Christophe was a remarkable surgeon. You could ask him any question about the vehicle body, mechanical or organic, and he'd know the answer. He saved lives day by day, and I, Adolphe, had been lucky enough to call myself his intern. For the past two months Chris had shown me some of his tricks and saved lives before my eyes. I always wonder what had pushed him to follow this way of life. For me, I just wanted to help cars. Chris, however, would probably have a better answer. I can see it in his eyes every time he's jolting someone back to life. I can see it when he cuts a baby's umbilical cord and proudly gives it off to its mother. There is definitely something that propelled him into wanting to do this, only he's never answered me when I asked. I finally gave up on questioning him, and although I do not know the reason Chris is so good at what he does, I still look up to him with undying determination. I want to be him. I want his skill; his feeling of triumph when the heart rate monitor begins beeping again. I want that. Though, there is one bad quality inside him that I do not wish to inherit, and that is what he turns into when he loses a patient.
"C-Chris, that's it. She's gone," I said, trying hard to keep my voice at a down low, not wanting to push Chris into a deeper torment. He has spent the last four hours performing a heart transplant on a young bachelorette. The operation had been going strong until a few minutes ago. I watched as Chris tried everything he could possibly do. I watched him drown in his own guilt, as if he knew already that he was going to lose her, even before her pulse had ceased. I wish I could have done something. Anything. But I knew if Chris couldn't, what in God's name could I have done?
We sat there minutes after we lost her, completely still, no sound except for the stinging beep of the heart monitor. Chris growls to himself, grabbing onto the cord and yanking it out of the wall. All became silent. I could hear Chris exhaling against his face mask, his breaths short and staggered. He looked away from the woman, his pupils shrinking more with each broken breath he took. I had to rip my eyes away from him, not wanting to set off his trapped resentment. Instead I glanced over to the woman's body. She lay there, a static figure, atop the operating table, blood spread among her sheets, the white fabric to be stained with her forever.
Chris finally speaks up, "I can hear her."
My eyes shift over to him. He continues to stare down at her, his lips slightly apart.
"I can hear her wedding vows. I can see how happy she is. Her eyes behind the veil..," Chris continues, his voice diverse. There is no zest; no triumph. He stands as lifeless as the body before him.
I swallow hard and scuff a tire across the tiles on the floor, "Chris, I…"
He cut me off before I could continue, "I will return in a moment." His reverse lights flicker on, their reflection textured and distorted against the old plaster of the wall, "I must break the news to her fiancée."
With a tangled gulp I turn back to the woman. Never had I been alone with a dead body before. I try not to look at her, but every second or so I catch myself.
I take a deep breath and then realize that if I wanted to be anything like Chris, I need to get used to this sort of thing. I slowly approach her, my RPMs beginning to heighten with the intensity of my nerves. Her eyes are closed, thankfully. I didn't want to see them. I didn't want to see the deterioration of their vibrancy; the rotting of her emotion. I didn't want to see that there was no one behind them anymore. I stopped in front of her, dipping my hood, "A shame. A wonderful man you have left behind.."
"What are you doing?" a voice erupts from behind me causing me to jolt backward into the table of operating tools. A few of them fall from the table, splattering small drops of remaining blood across the tiling on the floor, staining the grout between them a deep red.
I turn to the owner of the voice, my breathing a bit heavy, to see the familiar Peugeot 406, "O-Oh, Chris…I was just getting used to being alone around dead bodies…yeah. Being an intern and all-," I look to Chris's eyes. They aren't regular at all. The usual blue in his iris now contains unnatural, twisted streaks of green that I have never seen before. They build up from the center of his iris, coating the outer rim of his pupils. His stare solidifies me. The man I looked up to; the man I wanted to be. Right now I actually feel terrified of him.
He chuckles strangely, an eerie grin stretching across his bumper, "Hm, after tonight you'll have seen enough of them."
Chris is smiling. Is he alright?
I swallow over a knot in my throat, forcing myself to speak, "W-what do you mean, Sir?"
He doesn't answer me right away, and instead rolls over to the corpse. His peculiar smile fades as he covers her face with the bloodied cloth, "Her fiancée does not want to see her. You and I will be taking a trip to the morgue tonight. That's one less body sitting here rotting away."
I could not understand why he'd say such a thing. Yeah, Chris became a little unstable every time he lost a patient, but this behavior was absolutely over the top. His eyes. The tone of his voice. I had to do something about it, but what?
"Sir, her death wasn't your fault. You tried your best."
Chris doesn't respond.
After minutes of silence I was unable to take it anymore. My ears ring with desperation for a sound. I stamp a front tire to ease the tension. Chris begins chuckling again.
What is wrong with him?
The 406 finally turns to me again, his eyes even more paralyzing than before. He begins to roll toward the hallway, "Have a nurse help you get her onto an ambulance. I'll be outside the lobby. Waiting."
