Eisheth pulled the pillow over her head with a groan when she heard the weed whacker begin its shrieking ravaging of the hedgerow just below her bedroom window. The damn thing had to need oil or something with the way it sounded. That, or Mr. Green fueled it with the souls of the damned, which wouldn't have been out of character for the banal evil of the man. "Why?" she mumbled vaguely upwards as it stuttered along, destroying what little growth persisted after the ash fall.

The pillow did nothing to dampen the sound. It was worse than nails on a chalkboard, especially at 9:55 in the morning. She'd barely gotten an hour of sleep before the infernal racket started. Her choices were relatively straightforward: try to find a set of earplugs or venture out into the yard and see if a sufficiently blistering tongue-lashing could halt Hedge-Bane himself.

She rolled onto her side and fumbled open a drawer, fishing around for the little foam earplugs that were an essential part of any night-shift worker's sanity preservation. Eisheth uttered a few of her favorite expletives when she realized the last pair was gone. Vague memories of writing them on the grocery list came to haunt her through the haze of exhaustion, the specters of past deeds left undone here to mock her for her failings.

Disgusted with herself and thoroughly annoyed, she rolled out of bed. She didn't exactly cut the most imposing figure in her camisole and fuzzy flannel pants bedecked with images of rubber ducks. However, Eisheth had long ago learned that sincerity was the key to persuasion, and she was feeling incredibly sincere in her homicidal intent towards the weed whacker and its erstwhile operator.

Blinking bleary-eyed against the light beyond her blackout curtains as she stepped into the living room, she heard the weed whacker abruptly stop. Eisheth knew better than to assume Green had abandoned his task and made no move to head back to bed. Instead, she made a beeline for the kitchen door, ripping it open with the screeching ferocity of a truly perturbed barn owl. "Hey!"

Bleak and dull, the withered grass crunched under her bare feet with an unpleasant prickling as she advanced on him. A few stray thorns, flung from the mangling of the hedge, stabbed at the sensitive arch of her foot. Eisheth barely noticed, too focused on glaring down the man wielding the weed whacker himself.

Green looked at her like a deer caught in the headlights, sweat beading on his balding head. His greeting came out more as a question. "Morning, Eisheth?" From his slight paunch to his receding hairline, he looked the very picture of a man just past his midlife crisis, settled into something approaching retirement. Combined with a certain beige-ness that permeated both his skin and his wardrobe, most considered him an unremarkable sort.

Eisheth drew in a deep breath, nostrils flared and eyes narrowed. She looked down at the weed whacker, then back up at him with bloodshot, accusing eyes. "Is that really necessary?"

"Well, the HOA—"

It was a song and dance Eisheth knew well. "Those harpies can shut up about my hedge!" she snapped. "I want to sleep!"

Green pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead, sweat starting to trickle down his neck. "It's an eyesore, they said, and it punctured one of the kid's balls."

Eisheth scowled. "I'll puncture a lot more than—"

"Is there a problem here, Eisheth?"

The interjection of smooth, calm, polished words in that downright musical voice spiked her temper. Eisheth pivoted to face Green's wife, the corner of her mouth twitching for a moment as she tried to restrain her sneer. "Obviously."

Susan Green was at least two decades younger than her husband and considerably more stylish, if in that insufferably perfect way. Her sunglasses slid down her nose slightly as she gave Eisheth a severe once-over, tanned skin a pretty contrast to her white tennis outfit. A consummate social climber and relentless busybody, Susan was the face and nagging voice of the Homeowner's Association. "It's part of the new bylaws. All hedges have to be trimmed appropriately and not posing a hazard."

"I didn't agree to any change," Eisheth said, feeling particularly belligerent.

"There was a meeting yesterday at 2:00 PM." Susan looked down at her duck pajama pants. "Are you actually out here making threats in that? I mean, really."

The nurse was pretty sure she was going to pop a coronary. "Some of us work nights. All I want is some fucking peace and quiet."

Susan frowned slightly. "Language! There are kids in this neighborhood."

"They'll learn some useful vocabulary." Eisheth fixed her attention back on Mr. Green, who didn't seem to know which woman to be more afraid of. "You want to desecrate my hedge? Fine. After 7 PM."

"Your horns are showing, Eisheth." Susan's disapproval stabbed like a dagger, but found no chinks in her armor.

Eisheth glared at them both. "If that thing comes on before 7:00 PM, I'm calling the Bureau."

Susan paled slightly. "I could register a complaint with the police for your aggressive behavior."

"I'd like to see that, princess. Maybe stomp your little feet and cry too," Eisheth said, withering condescension radiating from her tone. "You want to extend your stay, by all means, try me."

Susan huffed and stormed off, Mr. Green scrambling after her.

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"Humans," Eisheth muttered, looking at her mangled hedge. "Think they own the damn place." It made her almost reconsider her profession for a moment. Maybe she would have been better suited to a pitchfork after all.

She paused to pluck a thorn out of her foot, the wound closing over immediately once the offending piece of bramble was removed. She stalked back inside and closed the door, locking it behind her before heading back to bed.

Her phone chirped just as she crawled under the covers. Eisheth sighed and grabbed it, pulling the blankets over her head as she checked her texts.

The message, from a number she knew too well, just read, Call me when you're up. I want to talk about things.

Eisheth sighed heavily and deleted the message so she wouldn't have to look at it. She wasn't in the mood. Safely ensconced under the covers, she snuggled into her pillow and enjoyed the blissful quiet that came with no "landscaping" efforts.

She awoke to the dulcet tones of her cell phone's chirping ring. She felt at least half rested, which meant they'd restrained themselves to wait until the afternoon. At least someone has some courtesy, she thought blearily, fumbling for her phone. "Hey?"

"Is this Eisheth?"

"Speaking." She slid out of bed, scrubbing at her eyes. "Who's this?"

"Ahriman, over in Psych. I'll be your director while you're on the unit." He cleared his throat. "We're looking forward to having you. I just wanted to see if you could drop by my office this afternoon, to get your keys and a little introduction to the ward philosophy."

Eisheth felt her hopes rise slightly, despite her native skepticism. She'd heard a lot of horror stories, but most of them were from coworkers like Chordeva, who hated the very idea of anything as messy as someone struggling. "What time?"

"Would 1600 work?"

"Perfect." Eisheth knew that would give her enough time to shower and eat first. She'd met Ahriman once for her interview, a tattooed behemoth with a bristling beard and bright eyes. He seemed like an alright sort, though his handshake felt like it was going to compression fracture the bones in her hand.

She was out the door in record time. For the first time in a long time, the drive to St. Nick's wasn't a dreadful labor of convincing herself that she needed the paycheck more than she wanted to run screaming. Her bar of expectations was on the floor, but a little excitement crept in all the same. She parked out in the furthest section of the staff lot. Seeing so many cars felt like entering a strange alternate reality, after literal years of coming to work after most people had left.

Ahriman's office was just outside the unit, beside the imposing double-locked doors beneath the sign for the ward. Grim and industrial in feel, the sterile halls were unadorned here except for signs directing people and marking a locked ward.

Eisheth rapped on the closed door to his office, listening for the barked, "Enter!"

The nurse supervisor for psych looked almost like he was sitting at a child sized desk despite its normal proportions, just so huge that he dominated the space without trying. Behind him was a poster for "Pink Freud: The Dark Side of Your Mom", the psychologist's face slapped in the middle of the prism on black normally associated with Pink Floyd. Ahriman looked up from his laptop and gave her a friendly grin. "Welcome to the jungle, Eisheth," he said, rising and holding out one hand.

Eisheth gave him a firm handshake, though it was like trying to greet a pneumatic vice. The bones in her hand throbbed in protest when he released her, clearly unaware of his own strength. "Thanks. I've heard a lot about the unit."

Ahriman laughed. "Well, we have a special place here in the hospital: the redheaded stepchild of St. Nick's."

"Then I'm sure I'll fit right in," Eisheth said, combing her good hand through her auburn hair.

"They say gingers have no soul." He winked and then tossed her a set of keys. "We'll do the tour, but first I want to tell you what we're doing here. The big picture. Have a seat."

Eisheth eased herself into the worn office chair across from his desk. It was definitely the most cramped office she'd ever seen for a unit supervisor, which wasn't exactly great for someone the size of her new boss. He'd filled it with books on psychology, a few jokes on posters, and a calendar that drew her eye. July's motivational picture read, Teamwork: Share Victory, Share Defeat and showed six mice all caught in the same trap.

Ahriman caught where she was looking and laughed again. "Yeah, we have a good time." He picked up his disproportionately small coffee cup, holding it with one pinky extended because it wouldn't fit around the handle. "You've been around St. Nick's, so I'm not gonna bore you with that corporate hospital claptrap. Gold standard of healthcare, blah, blah, blah. Whatever. They pretty much ignore us anyway, so the Director of Psychiatry and I set our own goals and philosophies for Behavioral Health. Savvy?"

Eisheth nodded.

"Now, I'm sure on Med Floor, you got used to slapping a bandage on it and sending the patient out the door. Physical injuries and illnesses are pretty self evident, and in my humble opinion, easier to treat. The souls in our charge are different. They've sustained a lot of damage over the course of their life, so invisible that most here can't even see it. For them to get where they're supposed to be, they have to heal. Everything you do on our ward, Eisheth, is in the service of that goal. We treat the whole person, we listen, and we help them heal. I hired you on because you've got a knack for de-escalation and empathy." He tapped a folder on his desk. "I went over your patient-submitted award nominations."

Eisheth tried not to squirm in embarrassment. "I didn't get any awards."

"But I have sixteen sheets from the past six months of people who felt like you made a hell of a difference." Ahriman flipped it open. "My pain wouldn't respond to the morphine, so she sat with me all night and made jokes until I couldn't stop laughing. It didn't make it go away, but I wasn't alone."

"Any nurse would have done that."

"But you were the one who did it," Ahriman said firmly. He gave her a stern look. "I'm telling you this so you understand: excellence does not fly under my radar. It's not very often one of us will go the distance for a human suffering, even at St. Nick's. It's easy to become callous. You're exactly the type I want on my team and I have high expectations for everyone here. You take care of yourself and your needs so you can bring your best to this job, understood? These people need it."

Eisheth felt the expectations settle on her shoulders: heavy, but hopeful. "Got it."

Ahriman nodded and eased himself up from his chair. "Then let's get you a tour and introduced to your new team, alright? We're each other's lifelines, especially when things get a little rowdy. Everybody has everybody else's back. We don't tolerate the backbiting St. Nick's likes to promote. Savvy?"

She nodded and stood, scooting to the side so Ahriman could get to the door. "Yeah, I understand."

Her new supervisor smiled. "I had a feeling you would. C'mon, into the snake pit we go."