Page 35 of Ruled By Fate

Brie moved subtly towards the back of the room, watching the storm brew as the two turned slowly to face each other, armed with wildly different standards of patient care.

Matthews turned beet red and looked as though he might say something before he shrugged, glancing again at the clock. “Time of death: zero seven thirty-three.”

As the room stared in disbelief, he walked over to the patient and snapped an eyelid unceremoniously open with his thumb, pointing a penlight directly inside.

“No chest rise, no heartbeat, pupils fixed and dilated.” He took a step back, putting his pen back in his pocket. He looked around the room. “This man is dead, people. I realize I’m the only doctor here, but that is a distinction I hope they teach you in nursing school.”

He let out another skittering laugh, only to be met with utter silence.

“If it makes you feel any better, look at those tattoos,” he said, gesturing carelessly at the tribal markings on the man’s face. “He’s some gangbanger. Your energies are better spent elsewhere.” With that, he turned on his heel and walked out the door, texting.

He left a sea of stunned faces in his wake.

Denise was the first to move, taking off her gloves and slapping them on a side table in disgust. She looked around the room, her features softening for a moment. “There are other people to help in this building. Find them. Help them. Go.” Despite her militaristic demeanor, she clapped a few of her more demoralized-looking colleagues on the back on their way out. Only Brie stayed behind, still shaken by the experience.

“I don’t understand,” she murmured. “How can he get away with… with not trying?”

Denise replied flatly, sparing no emotion. “That isn’t something you can control. Let’s go find something we can control and make it better.”

She walked out the door without telling Brie to follow her. She didn’t have to.

“Welcome to Daya Memorial.”

Chapter Seven: Angel of Mercy

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The next few hours were some of the most challenging of Brie’s entire life. She helped reset a broken nose, pulled an enormous fish hook out of a man’s calf muscle, hung IV fluids for a couple of food poisoning victims, and comforted a hysterical first-time mother whose infant son had a hundred-degree fever.

By lunchtime, she was exhausted.

She’d just sat down for the first time since breakfast when Denise slammed a thick file on the counter in front of her. “Your orientation forms,” she said brusquely. “Know every policy. Know every procedure. Know every standard. Attend all necessary appointments. Leave no box unchecked. Or I will find you.” She stomped off without further explanation.

Brie looked at the mountain of paperwork and the maelstrom of activity swirling around her and decided to find sanctuary elsewhere.

There was one place in every hospital that was by its very nature quieter and cooler than every other. The morgue. It was a useful, if not morbid, habit she’d picked up during clinical rotations in Georgia: always do your paperwork in the morgue.

She knocked first. Even though the pathologists were likely out to lunch themselves, she was in unfamiliar territory and might need to make an alliance before she was allowed to use their space.

To her surprise, someone answered.

“Can I help you?” asked a friendly-looking woman with skin the color of coffee and a beautiful head scarf.

“Yes, I was wondering—”

“You’re Denise’s new shadow,” the woman said, smiling and opening the door a little more.

“How can you tell?”

The lady nodded at the enormous stack of forms.

“I’ve never seen you before, but I know an orientation packet when I see one.” She took a step back and gestured with her hand. “Come on in.”

Brie gratefully walked into the cool room. “Thank you so much. This was always my spot at my last hospital because it was—”

“The coolest place in the whole joint.”

“Exactly.” Brie grinned and extended a hand. “I’m Brie, by the way.”

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