This Will Have To Be Farewell
Kelly slowly opened her left eye. She then followed by slowly opening her right. What greeted her was an expansive black and a blinding vertical sliver of white. The brightness? Painful.
Was she dead? No. Couldn't be. It all felt too real. But if she was dead, how would she know? She’d never died before to know what "dead" felt like. She only knew the finality of it. There weren’t postcards from the beyond telling her about the afterlife as if it was a vacation spot.
Kelly looked closer at the sliver of white. Its feathered edges forced her to strain her eyes and bring the picture into greater focus. The effort was bringing on a headache.
Tipping back her head to give her neck a stretch, Kelly suddenly felt ill. A sudden rush of dizziness rushed over. She shut her eyes tightly as if willing the dizziness away. Could she actually feel the Earth spinning on its axis? It felt entirely possible.
Kelly started to feel a familiar urge. Oh no, she thought. Not now. She still felt disoriented, uncertain of her situation. Was she safe or in danger? She fought the urge to vomit. Not that anyone enjoys the process, but Kelly despised it. In her mind she could rationalize the process and the reasoning. This was her body's natural reaction to purge something foreign from her. As a nurse, Kelly knew what needed to be done. You either just vomit or you go into a quasi meditative state. Some actually hummed a nursery rhyme or mumbled a mantra under their breath, all in the name of keeping the day's meal back where it belonged.
Slow, deep breaths, she told herself. Slow deep breaths.
Kelly's focus on the process provided as much a relief as it provided a distraction. Whichever one it was, she found it to work. After a few seconds, the nausea passed like a rough patch of air during a flight.
Suddenly her vision shot into focus. The fog was lifted. Everything cleared. It felt like someone fast forwarding through a movie.
The black was the dark and the glowing sliver was the light from the room outside breaking between two doors pulled apart just wide enough to peek without being seen. Kelly also realized that she was in a supply closet in a seated position leaning against the closet's back wall. Her arms were propped on boxes to her left and a rolling drawer to her right. However long she had been sitting, she knew that getting up would be no easy chore.
As Kelly adjusted to a more comfortable position, she felt something cold and hard beneath her. Equipment? She ran her left hand around the cylindrical hunk of metal, which felt cold and menacing to the touch. Not that she'd ever seen a bomb or missile in her life, but her mind immediately painted a mental picture of what one would look like based on the war documentaries her father was a fan of. It would look exactly like the thing she was sitting on, which she could only paint a mental picture by running her hand around each part of the thing.
As she moved her hand further, she came across a thick rubber hose. She then felt a large ring. It wasn't a bomb, unless the ring was to pull the pin on oddly shaped and oddly sized hand grenade. Kelly smiled faintly. It was a fire extinguisher. Immediately, an image of a fire engine red extinguisher popped up in the back of her mind.
Relief.
Kelly moved to rub her aching head but bumped her right hand against something hard. The bump caused several objects to fall onto her head, to her lap, and finally to the floor. She had hit a shelf and knocked over some bottles. Not that she was mindful of the mess, but Kelly was thankful that none of the bottles broke. But they did make an ear splitting clanging as they fell. The noise wasn't loud but it sent a pain into her ears and on through her brain as if it was several decibels above that of a jet engine.
"Fuck," she whispered more in annoyance than in pain.
Once the bottles stopped rolling around on the floor, Kelly's ears focused onto another familiar noise. Just outside the closet doors she could hear the crackling of fire. The sound reminded her of a campfire, the flame breaking down each bit of the kindling that triggered a melodious series of cracks and pops. Kelly remembers camping. The memory was certainly a fond one.
Not now, Kelly scolded herself.
Kelly quickly shut the image of a campfire out of her mind. She didn't need nostalgia. She had to re-focus. That was a memory of another time to be celebrated for another time.
"Get it together," she mumbled.
As with anyone, Kelly's next step should have been to try and rise and walk out of the supply closet but she did not make any such move. There was a psychological tugging in the far corner of her mind that advised her to stay put. Kelly trusted this feeling. She had experienced it many times before and it had never been wrong. This time--like all the other times--Kelly would obey.
Kelly's nose suddenly stood at attention. A familiar odor made its way into the closet. It was faint yet distinct. Smoke. Of course. It came from the fire.
The smoke, though not life threatening, was certainly bothersome but tolerable. What was truly life threatening was the cause of the smoke, whose source is typically fire. Was it raging or smoldering?And what was the cause?
One thing at a time, she told herself.
Wherever Kelly was, she tried to conjure a mental image of her surroundings. She had walked just about every floor and every hallway and explored nearly every corner of the hospital. Still slightly hazy, Kelly found it difficult to zero in on where she could possibly be.
There was a loud pop and a crack. The fire.
Kelly thought of the fire suppressant system. Not all rooms were fitted with sprinklers since putting out a fire to save a life would also result in the destruction of valuable equipment. And so the hospital paid for some cutting-edge technology. Instead of water, a harmless, non-toxic gas that Kelly at the moment could not quite remember the name of, would be released. It would save a life and any of the expensive equipment. The new system would (in a poor choice of words by the person who conducted the meeting as well as the installation) kill two birds with one stone.
Kelly leaned forward and took in another whiff of the smoke. Still faint but not too strong. She figured the source was either very weak or she was far from the source. If it was far, then it had to have been burning for some time in order to make its way up to wherever she was. This would also mean that it could be weakening the structure of the building and would result in a collapse. But a long burning fire could also be simply...a weak fire.
Need to get out of here, she told herself.
Wait, the force in the back of her mind told her. Just...wait. Kelly did just that.
There was a crashing sound. Muffled and low, Kelly figured that it came from beyond the walls that surrounded her.
"So I need to be right here," Kelly mumbled in a defeated tone.
Kelly decided to at least stretch her limbs as much as possible until her invisible guardian would give her the green light to move about the room. Now came the challenge of some very sore, possibly slightly cramped muscles trying to respond to the simple but now herculean task of standing. It wasn't as bad as she anticipated. With a little more will, Kelly was able to stand, her joints popping as she made her way upright. She moved slowly, careful not to overextend herself and do any more harm to her body.
A sound came from out in the room. Kelly gave it more thought. Actually the sound was too faint to have come from inside the room. It must have come from outside of the room. They were footsteps, soft and slow. Instinct told Kelly to freeze like a statue and make no move or sound. For a brief second she debated whether or not to even breathe. She could feel herself wobble slightly and thus fought hard to keep from collapsing.
God, don't let my knees buckle and put my ass on the floor, she begged.
Kelly carefully leaned forward, peeking out through the crack between the two sliding closet doors. Instinct told her that it wasn't a good idea to go rushing out. Her gut told her to hang back and wait. She looked to the right and saw a couple of overturned chairs and a coffee table. Just past the chairs and table was the door. Kelly eyed it suspiciously. The door was open, turned into the room and towards her. Had it opened away from her in the opposite direction, she would have an easy view from the closet, out into the hallway and right into what would be the nurse's station.
There was a window that looked out into the hallway but the verticals were drawn. Whatever had caused the chairs to be tossed on their sides had also ruffled the verticals. There were tiny openings between each plastic vertical but it wasn't significant enough to grant her a view of the world beyond the room.
Kelly turned her eye over to the left side of the room. As she panned right to left, her eyes came across a typical hospital bed complete with uncomfortable mattress, heavy metal framing, and faux wood finish. She could see the foot of the bed and a pair of feet beneath a hospital blanket. Her eyes followed the legs up to the head of the bed where an old woman lay with tubes jammed into her arms and up her nostrils. At first glance you would swear that the woman was dead. But as Kelly looked closer, she could see the woman's chest rising and falling ever so slightly. It was the eighty-five year old Mrs. Calloway. She had been admitted about five times over the last month for various ailments. During each 'visit' she had gotten to know many of the staff personally. Unfortunately, this time was likely to be her last. The cancer had spread and her condition was terminal. Why she chose against hospice nobody knew. Kelly assumed it was because Mrs. Calloway had come to see much of the staff as family because, unfortunately, she did not have any family. Who knows.
The bed had originally been set along the same wall as the closet inside which Kelly stood and ran parallel to the windows. Now the bed was perpendicular to the windows. What in the hell could have possibly happened?
Just as she figured the room to be safe, the sound of a footstep again gave her pause. Kelly quickly panned back to the right and saw a man in a white doctor's cloak step into the room. Judging by the graying hair and dark beard, it was none other than Dr. Ian Nicholson, an English expat who had been with the hospital about as long as Kelly. Their paths rarely ever crossed as she worked in the ER and he worked in Oncology. Still, their relationship was professional and courteous. But something was different about this Dr. Nicholson.
Kelly's eyes narrowed intensely and focused on the good doctor who took a couple steps towards the semi-conscious Mrs. Calloway. He moved rather slowly and unsteadily as if he was an inebriated. Kelly expected the next step the good doctor to take would be the one that would drop him to the ground. The man wasn't steady.
Dr. Nicholson approached the foot of the bed and slowly reached out to grab Mrs. Calloway's leg. As his arm extended, the sleeve drew back and revealed the good doctor's pale, cadaver-like skin and what looked like a strange black pencil thin arrangement of lines that resembled an eerie tattoo. Kelly was slightly taken aback by the sight. Working in the ER had hardened her to all types of illnesses and wounds. But this was different. She found it to be more strange than anything she had ever witnessed. Intriguing, even.
The doctor grabbed one of Mrs. Calloway's ankles, prompting the old woman to snap out of her stupor and turn her eyes over to her attacker. She was too weak to sit up and thus too weak to wrestle her leg from Dr. Nicholson's grip. Mrs. Calloway muttered something but Kelly couldn't hear. Kelly was confident that it was likely a scream for help. Instead of a scream, a stream of silent, forced air left Mrs. Calloway's mouth. It felt more like an emotive exhale.
Dr. Nicholson then pulled the old woman closer, violently jerking the leg towards him. There was no resistance. Mrs. Calloway rushed forward. The good doctor raised her leg into the air and leaned in close. Then the unthinkable. Dr. Nicholson opened his mouth and bit into the old woman's calf. His head jerked side to side like a feral animal tearing apart a tough piece of meat. The old woman opened her mouth in horror but again no scream left it. She could, instead, only toss her head wildly in agony.
Kelly reached downward and slowly pulled the fire extinguisher up to her chest. Her right hand held the bottom and her left gripped at the handle. She knew that she had a chance. It would only be one chance.
As Dr. Nicholson prepared to take a second bite, Kelly burst out from inside the closet with the fire extinguisher shoulder level ready to serve its purpose. But as she took her second step with her right leg, the strength in her lower body evaporated. So instead of firmly planting her foot onto the floor, the leg buckled and Kelly fell to the ground with the fire extinguisher assisting gravity in dragging her downward.
Dr. Nicholson, now distracted, casually tossed the woman's leg aside and made his way over to the fallen nurse. Blood dripped down the edges of his mouth and blotted his white coat. His hobbled gait had disappeared. He now moved with the grace and motion of an animal circling its prey. Kelly quickly rolled onto her back and tried to pull herself up. Her leg wasn't cooperating. As she struggled to retreat to safety, Kelly looked upward at the good doctor. Though her face belied the fear that coursed through her body, Kelly was shocked by the sight of the now unfamiliar Dr. Nicholson.
Gone was Dr. Nicholson's aged, professorial face with its warm eyes and genteel smile. It was replaced with blackened eyes, pale skin, and a bloodthirsty countenance. His face was made even more menacing thanks to the wide smear of blood around his mouth like a lunatic clown with red make-up hastily and sloppily applied across its face. The same thin black lines that had decorated his arm were also creeping up from beneath his trademark v-neck shirt. Kelly swore that they were pulsing with a life of their own.
Dr. Nicholson dropped to one knee, grabbed Kelly by the ankle and pulled her towards him. Kelly slid across the floor, offering a minimal amount of resistance. Just as she was within arm's length of him, she pulled the pin from the fire extinguisher and blasted the doctor in the face with a steady, powerful stream of ammonium phosphate.
Holding his hand out to shield his face from the fire extinguisher did little. The doctor fell on his behind, shielding his face. He snarled more out of anger than pain and clawed furiously at his face with his free hand. To Kelly's disappointment, the doctor still maintained his grip on her ankle. If anything, his grip tightened.
The doctor continued to snarl and blindly and recklessly swipe at the air in anger. This presented Kelly with another opportunity to strike. Kelly took the now lighter extinguisher, sat up and rammed its bottom against the doctor's face. The doctor fell on his back with his arms flailing wildly.
Freed, Kelly crawled away to a relatively safe distance before grabbing onto a fallen table to hoist herself upward. She could feel the strength in her legs returning. The doctor, meanwhile, was still writhing on the ground from the extinguisher blast and the following extinguisher blow to the face. Kelly confidently strode over to him and looked down at the man with a frigid expression that had earned her the nickname Cold Kelly. Once the doctor stopped writhing and glanced upward, she took the extinguisher and thrust it downward on his face with as much force as she could summon. The doctor fell back to the floor, his limbs seizing.
Kelly dropped to her knees and slammed the extinguisher again. And again. And again. The final blow yielded the cracking sound that told Kelly that enough was enough. The doctor's skull was crushed and a steady stream of black liquid that she could only assume to be his blood was oozing onto the hospital floor. His flailing limbs fell lifelessly.
There was no reason for Kelly to give the now deceased Dr. Nicholson a look. She was certain his face no longer came close to resembling its former self.
Kelly turned her attention to Mrs. Calloway, who's leg was bleeding and had soaked the blanket and sheets. The old woman still had a look of fright on her face but had calmed slightly after witnessing Kelly come to her rescue. Neither of them knew what had happened prior to the Dr. Nicholson encounter. At the moment it didn't appear to at all matter. Mrs. Calloway, confined to a bed and dressed in a number of tubes, would rather be anywhere but here. The farther from this hospital the better, she thought.
Kelly walked over to Mrs. Calloway and stroked the old woman's hair. Mrs. Calloway looked up and smiled. The gentle strokes were comforting.
"The wound is pretty bad but not fatal," Kelly calmly reported, still observing the bite Dr. Nicholson had taken out of the old woman's leg. It appeared as if the flow of blood was beginning to slow. "It could be stitched up."
Kelly turned back to Mrs. Calloway, their eyes meeting. The old woman smiled and mouthed, "Thank you." Her eyes were filled with tears of joy. For the time being, she couldn't feel the pain in her leg but she was certain that it would soon return. She was thankful that Kelly came to her rescue. The young nurse reminded Mrs. Calloway of her friend's granddaughter Holly. Both were dirty blondes with hazel eyes and practicing in the medical field. Mrs. Calloway knew she wouldn't get to see Holly again. But being saved by someone who reminded her fondly of Holly brought her comfort.
Kelly sensed the emotional tide in the old woman begin to turn for the better. The expression on the old woman's face was very familiar. Kelly had seen it in many patients. It would be a look of relief that things would be just fine. It was also a look of resignation, an acceptance of the inevitable. And that would be ok too. Often times that look was the truest reward for a nurse.
But as quickly as Mrs. Calloway's face relaxed in relief, so too did it quickly disappear. Kelly withdrew a syringe from her pocket, removed the plastic sleeve that housed the needle and held it up against the ceiling lights to give its contents a closer inspection. Kelly was pleasantly surprised to find the syringe in perfect condition considering how she ended up in the closet and then tussled with Dr. Nicholson.
The syringe was filled with a colorless liquid that looked as innocent as it was deadly. When Kelly flicked at the long needle, a drop of the liquid flew off and onto Mrs. Calloway's bed. The old woman watched the drop leave a dark stain on her sheets.
"Mrs. Calloway," Kelly calmly said to the woman with a cold and stoic face, her voicer trailing off leaving the old woman hanging on to what would be said next. Mrs. Calloway knew. She shook her head desperately, mouthing what was likely a plea for mercy. She had grown to accept succumbing to the cancer. But she could not accept what was currently unfolding before her. She pled and begged, if not with her voice but with her eyes. It was in vain. She watched any form of mercy or compassion disappear into the void of the person that stood before her.
Kelly took in a deep breath and stared deep into Mrs. Calloway's eyes.
As plainly, flatly, and with as near zero emotion as only she could say, Kelly said, "This will have to be farewell."
And with that, Kelly plunged the syringe into Mrs. Calloway's arm. Horror spread across the old woman's face. A flurry of questions--what are you doing? what is in that needled? what is going to happen to me? is anyone coming to help?--rushed into her head but an answer for any would not make a difference. For the next few seconds only her eyes looked around frantically as if searching for a reason, a meaning to what was happening. Her mouth was frozen into a large 'O'. No there would not be any screaming. There would be no one there to hear. There would be no one there to see.
Before leaving the room, Kelly looked the old woman over from head to toe. The work was done. As she made her way to the door, she could hear Mrs. Calloway's head sink lifelessly into the pillow. The sound of the old woman's final breath leaving her body was not the last sound that Kelly heard. Rather, it was the sound of the empty syringe tumbling on the floor after she had carelessly discarded it much like in the same carefree manner she had discarded with Mrs. Calloway's life.