"That's not something to laugh at."
"Most people do or tell me it's foolish."
"Don't you want to be famous? Can you paint or draw?"
"I don't want to be in the spotlight," Des told him, shaking his head and screwing up his face. "And yes, I can do both and more."
“Then quit working at the hospital and go for your dreams,” Moor said.
“I wish it were so easy,” Des said.
“It’s not a hard thing to do. People change jobs all the time.”
Moor leaned back in his seat, and his robe parted open, showing his chest. Des knew that Moor's body was adorned with tattoos on his back, arms, fingers, and down to his legs, while his chest remained unmarked, save for a surgical scar. He had thought by now Moor would have covered it up with tattoos. But Des gave himself a mental pat on the back, knowing he did a good job stitching the wound, to the point the man wouldn’t need plastic surgery to cover it up.
“What's holding you back, Doc?"
A lawyer,Des wanted to say, but he held back and shook his head. He needed to figure things out on his own. "You gave me a lot to think about," he said.
Moor smiled. “Good. As for the man dying, it sounds like you did everything you should have. His death was not your fault.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself.”
“Then believe it. It was his time to go.”
“How would you know that?” Des snapped when he didn’t mean to. “It’s not like you’ve killed a man before.”
“And you have a hero complex if you think you can save every life that comes before you.”
“I saved yours, right?” Des argued, noticing Moor didn’t raise his voice once, but their conversation grew heated.
“Are you angry that I’m still alive?”
“Of course not,” Des shouted. “I did what I was supposed to.”
“So why are you fixated on Alvarez? He’s dead, and you did all you could. What more did you want to do? Pull his soul back from the brink.”
“I...” Des stuttered, not sure what to say to that.
Moor leaned close and took one of his hands in his. “Does Alvarez’s family blame you?” Des shook his head. “Then why are you beating yourself up?”
Again, Des couldn’t respond, as he was finally realizing he wasn’t the cause of the patient's death.
“You really are a good listener,” he said after a few minutes. “Thank you.”
Othello smiled. “I would say anytime, but I doubt we’ll see each other again.”
“Is this your way of telling me I’ve worn out my welcome?” Des smiled when the man didn’t respond, and he took it as a yes. “I guess you’re right. You’ve fed me and all, so I should go.”
Des moved from around the counter and grabbed his cellphone, which had been sitting on the coffee table. Walking to the exit, he didn’t look back to see if Moor was watching him. Just as his hand touched the lock on the door, he paused when the homeowner called out to him.
“Hey, Doc, let me see your phone.”
Des turned and faced Moor. “Why?”
“How else will you call me?” Moor stood and moved over to Des, stretching out a hand.
Des stared at him for a couple of seconds, wondering if the man was being for real. He’d played so many games on him thatDes couldn’t help but wonder if he was doing the same thing now. Not wanting to think about it anymore, he unlocked his cellphone and handed it to Moor, who entered his number and gave it back.
