By Cathy Roberts
Malik settled himself into a seat on the El, but his mind wasn't on the trip home. It was on Lucy Knight and John Carter. He wasn't sure why they were on his mind today. It had been months since the stabbing. Months since Lucy Knight had died. Months since Carter had been so badly injured.
And now, in May, Valentine's Day was all he could think about.
It had started with the whispers from the other nurses. Whispers about Greene and Weaver in huddled meetings. Whispers that included Carter's name. Whispers that included the words 'drugs' and 'addict'. Words that Malik had never dreamed would be connected with Carter's name.
It was partially his fault, Malik thought. He had gone into Curtain 3, asking Lucy if she needed any help. Haleh also needed him to help with something in the supply room, but patients came first. This had been just as the party was getting started. Lucy had turned down his offer of help. Told him that everything was okay. Sobriki just sat there on the bed, nervous and jittery as he looked from one to the other. And Malik had left.
Had left Lucy to be knifed, only to later find out that Carter had told Lucy to get him to watch Sobriki until someone from Psych arrived.
Malik had often wondered just how long after he had left was it before Sobriki stabbed Lucy? Five minutes? Ten? No, couldn't have been as long as ten. Lucy would have bled to death before being found if it had been that long. Had to be five or less. Maybe even immediately. In his mind's eye, Malik could see Lucy looking over Sobriki's chart while Sobriki quietly got up from the bed, the knife still hidden. Then he would stab her from behind. In his imagination, it always happened from behind. Malik didn't want to think that Lucy had seen it coming but was unable to call for help or escape Sobriki.
Quick stabs. Taking her by surprise. Then Sobriki turned off the lights. Maybe was headed out the door when Carter walked into the room. And then he stabbed Carter. Not as many times as he stabbed Lucy, but enough times to do terrible damage to the doctor.
Malik shook his head, chasing away the images. The El pulled to a stop and he got off, not caring that it wasn't his station. The walk home would do him good. He could use the fresh air; it would help to clear his mind of his guilty thoughts. Even if they were true.
The end.
Debris: Scattered remains: ruins
