Opera Ghost
Chapter Thirty

Pierre Devalt was one of the few RN on duty during New Year's Eve. He didn't mind it too much; he had volunteered to work this holiday so he could take a longer Christmas holiday at the end of this new year. It was a fair trade, and besides the shifts on such a "rowdy" holiday could be rather interesting.

There were hardly any serious cases, mostly poor drunks who stumbled down in the street and scraped their knees. The exceptions came in around 11:30, when a call came in that five people were coming in seriously wounded. The caller gave no specifics.

Three of them were Americans. Devalt was there to see then off the ambulance accompanied by two doctors and two other nurses. The first out was a young black man, who had actually sat on the floor of the ambulance on the ride to the hospital. He looked extremely exhausted and his suit jacket was ripped at both shoulders as if he has been in a struggle. His face was dripping with sweet and a large wound on the right side of his forehead was swollen and seeping blood. He seemed to ignore his injuries as he helped the medics with the other two patients.

In the first stretcher was a middle-aged Frenchmen, also well dressed with a broken ankle, but his legs also looked twisted and mangled. He exhibited the same symptoms of exhaustion: sweating and shortness of breath. Perhaps most unusually, his pant legs were damp as if he had been wading in water. Behind him, being carried by a paramedic, was a smaller young woman. She was dressed in a very fine white dress, which was stained by what appeared to be dirty water. She was barefoot, with dark bruises on her face, neck and legs. Her wrists were bruised raw in some places. Her golden curls were matted against his forehead and she was shaking all over.

"What happened, mademoiselle?" Pierre asked her. A firm shake of the medic's head told him not to pry and he watched as the young lady's gaze was glued to the other ambulance.

The sky opened up as sleet started to fall and sting his face. Above the sirens Pierre could hear the sounds of people ringing in the New Year despite the cold and the rain.

Pierre walked quietly into the room that held the other two patients; both Americans, the same age one male and one female. Behind him, Dr. Rines tapped his clipboard and coughed. "More light, please?" he asked. Pierre reluctantly complied and watched one of the patients squirm as he brought up the dimmer switch. They walked over to the bed that held the young man. His card read "Payne, Daniel". He was hooked up to an IV. He had been on oxygen for a while, since he seemed unable to breathe normally.

Dr. Rines examined Daniel's upper arm. "Take a look at this Devalt," he exclaimed, pointing at a particular set of bruises. "His attacker used an insane amount of force to leave such marks," he stated puzzled. Indeed the bruises were in the shape of a hand, a hand with very long fingers. "I'm pretty sure these wounds are going to leave nasty scars, not to mention the damage to the skin and the nerves underneath. It's a shame really." He wrote something down on his clipboard. "What or who could have done this?"

Devalt shrugged, but felt a shudder as he stared at the long finger-marks on the man's arm. The young French girl was still in shock, the older gentleman was in surgery, and the other patient, the one would could possibly give them information to how all of this happened, wasn't saying anything.

Rines glanced over at the other bed which held the last patient, the most injured one. He raised an eyebrow. "Why is she not hooked up to oxygen like the others?" he asked upset.

Pierre bit his lip, hesitant to explain. "She was struggling against the nurses. She kept calling out a name and refused to let the mask or anything else touch her face, so they decided she was strong enough without it." There was silence for a moment. "She is doing fine without it," Pierre offered.

"Struggled." The doctor sounded surprised. He flipped through some of his papers and walked over to the other bed. He gently looked at each side of her face. "It was a good call, through. Putting the oxygen mask on her might have caused more damage to her face." Pierre walked over and looked at the girl again. Apparently she had fallen into a window or a mirror for there were slivers of glass all over her body. They had pulled most of the shards out, even though she removed a majority of them by herself, crudely, before arriving. However there were still almost microscopic pieces still left in her face, and she would always have scars. Pierre had heard what the other nurses had said while they were disposing of the shards. From the angle and the placement, the girl seemed to have fallen face first as she tripped or was pushed. This was the girl that had come to the hospital in the dirty white gown and she exhibited signs of extreme exhaustion like her companions.

"She appears to have a sprained wrist as well," Dr. Rines noted out loud. "Perhaps from putting to much weight on it."

"She must have been attacked," Pierre blurted out his suppressed thought. "What else could have caused these injuries? They were all obviously attacked by someone or perhaps a group. Whoever it was had a gun because one patient had a bullet wound and a mark to his head as if he had been slapped by a bunt handle and…."

"Are you are detective now, Pierre?" Rines asked.

He sighed. "I'm just saying that it appears most of the injuries were inflicted during their retreat from their attacker. Whoever did this intended to kill all of them, except her." He looked down at the bed.

"Why not? You think this was an accident?" Rines asked.

"Yes, something in my mind says yes. It seems the others were defending her."

"Then why not the other young lady? Where in Paris would five people in dress clothes be attacked, fall into a mirror and during their escape, and were soaked to the bone with water? Your explanation on that!" Rines snapped

Pierre was quiet for a moment. "The Seine?"

"Funny."

"Well the report did say the ambulances picked them up at the Garnier." Pierre suggested. At this point Rines burst out laughing, knowing exactly what he was getting at.

"Nice try, but I don't believe in ghost stories, nurse." And with that he left the room, turning off the lights.

"Erik…." Pierre glanced over at the sound of a voice. It was the girl's. "Erik?" she repeated again. Then she stretched out her arms frantically searching. Pierre had to stop her before she pulled out of her IV. He grabbed both of her hands, trying to calm her. It seemed for work but only for a moment.

"Please, don't leave me, Erik," she pleaded, still delusional. "I'm sorry, Erik. I didn't mean those things I said. I need you with me. Don't go!"

"Mademoiselle…I can't do…" Pierre started.

"Don't leave me, Erik!" she cried again. Pierre watched as she started to rock in her bed, and didn't want to put any restraints on her. She had now started to cry and it hurt him to watch her. He shouldn't have been this affected, he had seen worst cases like this before, yet this was different.

"Erik, I'm sorry…"

Pierre sighed, rubbing her hands together between his. "I'm sure he understands…." Then her hands suddenly stiffened, and he felt her nails digging into his palms.

"No…I broke his heart again. I'm beyond forgiveness," she whispered softly.

Had she been awake the entire time? Had she heard him? "Mademoiselle?" he asked, but then he felt her shocked grip go slack. Pierre put her hands back down on her chest, folded gracefully. Then he checked her monitor. She appeared to be asleep. He was confused, but at least relived that she seemed all right for the time being. He finally walked away from her bedside, deciding it would be better not to record her reaction on her chart. Pierre let his nurse's jacket fall off his left shoulder, as he reached to turn off the light, reflecting on his long, strange shift.

Some things were better off unexplained.