The Shepherd Legacy

Hope

In the sprawling, warmly lit living room of the Shepherd household, a sense of unease hovered in the air, as thick and tangible as the Seattle mist that clung to the windows outside. Mary Shepherd, the youngest prodigy of the Shepherd lineage, sat curled into the plush embrace of the family couch, her gaze flitting across the screen of the television in front of her, where Netflix idly scrolled past unwatched and forgotten shows. Despite the comfort of the room, her posture betrayed a tension that knotted at her shoulders—a tension mirrored in the man beside her, Mark Sloan-Shepherd, her brother in all but blood.

The evening had stretched into night with an unusual quiet, broken only by the occasional sigh or the soft click of the remote as yet another show failed to capture their attention. It was an odd picture they painted, two surgeons, one a renowned plastic surgeon and the other a burgeoning neurosurgeon resident, lost in the mundanity of choosing a show. But their distraction was not born of a genuine desire for entertainment; it was a veneer, a thin cover for the growing worry that gnawed at the edges of their minds.

Derek, the eldest Shepherd, a pillar of strength and guidance in Mary's life, was uncharacteristically late. Initially, when the clock had ticked beyond his expected arrival with no sign of him, Mary and Mark had exchanged concerned glances, brushing off the worry with rationalizations of surgery complications. A call to the hospital had confirmed as much, but that had been hours ago, and the silence since then had grown into a deafening concern.

"Mark, could you... could you call the charge nurse again?" Mary's voice broke the silence, her tone laced with a worry she could no longer mask. She shifted, turning to face Mark, her eyes seeking reassurance in his.

Without a word, Mark nodded, reaching for his phone. The weight of responsibility, a feeling both familiar and burdensome, settled over him as he dialed the hospital. Mary, in the meantime, pulled out her own phone, her fingers trembling slightly as she tried to call Derek. The call went unanswered, echoing in the quiet room like a foreboding omen.

Mark's conversation with the charge nurse offered little solace. Derek had left the hospital over an hour ago. The news sent a shiver down Mary's spine, her worry morphing into a cold dread. They lived a mere ten minutes from the hospital; there was no reason for Derek's absence to stretch this long.

The siblings sat in a heavy silence, the tension between them thickening with each passing minute. Mary had nestled closer to Mark, seeking comfort in his presence, her head resting against his shoulder as they both stared at the screen, seeing nothing.

Just as the clock's hands marked half an hour since their last attempt to reach Derek, the sudden, shrill beeping of their pagers sliced through the silence. Startled, Mary and Mark exchanged a quick, confused glance. Neither was on call that night, and the urgency of the summons hinted at something far beyond a routine emergency.

Wordlessly, they rose, a practiced ease in their movements born of countless similar nights, though none quite like this. Mark led the way to the car, his steps quick and purposeful, while Mary followed, her mind racing with possibilities. The drive to the hospital was tense, the silence between them filled with unasked questions and unspoken fears.

As they navigated the familiar streets of Seattle, the city seemed to hold its breath with them, the usual bustle quieted as if in anticipation of the news awaiting them at their destination. The hospital loomed ahead, a beacon in the night, its lights burning bright against the darkness.

The urgency of the page, combined with Derek's inexplicable absence, hung over them like a dark cloud. Mary felt the knot of worry in her stomach tighten, a sense of foreboding filling her as they parked and made their way into the bustling chaos of the emergency room.