CHAPTER THREE
Throughout my residency, there had been many times when I would be left carrying the burden of secrets from patients who had been dying. Often, when a person ultimately accepted that they would be leaving this world, they would feel the need to unload their burdens on whoever was closest. Stories and events that had crippled their life for far too long needed to be exposed. In a way, death was a gift. You could see the weight lifted from their shoulders after they spoke of their past misdeeds.
I remained in the common room far past my welcome, watching the girl Isabella had marked for death. I wanted to know so much more. Did I believe Isabella? That was hard to tell. I wanted to believe her, and yet, how could I? I was a man of science, and she spoke of fantasy. It had never been heard of before.
A person who could tell when another was going to die was unheard of. No, Isabella was messing with me. I should read her file. I'd bet it would say she had been prone to these mind games before. Leaving me to follow around this marked target, wagering if I should try and tell her. Could I tell her?
I could just imagine how that conversation would go: "Hi, you don't know me, but one of my patients thinks you're going to die tomorrow…"
Yeah, that wouldn't have my new colleagues questioning my proficiency at all.
"Hello?"
I snapped myself out of my torturous thoughts and saw Dr. Gallo standing in front of me, waving her hand at my face. She pulled her bag onto her shoulder and smiled when she saw me finally recognize her presence.
"Dr. Gallo."
"Dr. Cullen. How are you doing?" she asked, ignoring the fact that I had said her name wrong yet again. I actually respected her more for it.
"Fine…I was…uh…lost in thought," I sheepishly explained.
"I could tell. The common room closed, and yet, here you sit. There are staff common rooms available, which have far more comfortable seating," she replied.
I nodded my head and looked around briefly, only to see that the nurse with the expiration date was no longer there.
"Well…you seem to be busy. I bid you goodnight," she said.
I didn't respond, and she turned to leave.
"Dr. Gallo. Can I ask you something?"
She turned around, with her interest obviously piqued. I took her body language as a cue for me to continue.
"I have this patient…and I know I'm still new and therefore unexperienced…however, this patient told me something in confidence, and I'm having a hard time trying to decipher whether she speaks the truth, or if she's just telling me something to play games with me."
Dr. Gallo placed her bag on the table behind her before replying. "Well, first of all, is she a self-admit?"
I nodded.
"I always feel that self-admits are rarely here to play games. Someone who's accepted that not only do they need help, but they're willing to seek help, genuinely wants help. However, I extend a small leash of trust to my patients, and when they've broken that trust, I rarely choose to do so again. So, if you want my advice…" she said with the arch of her eyebrow, "I'd trust what the patient is telling you."
I nodded my head once again and felt loads better hearing her say this.
"I mean unless of course, it's something ridiculous like she claims she can walk on water," she laughed.
The uneasy feeling that had vanished suddenly was back again. I laughed stiffly, pretending she was spot on with her joke, but now I was right back to square one.
Dr. Gallo wished me goodnight once more, and I thanked her for her help, even if it didn't seem to matter.
I spent the rest of my night fighting the urge to walk through the dormitories, looking for Isabella and pulling her out of her bed and shaking her until she gave me more answers. My missed dinner fueled my discomfort.
The next morning, as if fate were testing me, I saw the young nurse, as she came into the staffing area and poured herself a cup of coffee. It was then I was finally able to read her name tag. Bree.
I couldn't take my eyes off Bree. I pulled the drawing out of my coat pocket and stared at it, hoping it would give me answers.
As the day went by, I constantly felt myself preparing to say something to the young nurse, gathering the courage to tell her and then let her decide for herself if she chose to believe Isabella's words.
I wanted to believe Isabella, but I just needed a little more proof.
When I wasn't in sessions, I walked the common room, cafeteria, and looked out the window at the gardens below, hoping I could find Isabella, but she was absent from every location I searched. It wasn't until the end of my day when I finally did see her.
I nearly pushed over a patient to get to Isabella, who sat at the very same table from the night before.
"Dr. Cullen," she said softly.
"I want to believe you. Help me believe you."
She sighed and looked down at the wood grain of the table, following the pattern with her finger.
"You didn't tell her."
I sat down anxiously. "I just…I just need something more. Tell me something that'll help me believe you," I practically begged.
She looked up at me for the first time, and I saw her eyes turn slightly red, and tears she attempted to blink away fell.
"You're too late. Bree's shift ended an hour ago. She's gone, Dr. Cullen."
My heart stopped. I had spent all my time trying to decide if Isabella was telling me the truth. I had wasted what time I had, and now, the young girl with a new baby boy was dead? And for the first time, I knew Isabella was telling me the truth.
"No...no! I could still catch her. It's not too late," I argued. I jumped up from the table, preparing to run, but I heard a commotion behind me.
"Oh no! Oh, my god!"
I turned to see a different young nurse in tears on the phone. Just as her hysterics were getting louder, Dr. Molina came out to help calm her down.
"Dr. Molina…is it true?" she begged.
"Not here. Let's take this to the lounge."
He escorted the young nurse out. I looked around at the different faces of the workers and saw them attempting to hold in their tears. I finally turned back to Isabella for answers, but she was gone. I looked around the common room and didn't see her anywhere. I walked to the windows to look down at the gardens, but she wasn't there, either.
I felt myself beginning to panic. My heart constricted, as I stumbled my way back towards my office. My shift was over, and I should go home, but I was in no condition to drive. I wanted to see Isabella, to make sense of it all, but it didn't look like it would be possible. I couldn't very well have her pulled from her dorms unless I had a damn good excuse, and even though I had one, it was one no one would understand.
Which meant, I had to wait until Friday. My third and final session. I eventually went home and spent my night with a shot or two of whiskey before attempting to blackout. Unfortunately, with as careful of a person as I was, getting drunk so I could blackout wasn't something I would allow myself to do.
Throughout the night, I tossed and turned, and when I did sleep, I only had nightmares. The guilt was overwhelming. I pictured the little baby boy who would grow up without his mother, all because I second-guessed a preposterous notion from my patient. Even if I didn't believe Isabella, I could have said something at the very least, tried to offer Bree an alternative, so fate wouldn't have stolen her life away.
I would say I was rather surprised when Isabella showed up for her final session of the week the next day. Session three. Just the right amount of agreed-upon sessions before I made good on my word to see if Dr. Molina could transfer her to another doctor.
I avoided the staff lounge and reception the next morning, not wanting to be reminded of Bree, the girl whose last name I still hadn't known. Not that avoiding these areas made it easy to forget. Obviously, she and Isabella were the only thing on my mind.
I slapped my face with some cold water in the restroom before walking back to my office. My feet stopped, seeing Isabella waiting outside the door.
"Isabella," I said softly.
"Bella," she once again reminded me.
I sighed and nodded before opening my door to let her in. "I guess…I'm surprised to see you here."
"I stick to my word. Three sessions," she responded.
She sat down in the seat furthest from me and refused to look in my direction, choosing to focus on the carpet.
"I'm sorry about yesterday. I should've just believed you."
She scoffed and shook her head slightly. "No one ever does."
"Well…I'm sorry."
She laughed in a way that I knew she was upset with me. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."
"I know…but it's a fantastical idea. You have to know why I met what you said with skepticism."
"Oh, I know. You're not the first person I've done this with. I know how unreal this must be for you. But you people never believe me, and even when I show you…take you beyond the veil, you either make excuses for how I could possibly know something like this, or worse, you believe that somehow, I'm responsible for it. I don't care anymore. Believe what you want to believe. Tell yourself whatever you need to, to help you sleep at night. Try and connect the dots. I'm…I'm just done with you all."
I walked closer and sat on my couch, so I could be at her level.
"I believe you. I don't think you're responsible, and I don't think there must be some explanation. I just…want to know…"
"Want to know how it works?" she asked. She leaned back in her seat and relaxed marginally. "Yeah…I'm sure you do. Usually, that's the first question, followed by what's it like, and ultimately ending with…how do you see me die? For the doctors who choose to go down this path, it's always the same, and you might make me feel like maybe you believe me…get me to trust you, but in the end, you'll eventually decide I must be crazy. I'm sorry…suffers from delusions."
I glanced at the clock. I knew I had a time limit, so it was imperative to get as much information as possible.
"Bella, I know you have no reason to trust me, but please, help me. I want to help you. I'm young and inexperienced, unlike many of the doctors you've seen, but that also gives me an advantage. There are a lot of new tools and ways doctors have been able to make headway in the mental health field that doesn't mean using medications. But I need to know everything. I have to know. Please, trust me."
She looked up at me and then winced. She closed her eyes and looked away once again.
"I wish I could, Doc, but…" she thought for a second and then gathered the courage to look at me, "…on one condition. You don't ask me how you're going to die."
I shook my head slightly and replied, "Deal. I don't want to know. I like not knowing things like that."
She nodded but didn't relax. She sat back in the chair and prepared her speech, as I was sure she had done before. I knew she didn't believe me when I told her I wanted to help, that I would believe. She'd been burned too many times. I had to show her I was not like the others.
"Well…I guess…you want to know, how. As I said, this was something that happened after my accident. I have no idea why I must bear this affliction. When I look at a person, I see it all. The closer to death a person is, the more details I can make out. A scene unfolds. I see…their body lying lifeless in the car after a wreck. I see…the drugs on the table…needle in their arm. Bullet in their chest. Knife cutting into their throat. Lying in a hospital bed. The final struggle before they let go, as the machines record their time of death. The peace on their face when they've run out of oxygen. The more violent the death, the worse it is for me.
"Most information is fuzzy. I can see…how…but the when is harder to tell until it gets closer to their expiration date. I see a date on their phone. The season, rain, snow, summer…night or day. Even small details practically slap me in the face when their time is near."
I took in her words, completely fascinated, and yet, stupidly enough, part of me was blaming my education for not preparing me well enough for a case like this.
"And have you ever tried to warn anyone?"
She laughed. "All the time…at first, but I've learned most people have a hard time believing me. Imagine that." She looked towards my plant in the corner, and I saw her reliving a moment from her past.
"I tried to warn my grandmother, but she wouldn't listen. And then…stupidly, I tried to tell the police what I'd seen after she was murdered, and they didn't believe me. Some even thought I'd had something to do with it. I was locked up for my own good, but I think they locked me up for the good of everyone else. After that, I made sure I didn't say anything."
She paused, and I remained quiet, knowing she tended to give me more when I did.
"I tried to remain detached. Go through life with my head down, to not help, but every once in a while, I couldn't sit by. I'd try and warn people, but it was met with disbelief or disgust, like I was trying to threaten them."
"What happens when you walk into a room of people? Is it worse? Better? Do you see everything all at once?"
She shrugged. "Most of the time, I try to not lookup. I only see it when I look at the person. However, when there are a lot of people, it's mostly just a mess, because most of the people in the room aren't set to expire so soon, so the details are more undescriptive. However, when there's a death quickly approaching, the person's…aura…I don't know how to describe it…there's something that just amplifies itself to me, and I could pull them out of a crowd of a thousand easily."
"Have you ever saved anyone?"
She sighed and smiled a little. "Once. Just once. One person who chose to believe me."
"What happened?" I asked.
Isabella thought for a moment, but it was the tortured thoughts that ran through her mind. I could tell the difference, seeing her eyes lighten.
"There was this waitress I'd come to know at this shitty diner a state away. I was hungry and couldn't afford a meal. She let me work cleaning dishes to help me pay for food and buy some clothes. She was kind. I didn't deserve her kindness. I saw her car break down, and while she was waiting for someone to stop and help, she got hit by a car. I warned her, and she decided to call her boyfriend to come pick her up from work. She lived…for a little while, anyway, until one night, the very same boyfriend got jealous. They fought, and she ended up with a bullet in her head. Guess it was fate's way of telling me, you can't outrun it."
"You didn't see that? The boyfriend?"
She rubbed her arm in a way that reminded me of a drug addict. It made me wonder if she had ever turned to drugs to aid her situation.
"No. It seems that, once I've changed destiny, destiny doesn't make the same mistake twice by showing me its hand again…"
"Maybe whomever, or whatever, gave this to you did so because they wanted you to help. Once you save someone, it must be a reprieve from your visions. Fewer headaches. Imagine if, for a minute, you told a whole room of people their final destination scene. I wonder if it'd all just disappear."
Bella furrowed her brow in thought, contemplating my analysis.
"First of all, the room you speak of would have to believe me and change their path. Not likely. Or, as I tend to believe, destiny would punish me for ever opening my big mouth. Punish the people who listen to me. Personally, I'd much rather have gotten squashed by a car than to be murdered by my boyfriend."
"No way. A bullet would be so quick. Practically painless if it was to the head."
She scoffed and jumped out of her chair. "Are you kidding me, Doc? I'd rather die on the side of some road than to have someone I loved and trusted point a gun at me. I can't imagine how scared Cara must've been in her last moments. At least with a car, she might've not seen it coming, and it could've been quick."
"You'll never know, Bella, but it doesn't mean you shouldn't try and help. You've been given this…"
"If you say gift, I'll punch you in the nuts. I don't care if it sends me to max," she threatened.
"…this opportunity," I quickly corrected myself. "You have an opportunity to maybe help someone. I'm not saying go up to every single person and tell them how you see them dying. I'm just saying…some of the people maybe should have a second chance. You have this great opportunity to help."
Isabella walked towards me with purpose, but stopped two feet in front of me.
"Why? You didn't," she hissed. "I handed you, Bree, on a platter. That was me trying to help someone. She was young. Vivacious. Had everything to live for. And now she's dead. You had an opportunity to help, and you didn't."
I swallowed and looked down at my blank notepad.
"I…I…wasn't sure. I…I didn't know. But…you could've..."
She laughed. "Who would you have believed, Doc? A mental patient or a blue-blooded, home-grown doctor? Like I said, you'll try to make up an excuse…blame me? But in the end, her death is on your hands."
She turned sharply on her heel and left. I technically had five more minutes, but I think I spent those last five minutes in quiet contemplation. Maybe more. I probably could have spent the rest of my day staring at the royal weave in the rug on my office floor if it hadn't been for Miss Newton…Mrs. Newton…Jessica, who interrupted me from my sullen thoughts.
My weekend was spent researching. Wondering if anyone had ever come across this phenomenon before. The internet was of no use. As great of a tool as it was, most of the internet had become a joke.
Don't get me wrong, I did my fair share of reading forums and differing views on the subject, but for the most part, they all made me wonder why I wasted my time reading their sites.
However, that did make me contemplate my dilemma. I imagined Isabella on some blog, trying to explain her situation and having people like me roll their eyes at the screen, thinking she was just looking for attention and never believing she was speaking the truth.
I attempted to enjoy the two days off since I knew Dr. Molina would expect me to take weekend shifts in the coming days. As much as I wanted to be back at the hospital to see if I could pry more from my reluctant patient, I think having some time away was what I needed.
It was Sunday morning, and my phone's ringer pierced the silent air. Its shrill alarm nearly vibrated my glass coffee table. It was silent in my condo, so the sound alarmed me. I looked down and saw my mother's picture and name light up.
I sighed and was reluctant to answer since it was Sunday morning, but I knew if I didn't, it would be so much worse for me. Knowing her, she would probably call my work. I couldn't have that, so I tapped the phone and placed her on speaker.
"Hi, Mom," I answered sheepishly.
"Well…at least you're not dead," she began sarcastically.
I cringed, thinking back to Isabella.
"No…not dead."
Just saying it made me think of Isabella and her one condition. She asked that I not ask her how I was going to die.
"So, is there a reason why you haven't called me back? I know it was your first week, but I can't imagine you were so busy that you couldn't have rung me to tell me you settled into your new place and provided some ordinary chitchat."
I rubbed the back of my neck and decided to busy myself in the kitchen with making a sandwich so I could stomach this call.
"I'm fine, Mom. Nothing…too exciting," I lied.
"Uh-huh…and why don't I believe you? Oh, that's right, I'm your mother, and you can't hide the truth from me. So, you might as well be out with it. Besides, if you're worried about your father overhearing, he's at work."
"On a Sunday?" I asked, shocked.
"On a Sunday. Some big to-do is having surgery in the morning, and well…you know your father."
I could practically hear the eye roll over the phone. I rocked back and forth on my feet, wondering if I should tell my mother what had me on edge. My mother waited patiently for me to continue. She had a knack for knowing when to wait and knowing when to push.
"Mom, do you believe in…the supernatural?"
"Like ghosts, vampires, and such?" she asked.
"Not necessarily. More like, people having abilities that transcend normal human ability. For example…people who claim they can see the future. Clairvoyants. That type of thing," I attempted to explain.
My mother was silent, which wasn't something I expected. If Esme had an opinion and you asked for it, you could be sure she would deliver an answer, whether you liked it or not.
"I don't know. It's a nice idea, I guess."
"A nice idea?" I questioned.
"Well, I guess if I believed in that kind of stuff, then it'd possibly make me believe in other ideas," she said.
"Like ghosts and vampires?" I joked.
She laughed, too, and then replied, "Why not? I guess it's a nice idea because then maybe it'd be easier to believe in an afterlife. To know that we have a place we can go after this…"
"But you're Catholic! I thought you were supposed to believe in that kind of stuff."
I was taken aback. My mother had been raised Catholic. My father, however, was an atheist, being a man of science. My mother never pushed her religious views on us. She explained why she believed what she believed and left it up to us to decide if we wanted to seek out a belief system for ourselves.
"I do…but sometimes, I guess it'd be nice to have the answers in the back of the book when taking the test if you know what I mean. Anyway, what does this have to do with anything? Are you trying to distract me from hearing about your new position?"
"No. I sincerely wanted to know because…well…"
I paused, not really sure what I should tell her. I didn't feel it was right to come right out and say what Isabella could do.
"I have this patient, and she claims she can do extraordinary things. Normally, knowing the environment, I'd tend to not believe her and chalk it up to a mental disorder, but…I don't know, Mom. I believe her. I think she's the real deal, and I don't know what to make of it. How can I even begin to help her? Plus, I don't feel there's anyone who'd take me seriously if I sought help to do so."
My mother made a non-committal sound into the phone.
"Do you think I'm reaching?" I asked when I'd waited long enough for a reply but didn't get one.
"No, Edward. I know you. You're one of the most skeptical people I know…other than your father. If you believe this girl has an ability, then I believe you, and I think you should take it slow and allow her to open up. It'll be hard because I'm sure she's used to having people tell her she's wrong, or that she's crazy. Don't give her a reason to think you're the same as all who've come before."
She was right. Speaking to my mother was exactly what I needed. Even if I already knew before I had talked to her, just hearing her confirmation would help me in how I should proceed. However, all my agreed-upon sessions with Isabella were up. Before I could begin to try and help her, I would first need her to agree to allow me to do so.
AN: Thank you for reading and reviewing. I am so pleased that so many of you have taken to this story. It always warms my heart when you have an appreciation for the work I put into these characters and stories.
Thank you to DOLLYBIGMOMMA for editing.
STORY IS MINE. CHARACTERS BELONG TO STEPHENIE MEYER.