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Description
Stacy, twenty-two, had been transferred to Anomia Heights Hospital from Lee Memorial Hospital in the spring of '06 to continue her internship to become a registered, licensed medical woker. She was put under the ward of a thirty year old nurse by the name of Amy. The two got along as well as they could, despite Stacy's outgoing personality clashing with Amy's type-A, by the books mannerisms on an almost daily basis. The daily routine, however, was pleasant, even though Stacy found herself doing mostly clerical work and coffee runs for Amy, who was constantly at a workstation putting in patient information, attending to overnight guests, and the like. Stacy once asked if she could attend to an overnight patient, and Amy said, "Yeah, as soon as I'm sure you won't accidentally kill them." Stacy hadn't been sure what she'd done to indicate irresponsibility like that.

Before long, the two were transferred to work in the ENT/Emergency Room Department under a friendly, black doctor by the named of Harold Whitehead. Stacy was finally given the oppurtunity to do some hands on work after Dr. Whitehead saw how well she did her other work. She was thrilled, much to Amy's chagrin.

While Stacy was attending to an overnight patient on one of her late nights, she saw that Dr. Whitehead's door was unlocked. Knowing he'd left hours ago, she went to lock it, only to find that the doctor was still in his office! He was on the phone, and sounded very strained. She looked behind her; Amy was working away at her station back at the reception desk around the corner. Unable to resist, she listened, wondering what was wrong.

"I know...I know, listen, I can get you the morphine...when? Carl, I don't know. The way this hospital is, it could be months...What do you mean you can't wait that long? You'll wait as long as it takes! This isn't your decision, and I'm sorry your daughter's in pain, but I have to protect my own interests as well. If they caught me, I could have my license revoked, and then you would have nothing. So you wait--don't take that tone with me, I've done as much as I can for you! As long as we've been friends I thought you'd understand the position I'm in...no, that's ridiculous. Rebecca is not going to die, and I said I'll get you the drugs as soon as I can. I realize she's in pain--yes, goddamn it, I can hear her crying! No, I care about her! Don't ever suggest such a thing after all I've done for you! I realize your situation is...no, I'm sorry, Carl. I can't talk to you when you're like this. No, no you call me back when you can be civil. Get her some Advil and a sleep aid, I'll be over in an hour. No, no. Good bye." The phone slammed down hard that it made her flinch. Stacy had no idea what to make of what she'd just heard. She sat back against the wall and ran a hand through her red hair. What had she just heard? What was Dr. Whitehead doing? She heard him get from his chair inside, and she quickly turned to continue on her way...

...only to run into Amy. She yelped in surprise, but Amy just stared daggers into her. "What the hell were you doing?"

"I was going to get--for--" Stacy started, pointing in the direction of the medicinal wing.

Amy's expression grew angrier. "You were standing there staring into Dr. Whitehead's office! I'll be sure to tell him first thing in the morning that you were neglectng your duties."

"No! His door, it was unlocked--" Stacy tried again.

"Keep your excuses...you know what? I don't care." Amy said, putting her hands up. "I don't care. I won't say anything, I'm too tired to put up with this. You just go ahead doing what you were doing. But if I catch you doing it again..." She didn't finish, she just turned on her heel and stalked back to her workstation. Stacy ran her hand through her hair again, looking back at the office. She then decided that it was best to just go on with what she was doing. So she did.

Several months passed, and Stacy had almost completely forgotten about that night. Everyday Dr. Whitehead would come past their station on the way to his office, smile at her like he did everyday, and say, "Why, good morning Stacy. You're looking great as usual." She would thank him, and smile. And everytime she would recall that night, she would think about his smile. No, nothing had been wrong. Just a high pressure late night with a belligerent patient. Even Amy's countenance had improved markedly since then, and everything was great.

Then one day that all changed and like any other day at the hospital, it started without any indication of what emergency might rise.

Stacy and Amy had gotten their an hour before the doctor, as usual, and had set on preparing the information for the day. Fifteen minutes later, a doctor in a white coat came out from the elevator at the far end of the hall. At least, Stacy thought it was a doctor, even though she'd never seen him before. But they frequently had transfers, and this was simply the latest. He was tall, and had short dark hair. His expression was amicable, so Stacy smiled at him.

"Good morning, doctor..." she began, looking his nametag. He had none. "Uh..."

"Carl. Carl Rover, Miss Stacy." he said, smiling, leaning over the desk and looking at her. He looked over his shoulder down down the hall at the big, "EMERGENCY ROOM" sign, and looked back at her. "Yes, I was hoping that you tell me where I can find Dr. Whitehead?"

Carl...Carl...where had she heard that name before? "Dr. Whitehead's not here yet, sir, he'll be here in about an hour."

He nodded, still smiling. "Oh, good. Good. Very good, it means I was right."

She kept smiling, trying to keep a confused look off of her face. "Right about what, doctor?"

In a frightening instant, his smile vanished. His hand went into his white jacket. "Means I'll have time to get ready." Stacy's smile liquefied into a look of sheer horror as he pulled a silenced pistol out of his coat and placed it against her forehead with one, quick, smooth motion.

"Uh--! Uh--!" she choked back a scream. Hot tears filled her eyes as she bit back her panic. Her hands instantly went up, she instinctively stepped back. She heard footsteps approaching from behind...it was Amy coming back from the file room. The man kept the gun against Stacy's forehead, but look past her. The footsteps stopped, and Stacy heard Amy exclaim, "What the fuck--!"

"Be quiet." the man said calmly. "Or I'll shoot her, and you. Don't make me do it, my fight's not with you, and I have no intention of hurting either of you. But I will not hesitate to put one through you if you try to resist." He kept the gun trained on Stacy's forehead as he climbed the desk, and jump over to their side. His expression was blank, but there was a mad fire in his eyes. It scared her. He pushed all of the chairs out of the way, clearing the tiled floor. "Now, you," he said, motioning to Amy with the gun, "get over here and lie flat on the floor." Stacy saw Amy move next to the desk, and lie flat next to it. She dared to look down. Amy had an angry look in her blue eyes.

"You," he said, looking back at Stacy, "sit on the floor next to her, knees to your chest. If either one of you makes a noise I don't like, I will kill you." Stacy scrambled to that position on the floor. Now they were both hidden from view behind the desk. No one would see them.

"Cross your wrists." the man commanded, almost gently. Stacy did so, and the man took his free hand reached inside his white coat and removed several blue strips of cloth and a length of thick rope. He dropped them on the floor. He then picked up a length of the rope and wound it around her wrists. He knotted it, and tightened it. It pinched her wrists a little. She bit back her tears, she was not going to let him see her cry. He then took another, longer section of rope and bound her knees together in a similar fashion, and used the rest of the rope on her ankles. He then moved to Amy. "Cross your wrist behind your back."

"There's only one way you're gonna leave this building: in the back of a squad car, you son of a bitch!" Amy hissed at him as she put her hands behind her back, lying flat on her stomach. He tied her wrists together with one of the strips of cloth. He then tied her knees and ankles with two more strips of cloth.

"What're you goh-gonna d-do to us?" Stacy whimpered.

The man answered by taking a handkerchief out of his vest pocket, and saying, "Open your mouth."

"What?!" Stacy cried. "No, I'm not gonna--"

"Open...your mouth..." he said slowly, threateningly. Reluctantly, she did so, and he stuffed the wadded mass into her mouth. He then took another strip of blue cloth, and drew it between her teeth, tying it tightly.

"Unmph!" she yelped, unable to do anything but purse her lips. He did the same to Amy, who was suddenly very quiet. So, now bound and gagged, he grabbed each of them by the cuffs of their uniforms and dragged back behind the corner leading the files room into the darkness. After he'd pushed them both well out of sight, and walked away...then Stacy let herself cry.

The next forty-five minutes passed in complete silence, and the two women could only huddle near each other. They had no idea if he was still out there, or not. They dared not try to find out. Stacy now remembered where she'd heard the name, and she felt an icy hand clamp down on her insides. Finally, there was a noise...the pinging of an elevator. It was time for Dr. Whitehead to get here. "Uh-nmmph..." Stacy moaned. And very faintly, she heard footsteps approaching. She held her breath. The footsteps neared the desk, and stopped.

"Stacy? Amy?" It was Dr. Whitehead. "Stacy, you know I need the charts ready today for--" his footsteps walked around the outside of the desk, and into the inside of the reception area. She him gasp. "No! Carl--"

There was a soft "patink!" There was a frighteningly short grunt, and then there was the sound of body hitting the floor. Stacy heard Amy start to cry next to her, but Stacy was too numbed with horror to even begin to think to do the same. She then heard two footsteps, then a snapping sound. Then, a moment later, there was a faint ringing.

"Rebecca? Rebecca, sweetheart? It's daddy." It was Carl's voice, but to her surprise, his voice was broken. He was crying. "I got him. I got him, sweetheart. I'm sorry--" he had to bite back a sob. "This was the only thing left for me to do. He could've saved you...he didn't...so he got it. He got what he deserved."

Description
Stacy, twenty-two, had been transferred to Anomia Heights Hospital from Lee Memorial Hospital in the spring of '06 to continue her internship to become a registered, licensed medical woker. She was put under the ward of a thirty year old nurse by the name of Amy. The two got along as well as they could, despite Stacy's outgoing personality clashing with Amy's type-A, by the books mannerisms on an almost daily basis. The daily routine, however, was pleasant, even though Stacy found herself doing mostly clerical work and coffee runs for Amy, who was constantly at a workstation putting in patient information, attending to overnight guests, and the like. Stacy once asked if she could attend to an overnight patient, and Amy said, "Yeah, as soon as I'm sure you won't accidentally kill them." Stacy hadn't been sure what she'd done to indicate irresponsibility like that.

Before long, the two were transferred to work in the ENT/Emergency Room Department under a friendly, black doctor by the named of Harold Whitehead. Stacy was finally given the oppurtunity to do some hands on work after Dr. Whitehead saw how well she did her other work. She was thrilled, much to Amy's chagrin.

While Stacy was attending to an overnight patient on one of her late nights, she saw that Dr. Whitehead's door was unlocked. Knowing he'd left hours ago, she went to lock it, only to find that the doctor was still in his office! He was on the phone, and sounded very strained. She looked behind her; Amy was working away at her station back at the reception desk around the corner. Unable to resist, she listened, wondering what was wrong.

"I know...I know, listen, I can get you the morphine...when? Carl, I don't know. The way this hospital is, it could be months...What do you mean you can't wait that long? You'll wait as long as it takes! This isn't your decision, and I'm sorry your daughter's in pain, but I have to protect my own interests as well. If they caught me, I could have my license revoked, and then you would have nothing. So you wait--don't take that tone with me, I've done as much as I can for you! As long as we've been friends I thought you'd understand the position I'm in...no, that's ridiculous. Rebecca is not going to die, and I said I'll get you the drugs as soon as I can. I realize she's in pain--yes, goddamn it, I can hear her crying! No, I care about her! Don't ever suggest such a thing after all I've done for you! I realize your situation is...no, I'm sorry, Carl. I can't talk to you when you're like this. No, no you call me back when you can be civil. Get her some Advil and a sleep aid, I'll be over in an hour. No, no. Good bye." The phone slammed down hard that it made her flinch. Stacy had no idea what to make of what she'd just heard. She sat back against the wall and ran a hand through her red hair. What had she just heard? What was Dr. Whitehead doing? She heard him get from his chair inside, and she quickly turned to continue on her way...

...only to run into Amy. She yelped in surprise, but Amy just stared daggers into her. "What the hell were you doing?"

"I was going to get--for--" Stacy started, pointing in the direction of the medicinal wing.

Amy's expression grew angrier. "You were standing there staring into Dr. Whitehead's office! I'll be sure to tell him first thing in the morning that you were neglectng your duties."

"No! His door, it was unlocked--" Stacy tried again.

"Keep your excuses...you know what? I don't care." Amy said, putting her hands up. "I don't care. I won't say anything, I'm too tired to put up with this. You just go ahead doing what you were doing. But if I catch you doing it again..." She didn't finish, she just turned on her heel and stalked back to her workstation. Stacy ran her hand through her hair again, looking back at the office. She then decided that it was best to just go on with what she was doing. So she did.

Several months passed, and Stacy had almost completely forgotten about that night. Everyday Dr. Whitehead would come past their station on the way to his office, smile at her like he did everyday, and say, "Why, good morning Stacy. You're looking great as usual." She would thank him, and smile. And everytime she would recall that night, she would think about his smile. No, nothing had been wrong. Just a high pressure late night with a belligerent patient. Even Amy's countenance had improved markedly since then, and everything was great.

Then one day that all changed and like any other day at the hospital, it started without any indication of what emergency might rise.

Stacy and Amy had gotten their an hour before the doctor, as usual, and had set on preparing the information for the day. Fifteen minutes later, a doctor in a white coat came out from the elevator at the far end of the hall. At least, Stacy thought it was a doctor, even though she'd never seen him before. But they frequently had transfers, and this was simply the latest. He was tall, and had short dark hair. His expression was amicable, so Stacy smiled at him.

"Good morning, doctor..." she began, looking his nametag. He had none. "Uh..."

"Carl. Carl Rover, Miss Stacy." he said, smiling, leaning over the desk and looking at her. He looked over his shoulder down down the hall at the big, "EMERGENCY ROOM" sign, and looked back at her. "Yes, I was hoping that you tell me where I can find Dr. Whitehead?"

Carl...Carl...where had she heard that name before? "Dr. Whitehead's not here yet, sir, he'll be here in about an hour."

He nodded, still smiling. "Oh, good. Good. Very good, it means I was right."

She kept smiling, trying to keep a confused look off of her face. "Right about what, doctor?"

In a frightening instant, his smile vanished. His hand went into his white jacket. "Means I'll have time to get ready." Stacy's smile liquefied into a look of sheer horror as he pulled a silenced pistol out of his coat and placed it against her forehead with one, quick, smooth motion.

"Uh--! Uh--!" she choked back a scream. Hot tears filled her eyes as she bit back her panic. Her hands instantly went up, she instinctively stepped back. She heard footsteps approaching from behind...it was Amy coming back from the file room. The man kept the gun against Stacy's forehead, but look past her. The footsteps stopped, and Stacy heard Amy exclaim, "What the fuck--!"

"Be quiet." the man said calmly. "Or I'll shoot her, and you. Don't make me do it, my fight's not with you, and I have no intention of hurting either of you. But I will not hesitate to put one through you if you try to resist." He kept the gun trained on Stacy's forehead as he climbed the desk, and jump over to their side. His expression was blank, but there was a mad fire in his eyes. It scared her. He pushed all of the chairs out of the way, clearing the tiled floor. "Now, you," he said, motioning to Amy with the gun, "get over here and lie flat on the floor." Stacy saw Amy move next to the desk, and lie flat next to it. She dared to look down. Amy had an angry look in her blue eyes.

"You," he said, looking back at Stacy, "sit on the floor next to her, knees to your chest. If either one of you makes a noise I don't like, I will kill you." Stacy scrambled to that position on the floor. Now they were both hidden from view behind the desk. No one would see them.

"Cross your wrists." the man commanded, almost gently. Stacy did so, and the man took his free hand reached inside his white coat and removed several blue strips of cloth and a length of thick rope. He dropped them on the floor. He then picked up a length of the rope and wound it around her wrists. He knotted it, and tightened it. It pinched her wrists a little. She bit back her tears, she was not going to let him see her cry. He then took another, longer section of rope and bound her knees together in a similar fashion, and used the rest of the rope on her ankles. He then moved to Amy. "Cross your wrist behind your back."

"There's only one way you're gonna leave this building: in the back of a squad car, you son of a bitch!" Amy hissed at him as she put her hands behind her back, lying flat on her stomach. He tied her wrists together with one of the strips of cloth. He then tied her knees and ankles with two more strips of cloth.

"What're you goh-gonna d-do to us?" Stacy whimpered.

The man answered by taking a handkerchief out of his vest pocket, and saying, "Open your mouth."

"What?!" Stacy cried. "No, I'm not gonna--"

"Open...your mouth..." he said slowly, threateningly. Reluctantly, she did so, and he stuffed the wadded mass into her mouth. He then took another strip of blue cloth, and drew it between her teeth, tying it tightly.

"Unmph!" she yelped, unable to do anything but purse her lips. He did the same to Amy, who was suddenly very quiet. So, now bound and gagged, he grabbed each of them by the cuffs of their uniforms and dragged back behind the corner leading the files room into the darkness. After he'd pushed them both well out of sight, and walked away...then Stacy let herself cry.

The next forty-five minutes passed in complete silence, and the two women could only huddle near each other. They had no idea if he was still out there, or not. They dared not try to find out. Stacy now remembered where she'd heard the name, and she felt an icy hand clamp down on her insides. Finally, there was a noise...the pinging of an elevator. It was time for Dr. Whitehead to get here. "Uh-nmmph..." Stacy moaned. And very faintly, she heard footsteps approaching. She held her breath. The footsteps neared the desk, and stopped.

"Stacy? Amy?" It was Dr. Whitehead. "Stacy, you know I need the charts ready today for--" his footsteps walked around the outside of the desk, and into the inside of the reception area. She him gasp. "No! Carl--"

There was a soft "patink!" There was a frighteningly short grunt, and then there was the sound of body hitting the floor. Stacy heard Amy start to cry next to her, but Stacy was too numbed with horror to even begin to think to do the same. She then heard two footsteps, then a snapping sound. Then, a moment later, there was a faint ringing.

"Rebecca? Rebecca, sweetheart? It's daddy." It was Carl's voice, but to her surprise, his voice was broken. He was crying. "I got him. I got him, sweetheart. I'm sorry--" he had to bite back a sob. "This was the only thing left for me to do. He could've saved you...he didn't...so he got it. He got what he deserved."