The Woman In Red

The emergency room at St. Joseph's Memorial Hospital is never quiet. People in pain are not usually quiet creatures, and with either death or more agony imminent they see no reason to silence themselves. But today is a softer day than usual—the din is gentler, the crying dampened, the groaning muffled by a considerate hand. Only six people currently sit, waiting to be taken care of at one o'clock in the afternoon, a strange time to have gotten injured it's true, but it can't be helped.

One woman dressed entirely in red sits cross-legged on the floor, apparently meditating, though it's possible that she is in fact unconscious. Her eyelids are darkly shadowed, her lips painted a deep crimson, and it's difficult to tell whether her emergency is internal or external—for with the red dress nearly the color of blood it is impossible to discern the nature of her problem.

The couple that sits in the corner is not a particularly mysterious case. Though they appear to be locked in a passionate embrace, there are the sounds of incoherent bickering emerging from their otherwise occupied lips. If one were to check the paper which was unceremoniously filled out and shoved back into the nurse's hands, it would be discovered that a tongue ring and braces were involved.

"What about that one?" Whispers are heard from the other corner of the room, where the emergency room's last three occupants sit.

"No. No fucking way. She's hot, but she's not horny."

They are, unsurprisingly, young men.

"How would you know?"

"How would I know what?"

"That she's not horny."

"Because she hasn't even looked over here."

"Yeah she did. You were just too fucking busy checking out the chick in red."

"Are you shitting me? She looks like she's dead. For fuck's sake, man, give me some credit. I don't wanna bang a dead chick."

The third man, who until now has been silent, lifts his head. "Bryan, Michael."

They turn in his direction, as if surprised to find him still sitting next to them.

"Yeah, Tyler?"

Tyler clutches his head and closes his eyes. "Would you two shut the fuck up?"

Michael frowns. "Lighten up, buddy. We're just checking the nurses out."

"And the chick in red on the floor over there," Bryan adds with a wink.

"That was you checking out the dead one, man." Michael turns his attention to Tyler once more and smiles a rather patronizing smile. "Tyler, you've got to loosen up. Life isn't gonna come to you if you act like you have a fucking pole up your ass. Relax. Enjoy life. Be more like me."

Tyler lets his head sink into his hands, and his shoulders shake as he gives into a fit of laughter that rises quickly to hysterical giggles. The sound is far too loud in the quiet of the emergency room; it bounces against the walls in its attempt to escape, but finds no way out and instead comes back, echoing from every corner. 

"Be more like you?" he manages when he once more finds the breath to speak. "Relax? Enjoy life? That's what I was doing when I fucking fell out of a moving car! You didn't even have the fucking sense to call an ambulance you were so fucked up after the party! Instead you drove me here, to this fucking emergency room, and you're still fucked up! Being more like you got me a concussion and a leg that hurts every fucking time I move! Fuck, I hate you guys," he finishes softly, leaning back into the chair and closing his eyes, as if the effort of yelling has drained the remaining life out of him.

Several minutes pass and none of them speaks. The young woman is still sitting on the floor, and it's possible that the lighting is to blame, but she appears paler, and her dress seems a deeper shade of red. 

A nurse comes through a set of doors at one end of the room and glances at her chart. She is pretty, with auburn hair and a voluptuous figure that is ill-concealed even by the shapeless scrubs. "Morgan Ellis and David Chatham," she calls in a gentle, self-assured tone. The lip-locked couple rise and gingerly make their way over to her, holding onto each other and for the moment not arguing about whose fault it was that they ended up this way.

The nurse leaves, and there is once more silence in the room. 

Bryan looks at the floor and then over at the woman in red, scanning her face and figure without expression. He frowns and nudges Michael.

"Do you think he's okay?" he asks softly.

"Who?"

"Tyler, you idiot."

"Oh, yeah, he'll be fine."

The frown has not left Bryan's face, and he glances at Tyler, who hasn't moved since he sank against the wall. "He doesn't look so good. He's starting to look like the chick in red, all pale and shit."

"He was pale to begin with. We live in Washington, not fucking Hawaii."

"It just seems like maybe we should have called the ambulance instead of driving him here, like maybe it was a real emergency."

Michael shakes his head. "He'll be fine. He's Tyler. Nothing's gonna kill him."

Bryan is silent, still watching Tyler, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, watching the furrowed brow and the expression of determination warring with pain. "If he dies, I'm gonna fucking kill myself," he says quietly.

Michael turns on him incredulously. "Are you fucking crazy? Why the fuck would you kill yourself?"

Bryan shrugs. "Couldn't live with it. Knowing we killed him."

"Shut up. Shut the fuck up. We did not fucking kill him, all right? He's not dead, for one thing."

"But if he dies," Bryan presses, and his eyes stray once more to the woman in red, "it'll be our fault."

"What, are you worried about not being let into heaven?" Michael asks sarcastically.

"A little."

There is silence for a moment and then Michael says, seriously for once, "Me, too."

Tyler opens his eyes and smiles. "Would you two shut the fuck up? I'm not dying. I'm just hurt, is all. Don't go planning my funeral already."  

The two uninjured men smile briefly, but there is still worry behind their eyes, even as they give a nurse a leisurely once-over and a lewd smile. Bryan glances once more at the woman in red, as if he can perhaps tell what is wrong with her if he just looks hard enough.

Her eyes are open now. Those that have been shut for so long that she appeared dead now open. They are a soft blue color, like the very edge of the sky that rests just above the horizon. She stands abruptly, fluidly, with a grace belying her sickly pallor. Her eyes light on Bryan, and she smiles slightly. 

Bryan nudges Michael hard in the side.

"She smiled at me," he whispers. "The hot one smiled at me."

"What hot one?"

"The one in red. She fucking smiled at me."

"The one in red? You mean the one that fucking looked like she was dead?"

"Yeah. She's not dead."

Michael stares at him for a moment, shakes his head. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What do you mean what the fuck is wrong with me?"

"I mean, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Why are you always such a dick?"

Michael appears to consider this for a moment. "I don't know."

"Fuck you." Bryan says without heat. "I'm gonna go talk to her."

"Go for it. Talk to the dead chick. Hit on the dead chick. Bang the dead chick. See if I care."

Bryan smiles at the woman in red. "She's not dead, you fucking idiot. She's standing and smiling." Smiling at him from her seat across the room. "You can't be dead and do that."

"What the fuck do you know?"

The auburn-haired nurse's cool voice interrupts them. "Tyler Northam, please."

Tyler slowly rises to his feet, holding one hand to his head and favoring his injured leg. He approaches the nurse, gives her a weak smile, and turns back to the others.

"See you later, guys."

Bryan nods. "We'll be here when you get out."

Michael doesn't look at either of them. "Yeah, we'll be here. Promise."

A grin stretches across Tyler's face, and he appears healthier for a moment. "Thanks. Well, later, then." He leaves the room limping, with the nurse supporting him as they walk through the swinging doors.

Michael's gaze remains on the door. He leans over to Bryan. "What about that one? She was hot."

Bryan tears his eyes from the woman in red, who is holding his attention with very little effort, and stares at his friend. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"