Centre Hospitalier de Chêne Rouge, Saguenay - Québec, Canada

12:30 A.M.

Emerson blearily scrolled through perhaps the hundredth patient chart of the next day's backlog prep- Chief complaint? Sore throat. History of present illness? Started two days ago and hurts. Review of systems? He filled out the ENT section in a few clicks. Physical examination? Tomorrow. Assessment and plan? Probably a Z-Pack if he had to guess- the patient's frequently used pharmacy populated under the prescription as he added it under the diagnosis. Emerson slowly blinked to wet his dry eyes as he clicked over to the last section and electronically signed himself as the medical scribe and left the 'performed by' section empty until the morning staff arrived. Done. The patient chart's prep section minimized as he was returned to the nursing station scheduler. Dozens of un-prepped patient ID photos mockingly stared back at him. He checked the time in the bottom right hand corner of the screen.

12:31 AM

Emerson absently watched the colon blink between the numbers with a blank face, his mind devoid of productive thought.

'Cmon' Em.'

He closed his eyes, inhaled, and slowly exhaled as he re-opened his eyes. The tension in the back of his neck and shoulder slightly eased- a newfound glint of determination in his slate-grey eyes.

The work wasn't going anywhere. And stalling would only make an already all-around difficult situation for his co-workers and the other hospital staff that much more difficult. So what if he was tired? Restless? Who wasn't? His situation wasn't anything new. He wasn't special.

He looked back at the list of more than forty un-prepped charts. He just wished there was a more intuitive approach to organizing and completing them during busy days. So basically everyday- and there should be a better way! Leave it to smarter minds than his, he supposed.

But why did he have to spend five or more minutes using third-party software to research a patient's vaccination, screening, and surgery history for routine insurance checkups? Shouldn't the fucking insurance company have staff specifically for that if they cared so much? Having someone else dot your i's and cross your t's was just... lazy and inefficient, and placed even more strain on the already under-staffed and overworked healthcare providers and support staff. There was following policy and procedures. And then there was being an asshole. It irritated him to no end.

Wearily sighing, he grabbed his second energy drink of the day and downed the remaining few, lukewarm ounces. He made a face.

'Who drinks this battery acid? Bleh.' He leaned back from the workstation desk and spun around to face the empty interior of the nursing station, holding the obnoxiously decorated can like a basketball before aiming, and shooting!

Clatter

Emerson threw up both arms as the can landed into the bag-less recycling bin- "And the crowd goes wild! Ahhh!" He loudly whispered.

The silent applause of an empty nursing station resounded through the floor.

Swiveling back to face his monitor while sagely nodding, and pretending to speak in a tired athlete's voice: "Thank you, thank you, um... well, I'd like to thank my beautiful wife, who promised me some mind-blowing head if I made the shot. She's really the only thing that made this possible, you know? -I love her to death." He shook his head and snickered at the absurdity of imagining some poor, brave soul actually saying that on national T.V.

He pulled up the next patient's chart.

"Well, at least he has a woman in his life." Emerson grumbled about the imaginary athlete's smoking-hot wife as he started going through the same mind-numbing routine. Thoughts of his previous relationships occasionally flitting through his mind.

His longest relationship had been with Jacklyn, lasting over two years. It ended amicably, which is all you could really ask for- besides it not ending, he supposed. The other three averaged around five months. They had all been incredibly cute, kind, thoughtful, and smart people- he felt lucky to have had the chance to date them at all. Sadly, none of them seemed to work out in the end though. His work schedule was atrocious. And although he was fit, mainly because of how many times he had to work through lunch and walk around the hospital, his general lethargy and caffeine crashes after working back-to-back 10-12 hour shifts made spontaneous day trips, romantic moonlit walks, homecooked candlelit dinners, and steamy sex, rather difficult. Eventually, it simply boiled down to him not being able to find any reasonable balance between his work and social life.

It wasn't that he didn't want those things. Far from it- he even put his best effort into making time for each activity. Especially the last one.

He frowned. Many memories about the night walks in particular started to surface. That was the one activity he truly despised above the rest. He'd always found something inordinately disconcerting about walking in the dark, even with an adorable girl on his arm talking about her day. Fuck. He didn't even like taking the trash out at night because the dumpster in his condo complex was situated in what he was convinced was a miniature black hole. No light ever escaped that god-damned corner.

His fingers danced across the keyboard as chart after chart was absent-mindedly completed. Every time he digitally signed his name to the chart he couldn't help but think of his warm bed back home.

His stomach growled. He grimly marched on, ignoring his own personal suffering for the good of the patients.

And after what felt like an hour of shoveling shit uphill with a fork, he checked the time again.

12:43 AM

"Nope."

He logged out and powered down his workstation- making sure to snag his partially full, baby-blue Hydro Flask by the flex strap with an index finger and letting it dangle at his side.

He gave a final, cursory glance around his workstation; piddling wire mesh pen cup with a single, dull pencil- check; randomly colored paperclips that he could suddenly never find when he needed them most- check; stacked PHI paperwork that need provider signatures- check; a slightly crinkled, empty water bottle innocently propped in the corner of the desk partition- check. Perfect. He was all set, and felt slightly better about not getting the work 100% complete.

Was it hypocritical? Yes. Did he care? Of course, he honestly loved his co-workers. They were some of the chillest, hard-working people he'd ever had the pleasure of working alongside.

There was even that one time where he'd passed out on the couch and couldn't make a bagged lunch for work the next morning before having to sprint out the door. And Cooper, bless his country music loving soul, shared some of his microwaveable chicken pot pie and leftover cornbread squares. Best lunch, and conversation, he'd ever had in that lounge. Granted, the entire room smelled like chicken pot pie for about two days after that cheap-as-fuck microwave had its way, but, he would never forget how hungry and anxious he'd been when good 'ole Cooper waltzed in and saved the day like Southern Superman.

Easy friendships made the hardest jobs tolerable.

So yeah, he felt sorta bad. He'd make it up to them another night.

But as he walked into that same, quiet, empty lounge and went to the wall of lockers in the corner, he couldn't help smile- no one would be upset with him. Especially after he told them he'd only had an energy drink for lunch... nine hours ago. If the nursing station MA heard that she would've dragged him by the scruff of his scrubs out the door.

Even the patients, especially the elderly ones, would have been up in arms about staying healthy and making sure to drink lots of fluids throughout the day. Then they would have probably followed Emerson out the door, missing their appointment, as they fervently discussed what a scam insurance companies were for not letting them have this name brand medication or this treatment or that particular screening procedure. Then they'd ask how school was, what his plans were, did he like his job, did he have a girlfriend, what did he want to do, or say everything mentioned prior and then follow up with: 'I'm so sorry for taking up so much of your time- I'm so all over the place, oh and one more thing-'. And then proceed to reach into their purse or pocket and pull out a crumpled, canary-yellow paper with the names of one or two specialist referrals they'd forgotten to mention during the visit. And the names were written in some unknown alien language that would have made any doctor feel threatened about losing the monthly 'shittiest handwriting' award.

Yes. Emerson found many things to be frustrating about his job. But at the end of the day, it was great hands-on clinical experience and looked good on the resume. And the best part? Hot nurses.

He lightly chuckled to himself as he popped the lock and and opened the small, rectangular locker, retrieving his wallet, car keys, and phone.

He still remembered the transition of not being allowed to have his phone while on-duty. It wasn't a deal breaker, not by any means, but the first few weeks he found himself inadvertently reaching into his empty pocket to check the time before catching himself and using the workstation. Nowadays he didn't even notice it- in fact, the weight of the phone in his scrub pocket now felt cumbersome and unwieldy rather than comforting.

He pressed the power button and waited for the usual 'Welcome' message to flash across the screen before the inevitable starting up flash-bang at maximum brightness- why did he never look away when it did that?

No messages. No calls. One email- Check your car's extended warranty. Typical.

He stuffed the phone into his right pocket, which caused the elastic in the pant's waistline to sag. He made a face, but nevertheless retied his scrubs so they were more snug and wouldn't fall to his ankles when he started walking home.

Now that would have been the icing on the proverbial cake- flashing his sweet next door neighbor Mrs. Fennimore. God, he'd have to move out that very day.

He shut the locker.

"Oh! Hey Em, crazy-ass day huh?"

Emerson turned to see Liam walk into the lounge, looking like he'd just gotten done with a ten hour shift- which he had. Liam gave a slight, crooked half-smile as he came up to his locker, one of the furthest from Emerson's, and started twisting the lock open.

"Psh, you're tellin' me? I had...mm, what's-her-face today for my 4:45 with Dr. Harish." Emerson replied, leaning his left shoulder against the lockers and crossing his arms. He was still holding his wallet in one hand, and car keys in the other.

"Oh, oh, dude, wait- I know exactly who you're talking about... she was the one who needed the bilateral chest x-ray, right?"

"Exactly. And you know how it goes, she keeps changing up which imaging facility she wants to be sent to, and she always wants their contact info even-"

"-even when it's automatically sent in the visit summary through email, dude, I know-it's insane. Like, c'mon already, can't you see how busy we are? The info is right there! -you should feel comfortable enough with basic technology at this point, no? It's wild."

"Right? Oh, you workin' tomorrow?"

"No actually!" Liam's tired face lit up with a genuine smile. The prick. Emerson smiled inside though, he was happy for the guy.

"I finally managed to get a day-off approved," he opened his locker and retrieved his things, "only took working double-overtime for like ten days straight. And I'm still somehow broke!"

Emerson scoffed good-naturedly, and said, "Yeah, well you know it's cause they see you taking those five extra minutes on your non-existent thirty-minute lunch breaks."

Liam closed his locker with a barking laugh, and said, "Fuckin' hell, Em. What are we even doing in this place? I'm turning twenty-five in like four months but people say I look thirty!"

"Who says that?" Emerson cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, like- Laura, Laura says that!" He replied defensively.

"Laura?"

"Yeah, you know... Laura."

Emerson shook his head, "Nope. She even work on this floor? Or wait-" His eyes widened dramatically, as he leaned and stage-whispered "-does she go to another school?"

"Screw you, man." Liam said with a smile, then checked his watch, "Christ almighty, alright man, I'm off- see you never hopefully!"

"Right back atcha, pal." Emerson replied as Liam left the lounge and turned around to briefly wave before heading off to the right.

'Who on God's green Earth did that guy have to blow to get a day off?' Emerson sighed, laughing to himself that he shoulda said that and asked for their number too. Dear lord did he need a break.

He pocketed his wallet and car keys before also heading out, making sure to shut off the lounge's lights and close the door behind him. He started walking in the same direction as Liam- towards the front exit, and where he'd also parked in the employee garage, when his stomach rumbled hard enough he thought he was about to shit himself while standing.

"Whoa, easy boy, easy." He said, patting his stomach. He took out his phone and checked the time.

12:46 AM

It was already so late.

'Fuck it.' He decided to buy a bag of expired chips or some stupid candy from the only vending machine in the entire place. He needed something to keep his blood sugars up otherwise he might just pass out at the wheel. He turned left.

Little did he know, that as of that moment, the worst betrayal in human history would no longer belong to Judas- but to his poor, neglected stomach...