Threshold, Part One

Claire sat alone in the rickety chair at the nurse’s station. The smile came unexpectedly. After three nights, the squeaking was growing on her. Faith was the best nurse in Denburgh Hospital’s intensive care unit. The fifty-year-old Filipino woman was a hard ass but underneath the tough exterior she was sweet and had a sense of humor. She made Claire sit in the rickety chair in the center workstation which had the slowest computer and a flickering monitor. It was part of the hazing ritual all newbie nurses had to go through when they joined the team. Alan had been a corpsman in the Navy. He was an experienced nurse who’d seen it all. Faith asked the divorced father of two to work nights again to help Claire learn the ropes. She annoyed him to no end as she constantly shifted in the chair. When she was particularly stressed, Claire’s leg bounded up and down like Thumper’s. Faith critiqued every nursing note Claire wrote those first three nights. There were constant reminders Claire didn’t need. Before long, Faith started to sound like Claire’s mother.

After six grueling hours into night four, Claire was glad for the peace and quiet. She returned from the bathroom with tearstained eyes. Being back at Denburgh felt like elective torture. It was the hospital her mother died in. She couldn’t wallow for too long. An orange sticky note on her keyboard said that Alan and Faith ran down to the cafeteria for more coffee and greasy sustenance. Faith promised to bring two heaping plates of tater tots drowned in cheese and ranch dressing. Claire was a health nut but even she agreed the fried spuds were to die for.

The two computer monitors on either side of her had pitch black screens that were the exact shade of night quite like the scrubs Claire was wearing. She was tired and getting anxious which meant it was time for her evening rounds. She snatched the sound away from her watch before the alarm went off. Claire grabbed her ID lanyard off the worn mousepad and looked at the patient board. There was only one name on it. As she walked the empty hall of the dimly lit ward, her footsteps echoed. Claire’s watch said it was 2:03 by the time she reached the wall. The white sign had a red arrow on it indicating left was the way out. The world outside felt like a distant memory. Her life before she became a nurse felt like a dream. Claire paused outside room 3.

Behind the closed door lay Gable Ramirez. He had been admitted through the emergency room two nights ago after experiencing a grand mal seizure. No family came along on the ambulance ride. There was no spouse, no kids, and no caregiver to provide any medical history. His driver’s license said he was born on June 6th, 1959. After his third epileptic episode in the unit, Mr. Ramirez fell into a coma. Claire looked warily at the empty hallway. There was a gurney parked crookedly against the wall. The wheelchair she had pushed Mr. Ramirez in was still stained with urine. After midnight, Faith had dimmed the overhead lights which gave the unit an eerie quality Claire didn’t quite like. She swallowed hard, listening for any voices or any other sounds besides the beeping machines inside Mr. Ramirez’s room. Claire’s hand trembled as she grabbed the ice cold handle and opened the door.

As soon as she was inside, Mr. Ramirez’s eyes snapped open, unnaturally wide. He pulled out the endotracheal tube and began chanting in an ancient language Claire didn’t recognize, his voice deep and guttural. The air grew cold and  made the hair on her forearms stand on end. The lights flickered in a rhythmic pattern which sent gooseflesh up and down her back. Claire’s heart pounded as she approached the gurney. Mr. Ramirez stared at her, through her, with an empty gaze. The equipment beeped wildly. Mr. Ramirez’s arms and legs jerked upward and sideways at odd angles like he was being pulled by invisible strings.

Claire tried to call for help, but the door slammed shut trapping her inside. Mr. Ramirez’s voice grew louder. He chanted faster and faster. The words echoed with such force that she felt them inside her head. Claire reached for his hands, whispering soothing words which were as much for her as they were for him. His large hand grasped her lanyard and pulled her ear down toward his mouth. He slapped her in the back of the head so that his lips touched her earlobe. The chanting suddenly stopped. Mr. Ramirez stopped breathing. The next six words he spoke came out of his mouth choked off and sounded desperate.

“Grab the necklace in my shoes.”

Claire ripped her ear away from his face and fell to the floor. Her chin collided with the linoleum, causing her to chomp down on her tongue. She swallowed blood as she dragged herself across the floor toward the corner of the rom. Claire looked over her shoulder. Mr. Ramirez swung his swollen legs off the side of the bed. When his feet hit the floor, the entire room shook. He ripped the catheter out and bloody urine spilled onto the back of Claire’s legs. She dragged herself as fast as she could, swallowing blood so she wouldn’t choke on it. Mr. Ramirez stepped on Claire’s ankle and then the middle of her back. She felt her ankle snap and her spine bend under his weight. He smashed her face into the floor when he stepped onto the back of her head. Claire’s vision swam. Her consciousness dimmed. She reached out with her right hand into the heel of the tanned dress shoe and grabbed hold of the necklace. Claire grunted as she flipped over onto her back. Mr. Ramirez pounced on her. His gown had fallen off and his shriveled penis dragged against the waistband of her scrub pants. He opened his mouth and black bile dripped onto Claire’s heaving chest. Some of it dribbled into her mouth. Claire had no choice but to swallow. She shut her mouth before any more bile could spill into it. Her stomach lurched before she screamed and pressed the cross into Mr. Ramirez’s forehead. He flew backwards over the gurney and slammed into the cabinets above the sink. He hissed then crawled onto the gurney on all fours like a wounded animal. Claire forced herself to stand despite the wobbly legs and sprained ankle. Mr. Ramirez growled as she approached. He hid his naked form under the bloody, urine-stained blanket. Claire could only see his eyes which had turned black. She leaned forward as she walked, dragging her injured ankle behind her. Mr. Ramirez screeched as she came closer. The lights flickered again. Claire held out the cross like a weapon.

“I don’t know who you are. And, frankly, I don’t care.” Claire said calmly. “Leave him alone. Take me instead. I deserve this.”

Claire looked away she pressed the crucifix into the Mr. Ramirez’s forehead once more. Her ankle gave out and she fell onto her bottom. She thought she was hallucinating when she saw a ghostly image of Mr. Ramirez standing next to the gurney looking down at himself.

“Thank you, Claire.” he said.

Mr. Ramirez pulled the crucifix out of her hand then jumped onto the gurney and began to choke the thing laying there. She looked behind her and saw a desk chair in the other corner of the room. It squeaked like someone was sitting in it and rocking side to side. Her ankle and back throbbed with every breath she took. The door burst open as Alan and Dr. Singh practically fell into the room. The lights above them burned bright as the sun. The sound coming from machines felt dreadful and familiar. Mr. Ramirez was flatlining. Faith raced in behind them with the crash cart. Claire rolled out of the way just in time. The wheels of the cart would have crushed her head. She listened as Dr. Singh barked out orders. Alan helped Dr. Singh put in a new endotracheal tube. Faith put in a new IV and pushed epinephrine into it. Dr. Singh let Alan relieve him after a minute of chest compressions.

“Are we going to shock him?” Faith asked desperately.

“He doesn’t have a heartbeat, Faith. Not indicated.”

“Callum, please. Tonight might be his last night.” the nurse pleaded.

Alan moved aside as Dr. Singh applied the defibrillation pads to Mr. Ramirez’s chest.

“Everyone, stand clear.” Dr. Singh said calmly.

The first shock was delivered with no change on the monitor. Faith wiped Alan’s brow with a white washcloth before the second. Still no change.

“Increasing to 200 joules.”

Claire felt like her own heart was being shocked during the third and fourth attempts. She grabbed hold of the arms of the squeaky desk chair and managed to sit down in it. Claire’s mouth fell open as she watched the heart monitor. Mr. Ramirez was still in asystole. She felt something in one of her balled up fists. Claire opened her left hand and saw the necklace with the crucifix on it. She kissed it and then shut her eyes as Dr. Singh shocked Mr. Ramirez three more times at 300 joules. Alan and he continued giving him chest compressions. After what felt like an eternity of CPR, the necklace fell out of her hand. The room shook when it hit the floor. Claire felt dread in her heart and a weight in her chest. She slumped over in the chair from exhaustion. Her eyelids drooped as she began to fall. The voice kept her awake.

Claire. Claire. Claire.

The voice began to distort. Large and impossibly strong hands squeezed her forearms over her long sleeves. Her skin burned like all the times she grabbed a hot pan when she was a girl. She remembered all the times her mother yelled at her for being so careless and stupid and then giving her Tylenol and taking her for ice cream to make her feel better.

Clair opened her eyes and felt her breath catch in her throat. She couldn’t scream because a disembodied hand was wrapped around her neck. The faceless black eyes staring at her bore a hole into her soul. The black bile spilled down her throat. She felt herself swallow it so she wouldn’t choke on it. Faith, Alan, and Dr. Singh didn’t even know she was in the room. They were too busy trying to save Mr. Ramirez. All of them failed. Claire smiled for the first time that night, right before Dr. Singh wiped his brow on the sleeve of his white coat.

“Time of death, 0213.”