Death Agent

Two patients occupied the narrow surgical beds in the suture room. Zack examined the first one, a sixty-year-old disheveled man with what most people would call a "busted lip." The patient described how the left side of his upper lip had sustained an unplanned collision with a younger man's accelerating ring-wearing fist.

Zack feigned a smile. "I should see the other guy, right?"

The patient winced.

"How long ago?" Zack asked.

"Walking home from the bar, around three."

The odor of stale alcohol on the man's breath validated the timeline. Zack inspected the wound, an irregular gash that crossed the line where lip meets skin, the vermilion border. The bruised edges of the cut looked swollen and dusky. This repair would take meticulous technique and considerable time.

Zack sighed. "Okay, Mister, uh..." He looked at the top of the chart. "Martin. We'll get you all fixed up. Let me look at this other fellow first."

He turned toward the other suture bed, nearer to the door than the first bed. When he had entered the room, Zack had just nodded to this patient, then proceeded to the man furthest from the door.

Now he did a sharp double-take at this patient's appearance, his attention drawn to a ruddy cross-shaped scar on his mid-forehead. Next, he noticed two grotesque tattoos on his upper arms, one depicting a skull, the other a garish demon.

Zack tried to hide his reaction as he greeted the patient, a swarthy, mustachioed man who appeared in his mid-forties. According to the record, he sustained an accidental slice across his left forearm while "cutting meat."

The man offered no verbal response to Zack's greeting, just a slight nod.

Slice indeed. The wound ran about four inches across the back of the patient's arm, midway between the wrist and elbow. Clean and straight, as if made by a sharp knife. Not deep. An easy repair.

He turned to the technician who staffed the suture room. "Set up a full tray for Mr. Martin, including a #10 scalpel for debridement. I'll take care of, uh... He looked at the tablet. ...Mr. Gonzales here first, so we can clear the bed for the next victim."

Zack turned back to the patient. "I will numb and clean your wound, then stitch it up. We'll have you out of here in less than twenty minutes."

The man shrugged.

The door to the suture room opened. A nurse Zack didn't recognize poked her head into the room. "I need to borrow your tech to move an obese patient in the main treatment area."

"Sure." Zack watched as the tech followed the nurse out of the room. He didn't recall seeing that nurse earlier in the shift. Probably sent from another floor to help in the overcrowded ED.

His phone buzzed just as he turned back to his patient.

Caller ID showed "Dr. Maria Santos." His daughter's psychologist.

About Annie?

"I'm sorry," he said to the patient. "I have to take this."

The man shrugged. Zack looked at the other patient. Snoring.

"Be right back."

He stepped into the hallway. "Dr. Santos, what's up?"

"Nothing serious. And to you and Annie I'm Maria."

Zack frowned. "Right. What's up, Maria?"

"I'm really sorry to do this, but I need to reschedule our appointments this afternoon. An emergency has come up."

"Nothing serious, I hope."

"I have another patient I need to see as soon as possible. Can I see Annie and you tomorrow instead?"

"I think so." Zack's awareness returned to the ED. "Sorry, Maria, but I have a department full of patients. Let's pencil that in until I can confirm with Annie. Can I call you later today?"

"Sure. If I don't answer, I'm with a client. Just leave a message."

"Will do."

Zack punched off the call and returned to the suture room. He paused in the doorway. The tech had not returned. The patient with the lip laceration snored away. Zack turned toward the other patient.

The empty bed startled him, just as powerful hands encircled his neck from behind and squeezed. Zack's airway collapsed under the pressure, causing immediate air hunger and a sense of imminent doom. Blood from the man's forearm laceration dripped onto Zack's neck. With a resolve he didn't know he had, Zack grabbed his attacker's left arm over the open wound and squeezed hard. The man growled in pain. His grip on Zack's neck loosened just enough for Zack to inhale fresh air. He delivered a sharp elbow blow to the man's gut and twisted out of his grasp. Zack lurched to the suture tray next to the other patient's bed, grabbed the scalpel, and wheeled to face his attacker. He swept the blade in slicing motions at chest level.

"I'm a surgeon," Zack said. "I make my living cutting people, and I know just where to cut you."
The man glared at him. "Next time I don't miss." He bolted out the door.

Zack went after him. "Help! Security!" He chased the man down the hallway toward the waiting room. "That man attacked me."

A nurse tried to block the assailant, but the man knocked him away with a swipe of his arm.
An overweight, puffing security guard joined Zack and several others chasing the man through the waiting room. No one sitting there got up to assist, as if terrified of a crazed, psychotic patient. The assailant charged out the front door and jumped into the passenger side of a vehicle in the driveway. It sped away while he closed the door.

Zack stared at the others. "That was a getaway car."

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