You Were On Your Way Home: Chapter 1
Once I sink my teeth in, your skin's not so deep.
Hana watched fixedly as the clouds rolled past her from the other side of the window. There was a stack of freshly laundered linens in her arms that needed to be taken to patients' bedsides, but something about vegetating in the warmth of the sunlight compelled her to stay.
Only a few days had passed since she had been attacked by a villain on her way home, and despite incessant pleads from colleagues, doctors and police, Hana had decided to return to work as soon as she was able-bodied.
A length of bandages covered her arm where she had been bitten, and really, she didn't think the abrasions on the right side of her face were as bad as everyone made them out to be. The bruising on her trachea strained her to speak past a certain volume, but she had been assured that after a few more days rest, she would be back to a normal. In the meantime, instead of going back to work in the emergency room, Hana had been floated to a slower-paced, easier-going recovery unit somewhere on the eighth floor of the hospital. Hospital management said that it was to ease her back into the workplace, but really it was because they didn't want her ugly mug where people could see her.
"That's fair," she thought.
On the eighth floor, Hana changed the linens and helped patients to the toilet and monitored blood pressures.
Clock in, and clock out.
Other nurses whispered about her.
They thought maybe she was unstable—what with having been so brutally attacked. And maybe she was, to some extent—the assault hadn't phased her at all. The hospital psychiatry board insisted on having her go through PTSD therapy, but they were met with a prompt refusal of treatment.
As far as Hana was concerned, everything continued as if nothing ever happened, just with a little more limping and wincing than usual. The only real noticeable difference was that the media heckled her every time she tried to come and go from the hospital.
She walked past them every time and headed right for the bus stop.
Occasionally, an out-of-the-loop nurse's aide would watch the news story on their phone when they thought she was out of earshot.
She never was.
"In the early hours of the morning, a Tokyo University Hospital employee was attacked outside of her apartment on the way home from work. Earlier that evening, Hana Watanabe, an emergency room nurse, had been in charge of care for a family brought in by paramedics after being viciously attacked by the villain known as…"
Hana was making the window-side bed in the room at the end of the hall—the patient who had just vacated was now occupying a space in the basement morgue—when there was a knock at the door.
There stood two people, guided by a hospital official.
The taller one of the two had the face of a very serious-looking bipedal canine—his jowls were slightly droopier than normal, but the well-tailored black suit he wore drew attention away from the aura of Zoloft lingering in the wake of his presence. Hana knew him as the chief of police, Kenji Tsuragamae. He had come into the emergency room many times to speak to nursing staff—mostly about criminals who were to stand trial that needed psychiatric evaluation. They would arrive via police ambulance through the emergency department, and it was often the nursing staff's task to get them checked in.
Bowing to him in greeting, Hana couldn't help but peek up at the other person standing with the police chief. He was a slouchy man with a scruffy face who had failed to introduce himself. She stared at him, but the scruffy face stared anywhere else.
When the police chief asked if there was somewhere that he and his slouchy, scruffy colleague could speak to the nurse privately, the hospital official minding them began to sweat unnaturally, continuously bowing to the two like a toad when he walked. The official offered his own office near the top of the thirty-story hospital, and left them alone to speak, no doubt with his ear pressed against a glass on the other side of the door.
Hana sat on the other side of a long mahogany table, folding her hands in her lap. She sat well for someone who had been mauled by a villain not even a week ago, careful to keep the dimensions of her body inside the chair. She wondered how long this meeting was going to take—the man in 807-A was probably about done on the bedpan and would need to be wiped…805-A was agitated last time she saw them, and was no doubt pulling on their IV again…812-B was overdue by five minutes for their blood pressure medication…it was a quarter past six in the evening, which meant that 801-A needed their insulin shot…and…and…and….
"Ms. Watanabe?" woofed a voice.
There was a ringing in her ears.
" ," Chief Tsuragamae said again, slightly louder. His jowls giggled. "Ms. Watanabe."
"…Yes?" Hana had come back to reality, her face suddenly flushed.
"Are you feeling alright?" Asked the canine's jowls.
She blinked a few times, her eyes dry. She hadn't realized that she'd been gone that long. "Yes," she concurred, nodding her head very slightly.
The two across the table—and it was two now, because the slouchy, scruffy man had finally taken the liberty of joining them not just physically, but with interest—gave her a slow nod, not entirely sure if they believed her or not.
"…Ms. Watanabe, my colleague here and I have asked to meet with you on the account of your involvement as a victim in a violent attack by a villain. As prosecutors prepare a deposition for court, I'd greatly appreciate your cooperation with Japanese police…"
Hana had other things she was more concerned about—809-B needed another dose of Tramadol, afterall.
Ringing started in her ears again. She fixedly watched the police chief's jowls flap as he talked—flecks of spit kept sprinkling the various folds—one just landed on that paper.
The police chief thanked her—apparently, she had agreed to answer some questions—and then slid a file folder across the table to her. Her eyes followed the wet spot on the file. As she opened it, Hana pretended she couldn't feel the scruffy, slouchy man watching her every move.
It was a police booking photo of the villain who had killed his entire family. What a horrible angle. He was all head and no neck, and despite the muzzle over his face, she remembered him.
The jowls asked Hana if she knew this man.
"Yes. He's the villain who attacked me on my way home from work."
Check.
The jowls asked Hana if she had ever met this man before the night of the incident.
"No, never."
Check.
The jowls asked Hana if she knew why this man wanted to attack her.
"I was apart of the trauma team that tried to save his family…the doctor needed to be called in, so until he arrived, I took charge."
Scribble.
"Scratches were found by the paramedics on the villain. Did you fight back against your attacker?" Asked the jowls.
"Uh, yes…I did. I—"
"No, you didn't."
"I…," she started mindlessly, until she realized—it was the first time she had heard him speak: the slouchy, scruffy one. Hana was almost startled, until she processed his statement. "Excuse me?" She said, her eyebrows furrowed in reserved offence.
The man sat forward in his chair, folding his hands on the table in front of him. He annunciated the syllables in his statement for the nurse one more time.
"No. You. Didn't."
The man was suddenly filling the room with his presence.
Hana suppressed her acute light headedness. The heartbeat in the palm of her clammy hands grew louder, making her feel itchy all over.
"I…I'm sorry, who are you?" She asked, her inflection coming off as much more offended than she would have liked.
The police chief noticed Hana's discomfort and finally took the liberty of impatiently introducing his slouchy, scruffy companion. "Ms. Watanabe, my colleague here is known as Eraser Head. He's the pro hero who took down the villain that attacked you. He saved your life. Now, if we could get back to the question at hand—"
Hana paid no mind to the police chief once she could address the slouchy, scruffy man in front of her by name.
He spoke again.
"I was at the scene," Eraser Head spoke over the police chief. He was being disregarded by both of them now. "I even witnessed part of the altercation. You did almost nothing to defend yourself. Sure, the villain was significantly larger and stronger than you, but I've seen old women being mugged by ordinary purse snatchers who put up more of a fight than you did. In fact, I would go so far as to say that you wanted this villain to attack you," he said, words unwavering.
The ringing in her ears started again.
"That is completely…I—I have no idea what you're talking…." She couldn't even hear her own voice.
"I was already on the lookout for this guy when I happened upon you. By the time I had him in clear sight, it looked like you'd just given up," Eraser Head pushed on.
"…821-A probably needs a straight catheter put in because they are having trouble urinating, 818-A needed their round of Haldol before they go to bed early. 813-B had an order in for a rectal temperature on their chart, the doctor will be needing that soon; 802-A is on sepsis alert, it's three minutes past seven in the evening now, so they need to have vitals checked again…"
"Now, what would make a young woman with a good career at a well-respected hospital and everything going for her stop fighting for her life?"
"…817-B was supposed to have a spinal tap in half an hour and the physician would need someone to set up the containers for the irretrievable specimens, 811-B needed another layer of the bonding glue on their shoulder wound applied, 820-A was supposed to be taken to the step-down unit after having their t-PA done…."
"Tired of being over-worked in a place that couldn't give a shit about you? Or maybe you're just tired of living. Thought, 'Hey, this is a really convenient way to end it all', so you just laid down on your back and let it happen," he suggested, completely nonchalant.
Hana stood up, knocking her chair over in the process.
The ringing in her ears was now so loud, she could hardly hear what she was saying.
"That is completely out of line, not to mention farfetched. I'm sorry, but I have no more time to spare on this…whatever this is. I have patients to tend to. This is a hospital, not an episode of a daytime television crime drama. I suggest the two of you leave—visiting hours will be over soon. Have a nice evening, Chief Tsuragamae…. and you, Mr.…Head," she half-bowed, hastily exiting the room.
A feeling of sick rose up into the back of her throat.
It stayed there for the rest of the night.
Chapter 1.