attracts friends and family to a hospital like a sick relative with money. Most of the time this disgusts Nurse Kim. All that fighting and scrabbling. But that’s the odd thing about the man in room number three. He’s got the finest treatment that money can buy. But no family has ever come to visit him. He’s listed as John Doe. How does John Doe get such good insurance coverage?
Nurse Kim doesn’t know why visitors would come here. It’s not like it matters. There’s a saying that floats around hospital wards that goes like this: don’t screw up so bad that you kill a dead person. And that describes everybody in this ward, dead, but kept alive through the miracle of medical science.
It’s not like the gentleman in room three was breathing for himself or pumping his blood on his own. Even his assisted vitals were crappy. So when Kim finishes her round she doesn’t give him another thought.
Then the alarm goes off. The gentleman in room number three is crashing. She calls a code and goes to save him. She hurries, but she doesn’t run. There’s no point. The monitor has told her that the man’s heart has stopped, so they’ll have to d-fib him anyway. Most of the patients here are vegetables, so there’s no harm in a little extra brain death. It’s not like he had really been alive anyway. Unplug the machines and he’s gone. In fact, the most likely explanation for all of this is that one of the machines failed.
But when Kim reaches the doorway, she stops dead in her tracks. The dead man in room number three is sitting up in his bed. He’s pulling the last of his ventilation tube free. He looks at Kim and spits a little blood and phlegm on the floor.
“Where is he?” the man asks.
“Who?” says Kim, because she can’t think of anything else to say to a man risen from the dead.
“Excelsior.”
“You mean the hero? He’s dead. They had a funeral and everything. The president was there.”
“Bullshit. Was there a body?”
“W-w-what?”
“Did they find a body?”
“N-n-no.”
The man swings his legs out of the bed and tries to stand. His legs have atrophied and won’t hold him. He slides onto the floor. “Well, yippie ki-a,” he says, disgusted at his weakness.
“Take it easy,” says Nurse Kim, “You’ve been in bed for a long time.” She checks his chart rather than going to help him. This man has a crazy light in his eye that she’s not comfortable with. “Three months.”
The man curses and struggles to get to his feet. After a minute he claws his way back onto the bed. As Nurse Kim watches this, she asks, “Where do you have to be in such a hurry, Mister Doe?”
“Heh, John Doe hunh. My name’s Augustus, but all my lady friends call me 'Gus.”
“Well, why are you in such a hurry Gus?”
“I’m going to go find him. I'm going to find Excelsior.”
“But he’s dead.”
“If they didn’t find a body, he’s still alive. He’s just farted off somewhere to feel sorry for himself.” Gus’ voice is so raspy, it causes Nurse Kim sympathetic pain.
“Can I get you a glass of water?”
“Yeah.” Nurse Kim turns to leave the room. Gus’ voice stops her in the doorway, “And get me some cigarettes. I could just about kill for a cigarette.”
