Bedside Manner

            They had made Sydow wait elsewhere, even as he insisted that he ride with her.  The hospital had sent another ambulance, as the first had already gotten most of the way with Yalton on board. There was flurry of activity. The paramedics were shouting.

            “I’m all right,” she said. Her voice was extremely weak, but other than the biting pain in her stomach, the rest of her felt truly fine.

            “AED, now!” yelled the one who seemed to be in charge. He was well-built and serious, with close-cropped dark hair.

            Another paramedic, this one a woman roughly Ana’s age, tore open her shirt and pressed cold metal paddles to her chest.

            “Wait, please!” she tried to say, but even she could barely hear herself.

            The paramedic holding the paddles, clearly the rookie of the two, looked up at her boss. “Um… Ryan?”

            Ryan shouted. “Do it! Clear!”

            And then Ana felt a jolt go through everything. It wasn’t even painful. Instead, it was as if something else had taken control of her body for an instnat. There was something odd and familiar to it.

            “Ow!” she yelled.

            This seemed to finally get Ryan’s attention.

            The two paramedics looked at each other, their faces turning ghostly white.

            The local anesthetic was enough to make the surgery totally painless. She could hear them saying something about keeping her conscious due to some condition she had. That terrified her more than anything. More than the blazing house, or Vymer’s dead, murderous expression.

            She had no idea what the condition could be. She worried it was brain damage.

            Surely if it were brain damage, I wouldn’t think I had brain damage, right?

            She found her thoughts turning to the beach in her dreams. In the dream-logic, the water had been comfortable, yet she was also sure it had been frigidly cold.

            She was in a hospital bed now. She had her own room. The room was surprisingly spare, and the door remained closed at all times. She looked for a remote control for the television, but that had apparently been removed as well. All there was beyond her bed was a desk with a chair, a trashcan, and a few examination instruments on a rack on the wall. Out the window, she could see only leaden grey clouds above and a faint blue glow of distant, obscured sunlight.

            It occurred to her that this was one of those important moments in her life. She dreaded such moments, usually. Even the positive ones, like when she made detective only a few months earlier, had been imbued with a kind of heavy weight, the constant march of time, burying the past farther and farther behind her. The day she’d stopped speaking with her parents had been one of the harder of these moments. The day she’d found out Arthur had died was probably the worst. This moment, though, was agony. She knew there was something wrong with her, something that could change her entire life. Knowing this, and yet not knowing any of the specifics, it was like standing over a precipice, about to jump.

            “All right, Detective Sweeney, we’ve got to teach you that cheese is supposed to be filled with holes, not people.” The doctor walked in carrying a clipboard and wearing a white coat. He was a little on the short side, with fat, puffy cheeks and glasses, and longish hair parted in the middle so that it flowed down either side of his head.

            “Um, yes. I suppose I forgot that.” Her voice had returned, though her throat was dry and there was a croaky quality to the sound.

            The doctor smiled. “I’m Doctor Keckley,” he extended his hand. Ana shook it. “You’ve had quite the rough day.”

            “What time is it?”

            “About two in the afternoon, though you wouldn’t think it looking outside. Do you mind if I call you Ana?”

            “That’s fine.”

            “Ok. How are you feeling, Ana? Is there still pain?”

            She thought about it. “Only a little.”

            “Ok,” he said. He remained cheery in his disposition, but that “ok” sounded more to her like a concerned “hm.” “All right, I’m just going to take your pulse here, if that’s all right.”

            “Fine with me,” she said.

            He put a pressure cuff on her arm and put his stethoscope in his ears. The pressure was a little uncomfortable. “When was the last time you went to the doctor, Ana?”

            Ana grimaced in embarrassment. “Not for a long time.”

            “How long?”

            “Like… seven years, I think.”

            Doctor Keckley frowned in disappointment. “That’s not good.”

            “My parents used to take me to a guy with a private practice. Doctor Meldi was his name.”

            Keckley moved the stethoscope around. “Meldi? Not familiar with that name.”

            “He lived in Lindersvar.”

            “Lindersvar? That’s down by Port Sang, right?”

            She nodded.

            “Bit of a trek, don’t you think?”

            Ana shrugged. “I never thought about it.”

            Keckley undid the cuff. “Right, well, this confirms what Doctor Onas told me. I’m just going to want to run one more test to be sure.”

            “Sure about what?”

            Keckley pulled the chair out from the desk and sat in it. “Neither Doctor Onas nor I can find a pulse on you. Your heart does not appear to be beating at all.”

            Ana nodded at first, but then when the words sunk in, she looked up at Keckley, confused. “That’s impossible.”

            Keckley nodded. “That’s what I said to Doctor Onas.”

            Ana put two fingers up to her wrist. She couldn’t feel anything. She put them up to her neck. Still nothing. She put her hand on her chest, but beyond her breath, there was no movement underneath.

            “But how am I alive?” she asked.

            Keckley took a deep breath. “We’re working on that.”

            Then there was a loud banging on the door. Keckley called back. “I’m with a patient right now.”

            From the other side, Sydow yelled to the doctor. “We have a problem. I need to talk to Detective Sweeney.”

            Keckley frowned. He turned back to Ana. She nodded in approval. “All right. Come in.”

            Sydow walked in. He was somewhat short of breath, and looked extremely worried. “Ana, are you all right?”

            She shrugged and nodded. “All things considered.”

            “Can you move?”

            Keckley shook his head. “No, she can’t.”

            “What is it, Nick?”

            “Ranger-Captain Lisenrush. She’s on her way.”

            “Why?”

            “Is there no way we can get you out of here?”

            Keckley furiously shook his head. “Absolutely not. My patient is recovering from a gunshot wound. She is in no state to go running about.”

            Sydow sunk, exasperated. “I just… we have to…”

            But then they heard the marching boots along the hallway. There was no request for admittance this time. The door was flung open and two militia men with very large guns marched into the room.

            “What the fuck is this?” yelled Doctor Keckley.

            That was when Lisenrush walked in. She was an imposing woman, over six feet tall and defined with lean, wiry muscle. “Doctor, I am taking this… thing into my custody.”

            “Like hell you are,” said Keckley.

            Sydow stepped over. “You have no jurisdiction over an enforcement officer. She is under our custody, not the Militia’s.”

            Lisenrush turned to gaze contemptuously at Sydow. “Under the Midwinter Resolution, the Militia has full authority to detain and dispose of all draugar, possessors, wights, stitches, and any other dangerous undead entities, creatures, or constructs that pose a threat to the Colony.”

            “What has that got to do with it?” asked Sydow, his voice cracking slightly.

            She pointed to Ana. “That is not a person. It’s a draugr.”

(Copyright Daniel Szolovits 2012)