The Second Stage

Patient Zero: Jacob

The hospital had bones; Meredith Haynes knew that.

It sat atop a hill, out of place, as if it fell from the sky and gradually sank into the brittle earth with the growing weight of visceral emotions within. Sounds echoed through its guts—ceaseless whirs, beeps, the frantic rolling of wheels and cries from states of neither wakefulness nor nightmare. The lights never relented; they trapped shadows under the beds as if everything was built just to keep them there. Meredith Haynes knew something else about this hospital: she knew that all who lived gladly departed, and all who died did so in good company.

Meredith Haynes knew her patient, too. Jacob Dedham was present for a routine procedure, albeit, one that required general anesthesia in OR 14.

OR 14 was never great for anesthetic induction of children, or anyone for that matter, but low costs had to come from somewhere. OR14 was sterile in the literal and metaphoric sense. The floor was gray polished sealed concrete, the walls were gray polished sealed concrete, and you would never guess what comprised the ceiling. Modern medicine made it commonplace to have glass windows, allowing for surgeons to view the subject during prep or family members to watch a procedure. There were no windows in OR 14.

Jacob, the patient, was a pale, skinny, curly-haired, cereal commercial star waiting to be found. Despite this, he gave Meredith the creeps. A lot of things had lately: the lights flickered more than usual, the doors closed in the wind, nurses kept shuffling to the subbasement—that struck her nerves in particular. But this kid was an odd one. He paused before every sentence, enough to worry about what he would say, but not long enough to write him off as mentally challenged. Jacob fixated on Meredith's white hair throughout the preparation which, she supposed, wasn't too abnormal given how blanched it truly was. Responses to the general pediatric prep were strange as well, mostly worrying in Jacob's lack of concern over what was about to happen to him. Thus, nothing stuck out. He was just one where the shivers up Meredith's spine were a sum of all parts.

Most annoyingly for Meredith, the patient should have been going under, forging past the excitement phase, yet his glittering hazel eyes stared straight at her. She had been prepping him for a relatively routine procedure—a surgical repair of a broken leg. 'Relatively' was the keyword, because, after years of routine cases going wrong and nightmare cases going just swell, Meredith had concluded that 'routine' would always be relative. Case in point here since 'routine' was gazing right at her.

"Jacob? Can you hear me?"

Jacob nodded, his brown frizzy hair bouncing like a clown's wig. A small silver cross jangled on his neck.

"I'm so sorry Jacob. I gotta move that." Meredith said, taking the necklace off and placing it within a drawer of the anesthesia machine.

With a pat on her own neckline, she confirmed that her driftwood anchor pendant hid under her collar—that she would never remove. She shook her head, imagining the fit Dr. Bloom might have thrown had the jewelry remained when he strutted in. Then again, Dr. Bloom might explode into an even fiercer tantrum if Meredith couldn't get this damn kid under anesthesia. Why wasn't he going under?

"I've got a bit more of this medicine. It'll make you sleep. Burns a little but I want you to count backward from ten. Before you reach zero, you'll be finished with the procedure and back home eating ice cream. Ready?" Meredith smiled at him.

"Yes," Jacob squeaked.

"Okay, here we go." Meredith stopped when she glanced at the oxygen mask pressed against Jacob's face. A smile stretched wider and wider under the translucent plastic so she pushed the propofol syringe as fast as possible. His head cocked to the side, and the grin continued to stretch to an impossible width, beyond the corners of the mask.