Chapter 5 - Flatline
At 1:15 a.m., the red light above Operating Room 4 began flashing erratically.
A sharp, high-pitched alarm sliced through the heavy surgical doors, followed by the chaotic shouting of nurses and the rhythmic, hollow thud of manual chest compressions. Nathan vaulted from the bench, slamming his hands against the double doors' small glass windows.
Inside, through the haze of sterile steam and bright surgical lamps, he saw chaos. Monitors were screaming a flat, continuous pitch.
Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.
""Asystole!"" a nurse shouted. ""We lost the rhythm! Charge to two hundred!""
Nathan threw his shoulder against the door, but a burly orderly grabbed him immediately, pinning him against the frame. ""Sir, you cannot enter! You will contaminate the field!""
""That's my wife!"" Nathan roared, thrashing with all the strength of a drowning man. ""Claire! Claire, look at me! Don't you dare die! Do you hear me?!""
""Clear!""
Through the glass, Nathan saw Claire’s slender body arch violently off the operating table as the defibrillator paddles fired into her chest. The monitor stayed flat. A straight, horizontal line mocking every dollar, every warehouse, every piece of real estate Nathan owned.
""Again! Charge to three hundred! Clear!""
Thud.
Nothing.
""Three hundred and sixty! Come on, Claire,"" Dr. Hale’s muffled voice came through the crack of the door. ""Give me something back.""
Nathan stopped fighting the orderly. He fell to his knees on the cold tile, pressing his forehead against the frosted glass of the operating room door. He had never prayed in his adult life. He believed only in contracts, collateral, and leverage. But now, clutching the crushed, brown gardenia in his right hand, Nathan Mercer pressed his face against the door and wept like the fifteen-year-old boy he had locked away in the dark.
Take everything, he bargained into the empty air. Take the company. Take the money. Burn it all to the ground. Just let her breathe.
""Charge to three hundred and sixty again! Clear!""
Thud.
A second of unbearable silence stretched across the universe. Then, a single, solitary blip broke the void.
Bloop.
Nathan held his breath.
Bloop.
Bloop... bloop... bloop.
May you like
""Sinus rhythm restored,"" Dr. Hale’s voice echoed, thick with exhaustion. ""Pressure is stabilizing at eighty over fifty. Resume bypass weaning. Hurry, people.""
The orderly slowly released his grip on Nathan’s shoulders. Nathan remained on the floor, his hands trembling so violently he could barely hold the flower, his chest heaving with silent, ragged sobs as the heart monitor inside continued its fragile, miraculous cadence.
