Devlinn
The white walls and blinding white lights gave the massive building a falsely serene feeling. Hospitals always tried to look pure, clean, almost holy, but it was the scent that betrayed the truth. The sharp mix of antiseptic, blood, and something faintly metallic lingered in the air, clinging to the place like a reminder of how many people passed through these halls every day… and how many never left.
I pushed the bed forward with practiced ease as we rushed down the corridor toward the ICU. The wheels screeched softly against the polished floor, alarms echoing from distant wards. Somewhere, someone was crying. Somewhere else, a life was slipping away.
Oddly enough, moments like these were when my mind felt clearest. Light. Empty. Free of unnecessary thoughts.
As soon as we entered the ICU ward, the doors sliding open with a mechanical hiss, I shut everything else out. The room was cold, humming with machines, monitors blinking steadily, ventilators breathing for bodies too weak to do it themselves. The patient lay unconscious, chest rising unevenly, blood seeping through hastily applied bandages.
Severe gunshot wounds. Multiple.
One to the chest. Two to the abdomen. One through the arm.
The bullets had torn through flesh with no mercy, and the damage was ugly.
"Scalpel," I said calmly.
Hands moved fast around me. Gloves snapped into place. Steel met skin.
Blood pooled quickly, warm and dark against pale sheets. The scent grew heavier, intoxicating in a way I would never admit aloud. I worked methodically, fingers steady, movements precise. Every incision was intentional. Every second mattered.
A nicked artery. Internal bleeding. A lung partially collapsed.
"Clamp."
I leaned closer, eyes narrowing in focus as I repaired what violence had destroyed. The beeping of the heart monitor was steady, too steady for comfort. I welcomed the pressure. Someone's life depended entirely on my concentration, and failure wasn't an option I entertained.
Time blurred.
Minutes stretched into hours.
By the time the final sutures were placed and the last instructions given, my hands were slick with blood beneath my gloves. Three whole hours had passed before the operating lights finally dimmed and the signal turned green.
Successful.
I stepped out of the ward, stripping off my gloves as a familiar sense of satisfaction settled deep in my chest. I'd never lost a patient. Not once.
Sometimes I wondered what it felt like, to lose one. I'd seen doctors break down, cry in corners, hands shaking after failure. Would it feel devastating… or thrilling?
The thought lingered as I made my way to the bathroom to change. It was well into the night, 2 a.m., technically morning. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were wide awake, sharp, alert. Not a trace of exhaustion despite hours in the ICU.
If anything, I felt more alive.
Was it the satisfaction of another successful surgery?
Or the adrenaline of seeing so much blood?
I suspected the latter.
After washing thoroughly, I changed into dark pants and a dark shirt, nothing that screamed doctor. I liked the contrast, my darkness against the hospital's sterile white. Ready to leave, I turned—
"Devlinn."
A jab to my shoulder pulled me out of my thoughts. I turned to see Mike, one of the other ICU doctors.
"You're leaving already?" he asked, falling into step beside me.
"Yeah," I replied, not bothering to hide my irritation. I preferred my own thoughts to company.
"You ever wonder how patients end up with injuries like that?" he continued casually. "I mean, life-threatening ones."
"Now what does his small talk concerns me" I thought. And why would I?" I said, eyes fixed straight ahead. "People get themselves into all kinds of shit. Nothing surprising about that."
"Still," he said, rubbing his chin, "I wonder."
"You could ask the police," I suggested flatly.
"Nah. Not that interested."
Of course. He just wanted to talk.
"You know," he added, "you space out a lot."
I looked at him, feigning ignorance.
"I do?"
"Yeah. Someone calls your name and you don't even hear it until you're physically touched. You should work on that, especially in the ICU."
I hated him in that moment. The way his mouth moved. His voice. The audacity.
I was new here. That was the only reason I kept my thoughts to myself. I did space out a little in the ICU or whenever I was operating, but I'd never let it cost me.
"Thanks for the advice, Mike," I said, smiling, an empty stretch of lips that never reached my eyes. "I have to go."
We'd reached the underground garage. My favorite place in the entire hospital. Quiet. Isolated. He waved before getting into his car and driving off.
I slid into the driver's seat of my sleek black McLaren, flashy for a doctor, but I enjoyed the irony. Lighting a cigarette, I sat there for almost an hour, doing nothing. Thinking about everything and nothing all at once.
The drive home took two hours. I liked the distance. I wanted nothing connecting my work life to my real life.
My three-story home greeted me in silence, black glass, gold accents, sharp lines. I climbed the stairs, footsteps echoing faintly, the night air cool and freeing. Upstairs, I bathed again, scrubbing away imaginary traces of blood and antiseptic, drowning myself in scented soaps until the hospital felt far away.
Downstairs, dressed in loose pants and an oversized black shirt, I poured myself a glass of whiskey. I wasn't small by any means—I just preferred clothes that concealed more than they revealed.
As I took a sip, a thought crossed my mind.
A slow smile spread across my face.
I stood, calm and deliberate, and made my way to the third floor. It was similar to the rest of the house, but different. Doors led to more doors, corridors twisting until someone unfamiliar would surely get lost.
I laughed softly at the thought.
The sound carried.
Muffled screaming followed.
I pushed one of the doors open gently. The room beyond was dimly lit, the smell of blood thick in the air. The screams died the moment our eyes met, one filled with terror, the other promising something far worse.
I tilted my head, swirling the drink in my hand, smiling.
"You miss me?"