"Mia!" Sebastian's voice bounces off the walls behind me. "Mia, wait!"
I can't wait. Every second is one more Cheryl doesn't have. My calves burn, lungs screaming as I push higher. Second floor. Third. The handrail is slick beneath my palm as I use it to pivot around each landing.
Unbidden, a memory flashes in my mind; my father's monitor flatlining, the high-pitched wail that seemed to go on forever while I stood frozen, unable to help, unable to save him. The same helplessness threatens to overwhelm me now, but I push it down, channel it into pure forward motion.
I promised her. Promised I wouldn't let her slip away like my father did. Promised I'd figure it out, whatever it took.
My chest heaves with exertion and something dangerously close to a sob as I hit the fourth-floor landing. The door feels impossibly heavy as I shove it open before exploding into the corridor with enough force that a passing nurse jumps back.
"Sorry," I gasp, but I'm already past her, sneakers squeaking against polished linoleum as I sprint down the hallway. The walls blur, fluorescent lights streaming overhead like stars in a hyperspace jump. My heart pounds so hard I swear it's trying to escape my ribcage, to race ahead to Cheryl and lend its rhythm to her silent one.
Ahead, a cluster of blue scrubs and white coats crowd the doorway to her room. Time slows, stretches like taffy as I approach. Too many people and not enough rushing. In fact, there’s no rushing at all. No one shouting orders for epi or defib paddles.
Something's wrong. Something beyond the obvious wrongness of Cheryl coding.
I skid to a halt at the threshold, chest heaving, sweat trickling between my shoulder blades. The room is crowded—two nurses I recognize from night shift, Dr. Perez from cardiology, Kim holding a tablet, his face grim. And Cheryl, small and still on the bed. The monitors are silent and the screens dark.
I scan their faces, searching for urgency, for the controlled chaos of a code. Instead, I find only solemn resignation.
"What the fuck are you doing?" My voice comes out ragged. "Why are you just standing there?"
Dr. Perez turns, his face a mask of practiced sympathy. "Dr. Phillips—"
I shove past him, pushing through the wall of bodies surrounding Cheryl's bed. The stillness of the room is obscene, an insult to the vibrant woman who occupied it just yesterday.
"Someone get the crash cart!" I shout, yanking back Cheryl's covers. Her body is still warm.Not too late. Not too late."Start compressions!"
No one moves. They're all just watching me with those same pitying eyes, making no effort to help, no damn effort to save her.
"What the hell is wrong with you people?" Fury burns through my veins. If they won't help, I'll do it myself.
I climb onto the bed and straddle Cheryl's small form. Her face is peaceful, eyes closed as if in sleep, but the stillness in her chest tells a different story. My hands find position over her sternum, one atop the other, fingers interlaced.
"Dr. Phillips, please—" One of the nurses steps forward, reaching for my arm.
I jerk away from her touch, muscles coiling tight. "One, two, three—" I begin counting out loud, pushing down with the heel of my hand in the rhythm that's been drilled into me since med school. Cheryl's frail body gives beneath my weight, ribs yielding with a flexibility that threatens to crack my heart along with her bones.
Someone touches my shoulder. I shrug them off, never breaking rhythm. Thirty compressions. Check for breathing. Nothing. Tilt head, clear airway. I pinch Cheryl's nose, cover her mouth with mine, and force two breaths into lungs that no longer work on their own.
"Come on," I whisper fiercely as I resume compressions. "Don't you do this, Cheryl. Not yet."
Another hand on my shoulder, firmer this time. "Dr. Phillips. Mia. You need to stop."
"Get off me!" I snarl, shaking free without looking up. The room spins around me, faces blurring into an audience of useless bystanders while Cheryl's life slips away beneath my hands. "Why aren't you helping? Why isn't anyone fucking helping?"
My arms burn with exertion, but I push through it, pressing down again and again. Sweat or tears—I can't tell which—drip from my face onto Cheryl's hospital gown, darkening the pale blue fabric.
Someone else enters the room and I know without looking that it's Sebastian. I don't look up, don't acknowledge him. I can't. If I break rhythm now, if I stop for even a second, Cheryl is truly gone. And I can't lose her. Not like this. Not when I promised.
Sebastian comes closer, his presence at the edge of the bed is like a physical weight.
"Mia."
The way he says my name nearly breaks me but I ignore him and push hard and faster.
The tears come in earnest now, blurring my vision until Cheryl's still face beneath me becomes a pale smudge. I blink furiously.
"Please," I whisper, no longer sure if I'm talking to Cheryl or the room or some higher power that doesn't seem to be listening. "Please."
