Under the Knife(16)

“Oh. Um … around seven, maybe? After we finished dinner?” She paused. “Hey, Rita, something kind of weird happened to me—”

“Gotta run. Call you later. I promise.” She hung up without waiting for Darcy’s response.

So she’d definitely come to the hospital last night on her own. The question was, what had happened then?

She looked at her locker and thought of her fumbling attempts to open it.

No weakness.

She thought of the operating-room table …

… (naked I’d been naked) …

… and the big gaping hole in her memory …

… (I’d been NAKED) …

… and the pain and fuzziness in her head …

… (hungover but I couldn’t be because I DON’T DRINK ANYMORE) …

… and the blood dripping from her ear …

… (what was THAT all about?)

… none of which made any sense.

And she asked herself again: Could she really operate this morning?

That chief surgery resident she’d met, so many years ago: He would have operated. He puked in a sink, but he still ran that code.

“He ran that code,” she murmured.

But he really shouldn’t have, lovely Rita, her father’s voice answered.

She rubbed her face with both hands.

You can’t operate this morning, lovely Rita. God knows what you’d do if someone handed you a scalpel right now.

No, she didn’t know. And she didn’t want to find out.

She had to cancel it because it was the right thing to do.

To her surprise, she experienced a surge of relief. She’d expected shame: shame over her weakness at not sucking it up and getting the job done, despite feeling like crap. Instead, it was as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

There’s no weakness, lovely Rita, in doing the right thing by your patients.

No, she thought. There isn’t.

She picked up her cell and dialed the pre-op area, trying to think of what she was going to tell her patient.

“Good morning, Dr. Wu.”

It was a man’s voice.

Clear. Distinct. Close. To her left.

Rita was so surprised she dropped the phone before her call had connected, and knocked the water bottle off the bench. It spilled on the floor next to the phone.

What was a man doing in the woman’s locker room?

When she spun her head left, in the direction of the voice, she saw no one.

“Can you hear me, Dr. Wu?”

The voice was like marble. Smooth and cold, and so close it was as if he was speaking directly into her left ear. Maybe her injured ear was distorting her sense of direction, somehow inhibiting her hearing. She cupped her left hand behind her left ear, trying to get a sense of where he was.

“Can your hear me, Dr. Wu?”

“Yes,” she answered, swiveling her head from left to right, her hand positioned behind her left ear like a radar dish. “This is the ladies’ room, you know. You’re not supposed to be in here.”

There was something else about the voice, too, which unnerved her.

She’d heard it before.

“I know, Dr. Wu. That’s why I’m not in the ladies’ room.”

That’s weird. No matter what direction she turned, she always heard the man directly in her left ear, as if she were wearing headphones with a broken right speaker.

And how did this guy know her name, anyway? Another weird float in this morning’s parade of disturbing events.

“Look, perv, this isn’t a joke. I’m calling security.” She grabbed her car keys out of her locker, palmed them in her right hand, and wrapped her fingers around them, positioning the longest key so that its sharp tip protruded through her closed fist.

Thank you, YMCA women’s safety class.

Her headache and unhappy stomach forgotten beneath a wash of adrenaline, she walked the length of the room, tensed, searching the rows between the lockers, brandishing the key like a miniature spear.

Nothing.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Wu. I’m not a pervert.”

Where have I heard that voice before?

She crept into the adjacent bathroom. The row of sinks was silent and unattended. She bent over and checked the stalls. All empty.

She straightened up and put her hands on her hips, puzzled. She was alone.

Except for his voice.

“There’s no point in checking the toilets. Or anywhere else. I’m not in there. I’m also not interested in seeing you, or your female colleagues, in any state of undress. Although, as I understand it, you awoke in a rather awkward position this morning.”

Her stomach constricted into a tiny knot.

She dropped the key.

“What—do you mean?” Sweat erupted across her forehead and upper lip. She wiped it off with the back of her hand as she bent over, retrieved the key, and placed it in her pocket.

“Aren’t you wondering how you ended up on the operating table?”

How does he know about that?

“Look.” She struggled to keep her voice steady. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re, ah, playing. But you’re not supposed to be in here. And I’m getting security. Right now.”