Chapter 1 Under The Knife

Raynelle

The television hummed in the distance, its soft static filled the room.

“As of today, three people were found dead down in Brooklyn street, All male,”

I raised my head, staring at the news reporter with new found interest,

“There was a striking occurrence in each of the three victims, all had their tongues cut off and their eyes gouged.”

I gagged, recoiling as I placed the steaming cup of coffee on the desk, my full attention was on the video playing on the big screen.

Three men laid on the hard concrete that was still dyed red with blood. Their eye socket was empty, missing its orifices.

I placed my palm over my mouth, stifling the urge to vomit, years of working as a resident, yet sights like this made me question why I chose this profession in the first place.

“Seems like we have another psycho on the loose.” My colleague, Lamine, drew a sip from my coffee, smacking his lips together. “I bet my two testes that it's the mafia.”

I scoffed, grabbing my cup from his hold, “The whole deal about being a secret organisation is that they're meant to be covert,” I raised my hand, gesturing at the screen, “This is way too ostentatious.”

He shrugged, “Then it's probably another deranged psychopath on the loose.”

The pager beeped. Code Red- GSW-ER

My limbs moved before I could register where I was headed.

A gunshot wound, serious enough to be tagged a code red.

My heart palpitated, my fingers shook slightly within my coat.

“You can do this Raynelle,” I whispered to myself, clenching my fists within my pockets,

“Raynelle!” Dr. Mendelez called out to me, from a distance. I broke into a run, making a beeline for the Emergency Room.

I slammed the door open, gasping for breath. A man, no older than thirty laid on the bed, his face was pale, ghostly pale as his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.

Nurses paced around the room in quick strides and Dr. Mendelez, the attending surgeon for the night, gave a quick, clipped report of the patient’s current condition.

“A gunshot wound to the abdomen, the patient was conscious when he was wheeled in.” He paused, staring at me with urgency, “Now he's slipping.”

That unyielding stare, I've worked with him longer enough to know what he meant. While he was here, I would be the one performing the surgery.

“A perforating gunshot wound.” I replied sharply, an eerie calm washed over me. “Prepare the patient for Laparotomy.” I ordered.

Mr. Mendelez nodded, his hand reaching out pat my shoulders, “Are you sure you can handle it?”

I nodded briskly, a small smile lighting up my face, “I have the best attending surgeon by my side.”

My fingers quivered as I stood in front of the unconscious patient.

“Suctio-”

"Here's the suction." A nurse placed it into my palm before I'd finished speaking.

Blood flooded the cavity, thick and impossibly bright beneath the operating lights.

"I can't see the artery."

"Retract harder," Dr. Mendelez ordered, his burning gaze never leaving me.

“Calm down, you'll do alright.” A nearby nurse reassured me.

I nodded, taking a deep breath. It's all going to be okay.

I stumbled into the bathroom, ignoring the yells behind me.

The room spun underneath my foot and I gripped the bathroom scene, leaving bloody handprints across the pristine ceramic sink

Not my blood. His.

The surgery, My first incision. It was all going well.

The anaesthetists, younger residents and of course Dr. Mendelez stood beside me, watching my every move.

It wasn't my first surgery, but this one was different.

His face was pale, pallid.

The heart monitor beeped faintly, spiralling into a series of high frequency beeps that made gooseflesh rise steadily on my skin.

Dark emerald orbs stared at me mockingly through the mirror,

‘Murderer,’ It whispered, echoing loudly in the silence, ‘You’re a murderer, always will be.’

I choked back a sob, sinking on the floor, each action left trails of blood that traced back to my surgical gloves.

“Why,” I murmured, clutching at the strands of my hair, “Why did it all go wrong!”

The bullet tore through his hepatic artery and all I could see was blood, gushing out in waves.

I could've stopped it, I could've saved him.

But my fingers shook, His vitals dropped, His blood pressure tanked.

“He's going into hypovolemic shock.” Was the last thing I heard as Dr. Mendelez pushed me aside.

The heart monitor flat-lined. Again

I took my first wobbly steps out of the bathroom after cleaning the blood stains off the tiles.

My head was downcast, avoiding every sympathetic glance sent my way.

Dr. Mendelez propped himself against the wall, folder in hand as he scanned through its content.

His spatial awareness kicked in, and his eyes met mine, concern swimming in his dark orbs.

He brushed past me, patting my shoulders reassuringly, “We can't save them all.”

I bit back the snarky reply that lined my tongue, nodding absently as he spoke. But we could've saved this one.

“- Go home, take a break and hopefully tomorrow will be a better day.”

I opened my mouth to refuse, but he shot me a stern glare. It wasn't a request, it was an order.

The engine of my old Volkswagen sputtered to life. I stared at the fuel gauge. It had enough juice to commute from home for the next couple of days.

At this point, my apartment was a hellish paradise. Rent was due and my greasy landlord constantly breathed down my neck.

The light shone green and I took a turn down the street, consciously avoiding Downtown Brooklyn, taking a lesser known shortcut.

My dead body on Fox news was definitely not on the bucket list for the new year.

The car stereo hummed to life, a 90’s beat played in the background, an old time classic. I jammed the buttons, trying to turn it off.

It was one of my favorites, but now was definitely not the time.

My attention was on

the stereo. I didn't notice it on time, the hooded figure that limped across the street.

When I did, it was too late.