2025-02-07 00:37:07Walker stood in the long line, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Every breath he took felt heavier. His bruises throbbed, his limbs ached, and his mind was on the verge of shutting down. But he couldn’t afford to rest.
His eyes darted around, scanning the nurses moving between counters. The place felt too quiet. Too controlled. He clenched his fists, trying to stay focused. He needed a patient card for Elizabeth—nothing else mattered. Then, just as it was almost his turn, a nurse in white scrubs walked briskly to the counter. She leaned in and whispered something to the nurse handing out cards. She glanced at him. Walker’s stomach twisted. The counter nurse nodded, and without hesitation, she waved him forward. “Sir, please come here,” she called out. Walker hesitated. Why was he being pulled out of line? He glanced behind him. The other people waiting exchanged murmurs, their eyes narrowing in quiet disapproval. “Don’t worry about them,” the nurse said, her voice unnaturally smooth. “We need to get you sorted quickly.” Walker swallowed hard and stepped forward. His legs felt heavier than before. The nurse slid a form and a pen across the counter. “Here, sir. Fill this out for your wife.” Walker picked up the pen, but his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The letters on the page came out wobbly and unreadable. “Sir,” the nurse asked gently, “are you okay? Can’t you write?” “I… I can,” he stammered. “Let me help,” she offered. Her tone was too kind. Too practiced. Walker hesitated. Something about her felt... off. But he was too exhausted to argue. “Yes, please. I… I can’t focus right now.” She pulled the form closer. “Okay, just tell me your details, and I’ll write them down. What’s your wife’s name?” “Elizabeth… Elizabeth Steve.” The nurse’s pen hovered over the page for a second too long. Walker frowned. “And her age?” “Twenty-two.” She scribbled it down quickly this time. “What’s her address?” Walker blinked, struggling to remember. His mind felt foggy. “Uh… 45 Oak Street, downtown.” The nurse nodded and kept writing—but slower now. Walker’s heartbeat picked up. He glanced around. Something about this place, these people, felt too… calculated. When she finally handed him the patient card, her fingers brushed his wrist. Cold. “There, all done,” she said, smiling. “You should really sit down now.” Walker clenched the card in his hand. “What about Elizabeth?” “She’s being attended to. But, sir…” Her eyes flicked to the bruises on his face. “Those cuts… they don’t look good. Let me call one of our nurses to treat them.” Walker opened his mouth to refuse—but then he noticed something. She wasn’t asking. She was stalling. His throat went dry. “Please, sir,” she said again, firmer now. “Let me help.” The antiseptic stung as she dabbed his wounds. Walker barely flinched. His mind wasn’t on the pain anymore. It was on the way she kept looking at him. Not with sympathy. Not with concern. With curiosity. Her eyes flicked to his injuries, then back to his expression. Like she was trying to read him. Walker forced himself to speak. “So… how long have you worked here?” The nurse smiled. “Oh, a long time.” But the way she said it didn’t sound natural. It sounded like an answer she had rehearsed. Walker clenched his jaw. He needed to see Elizabeth. Now. When she finished treating his cuts, she handed him back the patient card. “You can go see your wife now.” Walker muttered a quick thanks, grabbed the card, and stood up. But before he could take more than three steps— Another nurse intercepted him. This one held a clipboard, her posture stiff, her expression blank. “Sir, before you proceed to the ward, I need you to answer some questions about your wife,” she said. Walker’s hands balled into fists. “Can’t this wait? She’s in critical condition!” “It’s standard procedure.” Standard procedure? Walker’s skin prickled. He hesitated for a moment—then nodded and sat down. But this time, he watched her carefully. She flipped through her clipboard and immediately started firing questions. “What’s her blood type?” Walker’s pulse quickened. “I… I don’t know.” The nurse didn’t react. She simply wrote something down. “Does she have a history of heart failure?” “No.” “Any sexually transmitted diseases?” Walker’s jaw tightened. “What does that have to do with anything? She was in a car accident.” The nurse didn’t look up. “Drug addiction? Alcohol abuse?” “No, none of that!” His voice rose. “What is this?” The nurse finally met his eyes. And for the first time, Walker realized something chilling— She wasn’t writing everything down. Some questions, she noted. Others… she ignored. Like she already knew the answers. Walker’s breath hitched. His mind screamed at him to pay attention. The nurse continued, unfazed. “Any organ issues? Kidney failure? Lung problems?” Walker wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. “She’s never had anything like that.” Silence. Then the final question: “Does she have any allergies to medication?” Walker’s heart pounded. His lips parted—but no sound came out. He didn’t know. He had never needed to know. But somehow, deep inside, a small voice whispered: They do. His hands trembled as he answered. “I—I don’t know.” The nurse scribbled something and, for the first time, smirked. Not smiled. Smirked. Walker’s blood ran cold. The nurse handed him a form. “Sign here, stating you don’t know some of the answers. Then you can proceed to the ward.” Walker snatched the pen, his grip tight. He scrawled his name in sharp, angry strokes. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. The nurse finally looked up. And in that moment, Walker knew— She wasn’t a nurse. Not really. “Thank you,” she said, voice smooth. “You may go now.” Walker shoved the form back into her hands and stormed off. But he didn’t head straight to Elizabeth’s room. He stopped. Turned. And when he glanced back at the nurse’s station— The two women were watching him. Expressionless. And smiling. They knew something he didn’t.
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