Dark Heart (DARC Ops Book 3) Read Free Page A

of that, a sympathy that could grow inside her like a disease. It was a disease. It was pity. And pity never helped anyone.
    “God bless you, Fiona. I just needed some good news.”
    “The real good news is that you’ll be feeling better soon. And that you’ll take control back from this horrible disease.”
    “Yes,” Marva said, sounding weak again.
    “Are you still tired, Marva?”
    “Yes,” she said again.
    “Maybe I’ll let you rest up before breakfast,” said Fiona, checking her patient’s chart one last time. There was nothing of importance scheduled for the day. Just more bed rest and insulin. And blood readings, and insulin and readings and insulin and . . .
    “My kids should be here,” said Marva.
    Yes. They damn well should . Fiona couldn’t remember the last time Marva had any visitors. Where the hell was her family?
    “They should be here any minute,” Marva said, trying to sit up straighter. “I need to stay awake.”
    “They’re coming today?”
    “Any minute.”
    Fiona smiled, fluffed her pillow one last time, and prepared to get on with her day. She could feel better about things, knowing that Marva would at least have a visitor. “Enjoy your family time,” Fiona said cheerfully on her way out.
    The busy hallway reminded Fiona of her long list of tasks that day. She had a whole slew of medications to administer. A round of BP checks. A blood transfusion. And a catheter removal—which she hated almost as much as catheter insertion.
    She decided she’d tackle the blood transfusion first, just a simple matter of attaching tubes to a new blood bag. Something she could do in her sleep.
    “Can I get your name, please?”
    “Come on,” the man said sourly. “You know my name. You’ve asked about six times now.”
    She approached him and took hold of his wrist. “They make me ask every time, Ronald.” She held up his wrist so she could read the tag. “Ronald Higgins,” she said loudly.
    “That’s your procedure, huh?” He drew his arm away and tucked it under his sheet. “To save you from screwing up?”
    She checked over his chart for his name, and for the doctor’s blood transfusion request. Everything had to be checked and rechecked and corroborated ad nauseam.
    “No, it’s to save you. ” She walked over to his bedside table to inspect his new blood bag. “We wouldn’t want you to get the wrong mixture. Right?”
    “Ah, so what?” he grumbled. “I’ve been an alcoholic for forty-five years. I’m used to getting the wrong mixture.”
    She did the customary patient ID check, matching up wrist band number to the blood transfusion record tag, and to the blood bag itself. She checked and rechecked, and then signed the blood transfusion record tag.
    “What’s the mixture today?” he asked. “Bloody Mary? I like it with a stick of celery.”
    “How about a stick of metal?” said Fiona, tapping on his infusion site.
    “Exactly. The fun times are certainly over, aren’t they?”
    Fiona was busy attaching all the new plastic tubing, setting up the drip apparatus, and then attaching and hanging the bag from it.
    “Okay, Mr. Higgins, let me know if you feel anything different from this. If you feel cold suddenly, or dizzy, or if your skin feels itchy. Anything like that. Okay?”
    “Why? What kind of blood’s in there?”
    “Your type,” Fiona said, struggling to patch the tube into the blood bag. “It’s just another thing I have to say.” She was having some trouble getting the blood to flow into the tube. Maybe a defect in the plastic. The quality of the tubing seemed to be getting cheaper and cheaper every month.
    “What’s going on?” he asked. “You need a hand with something over there?”
    “No, I just need a new tube,” she sighed. “I’ll be right back.”
    Three minutes later, Fiona was back in the room with a new tube. She turned the blood bag upside down in order to pull out the old tube. After throwing the old tube in a medical trash