Three days had passed since that day.
The other nurses who had been with me were just as shocked when John called me by my name. But later we figured he must have read it from my name tag. Which made sense.
During those three days, John had only woken up a handful of times. It was almost as if he didn't want to stay awake. He'd open his eyes, only to shut them back seconds later. Whatever had happened to him must have caused some kind of trauma.
Still, his vitals were stable. He looked like he was healing well. So well, in fact, that Dr. Madakwe suggested we move him to one of the regular rooms if his condition stayed this way until tomorrow.
It was good news.
So when I walked toward his bed in the ICU, ready to deliver it, my chest tightened with disappointment at the sight of Garrick, standing over him.
Thankfully, John was asleep, hooked up by the painkillers dripping through his IV. Otherwise, things might have gotten ugly. Again.
"Why are you here?" I asked quietly, mindful of the other patients resting nearby.
It was early evening, and we'd had a car accident brought in that morning. A busy day, but manageable. Since I was on the night shift, my job now was simply to make sure the ICU patients remained stable until morning.
Garrick ran a hand through his golden hair. He hadn't bothered cutting it, purposefully keeping it long enough to brush the nape of his neck. When we were dating, he'd say it'd make him look more 'gruff'.
"I'm checking on my case," he said.
I folded my arms across my chest.
"It's well past your working hours," I replied quietly. "This is the ICU, Garrick. You can't just walk in and our whenever you feel like it."
"I am a detective working on a case," he said, flashing his badge.
I pushed it back down.
"And I'm a nurse taking care of my patients," I shot back. "Please leave before I call security. You're not allowed to be here."
He frowned, then shoved the badge back into his pocket, shaking his head.
"One of these days, you're going to warm back up to me, Elena. And this guy—" he pointed towards John, "he's dangerous. He could be a serial killer. A wanted criminal."
"Injured," I cut in. "Right now, he's injured and nothing else. This is my job. So please..." I gestured toward the exit doors on the other side of the unit.
He rolled his eyes and strutted out like he owned the place.
One of his senior nurses passed by carrying a tray. She glanced after him, then at me. A middle-aged woman with the kind of expression that said she had seen everything in this hospital.
She shook her head before giving me an apologetic look.
I simply nodded and walked over to John, who was already starting to stir.
My mood had soured after Garrick's visit, but I refused to let it affect how I treat my patients. It's not the type of person my parents raised me to be.
I forced a small smile as I picked up the chart beside his bed just as his eyes were beginning to flutter open.
His antibiotics were about to finish. His painkillers were wearing off.
"Good evening," I said, placing the chart back where I found it.
The nurse who had been watching him over the past few days when I wasn't around, had said he had barely spoken a word. And when he did, it sounded like some ancient language none of them could understand.
They assumed he was foreign. But I knew what he was speaking.
Ancient Latin.
After all, Pippa, my roommate, was studying to become an archaeologist. She was currently working on a dig with her professor at a Roman site near the park, and over the past year, I had heard enough Latin phrases floating around our flat to recognize it when I heard it.
John mumbled something under his breath. More Latin.
But one name stood out clearly among the slurred words.
"Marcus. Marcus Valerius."
"Is that your name?" I asked, adjusting his IV line as I switched out the nearly empty antibiotic bag for a new one prescribed by his doctor.
Marcus Valerius.
God, even his name sounded Roman.
One would think he had walked straight off the set of some historical drama and wandered into the hospital, mid-method acting. But then again, no one at this age would speak in Ancient Latin like that. Not even a highly-skilled actor.
I finished adjusting the IV and turned back to the chart, pretending to be busy just to see him. Be near him. I didn't know why, but there was this comforting presence around him.
That was when the bed creaked.
I looked up.
The man who had barely stirred for hours was now staring straight at me. His eyes were open, clearer than before. Dark and alert.
Fixed on me.
For a moment, he didn't speak. He simply studied my face, as though he was committing every detail to memory. Then something in his expression shifted.
The tension that had been etched into his features softened. The hard lines of confusion easing into something quieter. Almost...reverent.
He pushed himself up slightly against the pillows, wincing at the effort.
When he spoke again, it wasn't in Latin. It was English.
But not the kind I was used to hearing.
"Tell me," he said slowly, his voice rough from disuse, each word careful and deliberate, "in what place have I awakened?"
I blinked at him. The cadence of it felt strange. Formal, almost ancient. Like a dialogue from a Shakespeare play.
"You're in St.Albans City Hospital," I said cautiously.
He stared at me as though I had spoken complete nonsense.
"Hospital," he repeated, tasting the word like it was unfamiliar.
His gaze drifted across the room. From the machines, the fluorescent lights, the plastic tubing running from his arm.
A flicker of unease crossed his face. Then his eyes returned to me.
For a moment, he said nothing. Then, quietly, "Are you...a spirit?"
I frowned. "A spirit?"
"An angel, perhaps," he said, searching for the right word. "A messenger of the gods." His brows furrowed. "I have passed into the realm of the dead, have I not?"
He said it with unsettling sincerity. Like he actually believe the nonsense he was uttering.
He studied my face again, something almost hopeful in his gaze.
"Tell me truthfully," he murmured. "Is this the afterlife?"
"No," I said, shaking my head. "This isn't the afterlife."
A flicker of confusion crossed his face.
"Then, pray tell, where am I?" he asked, panic beginning to lace the edges of his voice. "What place is this?"