The Hospital Murders

Dedicated to
Sotchi
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Prologue

Piercing echoes of pain reverberated inside the persons head, resulting in confused manipulative voices barking orders to their inner soul. Were they really orders, or rather, pleas of pity, trying to bring that person back from the edge?

Sometimes life was like that; circumstance had a way of changing not only the direction of a person, but also twisting everything they may have once stood for. From integrity to incompleteness; the vacant chasm left by others actions could only be united once again by the healing actions of another person; someone with enough gumption to help you over the bridge. 

Occasionally though, the person trying to build the bridge to save the incomplete person gets dragged into the chasm themselves; driven by compulsion to follow the manipulative one's orders in a veiled pretence of necessity. In their efforts to help another person survive, a well meaning human may cross a line that seems repulsively incomprehensible; a line you don't dwell on in thought, for fear your own soul might be twisted just a fraction too much for you to face another day in normal existence.

Don't think - just. Just think of what really matters. Life - was that it? It must be. For why else would this be happening? Life is ending for some, but continuing for others. There is no other way; this bridge has to be crossed. 

Looking down at the man in the hospital bed, her thoughts spun in slow motion. The sheets were clean and neatly pressed. The smell of a mild toned bleach rose from the floor, while the constant beeping of machinery filled the void in between her controlled breathing. The man did not look overly old, probably late fifties. Was knowing his name making it more difficult for her to act? Was it the information he had told her about his family while she was tending to his medical needs and bringing him meals that was making her pause before this evil act?

She shook her head. Dismiss these weakening thoughts now, or all you cherish will be gone

The man lay sleeping, with his chest rising and falling while breathing, his lips slightly parted; a soft puffing noise emitting as he breathed.

The nurse produced a syringe from her right pocket, while she placed her left hand on the man's forehead. Removing the cap from the IV line that was inserted in his hand, she inserted the needle of the syringe into it, and pressed down. As his body began to convulse, she removed one of the vital monitors that would have alerted one of the other staff members.

Within a few seconds, the man subconsciously became aware of his new-found predicament. His eyes opened wide at the same time that the nurse moved her hand from his forehead and pressed it firmly over his mouth instead. The nurse chose to keep her eyes fixed upon his. Unlike his bewildered searching eyes, hers were determined, but with a false air of reassurance; don't worry, even though you are dying, everything is going to be okay.

"Shh, shh, shh. Just let it happen. That's right, sleep like the night."

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