1.My existence found no meaning since I started working with him, but now there is someone who loves and values me. I will never let that slip away from me again.
"The sound of his breathing rises and swells, then cuts off and fades away. He doesn’t care. Many specters surround him—faces of people, faces of children, amidst cries of pain. It didn’t matter much to him. He grabs the clamp and thread to close the wound. His nightmare is a whirlpool that might never end. What is that?"
November 5, 2024
The sharp sound of the alarm pulled him from his soft bed on a cold Tuesday morning. The clock read 5:17 a.m. He gazed around his spacious room, the place where he always felt at ease, from the moment he went to bed until he woke up. What is that…? A strange sensation of intense itching between his thighs. Perhaps it was due to a night full of passion with his wife, leaving him feeling drained.
He cast one last glance at his wife before leaving the room. She was still asleep, her chest fully exposed, while her lower half was covered by a warm woolen blanket.
He prepared a cup of hot coffee gently and heated a plate full of golden fried bread and aromatic roasted sausages, accompanied by slices of crispy bacon.
He placed the breakfast on the table, then headed to his five-year-old daughter’s room. Approaching her blue chestnut bed in a dimly lit room, he sat beside her and tried to wake her gently, murmuring her name:
“It’s time for school, my dear. If you don’t hurry, you might miss the day. Millie, wake up, sweetheart.”
As soon as she woke up, little Millie leaned to the side, trying to grasp that morning had arrived and that a new school day had begun.
Her father said gently:
“We prepared your favorite breakfast, your mother and I. So enough with the laziness and sluggishness. Get ready for school; I’ll take you today, my dear.”
He got up from his seat and glanced at the door of his daughter's room.
Millie replied softly:
“I dreamt of a small white lamb, a newborn, standing amidst blazing flames. I was there trying to help it, but I burned along with it.”
The father froze for a moment, stunned by his daughter’s frightening words. Then, he carried her in his arms and said gently:
“It’s just a nightmare, my dear. I don’t think something like that could truly hurt a little girl like you.”
He carried her to the kitchen and placed her on her special chair near the table. A few moments later, his wife entered after coming out of the bathroom.
Millie shared her mother's light brown hair, a color resembling honey in the summer, while the father had black hair tinged with copper and wore his glasses.
The wife smiled and said:
“Oh, Alex! Who would’ve thought you’d prepare breakfast yourself?”
Alex replied with a faint smile:
“I woke up before everyone, so I decided to do it instead of waking you.”
He took a sip from his coffee cup, then set it aside and washed it. Looking at his beautiful wife and his even more beautiful daughter, he realized it was time to head to work. The clock showed 6:05.
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"Today, I’ll take Millie to school, then head straight to work, my dear."
Alex repeated these words as he moved to change into more appropriate clothes.
His wife heard his statement immediately and affirmed that she would handle her part.
Within twenty minutes, Alex had finished getting ready and headed to the parking garage of their apartment building. Millie arrived with her mother, and as Millie entered the car through the back door, her mother stood outside.
She kissed Alex lightly on the lips and smiled, saying, "Dinner is on me as compensation when you get back later. And don’t think you’ve outdone me this morning."
Alex replied with a smile, "I don’t think so, my dear. I don’t think so. I hope you finish your new book soon, especially since the story’s events are nearing the end. Goodbye."
He drove his 2020 Mercedes out of the garage, greeted by the gloomy gray morning light. The weather always seemed this way at this time, and everyone had grown accustomed to it.
As he drove past the sprawling Cross Square amid the strange morning traffic, cars were piled up to his right and left. The light changed from yellow to red, forcing him to wait a long while. He felt bored with the wait and suffocated by the scene.
He could hear only scattered words from pedestrians, who claimed that the traffic was caused by an accident half a mile away, which had partially closed the road. They estimated that the congestion could last more than forty minutes, or perhaps less.
But Alex wasn’t interested; he was lost in thought, gazing at a group of homeless people a few meters away. They were warming themselves around a fire they had lit inside a barrel filled with wood and oils. His stare remained vacant as he looked at them, so much so that he didn’t notice the traffic light turning green.
His attention was suddenly drawn to the posters plastered on walls and lampposts, displaying pictures of people who were allegedly missing. These posters stirred a strange feeling within him, and he began to sweat for no apparent reason.
A honk from a car behind jolted him out of his trance. Feeling embarrassed for delaying the vehicles behind him, he sped past Cross Square. More than twenty minutes had passed since his first stop, and he hadn’t noticed the changes in the traffic lights.
He stopped his car after passing two workplaces, where his daughter’s co-educational school was located. He dropped his daughter, Milly, off on the sidewalk, where the nanny was waiting to escort her to the school daycare.
Alex bid farewell to the nanny and his daughter, then headed to his workplace.
Alex parked his car in the parking lot upon arriving at work, where he had to walk a short distance from the back entrance. He had been working at this hospital for more than five years, where the name of the hospital prominently appeared on the front fa?ade: Valentine New Testament.
He entered the hospital, greeted by the familiar scents of the place. His first destination was the locker room, where he changed his clothes entirely, from head to toe.
In the large hallway on the first floor, Alex greeted several colleagues, exchanging pleasantries for the start of a new workday.
With steady steps, he headed toward the stairs to the second floor. However, the sound of commotion at the hospital’s main entrance caught his attention. A girl with a bag slung from her shoulder to her waist, with a small camera hanging around her neck, was arguing with the receptionist. The receptionist apologized, explaining that Mr. Kovach was currently busy and unable to meet her.
Alex observed the situation from a distance, as he wasn’t close enough to hear the details of the conversation.
At that moment, a middle-aged man working with him at the same hospital approached him hastily. Alex knew him by the name Peter. Peter came to inform him of an emergency surgery.
Alex didn’t grasp the situation at first, as he was accustomed to such cases. He calmly responded,
“From where?”
His colleague replied, "Follow me to Operating Room 007." When asked about the patient's condition, he informed him that she was unstable and had lost a significant amount of blood due to an accident near the Crusader Square. Alex recalled the incident he'd heard about earlier that morning.
He entered the operating room, where a group of doctors was preparing to remove a thin steel rod that had pierced through both sides of the young girl’s leg. She was said to be sixteen years old.
Alex donned all the necessary equipment and prepared for the operation, as he was the one in charge. The doors of Operating Room 007 were closed until the surgery was completed.
The timer, initially set for half an hour, stretched to two hours and forty minutes before the doors opened. The doctors exited one by one, discussing Alex's role in stabilizing the girl’s condition.
Alex stepped out, glancing at the girl, whose condition had improved. She was connected to medical devices and blood bags to replace the blood she had lost in the accident.
He handed the girl’s case over to Peter, who was to manage the remaining procedures, especially since the girl’s mother was in an adjacent medical room, receiving care for superficial wounds—far less severe than her daughter's condition.
Peter understood his task and left. Meanwhile, Alex stepped outside, looking up at the dark gray sky shrouded with clouds. He leaned against the wall, lit a cigarette, and exhaled a cloud of toxic smoke. He sat quietly for a few moments, trying to prolong this fleeting calm.
But his peace was interrupted by the sound of heavy leather shoes approaching. From the rhythm of the steps, Alex recognized the woman he had seen earlier that morning at the reception desk.
She approached him until she was close enough to speak and said, "You... you’re Mr. Kovach, aren’t you? Alex Kovach, the surgeon?"
The woman repeated, "Are you Mr. Kovach, Alex Kovach, is that correct?" as she stepped forward into view.
Alex pushed off the wall and extinguished his cigarette, deeming it inappropriate for the moment. Then he said, "I am, yes. Is there a problem, ma’am? I have responsibilities waiting for me in a minute."
Alex said this in an even tone, neither overly sarcastic nor excessively polite.
The woman took a few steps forward, saying:
"I’ve come to ask you some questions, if you don’t mind, Mr. Kovach, regarding the posters..."
Alex interrupted her, attempting to clarify who she was, as he didn’t want to engage in a conversation without knowing the other party.
The woman froze in place for a few seconds, then spoke in a muffled and hesitant voice, brimming with tension:
"I’m a journalist working for Yesterday's Tweet. My name is Lydia Novak. I came here today to conduct an interview about the missing persons' posters."
She then added, with a pleading tone:
"Could you please cooperate with me on this matter?"
