Wolf’s Bliss
When I started my shift at 11 PM, the ER
was bustling with activity, pretty typical for a Saturday night. We had lots of
people come in with injuries incurred while walking around drunk, getting in
fights at bars, general recklessness, etc. Not infrequently we had something
more tragic. The first hours of the shift were busy, but not unusual. It was
only around 2 AM that something a little stranger happened.
A man was being admitted to the
hospital: white, age in the late twenties or early thirties, height somewhere
over six feet, athletic build. We couldn’t confirm any of the details because
he was unconscious. His face was cut badly, and the doctors were checking for
head trauma and internal bleeding. He looked to be in pretty bad shape and a
decision was made to place him in the ICU. That’s when I was assigned to look
after him.
I like my job as a nurse. Sure the hours are long
and I’m put in some tough situations, but I can handle it. Besides, the money
is good and I like helping people. It always feels good to see one of my
patients walking out of the hospital on their own two feet, happy in their
newly restored health.
But some of the things I see in the ER could shake
any woman’s confidence: people with gunshot wounds, the survivors of car
accidents, and other gruesome things. The man I was currently tending to was
one of those for whom I felt a great deal of sympathy. His injuries looked to
be extreme, and the saddest part was that he was so damn young. I checked his
vitals and set up his IV. When everything looked to be under control, I went to
go check on my other patients.
When I came back a few hours later, he was still
lying there unconscious. The monitors showed that he was stable, all his vitals
seemed to be in order. Still, no signs of life behind those closed eyes. I
would have lingered for a while, watching over him as he lay there, maybe even
saying a short, silent prayer, but I had many other patients to attend to so I
had to get on with my shift.
Like most other busy nights at the hospital, my
shift went by quickly and before I knew it daylight was breaking. At 9 AM, I
clocked out, heading home to sleep through the day and work the night shift all
over again the following day. Ten long hours at work, but it felt good. I knew
I’d sleep well when I made it back to my apartment.
***
When I came in the following night, I went to check
in on my mysterious patient. He was still unconscious, but his breathing was
even and deep and all his vitals showed no sign of imminent threat. Upon first
glance I noticed something very peculiar: his face was flawless, his skin
smooth beneath a bit of dark scruff.
In and of itself, I’m sure that doesn’t seem strange,
but I remembered that when he was first admitted he’d had a huge gash across
his face, a deep wound that would have taken weeks to fully heal. Even then, I
would have expected it to leave a very noticeable scar.
I leaned in to take a closer look at him, trying to
see if I could discern where the cut had been. I saw the faintest bit of scar,
incredibly light so as to be nearly imperceptible exactly where the wound had been
the night before.
My heart started racing when I saw that; I’m not
exactly sure why. Something was not right, and all of the sudden I felt scared,
as if I was in the presence of something beyond my comprehension. I checked his
vitals again and quickly left the room. I just had to get out of there and
catch my breath, wait for my heart rate to gradually fall back to normal. I left
to attend to my other patients in the East wing.
***
As I checked on my other patients, I found my mind
continuously wandering back to the mysterious man in the ICU. Who was he?
What was he?
You see, when he came into the hospital, his pockets
had been emptied. No driver’s license, no credit cards, no source of
identification whatsoever. Since he was unconscious, no one even knew his name,
his story,
Learning to Kill: Stories