(Content Note: Mediphobes, nurses, and doctors run away.)
I never meant to get that new girl killed. I only wanted to get her fired.
Some people called her the best nurse in surgery, even though I know damn well that’s me. I found her insanely irritating. Constant talking, too upbeat, telling the patients not to worry, other drivel. So I started a rumor she was stealing from the med locker. She was gone in two weeks.
When they fired her, she left crying. They think that’s why she stumbled into that ambulance. The first person on the scene howled and howled when she saw her. The fat girl had been pulled under the wheels, her head crushed. Messy.
I don’t feel guilty, but sometimes I’m distracted. When I hear sirens, I hear that howling. Last week, I thought I saw her outside an OR, cleaning up the bloody towels.
It doesn’t help that my aunt reads Tarot, and uses cards with fairies on them. She gave me a reading yesterday, and a card labeled Banshee turned up.
“That means someone behind the scenes is trying to screw you over,” she said.
I didn’t tell her I’d already been the behind the scenes someone.
“It can also be a death omen, but rarely,” she added. I looked away.
They call this a minor procedure, not to worry. And I’m fine with it, my insurance is even covering. That is until I see her, standing at my head, just as they’ve started the anesthesia.
“Count backwards from ten,” she says.