It was as I was about to call Jo that the stupid pager I had to carry around all the time went bezerk. I was in the second year of my residency at the same hospital where Jo had been many many times: Lawrence West. Why I gave up my dream of becoming a teacher? High school. But, that's another story for another time.
Come to trauma room three. -P. Duvall, the pager buzzed. Peter Duvall was the most annoying, cocky, arrogant surgeon in the world. Unfortunately, he was the head of the trauma unit at the hospital. Also, people tended to swoon for him, since he was 'unbearably hot,' according to one of the other residents. God, I cannot stand some people. I really hated him, and his little throngs of nurses and interns that practically worshipped him. Kinda reminds me of another doctor we know of, eh? Well, minus the worshipping part.
When I arrived in the ER, all blue and white, with hideously blue scrubs and a white coat, everything seemed relatively-
"LaVaughn! Get into trauma room three this instant!" Duvall yelled, breaking the calm. I sighed, wondering what the heck he was going to try and blame on me this time, and strode into the room, readying a defensive explanation. My mouth formed a perfect O as I saw what had happened. A woman was on her back, her face marred by scrapes and nasty cuts. A thick, firm tube protruded out of her mouth - a chest tube, to help her breathe. I was sure that underneath that gown, there would be more wounds.
"Ariadne Winters, caught in an unfortunate car accident. Multiple lacs and head contusions." He paused, flicking through a chart. "CT showed abdominal bleeding and a tear to the spleen, as well as haemorrhaging in the temporal lobe."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" I demanded, eager to operate, if it meant getting on his good side.
"You can get this patient's lacerations sutured," he snapped, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Funny, that I'm always assigned to that job, when I'm under your service. Which, by the way, I'm not. Did you notice this isn't my shift?" I asked as sweetly as humanly possible.
"Yeah, I did." He rolled his eyes. "You're still going to help me suture her, and you are going to book an operating room."
"And why would I do that?"
"Because you want to perform a surgery." I stared at the glowering face for a moment, confused.
"Me?" I shook my head. "I'm not a neuro god. Ask Doctor Rayes. At least he specialised in neurosurgery." Hamish Rayes was the head of the neurosurgery unit, and possibly the nicest person in the world. Unless he was angry. Or drunk. There was that one time- never mind.
"But you're good at cutting things mindlessly. You could remove that spleen."
"I'm taking that as a compliment. Fine, I'll help you, 'trauma god.' I need to kill time, anyways." I lifted the suture stapler from one of the carts and raised the morphine level for Ms. Winters. Duvall grabbed my arm, and not in the way someone who cares about you would. Oh, no. It was more like the way a serial killer grabs the arm of their victim as they try and flee.
"Just remember, LaVaughn. I'm the one who can get you fired, here." His fingernails dug into my arm through the white doctor's coat. Finally, I nodded. He let go, his fingers splaying and hanging in the air emphatically. When he was gone, I began to suture Ms. Winters' lacerations, the hollow metal clicks making me feel a lot worse than I had before. Some trauma god he was.
After I booked the OR, I gathered the scrub nurses, the anaesthesiologist, that other person, that one guy, oh, and the trauma god himself, all mighty and magical. I swear, the two nurses swooned. God, I just wanted to become a fellow and apply for pediatrics already. Little people were better than screaming adults and arrogant, mean bosses.
At least Dr. Morgan wasn't mean, but he was cocky, sometimes. He expected me to just go along with his stupid plan? Bah. Children aren't that gullible. At least, not the ones who are paying attention.
I forced the thought of Dr. Morgan out of my mind and into the waste-bin labelled 'Biochemical Waste.' I was going to rub my skin raw with this sponge, if I kept thinking about him. Silently, I pulled on a mask and cap, tying a scrub gown on. A nurse supplied me with rubber gloves, and I stepped into the OR.
"Initiating the splenectomy on Ariadne Winters," Duvall announced. "Scalpel." The nurse obediently complied.
Oh, boy. I was hating this surgery, and he hadn't even opened the poor woman up yet. And then I had to visit Jo for dinner, and Dr. Morgan was going to come over, and then I had night rounds to make in the hospital, and with Duvall breathing down my neck-
This was going to be a long day.
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Shadows | A Forever Fan-Fiction - Sequel to Lights
FanfictionIt's been a decade since Lights woke up in the hospital. A decade since Adam escaped the factory, fleeing into the night. A decade since Dr. Henry Morgan left everything he could have ever cared about behind. But now, he's back in town, as clever, c...
