The Nightly Visitor

Chapter 6: Dr. Singh Dilemma

Dr. Vikram Singh was a man of science, logic, and routine. He had been working at St. Mary's Hospital for over fifteen years, a career marked by countless lives saved and lost. In the sterile environment of the hospital, he found solace in the predictability of his work—diagnose, treat, and repeat. The world outside was chaotic, but within these walls, there were rules, procedures, and a semblance of control.

But lately, that sense of control had begun to slip through his fingers. It started with the nightmares—vivid, unsettling dreams where he saw faces of patients he had lost over the years. They would stare at him, their eyes filled with questions he couldn't answer. Why didn't you save me? What more could you have done?

The dreams were bad enough, but what disturbed Dr. Singh even more was the strange presence he had begun to feel during his rounds. It was always the same—an inexplicable chill in the air, a sudden sense of dread that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. At first, he dismissed it as fatigue, the result of too many sleepless nights and double shifts. But the feeling persisted, growing stronger with each passing day.

Today, as he made his way through the pediatric ward, the feeling was back, stronger than ever. The hallways were quiet, the soft beeping of machines the only sound breaking the silence. Dr. Singh's footsteps echoed off the linoleum floor as he approached Tommy's room.

Tommy had been one of his toughest cases. The boy was terminally ill, diagnosed with a rare and aggressive cancer that had resisted every treatment thrown at it. Dr. Singh had done everything he could—experimental drugs, clinical trials, consultations with specialists from across the country. But nothing had worked. The disease had progressed rapidly, leaving the boy with only a short time left.

Dr. Singh hated losing patients, especially children. It felt like a personal failure, a reminder of the limits of his abilities and the cruelty of the world. He had seen too many families broken by loss, too many dreams shattered by the cold reality of death. And yet, for all his years of experience, he still hadn't grown numb to it. Every death felt like a wound, raw and painful.

He paused outside Tommy's room, steeling himself before entering. The boy had been asleep the last time he checked, but something urged him to go back, to make sure everything was okay.

As he pushed open the door, the strange chill washed over him again, stronger than before. He hesitated, his hand gripping the door handle tightly. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the small bedside lamp. Tommy lay in bed, his small form almost swallowed by the blankets. He looked peaceful, his face relaxed in sleep.

But Dr. Singh wasn't alone in the room. A figure stood at the foot of Tommy's bed, cloaked in shadow, almost blending into the darkness. For a moment, Dr. Singh thought it was a trick of the light, his tired eyes playing tricks on him. But then the figure moved, turning slightly as if aware of his presence.

The doctor's heart skipped a beat. He had always prided himself on being a rational man, dismissing anything that couldn't be explained by science. Ghosts, spirits, the supernatural—these were things for other people to believe in, not him. But now, confronted with this dark, indistinct figure, he found himself questioning everything he thought he knew.

"Who... who are you?" Dr. Singh's voice was barely more than a whisper, his throat dry with fear.

The figure didn't respond immediately. Instead, it seemed to regard him for a long moment, as if weighing whether or not to answer. When it finally spoke, its voice was calm, almost soothing, but with an undercurrent of something ancient and powerful.

"I am what comes after, Dr. Singh."

The words sent a shiver down his spine, but they also stirred something within him—a deep, instinctual understanding that he had been avoiding for a long time. This figure, this presence, was not of this world. It was something beyond, something that had always been there, lurking in the shadows, waiting.

"You're... you're Death," Dr. Singh said, the words feeling strange on his tongue, like saying a forbidden name aloud.

The figure nodded, a subtle movement that was more felt than seen. "Yes. I am here for Tommy."

Dr. Singh's first instinct was to protest, to do what he always did—fight against the inevitable, search for a solution, refuse to give up. But as he looked at Tommy's peaceful face, the lines of pain smoothed away in sleep, he felt a deep weariness settle over him. He had fought for so long, but this battle was not one he could win.

"He's just a child," Dr. Singh whispered, his voice filled with a mix of sorrow and resignation. "It's not fair."

Death's presence seemed to soften, the shadows around it less oppressive. "It's never fair, Dr. Singh. But it is what must be. His journey is almost complete. He has suffered enough."

Tears welled up in Dr. Singh's eyes, an emotion he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years. He had seen so much pain, so much loss, but this felt different. It felt personal. "I couldn't save him," he said, more to himself than to Death. "I tried everything, but I couldn't save him."

Death moved closer, and Dr. Singh felt a strange sense of calm wash over him, like a cool breeze on a hot day. "You did all you could. Sometimes, it's not about saving them. Sometimes, it's about letting them go."

Dr. Singh nodded, his throat tight with emotion. He knew the truth of those words, even if he didn't want to accept them. "What happens now?"

Death turned its attention back to Tommy, who was still sleeping peacefully. "He will come with me. His journey will continue, but in a place where he can find peace, where the pain will no longer touch him."

Dr. Singh swallowed hard, blinking away the tears that blurred his vision. "Will he... will he be okay?"

"Yes," Death said gently. "He will be okay. He will find the peace he deserves."

The room was silent for a long moment, the only sound the soft beeping of the heart monitor. Dr. Singh felt the weight of the years pressing down on him, the exhaustion of fighting against forces he could never truly defeat. He looked at Tommy, at the small, brave boy who had faced so much with a courage beyond his years.

Finally, he nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. "Take care of him," he whispered, his voice breaking.

"I will," Death replied, and with that, the figure seemed to dissolve into the shadows, fading away until there was nothing left but the quiet room and the sleeping child.

Dr. Singh stood there for a long time, his heart heavy but his mind strangely clear. He knew now that there were things beyond his control, forces at work that he could never fully understand. But he also knew that he had done everything he could, that he had fought with everything he had. And now, it was time to let go.

With a deep breath, he turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. As he walked down the quiet corridor, the strange chill he had felt before was gone, replaced by a sense of peace, of acceptance.

For the first time in a long while, Dr. Singh felt like he could breathe again.