[Date: Early-November
Subject: Emilia Venlopez
Location: Mount Sinai Community Hospital, Manhattan, NYC]
A hand crept from within the darkness, clean of callouses. Smooth, almost unreal. The palm open—an invitation that made my blood run cold.
"Ahhh, Dr Venlopez."
…What?
"We didn't get to speak much last time."
I felt something slip from my fingers.
Tap—it bounced off something wooden.
The darkness made way, but my surroundings were still blurred.
Two brown eyes watched; the edges crinkled in what could only be amusement. I took a deep breath, feeling my shoulders tense with an invisible weight.
Clack—it rolled across the cold ceramic
Light burnt my pupils as my surroundings sharpened. A figure, clad in a black business suit, his swept black fade and trimmed goatee screamed professionalism.
Reagan.
My eyes widened in recognition; a practiced smile masked my face. Ignoring how my gut churned and protested.
"Care to walk?" He gestured to the packed corridor.
"Y-yeah." I took a moment to compose myself, dusting off my coat.
"Don't want to forget this." He handed me my pen, the metal cold against my fingers. I fiddled with it as we walked, the silence settling between us. The chatter of nearby patients became as captivating as watching Alberto make coffee.
My finger twitched at the thought.
People glanced as we passed, some gazes lingered and other avoided looking altogether.
We turned a corner as Reagan's posh voice rung out. Not from America, that's for sure.
"So," He took a glance, a subtle smile on his face. "How goes Dr Emilia Venlopez and her motley crew of 'professional' doctors" His hand burrowed into his pockets.
"The captain and her motley crew are getting along just fine," I retort with a small smile. "What brings the infamous Reagan Cold to our humble community hospital? Planning on handing out more gold to the poor?"
He let out a small laugh, his fist covering his mouth.
"Well, I am no Robin Hood," He looked around, the corridor led to a double door.
We closed in on the main area. The café stood at its centre, a seating area not far from it. The wooden décor gave the place a homey feel. The heart of the hospital.
All roads lead here, I thought with a sigh.
"I simply," He stopped, considering his words. "Am in awe of all the good you've done. I see potential in this place." He finished. Walking off, to the café, hands still in his pockets.
I followed, considering his words—Potential.
Huh…
——
The main area stood in a hexagonal shape, each corner leading to a different department. With a transparent double door that led outside.
Unlike the rest of the hospital, the main area felt warm. In the far-left corner sat the seating area. A row of bookshelves adorned the walls. The seats were flimsy and the tables slightly old, but it just added to the warmth.
The warm scent of coffee and baked goods lingered in the air; my stomach gurgled in response. It had been a while since I'd last eaten.
I moved to the centre with purpose, lulled by the promise of coffee and croissants. Reagan followed, adjusting the cuffs of his suit.
We approached the out of place café, tables and seats made of some dark coloured wood, the counter being the same. Old scratches and coffee stains marked the counter. Worn but beloved, each mark treated like a treasured memory.
My eyes wandered towards the display cases, finger tracing the glass. Then stopped. A croissant. Just what I was looking for.
I raised my head only to find an amused looking Alberto, his arms crossed and a warm smile on his face.
"Ah, Emilia. You still can't resist the call for food," He raised his arms in enthusiasm.
"Want the usual or..." He leaned forward, "Qualcosa di diverso?"
"Testing my Italian?" I smirked slightly. Challenge accepted.
"Sempre il solito, Alberto." I crossed my arms, posture straight in triumph.
A warm smile tugged at his face as he nodded at me.
"Aye aye, piccola," he said with a wink, turning back to the kitchen.
"Two languages, Venlopez?"
Reagan's posh voice jolted me out of my reverie.
He was sat next to me, his fingers tapping the table methodically, creating a melody that was both familiar and new.
"Impressive, ever thought of working in Italy?" He glanced at my hand. My fingers tapped in his rhythm, unnoticed by me until now. "They're in need of talented doctors like you." He stopped tapping.
"Especially after that awful villain attack…" He trailed off.
Why Italy?
My gut churned. One of the many times today.
"That's a long distance for another hospital." I start, my voice soft, Deliberating. This place was home—my people. My fingers kept on tapping; the melody stuck in my head.
A silence fell between us, again. He watched Alberto work, his chin resting on his hand. A small smile tugged at the edges.
"He's good at what he does," He observed, stretching his back and sitting upright. "You seem to have history. You and him."
"You say that like it's a crime," I chuckle slightly, fully turning my body towards Reagan. "We've worked together for years, been through thick and thin."
Giving Alberto's focused form another glance, I turn back. A warm smile on my face. "He's like mi hermano grande."
His eye's found the counter. Lingering a tad too long.
"Family huh…" He muttered, "How nice." And gave me a soft smile. My heart clenched.
"I envy that you know." He looked away, finger tracing a circular coffee stain in the wood, his chin rested on his left hand. "Family…Connection. Feeling seen and accepted. Some of us never had the opportunity whilst growing up."
Words clogged up at my throat. My heart tightened with new intensity.
His fingers continued circling the stain.
I could only watch. My face morphed into understanding.
Part of me wanted to say same.
Part of me wanted to hug him.
But then he straightened himself, coughing slightly.
"Well, everyone's got their stories huh." He forced a smile, eyes reflecting the warm light.
I could only nod, the way he masked his pain.
It triggered something inside me.
Maybe we weren't so different after all…
I looked around, my eyes found themselves attracted to a nearby chalkboard. Old and relatively unnoticed. Alberto had made the effort to write on it.
'Fresh food strengthens. Rotten food harms. Rest well traveller, you are safe here.'
'I feel safe,' I thought with a smile.
With a thud on the counter. A smiling Alberto appeared, Coffee in hand and a plate with 2 fresh croissants placed in front of me.
"I only asked for one?" I said absentmindedly, Secretly wanting the second.
"Don't worry," The smiling giant reassured. "This one's on the house, piccola."
He stopped what he was doing once he clocked the black clad businessman, Reagan smiled at him with a wave. Alberto's smile stiffened.
"Ah? Who might you be," Alberto grabbed a cloth, brandishing a clean cup.
"Oh, my apologies. We haven't met, have we." Reagan sat himself up, reaching his palm out in a handshake. Like he did with me.
Alberto hesitated, then accepted the handshake. His movements stiff.
Was he okay?
I looked at him, concern filling my brows. He shook me off with a smile.
Though my gut only grew more uneasy.
"May I order?" Reagan suggested. His hand already on the menu.
"Food requires patience—take your time, straniero. I'll be here pretending to look busy." Alberto took a step back with a forced laugh, close enough to listen, but far enough to think.
This time, awkward silence settled between us.
I could only grab a croissant and ignore the tension in the air. The heat burned my hands, but I didn't let go. Instead closing my eyes and feeling the burn.
"Excuse me, Alberto." Reagan waved his hand at Alberto in mock politeness. His fingertips softly tapped the wooden counter. Alberto glanced at him. Nodded. And walked over.
"What's piqued your interest, hmm?" Another smile.
"A cold brew. Black." Reagan reached for his inner pocket, taking out a sleek black wallet. He slid a crisp ten-dollar bill across the counter. Alberto accepted it with narrowed eyes.
"Certo signore. Un attimo." He muttered, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
I had to do a double take. I've never heard him mutter in Italian before…
Reagan leaned back on his chair. A smile on his face.
"He's admirable." He started, grabbing a black cocktail pick and picking his teeth with it. "Know's how to get stuff done and back away, let others do the work."
I didn't respond. Couldn't.
My gut churned again. More intensely.
I took a bite of the croissant—a quiet snap as the crust gave way. I closed my eyes, letting the buttery sweetness melt across my tongue. Warm flakes clung to my fingertips, but I ignored them as dopamine entered my system.
The warmth from the croissant spread throughout my body. The pressure of the day lifted—chased off by this beautiful, lifesaving, yeast of miracles…
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
A sharp sound echoed throughout the café, waking me from my escape. And causing me to become the centre of attention.
I stopped what I was doing, Glancing down at my waist.
My pager.
I grabbed it, brought it close to my ear.
Static—
"Ro—"
"Damn it, work"
I smacked the pager once. And tried again.
"Code Rapid. Room 241. Immediate response required."
My breath hitched.
Code Rapid—
241…Kai
I shot to my feet, leaving the croissant and untouched coffee behind.
Reagan sipped his cold brew slowly, watching.
"Your miracle boy in trouble?"
I froze.
"How do you—"
"You should probably go."
He didn't move.
So, I ran.
Passing by a figure in a hoodie.
Sitting. Watching.
This time…
I'll protect you.
I promise.
[Date—]
The world faded as I ran.
Corridors closed in.
The surroundings blurred.
[Subject: Emilia Venlopez.]
Then I woke up.
[Date: December 2019.
Subject: Emilia Venlopez.
Location: Mount Sinai Community Hospital, Dr. Venlopez's Office.]
A constant rhythm caught my ears. A thudding. Getting louder with each cycle.
Thud.
Pause.
Thud.
Pause.
THUD.
It boomed, an echo in my ears.
I stood, startled. My breath ragged as tiny drops of sweat ran down my cheek.
I rubbed my fingers along the wooden desk. Listening to the clicking of my clock. And the subtle knocks from my door.
I was in my office. Mugs still sprawled out throughout the desk; my favourite mug stood near the centre. Cracked. A picture of Family on it. Mi familia.
With one final exhale, I moved towards the door.
This had better be important…
I yanked the door open, a startled voice yelped. Slightly high toned, almost nasial.
There's only one person——
"Hey, umm— Miss Emilia." He raised his hand hesitantly, his other hand running through his hair. Eyes avoiding mine.
"The coffee machine is broken again; I was just wondering if—"
"Yes."
"Huh?" He looked at me surprised.
"Yes. I'll fix it." My head pounded as I pressed the bridge of my nose.
"Oh—Thank you." He seemed at a loss for words.
"Let's go Theo." I walked past him, rolling my sleeves. He followed in tow.
Whomever broke my child…
whoever you are was going to have hell to pay.
I will find out.
Believe you me.
I will.
And I'm armed with flip flops.