Chapitre 8: 8. How to Save a Life?
After quite a long time of doing missions, some of them ended up happier than others, so it was time to change a little pace. I would go and continue as a surgeon. Now in Los Angeles, working long hours. Colin's favorite thing was telling me how much I weighed and my temperature. He tried to get me to good girl and give him a few tubes of blood so he could check even the worst deficiencies. I sometimes let him, it depends on my mood. Very much so. He would then try to find suitable foods for me to correct those deficits and whatnot. I was not always in the mood to give blood.
He came by to my office before I left to be a doctor and told me very carefully again facts about my state, my body, and my health. Well, I am surviving, not thriving, but who does in this world? Only those who are protected, those who can thrive, not us who make all bad go away.
I just thought, "Men, men, men. It doesn't matter if I've been a couple of degrees cooler for almost these six years or if I've never once even got to 55 kilos. I'll be fine. I am not yet there. Maybe someday, if I ever stop working this hard and rest a bit, maybe then."
I also knew about my willpower and my rages. They all affected my health. I literally burned my body with my rages, and my metabolism was permanently elevated, which had been all this time, about 10-30% faster even though I was not hurt. It was all of my new rages, using up my calories and my telekinesis as well.
As a surgeon, my days were busy. Los Angeles is not so-called a peaceful little city but a hustling and bustling million city where violence and accidents occur every day, more or less. I was on call. I operated almost back-to-back most of my days. Every surgery was demanding, and because I was a trauma surgeon, there was always someone's life in my hands.
I have been working as a chief trauma surgeon in this hospital for five months now. Not all the violence made any sense and there were always those who were not supposed to die, or at least it felt like it, for me. I have been operating on patients now for three days more or less with no longer pauses than 20 minutes in between operations. It was good to be supernatural. I had stamina as hell.
I could go on astonishing long time, I had my little sugar implant gun. Meaning that I had invented a sugar implant. I had shot a few of them in my stomach or my abdominal cavity between the surgeries so my sugars would not play up so much. We had the team operating, and this was not going well. I was not the only one who was trying to save a life.
I cursed in my mind, as the bleeding would not be stopped. The monitor beeped ever-increasing pace. The anesthesiologist's voice was getting more and more worried by the second and I did everything that I could. We all did. This was not someone we wanted to lose. Not that there would be a patient that losing would not sting.
Our patient was going downhill more quickly than we could get her in a more stable condition. Now, there was a five-year-old kid on the table who had been caught in the crossfire when two gangs had shot guns in the streets, and it didn't go well. The bullet had done a shitload of damage, and the child was getting worse and worse no matter what I did. This little girl had suffered too much. I could not use anymore my blood as it did not help fast enough. Nothing worked, and I cursed under my breath. It was nothing new that, from my mouth, profanities were heard in tight spots.
I had my reputation and everyone who worked with me knew my temper, my foul mouth and my skilled hands, but they weren't enough now. I was doing everything I could, but damn, it was just not enough.
The monitor let on one continuous beep. Flatline, no heartbeats, and that sound told me she had a cardiac arrest. We tried to revive her, but she had no blood left in her tiny, frail body. The bullet had torn through her liver and spleen and ended up in her gut, and the damage had been too severe.
We had taken the bullet out and it would end up to police so they would have even some evidence. I would take the bullet to them personally as I would give them my statement. It had been a huge bullet her size, and this was one more example of what humans could do to each other.
And I didn't save this one either. I called the time of death and thanked everyone. I told them to start if the patient came in while I was talking to the police. I went to undress, wash my hands, and then tell the parents. Then, I gave a preliminary statement to the police, and then maybe I would eat something, if I had time, before the next patient came in.
I kept wondering the whole time I was washing if I made a mistake and if there was anything I could have done. But I didn't have an eureka experience and again settled because people are so damn fragile. It had been too bad and even if I had been there in the spot when that shooting had happened; I doubt that it would have made any difference. I just could not save everyone.
In the dark shadows of the gallery, Mariella and Damon watched Mimi try to save a life. Life of a young child. She had been the victim of a drive-by shooting and even though Mimi and her team did everything that could; the child was lost. They had an invisibility spell on. So Mimi would not see them. Mariella had seen on her savior radar that there was little to be done. Her radar had suggested a strong sleeping agent, meaning to euthanize her.
Mariella said quietly. " That child, she reminds me of our princess. This is just awful. Poor Mimi, she's under so much strain, so much mental strain, it's so obvious. She has not been easy. Not at all. And we complained when we couldn't have babies or we were having a boring time. "
Damon hugged his wife. They had not seen so much on her face; she was clad in a surgical gown and hat; her face covered with the mask and gloves in her hands. They had heard her cursing, though. Her list of profanities was impressive as ever and the pack cursed very rarely, so this was something that they had missed. Mimi's very colorful language.
The little blond child was white, dead, as Mimi's tired voice said, "Time of death, 12:56 pm, thank you all. "
The team sighed, and Mimi stepped a little further.
She said," If I am not yet available when the next one comes in, start without me. I have no idea how long it takes to talk to the police."
Her voice was professional, tight. Top surgeon's voice.
One nurse handed Mimi a little container. There was a bullet inside that had just destroyed that little girl, her parents, and her family. She took it, nodding as she walked away.
Mariella wiped her eyes and Damon felt his eyes stinging, too. He and Mariella had gone to see Mimi operate, the child died, and Damon felt Mimi's anger, pain, and self-reproach. He felt her first time in years, and it was almost too overwhelming for him. He felt so much more now than he used to feel. Before that emotional bomb that he had used to wake himself up.
That hardened creature in that operating theatre, where the mood was now somber, had once revealed her soul to him, and he had done this to her. He wanted her back but same time; he wondered did he had even the right to try to win her back. Hasn't he done enough damage to her?
He was close enough that his telepathy picked up at least something of Mimi's thoughts. He'd watched the whole time, expressionless, as Mimi operated and felt how Mimi had developed a shell of herself, and he knew he was to blame. He felt her desperation to try to save this little girl, her thoughts that raced like wild horses. He tried to same time comfort Mariella. She had never witnessed this. Damon did not want to be the doctor for this reason only. He hated it when patients died.
Mariella said, "That, that was awful. I am not sure do I want to see her talk to the parents."
She was shaken up still. Their life had been so protected and now this. Realities of life. What Mimi's life was, actually. Not a fairytale that they had envisioned.
Damon said," No need for that now. Come on, let's go see what she will be doing soon. Let's walk. Give her time to break the news."
Mariella was thankful. Somehow that dead child was now burned into her brain and it was not bad, not fully. It was again part of their growth. It was time to pack come out from their little perfect life and see the world as it truly is. Ugly, raw, unfair, terrifying from times too.
After telling the parents and the police, I thought about going to eat, but then the call came again, and I went to the emergency room to check it out. There was now a victim of an overrun, and it wasn't quite up to my medical standards because this was a naughty Sark. I hated these guys a lot.
He saw me and saw that this had been a pretty good fucking trap. Fine, I casually put the emergency code on Magnum and ordered another surgeon on Sark, just checking there was no suicide pill. Then I supposedly went upstairs to eat, but when Magnum put up an okay message, I went to the basement floor and got on board with Magnum.
Damon watched as Mimi's expression was stern as she came out of the patient, and he could feel how Mimi was in a different mood. She was not a surgeon now; she had a whole different demeanor and Damon remembered years ago when he had first seen Mimi as a flea. So this was her again, the Flea. But why? Damon was curious. He kept their camouflage magic on, so Mimi would not recognize them.
They passed the patient, and Damon saw the naughty sark. Mariella took a sharp intake of breath. Damon had told her about that one time when Sark had used a suicide pill to wake another Sark and go after Mimi. So Damon did little compulsion, and the nurses disappeared. Something inside of him woke up. Need to protect Mimi.
Damon drilled into Sark's thoughts and got a fuck load of information, including how hard Mimi was being hunted and how many plans were in place for Mimi, and Damon felt something in his soul almost ache. How many times had Sarks already gotten Mimi, the experiments, and drugs in their hands? That was almost too much for Damon. He, they would protect Mimi, and he would send all the information to the others, and they would go to the magic house.
There was everyone from dragons on down who would help. Mariella knew that even the magic houses would sigh with relief as Damon got over his crisis. This was the telepath's problem, and it wouldn't be guaranteed that another one like it would ever come, but if they could get Mimi back and Damon won her heart, then someday.
Then we'll do some gigs, apparently. We'll skip the medical work again. We drove to the base, and I went to change before I went to see what gigs I would be doing. Maybe it was wise to take a break again from being a surgeon. After all, I had been there for months and enemies were always looking for me. When I got the reputation, it was always a little risky to be in the same hospital long time. After all, my name would be in their papers, or even on the internet site. It was also hard to be a surgeon. A different kind of hard than being a leader.
As a surgeon I tried my best and cursed every time I had to leave the operating room and tell the relatives that I didn't manage to save their loved one, it could be a sister, mother, daughter, father husband, people were so damn fragile, and no matter how good I was, I had already won three awards and hadn't gone to the galas to get them, patients were always dying.
And yeah, it was a bit much, but I knew I had a week off work from my shifter clinic when I got to the base. I'd been pushing it for over six years, being on my own, just going on and on and on. Sometimes, as a surgeon, as a shape-shifting doctor, I had also taught Colin things so that he could help, and he studied me and studied my physiology whenever he got the chance, and yes, there was. Our clinic had also Will the hothead, and he was getting quite damn good, but as protective as Colin is, he did not let Will tend to my injuries unless they had to. Will had studied me, but Colin kept me to himself, his patient when it came to caring for me.
So a few years ago, Colin came into my clinic to be one doctor and the rest is history. That boy is a fast learner too. What it came to me, well as usual I was sloppy and careless with my rage wide open from time to time, so I got hits, got caught, to was tortured, but I am never learning from those experiments, I just don't have a self-preservation instinct, not at all.
It is hard for me when I knew I was immortal. Nothing could ever kill me, so there was nothing to lose. I was not actually sure if this, my recklessness was part of my original plan, had they planned me being fearless, reckless. I had little time to think about my little ideas, as my days were full. There was always someone wanting to ask something to me, or I had to do something.
I knew that the medical facilities and Sark were always after me, and I always had to be on my guard. Also, krycheck, and those government assassins too. I had backups now and then: Magnum if he was off, which he was quite a few times, and Jake's son, Tim. He had only been six when Jake had died, and somehow, these kids and their kids ended up with fleas. Tim was much like his father. Not fazed by my rage, not at all.
I had also Wulfe but Constantine and Dresden used him more and more in their gigs and he had a little hard time. He kind of reminded me of a child who has a hard time letting go of his mom when his friends are asking him out to play, so I let him out to play with the wizards. There were threats there, too.
It seemed for a while that I had way more enemies than allies and I was fighting the fight that I had no chance of winning even. I had these little times when all just felt so overwhelmingly hard and heavy; I had then tried to find my spark. Any reason to go on another day? If something came up, what kept my spark fighting on?
Tim was a good backup. I told him a lot about his dad, not that we had ended up in bed, not all the gig memories. Now, I didn't even reminisce about my time in the pack, or the pack came into my mind less and less. I had a life of my own, and I had moved on.
Rob's son, Taylor, was there too. He was a carbon copy of his father and a very dear friend. But 16 fucking times, I had suffered, and I wasn't always alone. There were a few trips to Lake Lanier. Bitter, angry trips.
I was a flea again. It was my role. That nickname that Brutus had given me so long ago, stuck and I was a flea. I just could not come up with a better name for myself. Alaric did some of the work, and I did some of the work. I sort of had my thing, and we worked together sometimes, but I wasn't under Alaric or he under me. And there were enemies for both of us to share.
I protected Alaric too, not letting him go on all the nastier gigs that came along, not at all. I compelled him without a second thought, as I did everyone else who got too curious. Not Wulfe. He might be too strong for me. I got wulfe compelled on one thing. Keeping one little secret. They had witnessed my vampire side quite many times as it was brutally strong, and I had too little blood to drink, so it got wild from time to time.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone