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He turned and walked down the corridor, heading for the elevator, a little spring in his step. I laughed softly to myself and turned around, heading the other way. I checked on a couple of patients before stopping in the room of the fifteen-year old boy, Trevor. He was hooked up to a hundred different machines and tubes. He wasn't breathing on his own – a ventilator was doing the work for him.
After reading his chart, I didn't have much hope that he was going to walk out of the hospital on his own. Ever.
That dark feeling of dread and sorrow settled down over me again. It was times like that when I really hated my job. I hated not being able to save everybody. I took it personally. Which meant that when I wasn't able to save a life, it hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks.
Seeing that boy all but dead already, broke my heart. A life wasted. Gone too soon. His was a life that could have been something great. Something special. He could have done amazing things had he not gotten mixed up with drugs and that lifestyle. But, because he had, because he'd chosen to stick a needle in his arm, we'd never know what he could have contributed to this world.
I sighed, shook my head, and left the room. A few doors do
wn was his girlfriend. Nicki. When I stepped into the room, she looked up at me with wide, scared eyes. She was a pretty girl, though I could already see the drugs taking a toll on her. Nicki had long, dark hair and pale, alabaster colored skin. Her blue eyes were dull, like they'd lost some of their shine, and deep, dark circles were etched beneath them.
She looked tired. Miserable.
“Hey, Nicki,” I said when I stood beside her bed. “I'm Hannah.”
“Hi,” she said, averting her gaze.
She was sitting in the bed with her knees drawn up to her chest, the blanket tucked beneath her chin. It was like she was trying to hide, ready to pull the blankets up over her head at a moment's notice. Though only fifteen, seeing her sitting there like that, coupled with the terrified expression on her face, she looked a lot younger.
“H – how's Trevor?” she asked, still not meeting my eyes.
I let out a long breath, not sure how to answer. I flipped through her chart, more to buy myself time than anything. Obviously, nobody had told her about his condition and I was hesitant to say anything. She looked up at me though, her eyes shimmering with tears.
“H – he's dead, isn't he?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
I could lie to her or kick the can down the road by claiming ignorance and let somebody else deliver the bad news. Or, I could be honest with her and show her just how bad the consequences were for making the decision she and Trevor made to do drugs in the first place.
Maybe, if she knew the very real consequences of her actions, felt the sting of loss, she'd think twice about sticking that needle in her arm next time. Or, maybe she wouldn't.
“He's not doing well, Nicki,” I said.
“What does that mean?”
I fidgeted with the chart in my hand, not meeting her gaze. “I don't think he's going to make it, to be honest,” I said. “I could be wrong. I hope I'm wrong. But, seeing what I've seen, and having the experience I do, it's not looking good.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks and she let out a choked sob. Nicki buried her face in her hands, her small body racked with sobs. She shook her head, trying to deny the reality of the situation she was in. Reaching out, I touched her arm gently and got her to lower her hands. She looked up at me through watery, tear-filled eyes.
“I'm sorry, Nicki,” I said. “I know that's not what you wanted to hear.”
“I – I love him,” she groaned. “He can't die.”
“I know you love him,” I said. “And I wish more than anything, that I could tell you otherwise about his condition. I just thought you deserved to know.”
The tears continued to flow and I could see the reality slowly sinking into her eyes. She suddenly looked – old. Old and tired. Far more so than any fifteen-year old girl should. She was a girl who'd obviously seen far too much in her young life already.
“Where did you get the heroin, Nicki?”
She shook her head and wiped the tears away from her face. “That's what that cop was asking me,” she said. “I can't tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I do, he'll kill my family,” she said, her voice tinged with panic. “He told us he would when he sold it to us.”
I shook my head. “If you tell me who it is, we can make sure he goes to prison,” I said. “He won't be able to hurt you or your family if he's behind bars.”
“He said he'd be able to get to us even from prison.”
I wished I could have told her otherwise, but I knew that some guys had some pull even when they were behind bars. They had friends on the outside who could kill somebody just as easily as they could have themselves. It was the fear of that keeping Nicki from telling me what she knew. Which meant, I had only one way forward – I had to lie to her.
