It’s midnight, which means rounding time. Checking on patients and recording them. Room after room trying not to wake anyone. 328 check. 329 check. 330 check. 331 check. 332 check. 333 che-.
“Sir, you are supposed to check with the secretary before entering a patient's room. If you will follow me we can get this sorted out real quick. Did you stop at the entrance for a visitors tag?” I asked, dragging my service voice from the depths of my exhaustion. “ Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the patient.”
The room seemed to get darker and the temperature dropped, my breath puffing out. The man looked at me and grinned before turning, leaning over the patient and vanishing.
The motor began to alarm as the vitals dropped. The patient took a shuddering breath and said one word “Never”.
In a numb stupor, I was pushed aside as nurses rushed in to check the patient. No luck, they were gone.
The aftermath is always bitterly surreal. Suddenly, or not so suddenly, gone. All that’s left to do is strip the room and reset. Stepping forward to put the sheet on the bed I felt my foot hit something under the bed.
Stooping down I found a ring dull grey and surprisingly heavy. The patient had not been wearing a ring and there were no inscriptions. I slipped it in my pocket and went about setting up the room, later giving it to the secretary.
