A Date with Destiny

The adjustment to night shift is always hard. Bleary-eyed, I sip my coffee as I adjust the backpack hanging from right shoulder. At least I don’t have to worry about what to wear. Scrubs. Every day. I yawn as I turn the corner. 

“Can I help you?” I wave at the young woman in a sleek, black skirt and blazer, opening my coat to show my badge. 

She continues walking away, her black pumps clicking on the tile. 

“Hey,” I raise my voice. When she stops, I add, “Visiting hours are over.” 

She turns around slowly, brushing her black waves behind an ear. “You can’t see me.” Her voice is soft. 

I look around and suppress a snort. “Yes, I can.” Must be a full moon. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” she snaps. Her steel blue eyes widen as I approach. Her features are both delicate and fierce. 

“Well, like I said, visiting hours ended- well, hours ago.” I clear my throat. She's really quite striking. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow.” 

She stalks back toward the entrance, pushing past me. Her hand brushes mine as she passes, and I shiver. 

“Hey, find a coat. It’s freezing outside.” I shrug as I watch her leave.  

If I learned one thing during my residencies, it was that weird things happen at the hospital. Really weird things. You learn just to keep working. So, that’s what I do. Keep going on my way to the employee locker room. 

As I pass the room she had been at, I almost regret sending her away. John Doe arrived after a hit and run two months ago. He’s been in a coma since, and the outlook wasn’t good. No one come to identify him. No one called asking about a missing person. No visitors until tonight. 

A shrill, beeping alarm startles me, and I drop my coffee. My bag slides off my shoulder as I turn around. I shed my coat as I walk through the door and toss it into the chair. The cold air sends chills up my arms. I shrug them off and scan the patient. 

With a sigh of relief, I reattach the pulse oximeter to Doe's index finger. I reset the monitor, silencing the alarm, and take my coat from the chair. Looking him over once more, I furrow my brow. That shouldn’t have fallen off. I make a mental note to check it again after I make more coffee. 

“Oh, Hope!” I nearly collide with another nurse in the doorway. “I didn’t know you were here already.” 

I raise the arm with my coat draped over it. “Was just walking in when his oximeter alarmed.” 

He nods. “No issues, I take it.” 

“Sensor slipped. I handled it.” I smirk, taking several paper towels from above the sink. “Day shift can’t do a thing on your own.” 

He chuckles, “Sorry to delay your game of Spades.” 

I smack his shoulder and pick up my scattered belongings, avoiding the puddle of coffee. “Alright, Greg, fill me in on the day shift.” I dry off my mug before sliding it into my backpack. 

Greg takes a handful of paper towels from Doe's room and drapes them over the mess. I’ll call for a custodian after shift-change. We walk toward the conference room together. Greg walks me through all the day's discharges, new admits, and other changes. Nothing overly exciting. 

I make a new cup of coffee, scrunching my nose at the burnt smell. Hospital coffee is the worst, and night shift doesn’t get the luxury of the coffee bar in the café. We both sit through the shift-change meeting, hearing most of the same information Greg had already shared.  

As we leave the conference room, we walk in opposite directions. Greg is leaving for the night, and I have to visit my locker. 

“Hey, Greg.” I turn around quickly, hoping he’s not too far gone. 

He isn’t. He turns and takes a few steps back toward me. 

“That John Doe.” I close the distance between, for some reason, not wanting to draw attention. “Did anybody come in for him?” 

Greg shakes his head. “Why?” 

My shoulders drop. Who was she? “It’s just…sad. Right?” He doesn’t need to know about her. 

“Yeah.” He shrugs and lays a hand on my shoulder. “You have to detach at work. You can’t feel bad for everyone.” 

I nod. “Go get some rest.” 

The rest of my shift goes without incident, other than the occasional patient refusing medication. It is indeed not a full moon. John Doe’s oximeter sensor is fully functional and has no more malfunctions. I go through two more cups of coffee before cutting myself off so I can sleep when I get home.  

By the time I get home, my eyes burn and my brain is cloudy. Grabbing a granola from my kitchen, I close all the curtains in my apartment and change out of my scrubs. After crawling into bed, I finish my granola bar and lazily wipe the crumbs off the sheets. Not that it bothers me at this point in my day. I throw the blanket over my head to filter out the remaining sunlight and sink into my mattress. The rumbling cars on the street below fade out, and the fog in my head overtakes my thoughts in mere minutes. 

I find myself back at work, in John Doe’s room. When I reach out to reset the alarm, I notice an elegant gold cord wrapped around my right wrist. It winds up my arm to my shoulder.  

I leave the room and head to the nurse’s station. The cord tightens around my arm with such force I nearly collapse. Leaning against the wall for support, I tug in vain at the golden thread. With no relief from the pressure, I sink to the floor, my back pressed against the wall. I lean my head back, fingers still prying at the cord. 

That’s when I see her. The woman from last night. I almost don’t recognize her in the midnight blue evening gown, but I could never forget those piercing eyes. She turns and glides away, revealing a golden cord glistening on her left arm. I stand and follow with absolutely no idea why. Her allure is irresistible. 

She moves languidly through the hospital, gown flowing around her ankles. I chase her down the hall and around the corner. The closer I get, the looser the cord becomes. When she stops at the elevator doors, I’m sure this rope will fall off. With the open back of her gown, a long scar is clearly visible wrapping across her sculpted back. The thick, white stripe curves from her shoulder blade to her hip, marring her otherwise flawless, ivory skin. She’s absolutely stunning. 

I grab her wrist, and the cords on our arms tie together. I watch in awestruck horror as our hands are bound together. The heat of her gaze draws my attention back to her face. She locks eyes with me, seemingly searching for an answer. 

“Who are you?” I gasp. 

She tilts her head with a satisfied smirk. “Morrigan.” 

I awake in a cold sweat. The sun has set. The walls of my bedroom loom over me in the darkness. Who was she? I stare at the ceiling, waiting for the tinkling rainfall of my phone’s alarm. It shouldn’t be long now. 

Morrigan. Probably just the name of some next of kin or a distant doctor I read in a patient file. Strange dreams always seem to surface when I’m on the night shift. Reluctantly, I check my right arm and let out a laugh when I find it bare. Of course it is. There was something about her 

I jump when my alarm goes off. Swiping across the screen, I silence the alarm and scroll through my news feed. Nothing new. The world is still on fire or, at least Australia is. That’s not funny; I chastise myself in my head. But, at least, no one started a war while I was asleep. I move on to my texts. There’s only one, typical. From Greg, not so much. 

John Doe opened his eyes. Thought you’d want to know 

I let out an incredulous sigh and type out my response, Wow. Update? before rolling out of bed. 

I shiver after throwing back my covers and pad to the thermostat in the hall. By the time I return to my room, my phone is blinking with another message from Greg. 

Not much. Little movement. No response to stimuli. 

I laugh to myself as I answer, That was fast. Must be nice having someone else to pick up your slack 

I drop my phone on the bed and head to the shower. I follow my normal routine. Brush my teeth, hair in a braid, deodorant, fresh scrubs. Right on time, my phone chimes and lights up. I slide the green button across my screen and prop it up on the counter. 

“Hi, Mom.” 

“Good morning, Cupcake,” she grins leaning too close to her camera. 

I take the apple juice out of the fridge and drop two slices of bread in the toaster. “How was your day?” She’s doing better, I know, but the first anniversary of my dad’s death is coming up. 

“Fine.” She shrugs. “How about you? I know night shift is hard for you.” 

The mystery woman’s cool blue eyes flash through my mind, follow closely by an image of her bare back. “Actually, it’s not bad.” I butter both slices of toast. 

“Oh, I know that smile.” My mom smirks up at me. “You met someone.” 

“I wouldn’t say met.” I throw an apple, some trail mix, and a pre-package cobb salad into my lunch box, holding a slice of toast in my teeth. “I kicked her out of a patient’s room.” 

“Well, fate has a funny way of working things out.” 

I don’t hear the rest of her monologue because my coffee can is empty. I was so exhausted after work this morning, it completely slipped my mind. I guess I won’t have a relaxing evening with a book before work. 

“Hey, mom, I got to go. I’m out of coffee, so I have to run the café on the corner.” 

“And it could take twenty minutes just to make one cup.” She chuckles. “Go.” 

My smile fades as I look into the camera. “I’m really sorry, mom.” 

“It’s fine, honey.” The corners of her eyes wrinkle as a warm smile breaks out. “I love you.” 

The corner of my mouth twitches up. “Love you too.” 

Predictably, the diner is packed. I’m smack in the middle of dinner rush. I get in the line in front of the counter. Hopefully carryout is moving quickly. I take my phone out to play a game while I wait. When the line has barely moved after ten minutes, I groan. I just want a black coffee to take home and watch a little TV. I turn back to my phone when an icy hand brushes mine. 

I look up, and there she is. Morrigan, I guess. I usually hate it when my mother’s right, but this time I welcome the surprise. I spin around and meet her wide eyes. Today she flaunts black jeans, a grey tank top, and a short leather jacket with hair pulled into a side braid.  

“Hope.” I extend my hand. “I think we met at the hospital last night.” 

When she accepts my handshake, the sleeve of her jacket rides up. My breath catches at the glint of metal. She reaches further to take my hand, and I can breathe again. It’s only a gold bangle. And a small tattoo of a black raven on the inside of her wrist. 

“You’re different.” The lilt in her voice sends chills across my skin. 

I draw my eyebrows together and answer playfully, “That’s a compliment, I hope.” 

Her eyes dart over my shoulder, and she pushes around me. 

Seconds later, a woman at a table in Morrigan’s path screams that her daughter is choking. I break out of the line and rush across the floor. I push people out of my way and toss chairs aside. A crowd begins to gather around the girl, and I have to work my way through. “Give her space. Let me through.”  

When I break through the front line of onlookers, Morrigan is standing next to the girl. I pull on her shoulder. “Get back. I’m a nurse.” 

She looks at me with eyebrows arched in surprise. She backs away slowly, fading into the crowd. 

I perform the Heimlich maneuver, and the crowd cheers as the girl begins to breathe again. The mother thanks me profusely, and I nod back to her. My shoulders drop as I scan the crowd. Morrigan’s gone. 

“Hey, can I get you a coffee?” 

I turn to face a tall, blonde man and smile. “That’d be great.” 

The seas part, and we make our way straight to the counter. I order a black coffee and wait patiently. When the barista brings our drinks, I thank him and begin to walk away. 

 “Do you want to get dinner sometime?” He asks. 

“Sorry, we play for the same team.” I smile sheepishly, “Thanks for the coffee, though.” 

I take my coffee back to my apartment and still have time read a chapter. My shift is harder tonight, today’s admits require more intensive care than usual. But that’s the job, and it’s not too difficult. The next night is the same, except I remembered to buy more coffee. I’m off for two nights after that. I haven’t seen Morrigan since the coffee shop. I guess it wasn’t fate after all. 

I wait at my bus stop, huddled in my coat, hat, and scarf. It’s significantly colder tonight than last night. I check my watch in the glow from the street lamp. If it doesn’t hurry, I’m going to be late for work. I hold my coffee cup near my face, letting the steam warm my nose. I take a deep breath, savoring the rich aroma, when I hear screeching. 

I look up just in time to see the bus careening towards me. Without a moment to spare, I dive to the side, and the bus plows over the bench. Shattered glass rains over me. Is the warmth seeping down my face coffee or blood? I wipe at the droplets and examine my fingertips, but it’s impossible to the color against my brown gloves. My legs shake as I stand, my breathing ragged. I definitely cracked a rib, maybe even punctured a lung. The ambient noise buzzes angrily in the back of my head, and the glare of the headlights shoots through my temples. Concussion too, probably. 

I hobble through the wreckage, looking for signs of life. Must have been black ice. Luckily, it appears the bus was empty. I make my way to a lamp post and ease myself to the ground, scanning for the driver. I need to help him, but I can hardly think straight. I look at the ground around and shake my head. That can’t be right; there are no footprints leading to my spot under the light. Everything goes quiet. 

A shadowy figure seems to hover in the street. When it takes a step toward me, I can tell it’s a woman. If the knee high, heeled boots weren’t a giveaway, the legs reaching out from under the cloak are definitely female. With the flick of a wrist, the shadow summons a large scythe and looks right at me. My heart stops.  

I know that shade of blue. 

“Who are you?” I gasp, rising to my feet. 

She lowers her hood. “You already know that.” 

“Morrigan?” I whisper. "I didn't survive this crash, did I?"

“Oh, Hope. I told you you were different.” She smirks, “Special.” 

I shake my head, holding my ground as she approaches. “I don't understand.” 

“You didn't quite die.” She brushes a thumb up my cheekbone, sending a chill down my spine. "You and me, we're perfect."

That’s when I see it. The golden cord coiling up her arm. I look down my right shoulder. A matching pair. And I understand.

I take a breath, oddly relieved. Despite the initial terror the binding brings, somehow, it feels right. “What now?” 

A sheet of paper materializes out of thin air, and she passes it to me. A list of names.  

“Who will you save today?”