The Church

THE CHURCH © 2017 by N. W. King   All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.   Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual place or events is purely coincidental.   Prologue   ”I can’t breathe…” she thought, her eyes fixed to the cold white fixtures before her. The ceiling of the hospital was a stark white. The long fluorescent lights created dashes across her vision, making it seem as if she was looking down on the white dashes on the highway as the car drives fast through the road. The thought nearly lulled her to sleep. “Don’t sleep, dear. Come on, stay with me.” One of the nurses mumbled as they sped through hallway after hallway. I can’t breathe. Her body was contracting. Every nerve within her being felt like exploding. Not a single pore in her cells could get a gasp of air. Tell me it’s just a dream… With the little energy she had left in her bones, she fished a small slip of paper from her pocket. It was crumpled and some of the ink was smudged. In a panicked frenzy, her hands found themselves fumbling through the railings of the bed, looking for a friendly hand. She reached for the palms of a young woman. Her head snapped back to look at the patient’s face “Calm down, dear. You’re going to be fine.” She whispered near her face. Disgruntled as she was, she knew she was far from fine. Nothing felt right. Everything was out of place and her mind was racing – wondering – if she would ever see the light of day again. “Please.” She managed to croak out from her rusted throat. Her whole body started to tremble. The very air of the hospital felt too constricting for her troubled lungs. Insistently, she pushed the slip of paper against the hand of the nurse. “Please…” A tear ran down the side of her cheek. All she could see were troubled faces looming over her limp body. Everything hurts… The nurse took the piece of paper and shoved it deep into the pocket of her scrubs. “I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry, okay?” That was the last thing she heard before the world went black. ”We’re losing her!” The doctor howled as he tried to hold down the patient. The beeps were getting faster and panic was beginning to set in the intern’s system. “What the f**k do I do?!” She thought as she turned the patient to her side. The edges of her mouth were foaming up and her eyes were rolled back. The scene, to the young woman in her inexperienced scrubs, was all too frightening. The patient was shaking all over “Nurse! What are the symptoms?” An older woman in her 40’s looked down at her notes. “Seizures, loss of consciousness. On the way here, we noted that she had difficulty breathing.” “Her skin is red.” Another nurse said as she inspected the patient. “...very red.” “Shit.” The doctor whispered under his breath. “We need to get a blood sample. Keep her steady.” “You there!” He said to the young intern. “Hand me a syringe, please.” She hurriedly grabbed an unopened pack of needles and a small syringe and fixed it up. With nervous hands, she handed it over to the doctor. “Alright…steady…” He said as he pushed the needle through the layers of the patient’s skin. As it found its way through her veins, the patient started panting like a dog on a hot, summer day. Each gasp sounded more painful than the one before. Lucidly, she started slurring out incoherent sentences one after the other, trying to stitch together a complete thought, only for the words to end up in a big pile of nonsense before her. After drawing a few milligrams of blood, the doctor handed the syringe over to the young woman. “You know what to do.” She carefully took the device in her hands and transferred the contents in a tiny vial and labeled it. In a frenzy, the young woman ran down the quiet halls of St. Peter’s Hospital. As she was about to reach the end of the hallway, she heard it. It was a long, dragging note, piercing through the quiet of the night. Her heels ran as fast as they could until she reached the lab. She handed over the vial to one of the specialists in charge and looked at the clock hanging just above her head. It was 1:54 A.M. “Fuck.” She whispered. From the end of the hall, she heard the muffled sound of the doctor trying to revive the dead patient in Room 36. She was 20 feet away from the room but somehow, she could hear the defibrillator’s zaps, the doctor’s agitated commands, and the sound of her own pulse going berserk. It was her first night on call, and by the grace of the Devil, someone is already hanging on the brink of death. “We’ll send the results back as fast as we can, Cheryl.” One of the specialists told her. She gave him a quick nod before heading back into the patient’s room. What she saw inside the room was the abhorrent image of death. As she stood there by the door, she could see the woman lying down with her blouse halfway open and the doctor putting the defibrillator back in place. Her mouth was stuck in a half-opened state and her eyes were only halfway closed. Her skin was still a bit red all over and the expression that was permanently etched on her face as she laid there was full of pain. With a sigh, the doctor glanced at his watch. “Time of death, 2:10 AM.” He said before walking out the room in disappointment. The older nurse wrote the time down on the chart before placing it back on the bed. “Cheryl, tell Ralph to bring her down to the morgue.” She placed a gentle hand on her arm before walking out the room with the other nurse on duty. The young intern was left with the dead body of a woman that no one has ever seen nor heard of before. She whispered a light prayer over the dead body. She walked over to the end of the bed and picked up the patient’s chart. All of the necessary questions have been filled out - all but one: the patient’s name. She took a gander at her face again. She had a pretty face, with kind green eyes, full lips, and just a hint of freckles, artfully dusted across her cheeks. She remembered how those green eyes cried as they rushed her into the emergency room. She remembered how her trembling hand reached for hers as she struggled to draw her breath. She remembered how her lips contorted in pain as she tried to utter her last words. Pushing the thoughts away, the intern cupped the patient’s pockets in search for any proof of her identity. After a few moments of fumbling, she fished out the woman’s wallet from the backside of her jeans. Inside were a couple of banknotes, a driver’s license and a few receipts from 711. She looked back at the stiff in front of her. She raised her hands to shut the patient’s eyes before mumbling a quiet prayer. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you…” As the holy words slithered from her tongue, all she could see was the desperation in the woman’s face, how she begged as she handed her the slip of paper. The paper! How could I forget about the paper? After giving a solemn “Amen,” she drew from her pocket the small, scrunched up piece of paper. Written in faded blue ink was a couple of digits and what seems to be a name of a church. She’s heard it before. Any religious practitioner knows the church by name. Her mind wandered through the endless possibilities that could emerge from the messily written text between her fingers. By habit, she walked around the room in an anxious pace, debating whether or not she should dial the number. “Please…” She tried to push the thought away. “Please…” A tear ran down the side of her cheek. After a few minutes of pondering, she decided to put her foot down. She grabbed her phone from her pocket and with a deep breath, she punched in the digits. The phone rang. The phone rang a second time. Then, a deep voice answered. “Hello?”