A flash of agony made its way through whatever painkillers they’d given me, kick-starting me onto another subject. “W—who are y—you?”
The doctor studied me. His brown handlebar moustache and shock of unruly hair didn’t match the somber light green scrubs he wore or the softness of his hand around mine. He looked like an eccentric farmer, someone more at home hugging a chicken, than nursing a patient back to life.
“My name is Jack Louille. I was the surgeon who operated on you.” His eyes cast down to my stomach, covered in starchy white sheets. “It was touch and go for a bit, but you responded well to treatment.”
“W—what treat—treatment?”
He beamed, a rush of pride emitting from him, his emotions of a job well done and workplace satisfaction buffeting me. “I don’t know how much you remember, but you were shot.”
I nodded. “My m—memory is fully in—intact.” The more I spoke, the more my throat found it easier to talk.
“Ah, that’s great news. As you are aware then, a bullet sliced through your side.” He leaned over me. “I don’t need to tell you how close it came to being a fatal wound. An abdominal injury can rupture intestines, liver, spleen, and kidneys. There are also major vessels that can be nicked—all of which equal a lower possibility of survival—especially in your case, since you were unable to seek treatment straight away.”
Why was that?
I couldn’t recall.
Memories of time skipping and fire hissing tried to make sense. Kestrel had been beside me…
Kes!
I lashed out, grabbing the doctor’s wrist. My body flared with agony, but I ignored it. “The other m—man. Is he here, t—too?” I didn’t dare say his name. I doubted he would be under it anyway—same as me.
Doctor Louille paused, his happiness at my recovery fading as helplessness smothered his thoughts. “Your brother is still with us, but…we don’t know for how long. His injuries were more extensive, less straightforward to operate.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll tell you about him soon. First, let me explain your condition and then you need to rest. There is time for everything else later.”
No, there is no time.
If Kes wasn’t doing well, I wanted to see him before it was too late.
I need my brother. My friend.
“You’re what I call an extraordinary luckster.” Louille smiled. “I once had a patient who slipped in the bath and shattered a window. The glass sliced his neck but missed the jugular and carotid artery. Do you know how nearly impossible that is? But he was lucky. I’ve had many patients that, by right, should be dead but somehow tricked death into leaving them alone.” He patted my shoulder. “You’re the latest luckster. The bullet sliced through the high side of your abdomen, passing through the muscles surrounding core vitals, and never entering the abdominal cavity. You would’ve passed out from the overload of adrenaline and pain, and it would’ve been horrendously messy and bloody, but here we are.”
My head pounded.
Here I was.
I’ve been given a second chance.
I wasn’t so rotten that I deserved to die; wasn’t so evil to merit a one-way ticket to hell.
I’m not going to waste it.
I would use this new life to fix all my wrongs and ensure I deserved the luck I’d been given.
“H—how l—long?”
Doctor Louille ran a hand over his moustache. “You were in surgery for three hours and asleep for three days in intensive care. Your vitals were finally strong enough to wean you off the sedative and let nature take its course.”
Three days?
Three fucking days!
Shit, what about Nila?
My heart clanged out of control. An exorbitant amount of adrenaline swamped me. Hurling myself upward, I lurched for the edge of the bed. Pain be damned. Motherfucking bullet wound be damned.
Three days!
“I—I have to g—go.”
Louille slammed his hands on my shoulders, pushing me back against the mattress. “What the hell are you doing? I just told you you were lucky. You trying to ruin that luck?”
I struggled, seeing a clock ticking closer to Nila’s death everywhere I looked.
Nila!