re a solid guy, with a retirement from the military and a certain distinguished charm. I suppose I could see my way clear to dinner, but absolutely no nightcaps on the first date.”

He couldn’t help it, the laugh burst from him, rocking him as badly as any of his coughs had ever done. He laughed until the tears came, and when they did, he let them come. His eighteen-year-old self would have laughed at him. His thirty-year-old self might have shot him in disgust. He was neither of those men. His eyes slipped closed, and he wept silently until the doctor’s arms go around him. His arms twitched, and she understood, lifting them to lie across her shoulders. It was a parody of an embrace, but she was warm and kind, and he was an old man dying alone, dying of too much bad karma.

His tears finally spent; she settled him back in bed. “Our cancer specialist recommended another round of radiation treatment today but think I’m going to override him on this one.”

Some echo of his younger selves rebelled, and his gaze found hers. “No. I’m not gonna die.”

She didn’t understand. Her eyes guarded, he could tell she didn’t want to speak, but she remained a consummate professional. “I’m afraid you’re going to, Mr. Maliss. We might buy you more time, but so much damage has been done already… It’s why you’re my patient, Mr. Maliss.”

He grinned at her, an echo of his younger selves drawing an answering grin from her despite herself. “I know all that, missy. But I ain’t gonna die. This thing is gonna have to kill me. Fire up the radiation bath, I’m feelin’ chilly.”

Her grin spread as she made a note on his chart. “Will do, Mr. Maliss. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

He couldn’t help himself; the thrill of the fight had his blood up. “You do that missy. And call me Jack. All my other girls do.”

***

Something was wrong. Jane heard someone move into the room. Her eyes weren’t working. She tried to open them, but they were already open. She couldn’t see. She heard someone stop at the foot of her bed, doing something that made no sense. It involved a clipboard.

Something was wrong. Jane felt her visitor talking. The voice felt confusing. Why would the voice feel sympathetic?

Something was wrong. Jane smelled a cold steel shunt in her arm, a soft plastic tube in her throat. The coppery tang of her damp sheets cooled her lower torso.

Something was wrong. Jane heard someone move to the side of her bed, slide her eyes shut.

Something was wrong. Jane was deaf. With the world silent, smell took over, and memory reigned.

Something was wrong. Jane saw someone tapping, tapping, tapping on her wrist. She saw them lay a hand on her thigh, felt them cursing vehemently. She felt them walk away, anger clear from the feel of feet striking the floor.

Something was wrong. Jane lay alone in the soft gentle light of the damp bed sheets.

***

Angela closed the last door of her rounds. When the latch clicked, she glanced up and down the hall. Once she was sure no one could see her, she leaned back against the door, one hand rubbing at her temples. Jane was always the hardest. Roger acted so much of a jerk that she could rein in her sympathy. Jack was sad, but so charming she couldn’t help but leave his room happier than she went in. Jane…

She found Jane simultaneously pitiful and horrifying. She’d come into the emergency ward with a bullet lodged in her jaw. It had passed through her skull, bounced at least once. The rest of her injuries? Equally severe. Sixteen stab wounds to the torso, another few dozen to her arms and legs. Not an inch of her had escaped bruising. A rape kit had confirmed someone had forced her, repeatedly. No one knew how she’d survived, but Emergency kept her alive long enough to get the bullet out, to sew up the worst of the bleeders.

After that, Jane Doe just wouldn’t die. Eventually her eyes opened, but she showed no comprehension when they did. Just a motor reflex, a neuron misfiring, forcing her eyelids to twitch, nothing more. They’d belted her into the bed after the one time the orderly found her on the floor. A tube kept her fed. Another kept her hydrated. Other than that, she lay there.

Before Jane, Angela had hated the idea of euthanasia. Every time she visited the woman, her resolve wore thinner. It didn’t matter, though. After Jane had lain in the hospital for a month, word came down that they had to keep her alive as long as she could breathe on her own. Someone paid her bills, , and whoever paid the bills made the decisions.

What really got to Angela? Someone knew Jane but didn’t even care enough to give the hospital her name. Old, bitter anger merged with the new anger over the bed sheets, and Angela’s eyes popped open, scattering saline across the records on her clipboard. She stood and started down the hall. Some orderly would get an extra orifice torn open tonight.