I CHECKED MY watch. Deloris was securing the video loop at precisely eight o’clock. The staff change at Magnolia Woods happened at seven. That meant that the nurse currently on duty was Adelaide’s night nurse until five in the morning. Our surveillance had enlightened us as to much about the staff’s habits. While some of the nurses—who Deloris discovered were rarely actually registered nurses—napped in a nearby chair waiting for alarms or commotion from their patients, others read or stared for hours on end at their cell phones, no doubt heightening their social media status with pictures of kittens and puppies or better yet, political propaganda.

Adelaide’s nurse, a big burly man named Mack, was fond of his social media, yet he often chose sleeping as his favorite way to pass the time.

As I eased through the entry from the courtyard—the one that Isaac had left unlocked—I envisioned the scenes I’d watched multiple times. I recalled Mack securing Adelaide’s hands. I heard his tenor as he mocked her social status, calling her an addict. I’d willingly taken the lives of men whose crimes were less offensive.

I scanned right and left. The hallway was clear. Though I kept my face down and away from the cameras, to the possible passerby I shouldn’t be noticed. I looked the part, complete with the white lab coat—identical to the ones worn by the doctors on staff—and an electronic name badge.

My anticipation grew as step by step, I made my way toward her room. Though I’d watched her through the Magnolia Woods feed in Deloris’s suite, it had been years since I’d seen her, face to face. That is, unless dreams count as reality.

It was 8:02. The surveillance from Adelaide’s room was now on loop. To anyone viewing it, it would show whatever had happened in the last hour, over and over, until Deloris released the live feed.

Without hesitation, I opened the door. The swishing against the tile alerted Mack that I’d entered. It was unfortunate—for him—that the sound hadn’t told him more about his future or lack thereof. Yet rarely was that as obvious.

Perhaps that was a blessing.

Immediately he stood. “Doctor?” He eyed me suspiciously. “Do I know you? Visiting hours are over.”

“I think you misunderstand; I’m not visiting.”

Adelaide stirred and began to mumble as her head turned from side to side.

Mack turned her way. “Damn depressant is wearing off.”

“O-Oren?”

Though her voice was barely a whisper, my name was clear—to me.

My heart thumped against my chest. Not now, not yet. Don’t talk.

“Don’t mind her. She’s delirious. She babbles about people and names that she’s made up.”

“Has she said that name before?”

He stepped closer, reading my badge. “Dr. Pope? Are you new?”

“No, I’m usually here during the day. Tonight I’m covering for Miller.”

“Usually they tell us—”

“Usually I don’t explain myself. Tell me what’s happening.”

Mack stood taller. “After what happened this morning, there are strict orders—as you probably know—that this patient isn’t to regain full consciousness, not for a while.”

I nodded. “I was informed about what happened this morning. Did you say the medications are starting to wear off again?”

“Yes, this morning they gave her eight milligrams of Versed. As you can imagine, she’s been out. If you’ll sign off, I’ll give her four more milligrams and some fentanyl.” He laughed. “She’ll be sleeping like a baby for the rest of the night.”

“Is that what you recommend, Mack?”

“Yeah, I mean, the standing order is only for two milligrams, but why open the door to trouble? Her husband was pissed off about her talking this morning. The morning shift is taking shit for it. I don’t want that douche upset at me.”

“Is that how you discuss all our clients and their families?”

Mack shifted from foot to foot. “Yes, no, well… I’m sorry, Doctor. I-I’m used to Dr. Miller.”

I nodded. “Let me see her chart.”

He tilted his head toward the corner of the room to a rolling cart and computer. It was conveniently located next to Mack’s favorite chair.

Swiveling the cart toward me, I looked at the screen. “I’m recommending that we take her for a CT scan. I wouldn’t want that douche upset that his wife’s brain has turned to mush from too much sedation.”

“Are you serious…?” His eyes opened wide. “Radiology is closed.”

“I’ll make a call. You get a gurney.”

“This isn’t protocol and I’m not an orderly.”

“No. You’re also not a doctor. If I don’t have a gurney in less than three minutes, you’ll no longer be a night nurse at Magnolia Woods.”

If I hadn’t known that Deloris was watching his every move through the Magnolia Woods security feed, I may have been concerned. I wasn’t. My attention was focused on Adelaide. A few minutes later, Mack was back, pushing a gurney. “I’m not sure about this… I’m supposed to stay with her.”

“There’s an ambulance arriving shortly from Regional. You will accompany her. She’ll get the scan and be back in bed before she or her douche of a husband realizes that you were on the verge of overmedicating her.”

“I-I… it’s not me… it’s the orders.”

“Mack, stop talking and help me move her.”

He looked me up and down. “Doctor? Y-you’re going to help?”

I put my hands behind her shoulders. As my fingers touched her soft skin, the dam I’d built around the memories of Adelaide Montague severed. The broken shards tore at my heart, bringing an onslaught of emotion back to the desiccated organ. “Lift.”

As soon as Adelaide was disconnected from the monitors and secured with her IVs, I said, “Now, on her chart…”

Mack followed me to the computer.

It was good that he had a thing for benzodiazepines. The syringe slipped effortlessly through his neck. I’ve heard it said that delivering an injection is like piercing the skin of an orange. That wasn’t true. The human skin gives much less resistance. A sharp needle penetrates like a knife through softened butter—so can a sharp knife, but that was a story for another day.

Mack’s body went slack, falling into the chair.

He was right. Eight milligrams worked fast, even on a big man like him. The difference between his injection and the one he wanted to give Adelaide was that the one that he received didn’t contain the fentanyl. There was no pain control for this asshole. Only sleep, to be followed by a headache from hell. I considered it my contribution to his training. Perhaps after experiencing the side effects firsthand, he’d become more empathetic to his future patients.

His girth slumped forward in the chair, leaving his chin resting on his chest.

I could have adjusted his windpipe. Theoretically, this position restricted his airway, a common cause of asphyxiation. I shrugged. Though that hadn’t been my goal, if it happened, I wouldn’t lose sleep.

Using pillows, I created the illusion of a patient. It was the monitors that had been attached to Adelaide that could have been our downfall if it weren’t for Deloris’s physician contact. She said that they would alert the main nursing station that their patient was no longer present. In moments I created a false loop. It was similar to the video surveillance but electrical, tricking the monitors into believing that they were still connected to a body and everything was registering normally.

My phone vibrated with an incoming text.

“AMBULANCE IS HERE.”

“HALLWAY CAMERAS?” I replied.

“MOMENTARILY OFFLINE. FRONT GUARD OCCUPIED AND RECEPTIONIST INDISPOSED.”

I shook my head. Indisposed? Was someone screwing the receptionist? I didn’t care. Maybe it was the guard.

Covering Adelaide’s sleeping face with the blanket, I eased the gurney into the hallway. The wheels turned effortlessly on the tile floor as we passed the other patients’ rooms. Each door remained closed as we glided toward the reception area.

As soon as we arrived, the front door opened, filling the entry with a gust of night air. Dressed in the emergency-transport uniform, Clayton nodded. “You called for an ambulance?”

“I did.”

He reached for the foot of the gurney. “Doctor, may I help?”

Within moments, Adelaide’s gurney was loaded in the back of the transport, me at her side and Clayton driving. I didn’t have monitors to tell me her status. Instead, it was my hand upon her warm, bruised wrist, the thump of her pulse beneath my fingertips, and the rise and fall of her chest that reassured me she was alive. Another indication was the way my heart drummed an erratic cadence as if it had just received a life-giving electrical jolt, because if hers were to stop, surely mine would too.

It wasn’t until we passed the front gate that mine finally found its normal rhythm. I sent a group text.

“WE HAVE HER.”

Smoothing back her long hair, I leaned close. “Adelaide, can you hear me?”

Again her head moved from side to side. “Not real. Not real.”

“Oh, amore mio, it’s real.”