The balmy air swept across the beach, sending gentle ripples through the shallow waters near the shore. Soon, however, a rumbling wave came crashing, parts splintering onto the crags and rocks on the shore, but most sending foaming edges of surf across the shoals.
Carter dug his feet into the soft sand, feeling the gentle warmth caressing his sole and tickling his toes. His eyes were fixing the endless blue-grey of the waters, stretching out into the dreamy horizon.
There was nobody.
The air was of a clement warmness. Nothing of the suffocating heat. The only sounds to reach him were those of crashing waves and rolling surf, interrupted only by sporadic cries of a lonely sea gull. Nothing of the bellows and screams—nothing of the bombs. There was a light salinity in the wind, filling his nostrils with soothing smoothness. Nothing of the acrid smell of blood—nothing of the haunting smell of death.
Carter surveyed the length of the beach, squinting at the sharpness of the sun.
There was nobody.
All was beautiful and serene, filled with the sounds of the breaking surf. Everything was perfect.
And so painfully empty.
With a heavy sigh, Carter closed his eyes, lifting his head to the sky to feel the sun, his eyelids growing red from the light swimming across his face. But serenity he did not find. Taking a slow, deep breath, he finally grabbed the pair of shoes lying next to him and forced himself up. Dejectedly making his way through the soft, warm sand, he could still hear the rumble of the waves and foaming of the surf.
Carter took a deep breath, holding on to his beaten, leather bag. The doors slid open as he slowly walked forward, weighing each of his steps along the way. And the doors closed back up, with the sound of a tightening seal.
There was a low hum in the air, as though he was underwater and hearing voices beyond the surface. An uncanny brightness surrounded him, beams of white light assailing his sight. The air was remarkable in its inodorousness, unnoticeable ordinarily, but now noteworthy to his olfactory senses.
All the sounds reaching him were muffled, quiet whispers creeping to his ears.
He felt a slight pull at his coat and turned.
So that's what it did to you? Make you hard of hearing?
he whispered slowly, his own voice reaching his ears like a sleep-scratchy murmur. Leaning on her cane, Weaver pulled down her glasses and patted the side of his arm. I'm going to start you slow today. Don't take traumas unless we're short.
He nodded, barely hearing her.
she pressed, now leaning to look at him intently.
he forced himself to say with more conviction. She gave him a slight smile before hurrying off to an exam room. And hey, he heard her holler, turning around. Welcome back, Carter!
He smiled meekly before giving the place a sweeping look around. The blinding whiteness he had first seen soon came into focus. It was the same ER in which he had spent the last ten years of his life: sweating, bleeding. He knew every crack on the wall, every rut on the floor and yet, for a fortnight, he had forgotten it all.
Carter willed his legs to bring him to the lounge. The lights were dimmer there, and he had to blink to get his eyes used to the darkness. He surveyed the row of lockers, as though trying to find his own, but instinctively fell on the familiar lock. Furrowing his eyebrows in an effort to remember his combination, he finally opened the door and found himself staring at its contents. Everything was there, just as he had left it. Unchanged and unmoved. He pulled off his jacket, hanging it on the back hook and grabbed his doctor's coat. Immaculate in its whiteness, he gingerly pulled his arms through its sleeves before snatching his stethoscope from the top shelf and letting it mould itself around the contours of his neck. With a swift push, he slammed the locker shut.
Carter stepped out of the lounge, and again was greeted by the muffle of voices and shearing light. He went to the admit desk, eyeing the board attentively. Squinting at the writing, eyes darting from one line to the next and a pain mounting at his temple, he was about to turn back when an authoritative calling interrupted his musings.
Dr. Carter, you're back. Pratt had popped up next to him, his sentence more of a self-statement than an actual greeting. Good trip?
Carter heard himself mutter a but before he could say anything else, Pratt had shoved a chart onto him. Have fun.
He looked at the chart, dizzied by the words, but soon found himself mindlessly heading towards a bed near exam one.
A man was watching him come near, worry and dread straining his features. Carter flipped through the papers, seeing the words but not registering them.
What seems to be the problem, Mr. Kendal? he asked mechanically.
I've been feeling really weak lately…went on a business trip overseas and came back with something that felt like the flu.
Carter was concentrating hard on his words, but as he watched the man's mouth opening and closing, all that reached him were distant echoes.
Abby had come up, smiling. Need some help?
He reciprocated the smile, slowly and effortfully.
She watched his tired features, trying hard to maintain her encouraging smirk. Where were you? Searching his eyes with a soft look, she continued, I called your cell but you had turned it off.
he apologized with automatism. I was at the beach—just killing time.
It was probably nice out there.
She gave him a tender smile before snatching the chart from him. CBC and Chem 7?
He was staring at her, seemingly mesmerized. he let out unthinkingly. It won't be long, Carter finally offered the man before walking away with Abby.
You okay?
he winced, just a little slow getting started.
Her smile grew wider. Just take it easy. She had turned, ready to tend to another patient before giving him one last grin. I'll see you later, okay? She had reached to touch his arm, giving it a heartening pat.
Carter nodded, forcing a hollow smile. He watched her walk away, the blonde highlights in her hair glimmering under the glaring hospital lights. She had been sleeping so peacefully when he had come back, he thought, the slow rhythm of her breathing was the only thing that finally brought the notes of slumber onto him. And he wished that he too could have slept like that. Oddly, he suddenly heard the rumble of waves and the echo of the breaking surf. Shaking his head to physically elude the haunting noises, he swiftly walked away.
And for a few hours, he continued. Listening to tales of headaches, flu symptoms, broken bones, open cuts. And he furrowed through charts, erased names on the board. And he healed them.
"On peut pas tous les sauver, Gillian had said. And yet this time, he had.
He went to the admit desk, ready to wipe off another stranger's name when Weaver appeared, staring.
Still here?
He looked up, confused.
I had you scheduled for a half-shift.
Carter then went to the next logical target and glanced at his watch. Unable to remember when he had begun, it was a futile gesture.
It's okay. Go home, Carter. Chen's coming in.
It's just— he stammered, thinking hard. It went by quickly.
You know…half-shifts, she replied matter-of-factly but with an encouraging smile.
But that wasn't it, Carter thought as he headed back to the lounge.
As mechanically as he had done earlier, he opened his lock, still fumbling with the numbers, took off his coat and grabbed his jacket and bag. Once, the pace of the ER had sent him gasping for air, battling nausea in the ambulance bay. Once, the cacophony of voices and monitors would have clanged in his head. Once, a half-shift would have felt like a full-shift.
But County was slow compared to Kisangani, where time and darkness were life's very enemies. Natural elements weren't tamed and rendered into non-factors: they were to be contended with and battled against. He still remembered how it felt, all those hours manually pumping that boy's heart. The shots still rang in his ears; the screams still tore at his soul. And he remembered the bombs, he still heard the bombs, and he still saw the bodies strewn on the ground. This, he mused, thinking of the bustle outside the lounge doors, is silence. This is—nothing.
Here, bureaucracy had proven to be their biggest enemy. Life itself was the harshest foe in the Congo.
Suddenly feeling extremely weary, he stepped out of the lounge where he heard the underwater-like sounds once more. Hurriedly, he went for the doors, as though gasping for air. They slid open, smoothly and swiftly.
The wind was whispering in a gentle breeze and he breathed in its freshness. It was already well into the summer, but it was as if the warm winds had lagged behind in its yearly migration. The mornings were warm, but the nights were more akin to spring than the usually muggy airs of Chicago summers. Carter suddenly felt awakened. He put his hands in his pockets, inhaling the air with eyes closed when his fingers suddenly fell on the polished edge of cold metal. A penny. He frowned, unable to place its origin: it was never his habit to carry loose change in his coat pocket. Fishing it out, he held it to the dim streetlights flooding the ambulance bay in its soft, golden glow. Clinging between his fore and middle finger, Carter watched its lackluster, worn down surface with careful eyes. Age and years of use had soiled its surface, but it was intact in its solidity. It was the way it always had been: constant. Slowly, he started remembering the el tracks and how, in what seemed to be a lifetime away—
His musings were suddenly suspended by the unmistakable patter of gentle footsteps on the pavement. The sounds now reached him with startling clarity, a stark contrast to the muffled, drowned out voices he had vainly tried to listen all day.
Slipping the penny back into his pocket, Carter found himself intently watching the corner of the building from where the sounds were emanating. Slowly, gradually, they grew louder and quicker.
She had turned the corner before he knew it. Her eyes caught sight of him at once and were now fixing him, widening in the dark. Dark hair floating in the wind, she began to approach him, gingerly, timidly. Her dusky eyes were still watching him with the undeniable notes of wonder, as though he was some ghostly apparition. He wanted to speak, but he saw something else in her eyes that made him stop short: a deep, brewing sadness.
Puzzled, all Carter found to do was mirror her stare, throat dry and hands clammy. He opened his mouth, finally, but in a moment of uncharacteristic spontaneity, he felt her arms encircling him. The embrace was subtle at first, as though she was gauging the reality of his presence. But the hug soon grew tighter, warmer. Surprised, all Carter found to do now was let out a small laugh.
You're back, she finally whispered, her head buried in the flaps of his jacket.
And front, Carter quipped smilingly. We're both here.
He had strived to crack a joke, the emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He thought he heard her laugh, but her embrace didn't loosen.
They stood quietly, wrapped in a calm silence before he felt compelled to break it.
Deb, I'm not going anywhere.
But she still held onto him, wordlessly, with the same might that one would use to battle the prospect of someone vanishing into thin air. Or shattering to pieces.
Promise me, he heard her murmur.
That you're not going anywhere.
And all he found to do was rest his cheek on top of her raven hair, encircling her with his own arms.