Panic & Passion

Chapter 1 — The One Who Stopped Sandy Smith looked every inch the doctor—white coat, stethoscope, clipboard tucked against her side, as she moved down the ER corridor. “Doctor.” The word caught her before the hand did. Fingers shot out from a gurney, desperate and dirty, closing around her forearm with surprising strength. Sandy stopped and turned. The woman attached to the grip had matted gray hair and the kind of grime that settled into skin over days, not hours. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused. “Where’s your pain?” Sandy asked, gently easing her arm free while cupping the woman’s hand between both of hers. “Stomach,” the woman whispered. Sandy brushed sweaty bangs from the woman’s forehead and laid her hands back across her lap. “I’ll get the nurse.” “Thank you, Doc.” Doc. Close, but not quite. The title still hovered two months, and a mountain of debt. The ER hummed around her in its usual chaos: overhead pages, beeping monitors, voices layered with exhaustion and caffeine. Sandy slipped behind the counter, scanning the admissions list as a rolling cart squeaked past. A playful hip bump caught her off guard. “Hey,” Keeshon said, grinning. “Watch where you’re going.” “The woman on the gurney in the hall,” Sandy said, pointing. “She on this list?” “Yup. As soon as corral three clears.” “Good.” Keeshon studied her. “Aren’t you supposed to be at Annie’s birthday thing? Sapphire, right?” “I’m going,” Sandy said. “Just need my coat.” “And maybe a hairbrush,” he added. “Lip gloss. Look human.” “It’s a quick in-and-out,” Sandy said. “Ginger ale. Birthday toast. Sleep.” “That’s what they all say.” She took the long route to the faculty locker room, skirting outstretched hands and half- pleas she couldn’t answer tonight. That was the hardest part. Knowing when to keep walking. At her locker, she pulled on her coat and slung her bag over her shoulder. She smoothed her hair with her fingers and swiped on lip gloss. No mirror needed. Ready enough. Outside, the cold air cut cleanly through her scrubs, sharp and bracing. She exhaled, letting the noise of the ER fall away behind her. Sapphire was already loud when she stepped inside. Friday night after eight, the bar had come alive. Conversations roared over The Eagles’ Life in the Fast Lane, two massive TVs blaring Celtics and Bruins games. Sound bounced off dark wood and polished metal. Laughter and clinking glasses layered over the music. Beth Israel Hospital staff saved Sapphire for special occasions. And it was far too pricey for a med student’s regular haunt. A shimmer of silver and gold caught her eye. A balloon bouquet hovering at the far end of the bar. Her friends clustered beneath it, Annie in a plastic birthday crown, waving her over. “You made it!” Annie wrapped her in a hug. “For a little while,” Sandy said, smiling as she greeted familiar faces. Annie leaned in close, lips near Sandy’s ear. “He’s not here.” “Who?” Annie smirked. “Dr. Z. Dominic’s covering. Dr. Moreno went into labor.” “My god,” Sandy laughed. “How do residents even have time to make babies?” “Someday you’ll tell me,” Annie said, bumping her shoulder. A cake appeared, candles blazing. The birthday song swelled, phones lifted, screens glowed. It was the perfect cover for Sandy to slip away. The weight of her shift settled on her all at once. She hadn’t even taken off her coat. She angled toward the hallway by the restrooms, remembering the back exit smokers used. As she did, a balloon popped. Sharp. Sudden. A man easing out of the last banquette jerked toward the sound. For a split second, his gaze met hers, alert, assessing, unreadable. Something about it snagged her attention. Then he looked away and moved into the hallway ahead of her. Sandy exhaled, unsure why her pulse had jumped. The noise dulled as she entered the narrower corridor. The lighting dropped to thin strips along the walls. Ahead of her, the man staggered. Pinballing from one side to the other. Before his shoulder hit the back door exit bar, and he stumbled out into the alley. Sandy hesitated. Great. Probably drunk. Or worse. She glanced back. The front of the bar had turned into a dance floor, bodies blocking the exit. No clean way through. The back door opened.Cold air rushed in, damp with the scent of wet concrete and smoke. The alley stretched narrow and dark. At first, she didn’t see him. Then she did. He was slumped in the far corner, knees drawn up, coat bunched around him. His breaths came fast and shallow, chest fluttering like something trapped. Sandy’s stomach clenched. She knew panic when she saw it. “Hey,” she said softly, approaching. “Are you alright?” His hands fumbled at his necktie, fingers shaking violently. Sandy knelt beside him, the brick scraping cold against her leg. She guided his hands, loosening the knot. His skin was icy, clammy. She wrapped her hands around his, steady and warm. His pulse fluttered under her fingers, erratic but strong. “Are you cold?” she asked. “Let me help you back inside.” He lifted a hand, just enough to stop her. She eased down beside him anyway, shoulder against the brick, hoping proximity might calm him. His breathing brushed her cheek, hot and uneven. The metallic tang of blood cut through the damp concrete, edged with something sharper. Adrenaline. Fear. The back door opened. “You out here?” a man called softly. Eastern European accent, familiar from patients she’d treated. The man beside her froze. His hand came up, firm but careful, pressing over her mouth as voice called again. Sharper this time. “A?” The man beside her shrank into the wall, trying to vanish. Sandy felt the tension coil through his body, his elbow nudging her to go. The door hissed shut. Slowly, his hand fell away. His elbow pressed again, harder. “Let me take you to the hospital,” she whispered. “It’s only a couple blocks.” No answer. Another strong nudge. Sandy stood, back to the wall. She realized she still hadn’t seen his face. He kept it turned away. She started toward the street. The responsible thing would be to go back inside, tell someone a man needed help. Then she saw it. A large silhouette stood at the mouth of the alley, backlit by streetlights. Perfectly still. Watching the far corner where the man remained slumped. Her pulse jumped. The figure was gone as quickly as it appeared. Exhausted, Sandy kept walking. She didn’t look back until she reached the street. The man was still there, pressed into the brick wall rigid, as if bracing for something she couldn’t see. She turned away. She’d survived her shift. She didn’t know stopping was the beginning.