Murder in the Emergency Room

When I drew my last breath on that icy street corner, the infected sores on my body were still oozing. People crossed the road to avoid me, whispering that I was cursed, that anyone who came near would suffer.

After a contaminated needle pricked me in the ER, not a single colleague stepped in to help. I was left to rot. It all traced back to Dylan. Because of him, the Chief took away my surgical scrubs and handed me a mop, demoting me to biohazard waste duty.

"Carter can no longer practice medicine," Dylan announced to the entire floor the next day. "If he stays, he'll bring down the hospital with malpractice lawsuits." Everyone accepted his words as trutheveryone but me.

Right after we arrived for a team retreat, news broke that a charter bus had lost its brakes and plunged off a bridge. We had switched vehicles at the last minute because Dylan had screamed a warning that boarding that bus would mean certain death.

Soon, more of his "prophecies" came true. A senior doctor was stabbed by a grieving relative. An elderly patient died overnight, exactly as Dylan had foretold. The Chief had ignored Dylan's warning that night, fighting to save the old man. Dylan simply pointed at the bleeding patient in trauma and stated calmly that he would be dead within twenty-four hours.

Back then, the staff just laughed. No one took the new intern seriously when he claimed he could see people's death countdowns.

Then I opened my eyes.

I was back in the trauma bay, on the very day Dylan first said he could see the reaper's clock.

The bitter resentment of my miserable death burned hot in my chest.

"Hurry! Patient's vitals are bottoming out!"

A chorus of frantic voices snapped me out of my daze. An elderly mechanic, whose leg had been horribly crushed in a piece of heavy machinery, was being wheeled into the resuscitation room.

"Prep for immediate surgery!"

Chief Harris seamlessly snapped on his gloves, barking orders with practiced precision.

The chaotic tension of the ER and the sight of the old man going into shock forced me to blink hard.

What was happening? Why was I here? Wasn't I dead?

I looked down at my gloved hands, a violent tremor wracking my body.

I had actually been reborn.

"Don't bother saving him, Chief. That old guy is checking out today regardless."

Before I could even process the miracle of my second chance, a cold, indifferent voice echoed through the room.

Dylan, our newest intern, stood in the corner with his arms crossed. It was the exact same script, delivered with the exact same arrogant smirk.

Chief Harris furrowed his brow, shooting the kid a lethal glare.

"Is that how a doctor speaks? Dylan, I do not care what kind of psychic parlor tricks you think you have. This patient still has a pulse, and we do not give up!"

Clearly, the rumors of Dylan's supposed "death countdown" vision had already reached the Chief's ears.

With the Chief setting the tone, the rest of the medical staff chimed in with their own disgust.

"Seriously. You just got out of med school and you are peddling this voodoo garbage? We are medical professionals!"

"How are you ever going to make it in this field? We rely on evidence-based medicine, not crystal balls!"

Dylan proudly lifted his chin, his tone dripping with absolute certainty.

"Suit yourselves. Do not say I didn't warn you when it all turns out to be a waste of time."

"Enough! Prep the OR now!" the Chief snapped, cutting off the intern's nonsense.

At that moment, Christina snapped on her sterile gloves and stepped forward.

"Chief, why don't we let Ben take the lead on this? He specializes in lower extremity amputations. He literally wrote his thesis on it."

The Chief nodded in agreement. I glanced over at Ben, who was already scrubbing in, and a chilling memory flooded my mind.

In my previous life, Ben performed this exact surgery. The old man died anyway. The family blamed Ben, jumping him in the parking lot and slashing his hands. His surgical career was permanently destroyed, leaving his family destitute.

I was given a second chance for a reason. I couldn't let history repeat itself.

"Chief!" I spoke up, stepping into the light. "Let me take the lead on this. I covered this extensively during my fellowship, and I have successfully led three similar procedures this year. I've got this."

Instantly, every eye in the room shifted to me.

Christina furrowed her brow, glancing nervously at the fading patient.

"Carter, stop messing around! You do not have the seniority for a procedure this delicate!"

Christina was my girlfriend. With her leading the charge against me, the rest of the room naturally doubted my abilities too.

Chief Harris and Ben both tried to talk me down, reminding me that a man's life wasn't a training exercise.

But I had stood right beside Ben as his assistant in my past life. I knew exactly which ruptured artery was going to cause the fatal complication. Right now, there was absolutely no one in this hospital more equipped to handle this surgery than me.

Dylan looked me up and down, letting out a mocking scoff.

"Doesn't matter who holds the scalpel. He isn't living past midnight."

I ignored his smug face, pulling rank and addressing him directly.

"Is this why you went to medical school? To stand in the corner and watch people die? Dylan, with an attitude like that, you will never be a real doctor."

A flash of genuine anger crossed Dylan's face, but he quickly masked it.

After putting the intern in his place, I stood my ground. Chief Harris studied my face for a long, heavy moment before finally relenting.

"Alright, Carter. Do everything you can."

With the Chief's blessing, the rest of the team had no choice but to fall in line.

Once we got into the procedure, however, something felt off.

The catastrophic vascular rupture that killed the man in my past life simply never happened. The amputation went incredibly smoothly, and within hours, his vitals had stabilized perfectly.

Based on every medical metric available to us, the old man was completely out of the woods.

I fell deep into thought, the reality of my past life's outcome feeling more bizarre by the minute.

When we emerged from the grueling surgery, word of our success had already spread. A few nurses openly mocked Dylan in the breakroom.

"Oh, look out, here comes the grim reaper! Hey kid, maybe watch a little less sci-fi and read a few more textbooks."

Dylan clenched his fists, his face tight and pale. He didn't say a word, just packed his bag and clocked out early.

The shift ended peacefully, and I finally let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Christina was working the night shift, so I felt comfortable heading home to sleep.

The next morning, I walked into the department to find my colleagues staring at me with absolute horror.

"Carter, it's a disaster. That old man with the amputation died last night!"

"What?! How is that even possible!"

I grabbed my coworker by the shoulders, my mind reeling.

"We ran every post-op check! He was perfectly stable when we closed him up. How did he die?"

My colleague was completely ashen. He took a shaky breath before answering.

"They are saying it was a sudden, massive post-op infection. By the time Dr. Christina got to his room, he was barely breathing. The coroner picked up the body at four in the morning. He is probably already cremated by now."

My grip on his shoulders loosened. All the strength drained from my legs.

What was going on? Why did he still die?

Dylan stepped out of the shadows, his voice dripping with venomous sarcasm.

"You told me I would never be a good doctor, Carter. You were dead wrong. I am going to be a brilliant doctor precisely because I know exactly who can be saved and who is already a lost cause."

His gloating made my blood boil. I pulled out my phone and dialed Christina's number immediately.

"What happened to that old man last night? Why was his body processed so incredibly fast? The Chief and I didn't even get to review the chart!"

Christina's tone was eerily smooth, almost detached.

"Carter, you need to calm down. You guys haven't seen what Dylan can do. I get why you're skeptical, but I believe him. He said the guy wouldn't make it, and look what happened. The infection took him."

I felt a vein throb in my forehead.

"You actually buy into this psychic garbage? Christina, you went to an Ivy League med school! Are you seriously throwing your entire medical education out the window for some parlor trick?"

Before I could finish, a chaotic uproar erupted from the waiting room.

"You owe us an explanation right now! My father was perfectly fine yesterday! How the hell does he just drop dead in the middle of the night!"

"Is this hospital even licensed? You butchered my father!"

The old man's family had arrived, and they were out for blood.

A cold spike of terror hit my chest. Remembering the flashing steel of the knife from my past life, I instinctively took a few steps back.

I looked down at my phone. Christina had already hung up on me.

But to my utter shock, the violent brawl never materialized. The family was loud and profane, cursing our incompetence, but nobody pulled a weapon. Nobody swung a fist.

They had clearly coordinated their story beforehand. They only wanted one thing, a massive cash settlement from the hospital.

The crisis was resolved with suspicious ease, leaving me entirely perplexed.

No one in the department blamed me. The surgery's success was thoroughly documented. The death was completely out of my hands, chalked up to terrible luck and a freak infection.

The family had only come to collect a check.

With the terrifying ordeal officially swept under the rug, Chief Harris let out a massive sigh of relief. He called a quick meeting.

"We have powered through some brutal surgical rotations these past two months. Everyone is exhausted. I am requesting a budget from the board to take our entire department on a weekend camping retreat. What do you say?"

The room instantly lit up. Death was a daily reality in the ER. While we respected life and fought for it, we couldn't let every tragedy drag us into depression.

"I looked up two different charter bus companies for the trip. Which one do you guys prefer?"

The Chief held up his phone, showing us the options.

I leaned in and felt a cold sweat break out on my neck. It was the exact same two buses from my past life. One blue, one green.

I instinctively shot a glance at Dylan. He looked completely unbothered.

In my previous life, we let the Chief choose. He picked the blue bus. Dylan instantly screamed that the blue bus would crash. Spooked, we switched to the green bus. And sure enough, the blue bus ended up at the bottom of a ravine.

My mind raced. This time, I spoke up first, intentionally choosing the green one.

"Let's go with the green one, Chief. It looks like it has a lot more legroom."

Most of the staff favored the blue one for its larger panoramic windows, but since I voiced a preference, nobody really cared enough to argue.

"Green it is, then," the Chief finalized.

The second the word left his mouth, Dylan's head snapped up. His face twisted into a mask of pure, exaggerated horror.

"Do not get on the green bus! We will all die!"

His sudden scream made half the room jump out of their skin.

Given how eerily accurate he had been about the old man just yesterday, seeing him look this genuinely terrified struck a nerve with several nurses.

But a dark suspicion was already blooming in my mind. Last time, the Chief picked blue, and Dylan said blue was doomed. This time, I bypassed his trap and picked green, and now suddenly the green one was a death trap.

Before I could call him out, Chief Harris shut him down.

"Dylan, we talked about this yesterday! We are medical professionals. We do not entertain superstition!"

The Chief's firm reprimand helped ground the room. The others quickly chimed in.

"Yeah, Dylan. You are new, so maybe you don't get it. Post-op infections like that old man's are rare, but they happen. It's science, not fate."

"The Chief is booking top-tier corporate transit companies. Nothing is going to happen. Just relax."

Some tried to reassure him, while others were simply annoyed by his constant doom-mongering.

"Do you ever stop with this creepy act? We are trying to plan a nice weekend away, and you are acting like a horror movie villain. Drop it."

One particularly blunt resident took a direct shot at Dylan's competence.

"If you have enough free time to curse your coworkers, maybe you should hit the textbooks. You hovered around the OR all day yesterday and couldn't even hand over a clamp correctly."

Seeing the entire room united against him, Dylan sneered defensively.

"Fine! Since you all worship Carter so much, take his stupid green bus! I don't care if you live or die. I try to save your lives, and you treat me like garbage!"

His dramatic outburst cast an awkward silence over the room.

When it came down to a matter of life and death, even a completely irrational warning was enough to make people hesitate. Switching to the blue bus was effortless, and it had bigger windows anyway.

Sensing the tension, Christina stepped in with her perfect diplomatic smile.

"Okay, let's everyone take a breath. Honestly, why don't we just book the blue one? If there is even a fraction of a chance the green one is unsafe, why risk it? Let's just consider it good luck. It's practically the same price anyway."

She handed them the perfect out. The staff eagerly nodded, agreeing to switch to the blue bus.

I stared at Christina, my eyes burning with a cold, analytical scrutiny.

Feeling my gaze, Christina's eyes darted away defensively before she forced a sweet, reassuring smile, acting as if she were just trying to smooth over the argument we had on the phone earlier.

With Christina leading the pivot, the rest of the room finalized the blue bus. I crossed my arms and stood my ground.

"If none of you are taking it, then I will pay for the green bus myself. I want to see exactly how this thing is supposed to kill me. I do not believe in ghost stories."

"Carter! Stop being so stubborn!" Christina frowned, looking deeply concerned. "I know you are still mad at me about the patient protocols last night, but this is not the time to throw a tantrum."

The other doctors quickly piled on.

"Yeah, man. Just ride with us. What if something actually happens?"

But my mind was made up. My voice was pure ice.

"I appreciate the concern. But I am riding that green bus."

Seeing that I was entirely immune to his manipulation, Dylan's face darkened into a nasty scowl.

"Fine, Carter. If you want to play tough guy, I will start making arrangements to collect your corpse."

My temples throbbed with white-hot rage. I pointed directly at the door.

"You do not need to worry about my corpse. Have you rounded on your patients today? Have you updated yesterday's charts? You have zero medical skills and spend all day wishing death on your superiors. Get back to work!"

Dylan gritted his teeth, his face flushed with humiliation, and stormed out of the room. The hatred in his eyes when he glared at me at the end of the shift was unmistakable.

I didn't care. I had zero interest in making peace with a psychopath.

The next morning, I walked straight to the parking lot and stood beside the massive green charter bus. A group of my colleagues stood by the blue bus across the lot, watching me with nervous, pitying expressions. I gave them a casual wave.

"Ready to hit the road, Mr. Carter?" the driver asked cheerfully, jingling his keys.

"Hold on a second," I stopped him. "When was the last time this rig was thoroughly inspected? The mountain roads are steep today. I want a full mechanical check before we roll."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that, sir. We inspect the fleet after every run. I checked her out myself yesterday afternoon."

The driver waved off my concern, clearly annoyed by the delay.

But I did not budge.

"Check it again. Under the chassis. Right now, or I cancel the booking and demand a refund."

Muttering under his breath about paranoid city folks, the driver grabbed a flashlight and slid under the front axle.

"Man, I'm telling you, I know my own truck, this is a waste of... Holy shit!"

Hearing his panicked shout, I dropped my bag and ducked under the bus.

When I saw what he was holding, my entire body began to shake. The sheer, blinding fury almost tore its way out of my chest.

Meanwhile, up at the scenic mountain campground, my colleagues were descending into a panic.

"Chief, it's going straight to voicemail!"

"He isn't answering texts either. Chief, do you think something actually happened to Carter on that road?"

Chief Harris paced near the picnic tables, his brow deeply furrowed. He looked over at Christina.

"Christina, can you reach him?"

Christina paused, a perfect look of distressed girlfriend painting her face.

"I can't get through either. Carter is just too damn stubborn! He never listens to anyone."

Dylan let out a sharp, arrogant laugh.

"You guys can stop calling. You'll probably see the news report on your feeds in an hour. Just keep refreshing Twitter."

That was a bridge too far for one of the senior nurses.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Carter is strict, but he is a brilliant surgeon who looks out for us! Why are you sitting there actively praying for him to be dead?!"

Dylan instantly shrank back, plastering on a pathetic, victimized expression. Christina immediately stepped between them.

"Hey, back off! This isn't Dylan's fault. Carter made his own choices. If he had just listened to us instead of letting his ego drive, we wouldn't be standing here worried sick!"

Watching her defend him with such righteous indignation, anyone would think she and Dylan were the couple.

I stood quietly behind a cluster of pine trees, taking in the entire sickening performance. A cold laugh escaped my lips.

"Alright, that is enough!" the Chief bellowed. "Our priority is finding Carter! Stop bickering!"

Thanks to the Chief, a full-blown screaming match was narrowly avoided.

Dylan, however, remained incredibly smug.

"Maybe your golden boy is already wrapped around a tree! Why are you all still defending a dead man?"

"Who's dead?"

I stepped out from behind the tree line, cutting him off mid-sentence.

"Carter!"

The relief that washed over the crowd was palpable.

Dylan's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. Pure, unadulterated panic flashed across his face before he forced it into a mask of exaggerated confusion.

"Y-your death countdown! It's gone!"

I walked right up to him, a mocking smile on my lips.

"Yeah. I guess I beat the grim reaper."

As I spoke, I tossed the object in my hand right at his feet.