Chapter 9

Dr. Manning spent an idle week recovering from his wounds and the moment he felt well enough to work, he wasted no time in patrolling the hospital corridors again. His first day of work began in a hectic way when patients came pouring in, outnumbering the hospital’s faculty. Dr. Manning treated a child who had accidentally been doused in boiling water, creating a massive amount of second-degree burns on her skin. She came in, gasping for breath and crying her heart out and Dr. Manning walked with the paramedics to the emergency room.

“I need fluids in her immediately,” Dr. Manning told the nurses once the girl was in an emergency ward. To ease her pain, he injected her with painkillers. Then he had the nurses clamp an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose to make her breathing easier. She continued to scream and wail in pain, her voice muffled by the oxygen mask. Dr. Barrett, a doctor more specialized in treating burns, entered the ward to replace Dr. Manning. She thanked Manning and apologized for not being around. Apparently she had been treating another patient earlier on. Dr. Manning left the room to let her tend to the girl.

Almost immediately after he had exited the emergency ward, he was called for another emergency. In walked a construction worker, gripping his badly injured head, with blood flowing down his face. Dr. Manning walked with him and asked him what had happened.

“I took off my safety hat just for a second and a brick fell on me,” the worker replied.

“Okay, sir, I need you to sit down on the bed,” Manning instructed, pointing at the operating bed when they stepped into a vacant emergency room. “The first thing I need to do is stop the bleeding.”

The worker grimaced in pain as he sat down and took his hand off his wound. Dr. Manning quickly, but carefully, washed his hands and then took a look at his patient’s head.

“Is it bad, doctor?” the construction worker asked.

Nobody liked to hear bad news, so Manning chose his words carefully. “Nothing too serious, don’t worry. You’re going to need a few stitches though, but you won’t feel a thing because I’m going to put you on anaesthetic. Lie down, please.”

The patient lay down on the bed and Dr. Manning had the one nurse who had followed them in gently clean the blood away from the man’s face while he injected him with anaesthetic. As the worker became drowsy, Manning said, “When you wake up, mate, you’ll be as good as new.”

“Bobby!” a woman’s voice screeched through the house. “Get over here!”

Six-year-old Bobby walked timidly into the kitchen.

“Did you make this mess?” his mother demanded to know, pointing at a broken plate on the floor.

Bobby shook his head.

“Don’t you lie to me, you little runt!” his mother scolded, walking over to him. She grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to the stove. “You’re the only one who could’ve done it because your father ain’t around and your brother ain’t big enough to do it!” She held his hand over the fire on the stove and ignored his screams when the heat began to burn his hand.

Bobby struggled in his mother’s grip but she was much too strong from him. He cried and screamed until his father came storming in yelling, “Can’t a man come home to some peace and quiet?!”

His mother quickly shut off the fire and said, “Your boy here just cost us your good eating plate.”

Bobby’s father glanced at the plate and his face flushed red. He picked up the broken porcelain pieces and threw them at Bobby. The sharp-edged pieces hit Bobby squarely on the head, cutting his young, delicate skin. The pain from both forms of abuse brought tears to Bobby’s eyes and forced a whimper out of his throat. He felt warm blood dribble down the side of his head and it scared him. His mother shoved him aside and told him to take his snivelling to his room.

As Bobby crept out of the kitchen, he heard his parents grumble about how careless he was. They were not fighting, at least. They finally had something in common to agree upon.

By the end of the day, Dr. Manning was tired out and was developing a headache. He was more than thankful when Dr. Hudson decided it was time they headed home. In the car, both doctors were silent, too tired to make much conversation. Manning leaned back on the comfortable seat and struggled to keep his eyes open. Eventually, he gave in to the sleepiness and his heavy eyelids closed.

Then he dreamed.

The sky was dark and cloudy, threatening heavy rain or snow. He stood before his shack of a home located in the familiar disaster of a neighbourhood. He saw kids running around, smoking, stealing and fighting one another but they did not seem to notice him. He found himself walking into his home, into a crummy cemented room with little furniture and even less lighting. Once inside, he could hear voices yelling. In a daze, he walked to the kitchen and re-witnessed a horrifyingly gruesome murder.
The murderer looked up from his work and much to Manning’s horror, the face was not
of his father’s but of Cody’s.

“I’ve been waiting for you, big brother,” Cody said, his blue eyes glaring through his blood-splattered face.

Robert turned and ran to the front door, but when he set his hand on the knob, he discovered it was locked. When he looked behind him, he saw Cody running after him with the bloody chopper like a maniac. Robert ducked, allowing the chopper to miss him by a few inches. He squeezed past Cody and ran towards the next room. Before he could reach the room, however, he slipped, stumbled and fell onto some sticky, yet slippery substance. He opened his eyes to find himself lying in a puddle of blood. His moment of delay gave Cody enough time to step up to him and hold his neck down with a strong arm.

Robert choked at the sudden lack of oxygen entering his lungs. Cody leaned over and held the blade of the chopper over Robert’s face.

“Okay, you Australian freak,” he muttered. “Let’s see how loud you can scream.”

And he lifted the chopper.