Page 1 of Yours Truly

Chapter 1

Briana

They’re calling him Dr. Death.”

Jocelyn stood, peering at me dramatically from beyond the nurses’ station where I sat at my computer charting my patients.

I glanced up at her over my screen and rolled my eyes. “Give him a break,” I said, typing in my notes. “The guy’s been here all of eleven hours. It’s his first day.”

“That’s the point,” she whispered. “He has a hundred percent kill rate.”

I scoffed but didn’t look back up. “You cannot call him that. We don’t need patients hearing nurses whispering about a Dr. Death.”

“Can we call him Doctor D?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because Doctor D sounds like a penis thing.”

She huffed. “Okay, but seriously. Somebody should look into this. Six patients dead?”

I checked my watch. “We work in an ER, Jocelyn. It’s not entirely unheard of.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be chief of emergency medicine? Isn’t it your job to investigate stuff like this?”

I did a final tap into my computer and looked up at her. “Dr. Gibson hasn’t retired yet and the board hasn’t voted on his replacement, so no, it’s not my job.”

“But it will be. You’re totally going to get it. Don’t you think you should dress for the job you want and stop the carnage?” She stood back and crossed her arms.

I could feel the eyes of a dozen other unseen nurses peering at me from around the floor. Jocelyn was sent as an ambassador. Once the nurses latched on to something, they weren’t letting go. This poor guy. He was not going to like it here.

I let out a long sigh. “The first patient was a ninety-six-year-old with a bad heart. The second one was an eighty-nine-year-old stroke victim who had a DNR. There was a car accident crush injury—I got a peek at the X-rays, and nobody but God could have saved that man. Patient four was a gunshot wound to the head, which I don’t need to remind you is ninety percent fatal. The victim was comatose with no evidence of brain stem function upon arrival. Five was a cancer patient on hospice, and six was so septic he was practically dead when he got here.” I looked her in the eye. “Not. His. Fault. Sometimes it happens.”

She pressed her lips into a line. “Sometimes. But not on your first day,” she pointed out.

I had to agree with that. The odds were a little low. But still.

“Just…send all the new patients to me, okay?” I said a little wearily. “He only has another hour. And no Dr. Death. Please.”

She gave me a look. “He’s rude, you know.”

“How is he rude?” I asked.

“He told Hector to put his phone in his locker. You never make us put our phones away.”

“Isn’t Hector in some epic breakup with Jose? He’s probably checking his phone every five seconds. I probably would have made him put it away too.”

The door on room eight slid open, and an auburn-haired white guy in black scrubs came out. His back was to me, so I couldn’t see his face. I watched him peel off his gloves and drop them into a hazardous waste basket. He pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, then dragged himself toward the locker rooms with his head down.

Hector came out of the room behind him and looked over at us. He held up seven fingers and sucked air through his teeth.

Jocelyn gave me an I-told-you-so look, and I shook my head. “No Dr. Death. Now go. Do something productive.”

She pouted for a second, but then she left.

My cell phone pinged, and I pulled it out.