The Veil Of Vows

I heard the first shriek before the ambulance doors slammed open. "She's crashing!" Motion erupted in the emergency room. Nurses wheeled a bloodied and seaweed-streaked gurney to the doorway. He was spread out over it, his face ghostly pale below a wild mass of black curls. With each bump of the stretcher, more red blood flowed over the bandages that were around his waist. He was covered with the strong smell of salt. Nets for fishing. Diesel. The sea. "The boat slammed against the cliffs," one of the paramedics said, pushing the stretcher toward Trauma Room Two. Huge abdominal trauma. Blood pressure is lowering. "We've already lost nearly two liters." Even before the gurney came to a halt, I had put on a pair of gloves. "I'm going to take him." Before anyone recognized the words, the space complied. I inquired, "Name?" No form of identification. "Pulse?" "Thin." "Stress?" "40 over 60." I barely glanced at the screen. "We're losing him." My attention was drawn to every eye. There was no sense of alarm. Just anticipation. "Prepare OR Three." The nurses immediately dispersed. The patient's drenched clothing was sliced away by someone. Others hung new O-negative blood units. Over his mask, the anesthesiologist caught my glance. "Do you think he'll succeed?" "I don't suppose." I grabbed the surgical blade. "I run." ... Instinct took over from the passage of time. The operating room turned into its own universe, whose only benchmarks were the regular drumming of machines that wouldn't give up and heartbeats. "Suction." Before I had finished talking, a nurse had placed it in my hand. "Grasp it." I placed metal in my palm. "Laceration of the liver," I muttered. My helper said, "Grade four." "He's coding!" Screamed the monitor. All other things vanished. "Compressions of the chest." "No." Towards me, every head moved quickly. "Maintain the transfusion." "However, -" "He's still alive." Stillness. Then movement. Quick. accurate. Regulated. Under layers of tissue and blood, I discovered the broken artery. "Over here." I tightened it. The bleeding decreased. Again, a stitch. Another. Another example. The monitor was unsure. One lengthy second. And then... Beep. Beep. Beep. A pulse. Fragile. Obstinate, though. Everyone in the room let out a breath. The anesthesiologist giggled to himself. "I'll be darned." I responded without looking up, "He will if we commemorate too soon." "Let's wrap up." After an hour, I removed my gloves and watched as nurses wheeled the young fisherman towards intensive care through the operating room window. He would survive. For the majority of individuals, that was sufficient. For myself... It must have happened. "Another miracle from Dr. Rossi." I looked up to see Nurse Bianca leaning on the nurses' station, two paper cups of coffee in her hands. "You know," she grinned, "you're making the rest of us appear terrible." "All of us are being employed by me." She giggled. "Therefore unassuming." "I make an effort." She offered me a cup of coffee. My hands were warmed by the heat. Outside, the Mediterranean sparkled under the late afternoon sun, gilding the windows. Only little beachfront towns could be as stunning as Porto Azzurro in such an easygoing way. Children pursued gulls over the port. Card games were a point of contention among elderly fishermen. Flowers and old stone lined the tight lanes where tourists walked. It was serene. Precisely the kind of location where someone might vanish. "Is that Dr. Rossi?" I flipped. Her grandson stood next to her; I had performed surgery on her six months prior. She squeezed my hand with astonishing strength and murmured, "You gave me another birthday." "Thank you very much." I grinned without difficulty. "You took care of the hardest portion." "No." She had sparkling eyes. "You remained." She spoke the words with greater force than she had intended. I stayed. Only if she knew how much labor it involved. Bianca tilted her head after she left. "You've been here three years, you realize." "I do." "And nobody knows anything about you." I kept myself occupied by arranging the patient files. "Little may be learned." "No spouse?" "No." "Boyfriend?" I gave a pleasant grin. "No." "Family?" My hand's file stopped moving. They're far away. Bianca appeared to notice the invisible boundary she had hit. One time she gave a nod. "Well... Porto Azzurro will survive without you whenever you finally decide to take a vacation." "I don't believe it." Again, she laughed. "I was serious." But I was already leaving. Some issues were better left alone. Since Dr. Elena Rossi didn't have any relatives. No history. No ghosts. The only one was Elena DeLuca. Three years had passed since Elena DeLuca's demise. Cliffhanger at the end: I caught my reflection in the glass as I exited the hospital and entered the dwindling light of the afternoon. I didn't see Dr. Elena Rossi for a split second. I saw the woman wearing an engagement ring from a man called Rafael Esposito. I averted my gaze before the memory could remain. The past was starting to awaken somewhere far beyond this tranquil community. It simply hadn't gotten to me yet. Following nearly sixteen hours on the job, Elena departs the hospital. As she strolls through Porto Azzurro's narrow lanes, the balmy sea air welcomes her. Everyone refers to her as Dr. Elena Rossi. The baker waves. Since Elena previously saved his wife's life, an old florist gives her a little bunch of lavender and declines payment. She appears to belong here. Another reality is revealed by subtle behaviors. Instead of glancing directly behind her, she pauses before each intersection and looks at the reflections in the store windows. Despite having no justification to, she alters her path home two times. She remembers the number plate of an unfamiliar vehicle parked close to the port before moving on. These aren't oddities. They're still alive. She arrives at her apartment that faces the Mediterranean Sea. The flat is pristine. There's a bookshelf that's dedicated to medical journals. Other ones are filled with trauma manuals for emergencies. Only one watercolor picture of the ocean adorns the walls; there are no other personal accents. She exhales after locking three different deadbolts. Only then does she take off the mask she has worn all day. With trained ease, she inspects the contents of a secret compartment under her wardrobe after opening it. Several passports with different names. Bundled euros in waterproof bags. A small handgun. A satellite phone. She didn't move anything, and it's all still there. Before opening a smaller drawer that is located close by, she first closes the compartment. There is a velvet bag inside. Her fingertips pause. She's already aware of what's within. The engagement ring captures the dying sunlight. She never puts it on. She's never gotten rid of it. She merely gazes for a few extended moments. She murmurs, "I should have sold you years ago." Instead, she closes the drawer tightly after placing it back inside. That night, sleep arrives in shards. She has dreams that are fractured. A vineyard fills with warm laughing. With hers were strong hands. A man swearing, "I will always choose you, no matter what happens." In the dream, she grins. Then everything changes. Shooting. White roses dripping with blood. A silver serpent embossed on a black crest. Before her stood Rafael. As someone else, not the guy she liked. As Rafael Esposito. The successor to one of Sicily's most notorious mafia families. He moves his lips. She is unable to hear the terms. With a loud gasp, she awakens. Moonlight flows across her bedroom. Her heartbeat beats against her ribs. Three years have passed... Her name is still known by the nightmare. Golden sunshine greets the start of the day. Elena stops at her usual coffee before starting another shift. She is given a nice welcome by the owner. "Is it typical, doctor?" "Please." She sits next to the window with the morning newspaper and an espresso. Business. Politics. Travel. She mindlessly turns to the next page. It then becomes frozen. The front page is dominated by a picture. Esposito Rafael. Elder. Sharper. Authority has replaced the heat she recalls. The headline below the image states: RAFAEL ESPOSITO NAMED ACTING HEAD OF THE ESPOSITO FAMILY BECAUSE DON GIOVANNI'S HEALTH IS GETTING WORSE Her hand allows the cup to slide a little. The saucer is covered in ripples of coffee. Three years vanish. Before she recalls his falsehoods, she remembers his smile. "Congratulations," she whispers so softly that she can barely hear it herself. Her eyes sting. She abruptly gets up and folds the newspaper. She is unable to gaze at him for a second longer. Behind the tinted windows of a parked car across the street, a guy is lowering a professional camera. He zooms in on the lady exiting the cafe. Tap. Another image. Snap. He thoughtfully examines the photographs. After that, he transmits one via an encrypted program. His phone buzzes in less than a minute. One notice is seen. Verify her identity. Elena vanishes into the morning crowd as the photographer looks on. Without even being aware... The woman who disappeared three years ago has reappeared.