“New agents. Fresh eyes.”
The wind picked up, and I hugged myself. “No.”
“Just think about it, Sar—Sailor.”
“Dr. Wentworth will suffice. We aren't friends, Berkshire.”
“Think about it,” he repeated more forcefully.
“Fine. Go away, will you? I don’t need drama at work.”
Long after they went back inside, I stood out on the balcony, staring off into space. My thoughts swirled in my head, knowing I wouldn't be able to turn them down this time.
Finally, the bitter cold sent me back inside, where I reluctantly made the notification to the Miller family.I’m sorry I failed, and now you have to live without your loved one. At least, that’s what was in my head. I would never say that out loud and burden them further.
I was never more grateful to go home, letting myself into my apartment and setting my bag and keys on the hall table. Silence greeted me, and I shrugged out of my long coat to move into thewarmth of the kitchen. Standing in front of the freezer, I picked the least offensive meal and popped it into the microwave.
Watching it revolve, my eyes glazed over as I recalled the sound of the tires squealing. Glass crunched, shattering overhead, and I screamed. Then there was the lack of life in my mother’s eyes as I tried to wake her up. The blood oozing from the wound in my father’s head, and the pathetic way I tried to put pressure on it.
I was ten.
The police told me it was a deer darting in front of the car. Wet roads, late at night, tight curves.
My first foster home was overcrowded, and everyone fought for scraps of food. I shared a bed with two other little girls in a room filled with crying, smelly children. I’d never missed my parents more.
The second home was only marginally better. I didn't have to share with so many others, but the parents didn’t care very much about us. They gave us the bare minimum for attention, fed us adequately, and made sure we did our homework. When I showed an interest in science, Marshal Berkshire suggested I might like to become a doctor.
I knew he was checking up on me because he had to, but at the time, I thought he also cared about me. I saw him as the man who’d saved my life when I was left to die in that car, not as the marshal sent to ensure I changed my name and hid in a small town. The overwhelming media coverage at the time had haunted me, and he tried to shield me from it. That was the standard excuse, and if I tried too hard to dissect their reasoning, my mind shied away from finding the answers.
The state covered my education and housing expenses.The world needs more talented surgeons, they’d claimed. Little did I know they would dog me for years afterward, begging me to help them with somebody or other. Snoop into medical records, listenin to family conversations, and anything else they thought they could coerce me into doing for them after they plugged so much money into my education. Quid pro quo and all that.
I always said no. I wasn't compromising my ethics or my oath for people who only wanted things one-sided. With no family or friends to worry about, I spent all my time at work. Throwing myself into my career fulfilled me; at least, that was what I told myself on nights like these when I was alone with my sour thoughts.
The microwave beeped, and I pulled out my spinach and tomato linguine. Giving in to the temptation, I pulled down a wine glass and the bottle of Cab I kept for the hard days. Losing a patient never got easier, no matter how much time passed or what the circumstances were. I never forgot their names or the medical condition they presented with when they came into my OR. What I would replay was where I’d gone wrong and what I should have done differently.
Hindsight might be 20/20, but that didn’t help the person I’d killed.
Maybe it helped prevent me from making the same mistake twice. I tried to frame a loss as learning a lesson, but I wish it didn’t have to come at such a high cost.
Not only did I drink the first glass of wine, but I poured a second. My dreams never changed much, preventing me from getting a full night’s sleep. When I left for work the next morning, I texted the familiar number that I would do what they asked.
As I put my things away in the locker room, I heard someone giggling on the other side of the wall. Their conversation didn't register at first, but then I caught my name.
“You saw those people who were here talking to Wentworth? What was that about?”
“No idea. God, she’s like a stray cat. You feed it once out of pity, and then it never goes away.”
The other one laughed. “Even though no one wants it because it’s so ugly and beaten to hell.”
Slamming my locker door to make no mistake about my presence, I walked out the door with my head held high.
Even though I was fighting back tears.
It was no secret that my coworkers didn’t like me. I’d never tried to make friends there, knowing it wasn't my purpose. I changed lives, saved lives, and fixed what was broken on the inside. That didn't require idle gossiping with people who also happened to be employed by the same hospital.
By the time I checked my phone again, I had a reply. The agent in charge of the Costa case would be there at noon to meet with me. In the meantime, I did my best not to let anyone die on my table. Thankfully, I had nothing but minor surgeries all morning, and I was able to meet the new guy a little after the agreed time. Agent Steven Parkes, as his badge read, held a conference room for me and Lauder.
I’d rather hoped I wouldn't have to see her again. There was something uncomfortable about the look in her eyes. I recognized the hunger to do her job well, but I saw something else, too. Her determination would push past all boundaries of decency and humanity until her goal was met.
