Death Gave Me a Fool's Life

The television in the hospital lobby was talking about Dr. Freya Vaughn again. "...Dr. Freya Vaughn has once again declined all interview requests following today's eleven-hour surgery. The patient, who had previously been rejected by three hospitals, is now reported to be in stable condition. Medical experts have called the procedure one of the most remarkable cases in recent years..." A young intern paused while sorting through admission files, her attention drifting toward the screen. "It's her again." Across the desk, an older nurse continued filling out a patient's chart. "Mhm." "I don't think I've gone a week without seeing her on the news." "You probably haven't." The intern sighed. "My parents still think I chose this hospital because it has the best residency program." The older nurse smiled. "They'd be wrong?" She laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. "...Maybe." Her eyes returned to the television. "I just want to see her in person once." The older nurse suddenly reached for the remote and lowered the volume. "Hey..." "Who knows? You might get your chance." Before the intern could ask what she meant, the automatic doors slid open. A woman in a white coat stepped into the lobby with unhurried strides, a file tucked beneath one arm. Her long black hair was tied neatly behind her, revealing a pair of cold eyes that seemed indifferent to everything. "Good afternoon, Dr. Vaughn". She acknowledged the greeting with a slight nod as she walked past. The intern couldn't help but stare after her. "That's her?" "Mm." "She's... prettier in person." The nurse laughed softly. "That's what you noticed?" The intern immediately looked away her cheeks warming with embarrassment "No. I mean... obviously not." The older nurse shook her head, amused. Freya was already several steps away, unaware of the conversation happening behind her. She had barely reached the end of the lobby when a nurse hurried toward her with a file. "Dr. Vaughn." "The emergency department just called. Twenty-six-year-old male. Traffic collision. Massive internal bleeding. His blood pressure is dropping, and the surgical team is waiting." She opened the file, scanning the details quickly. A few seconds later, she closed it. "Let's go." The two disappeared down the corridor. The intern watched until she was gone. "Does she really never do interviews?" The older nurse returned to her chart. "I've worked here for 4 years." "And?" "I've never seen her accept one.” “...” Hours later, Freya finally stepped out of the emergency department. The man who had arrived with a life-threatening condition was now stable. Freya didn't stick around to hear the congratulations. She never did. It was already late by the time Freya got home. As soon as she opened the door, a white cat walked out of the hallway. "You're still awake?" The cat stared at her accusingly She sighed. "I know. I'm late again" He turned away as if he hadn't been waiting for her at all. A faint smile appeared on her face. "You're very dramatic." He ignored her and walked toward his bowl. Freya followed him into the kitchen, loosening her coat. "You know, most cats would be happy to see their owner." The cat looked back at her indignantly. She almost laughed "Right. You're not most cats." She crouched beside him, gently stroking his fur. The cat answered with a low, satisfied purr, his expression still carrying that same proud look. And as usual this was the easiest conversation she'd had all day. *** Later that night, Freya took her usual drive. She did it often. No destination. No phone calls. Just a rare moment of quiet. Rain began hammering against the windshield, turning the streetlights into blurry streaks of gold. Then she saw it. A truck was speeding toward her from a distance. Freya pressed the brakes. Nothing. Her brows furrowed slightly as she pressed it again. Still nothing. Her brakes had failed. Her grip tightened around the steering wheel. She serviced her car regularly. This wasn't a mechanical failure. Someone had done this. The truck drew closer, its headlights cutting through the rain. Freya stared at it calmly, even as her mind worked through every possibility. Whoever planned this was aware of her schedule. She noticed, rather unfortunately, that it was an ugly truck. The kind that looked like it had spent years being rejected by a scrapyard. A strange thing to notice at a time like this. But if this was going to be her last sight, she would have preferred something less unpleasant. Freya sighed. "What an inconvenient way to die." The next moment, the sound of twisting metal and shattered glass filled the night. Then everything went dark. ——— “Serena , Serena are you awake?” A shrill voice pulled at her consciousness “Omg.. I was so scared”, she said before bursting into tears. Freya groggily opened her eyes, blinking rapidly against the harsh light , the familiar smell of antiseptic filled the air —a hospital. Did she somehow survive the crash? Her mind leaned into that possibility ,Judging by the time, location, and extreme weather conditions, it would be too late before she was rescued. Even Freya wasn't sure she could save herself, did a new surgeon… SERENAAA! the loud voice shrieked again, pulling her from her thoughts “what is wrong with you? where does it hurt?” Freya finally glanced at the owner of the voice The words who are you? rested on the tip of her tongue but before she could speak, a sharp blinding pain suddenly exploded through her skull, she gasped, clutching her head as unfamiliar memories crashed into her mind. A little girl laughing, birthday candles, movie sets, flashing cameras , flowers, arguments, overlapping voice . "My little princess." They weren't her memories yet they poured into her mind as though they had always belonged there. "Serena!" The woman shot to her feet. "What's wrong?" Her voice blurred out as the pain only intensified, more memories, more faces, more of a life she had never lived. Then one name surfaced above the rest. Serena Hart. Freya's eyelids were heavy as she gave in and succumbed to the darkness.