He had worked at the hospital longer then anyone realized. It had become a second home for him, a safe place to turn when he wasn't out in public. At the hospital he had a position. At the hospital he had a meaning and duty to fulfill. He had never been good with people, at least not large groups of them. Parties weren't his forte. But his conversation was undoubtedly one of his best qualities, and he would gladly join in discussion, that is, if anyone would talk to him.
Around the hospital he wasn't popular. Come to think of it, he was never really accepted at all, throughout his life people seemed to avoid him completely. It was a wonder he even went to work everyday, other then the fact that there, he felt a need of urgency; even though the most of the staff had grown accustom to ridiculing him. If it was not ridicule, shunning. If not shunning, it was ignoring. He wasn't sure what it was that made people do that; he was your average guy, nothing out of the ordinary about his demeanor or his actions.
And yet something made people distance themselves from him, and if not that, torment him. He was a pushover, a follower, someone no one felt threatened to be around. People took advantage of him as if it were a natural occurrence.
No one had ever thought highly of him, it was as though they were somehow above him; perhaps due to his position at the hospital. Being an orderly wasn't exactly empowering. Assist, transfer, attend, maintain, discuss; the life he had grown to accept and apply.
But in all actuality, he loathed being the one everyone could lean on. Feeling dejected and looked down upon had clung to him over the years of working there. His whole life he was subject to inequality.
He wanted to be a doctor. Being an orderly was the first part of his plan; he figured it would be a good place to work his way up. Being a doctor meant you had power. You had the control over someone else's life, right at the tips of your fingers; the choice would be yours for the making. Doctors were the ones giving orders, not following them.
But it seemed to him he couldn't wait any longer. He had lurked in the shadows of the hospital far too long, he had ignored the remarks and averted eyes whenever he passed, and he had lived with enough torment throughout his life to wait much longer. He needed a change.
-
A particular patient at the hospital had been on pain-killers and anti-depressants for quite some time; his name was John. Zep talked to him often; he seemed to relate with his views and opinions. Often late at night when it was empty in the hospital, he conversed with the man about many different subjects, from politics to other patients in residing in the hospital. He thought he was a fascinating man, really, and he quite enjoyed his company.
"So, what're you in for?" Zep had asked, tidying John's sheets.
"An inoperable frontal lobe tumor. Sounds glamorous, doesn't it?"
Zep's mood changed, he seemingly began to seethe. "I bet the doc was a real shoulder to cry on, huh? Cold-hearted bastards, the lot of them."
"What are you talking about?" John asked; there was a tone of urgency in his voice.
The orderly seemed to relax; a look of content swept over his face. "They're all screwing around on their wives. I sure won't be that way when I'm a doctor."
-
Zep hurried to meet the tour Dr. Gordon was giving of the hospital. It was 2:23; he'd be rounding John's room at that time. He walked in; embarrassed he was carrying cleaning supplies. Four new medical students for job applications stood in front of him, staring up at Gordon like he was some sort of God.
"Okay. This patient has an inoperable frontal lobe tumor..." Dr. Gordon started, clipping up x-rays of John's brain. "Extending across the midline, this started as a colon cancer. The patient has come in for a standard checkup, by which we are able to monitor the rate at which his condition is declining. The patient had-"
"His name is John, Dr. Gordon." Zep stated, as an awkward silence fell across the room. They hadn't seemed to realize he was in the room. "He's a very interesting person."
"Thank you for that information, Zep." And then he gave a fake, nervous smile. "As you can see, our orderlies form very special bonds with the patients." The doctor continued, amused, as the soon-to-be doctors glanced back at him once, and then almost instantly had their eyes back onto Gordon.
"Moving on…"
-
Zep handed him a cup of water.
"You've seen the girl with brown hair at lunch, right?"
"Yes." John said, taking a drink from the cup. He remembered seeing a girl sitting alone at a lunch table; she had a vacant look on her face.
"She OD'd on heroine, but she survived."
"But did she learn anything?"
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Zep tucked the sheets into the empty bed next to John. He was straightening the pillows now, even though it wasn't required of him.
"Just thinking about life and second chances."
"You're telling me. You should see Paul's wrists."
"He cut himself?"
"Right across with a straight razor."
"Hmm…What demented clown came to his birthday party?"
Zep laughed. "Yeah, what would a guy like him do that for? He's got a wife and kids. Maybe he was just doing it for the attention."
"Maybe…Zep, I know it's late but could you bring a phone in here? My wife might call for me sometime this week."
"Sure I can John; I don't know why there isn't one in here to begin with. Isn't that against fire code regulation…"
-
The girl with brown hair lay next to him in the nearby bed. Zep was adjusting the back of her bed and John pretended to doze off as Dr. Gordon walked into the room.
"I'm Dr. Lawrence Gordon", he said to the girl, his voice professional and stiff. "You survived an overdose on heroin from a few days ago. It's remarkable that you're alive." There was a silence.
The doctor continued, sounding a bit unnerved. "We're going to keep you for a little less then a week, so you can fully stabilize. It's my personal opinion that you should check into a rehabilitation center." More silence. "If you would like, I can personally help you file the necessary-"
A female voice near Dr. Gordon interrupted. "Larry, don't bother. Addicts will always be addicts, she'd probably quit the rehab as soon as she joined. I've seen too many cases like her. They never change. Zep, we need you in trauma now."
John could feel Zep uneasily stirring. He heard the familiar tone his voice took when he didn't want to do something, yet was going to give in. Why did he continually let everyone control him? "I just need to finish-"
The doctor's voice changed to a more casual sound. "Lynn, everyone deserves a second chance."
"Forget it Larry. You'll just be wasting your time." She sounded as though she were explaining this to a child who was bothering her. "You should be doing other things then helping lost causes. Precious time should not be wasted on things that don't concern you and will just end where they started. Zep, did you hear me? I said we need you in trauma."
There was an odd sound that came from the girl next to him at "lost causes"; it was a sound that she had tried to muffle, as if she were going to start sobbing at the female's words.
John heard footsteps depart from the room, reluctantly followed by another pair. He heard Gordon start to say something, then an announcement from a speaker in the room called for him. "Dr. Gordon, paging Dr. Gordon. Dr. Gordon, report your office please. Paging Dr. Gordon."
There was a tension in the room. If John had been watching Dr. Gordon, he was almost certain there would have been a conflicted look on his face.
"I'm sor-"
"Just leave." A girl's voice near to him stated. It was a cold, shaky voice that sounded like she was going to cry.
There was an exhausted sigh, and then he heard Gordon exit. The bed creaked as he felt her look over at him, perhaps to make sure he was sleeping, and then she started to weep.
-
A week or so had passed as in the hospital and John had fallen asleep as Zep swept the floor. It was extremely late that night in the hospital, but he was assuming his duties and pulling an all-nighter. The girl next to John was sleeping; he could hear her softly talking in her slumber. "No, not those tampons, those tampons are dirty." He laughed and continued to clean.
The phone next to her bed rang. She turned over to escape the sound.
"Odd," he thought, "Who would be calling so late? Perhaps it's John's wife…"
He set the broom on a nearby chair and he picked it up, then instantly let out a yell. He yanked his hand away from the phone as it clattered on the ground. His index finger was bleeding.
He began to groan as he started seeing stars. He suddenly lost balance and tried waking the girl up, but he fell to ground. He felt although he weighed a thousand pounds and everything was growing darker and darker around him. On the ground, he reached desperately for the phone, and then he saw it- a needle under the phone handle.
And then everything went black.
-
Zep pushed the gun further into the woman's hair.
You had the control over someone else's life,
The heart rate was beating insanely fast now.
Right at the tips of your fingers;
He felt the barrel of the gun touch her skull, and the sound of her pleading, crying voice started echoing in his ears.
The choice would be yours for the making.
-
Hello, Mr. Hindle...
or as they called you
around the hospital:
Zep.
I want you to make a choice.
There's a slow-acting poison
coursing through your system...
that only I have the antidote for.
Will you murder a mother and her child
to save yourself?
Listen carefully, if you will.
There are rules.