Centre Hospitalier de Chêne Rouge, Saguenay - Québec, Canada

12:30 A.M.

Emerson blearily skimmed through a patient's chart as aching exhaustion pulsed behind his eyes.

The backlog prep for the following days seemed endless, and even after the hundredth chart, it felt like he hadn't made a dent.

Emerson monotonously navigated through another patient's chart, noting the chief complaint of a sore throat which had started two days ago. He quickly completed the ENT section of the review of systems and decided to schedule the appointment as a physical examination for the next day. For the assessment and plan, he contemplated prescribing a Z-Pak based on the practicing physician's notes, and with a few clicks, the patient's preferred pharmacy was populated under the prescription. Rapidly blinking to wet his dry eyes, he navigated to the last section of the patient's chart and electronically signed himself as the medical scribe, leaving the "performed by" section blank for the morning staff to fill in. With a click, he minimized the chart and returned to the nursing station scheduler, where dozens of un-prepped patient ID photos awaited him.

He glanced at the time displayed in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen.

12:31 AM

Emerson stared blankly at the blinking colon between the numbers, his mind devoid of any productive thoughts.

He decided it was time for the tried-and-true pep talk. "Come on, dumbass, get a grip," he whispered to the air. Nope, he was still just as tired.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. As he opened his eyes again, he felt the tension in his neck and shoulders slightly ease. Though not as much as he would have liked. But what did it matter what he liked?

The work wasn't going anywhere; procrastinating would only make things more difficult for his colleagues and the rest of the hospital staff. It didn't matter that he was exhausted and restless—everyone was. His situation wasn't unique, and he wasn't special. A glint of semi-determination passed through his slate-gray eyes as he glanced at the long list of un-prepped charts, wishing there was a more efficient system for managing them on busy days, which seemed to be every day. He knew there had to be a better solution, but he left it to brighter minds than his, he supposed.

But why should he spend five or more minutes using third-party software to research a patient's vaccination, screening, and surgery history for routine insurance checkups? It was such a time-suck. Shouldn't the insurance company have dedicated staff for that if they actually cared about the patients? The fact that those companies relied on others to handle the details and minutiae seemed counterproductive and irresponsible. It added more pressure to the already burdened healthcare workers and support staff who were operating on tight schedules and limited resources.

Emerson firmly believed in the importance of following policies and procedures, but he also believed there was a fine line between doing so and being an insufferable jerk. The latter irritated him to no end.

Letting out a frustrated groan, he grabbed his second energy drink of the day from beside his computer. With a weary sigh, he reluctantly swallowed the remaining few lukewarm ounces. He grimaced at the taste, "Who drinks this battery acid?" he muttered. Leaning back in his chair, he swiveled around to face the empty nursing station. With a scowl of concentration, he held the obnoxiously decorated can like a basketball... aimed... and shot!

Clatter!

Emerson enthusiastically threw both arms up as the can perfectly landed in the bag-less recycling bin.

"And the crowd goes wild! Ahhh!" he exclaimed in a hushed but dramatic tone. He basked in the silent applause of an empty nursing station with a goofy expression on his face. Spinning back to face his monitor, he gave a sage nod and pretended 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 brave soul saying that on national TV.

Emerson grumbled as he pulled up the next patient's chart. "Well, at least he has a woman in his life," he muttered to himself, imagining the athlete's smoking-hot wife. As he began going through the same mind-numbing routine, thoughts of his previous relationships occasionally flitted through his mind.

His most significant relationship had been with Jacklyn, lasting over two years. He supposed it ended amicably, which was a relief. The other three relationships had lasted around five months on average. They had all been lovely people—kind, thoughtful, and intelligent—and he felt fortunate to have had the chance to date them. Sadly, none of them had worked out in the end. He wanted to blame it all on his atrocious work schedule, but the reality was much more complicated, and he knew he was partly to blame. Despite the patient care aspect of his career, he was an introvert, and his social battery was drained at the end of the day after a busy shift, making it challenging for him to engage with his partners. Additionally, despite his healthy physique and endurance, his general lethargy and caffeine crashes after working back-to-back 10-12 hour shifts made it difficult for him to maintain intimacy in his relationships. Spontaneous day trips, romantic moonlit walks, candlelit dinners, and steamy sex happened less and less often. Eventually, it boiled down to finding a reasonable balance between work and social life, but unfortunately, he couldn't seem to manage it.

It wasn't that he didn't want those things—far from it. He put his best effort into carving out time for each activity, especially the last one. It was that he just... couldn't bring himself to put in that extra effort when all was said and done. He couldn't explain it.

As he frowned, memories of night walks with his exes resurfaced. Out of all the activities, that was the one he despised the most. Even with an adorable girl on his arm talking about her day, he found something inordinately disconcerting about walking in the dark. He couldn't even bear 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.

He typed away on the keyboard, his fingers dancing as he completed chart after chart with absent-minded clicks. As he digitally signed his name on each one, his mind wandered to his cozy bed waiting for him at home. His stomach growled in hunger, but he persevered, determined to complete his work for the sake of his patients.

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After what felt like an hour of shoveling shit uphill with a fork, he glanced at the clock again.

12:43 AM

"Nope," he muttered under his breath as he shut down his workstation and picked up his half-filled, baby-blue Hydro Flask, holding it by the flexible strap with one finger and letting it swing loosely at his side. He cast a final glance around his workstation, taking note of the wire mesh pen cup with a solitary, dull pencil, the randomly colored paperclips that always seemed to disappear when he needed them, the stacked PHI paperwork requiring provider signatures, and the slightly crumpled, empty water bottle resting in the corner of his desk partition. Perfect.

He was all set and felt somewhat relieved about not having to work anymore. Was it hypocritical? Yes. Did he feel bad? Of course, he couldn't help but care about his co-workers. They were some of the most hard-working and easygoing people he had ever worked with.

Cooper, bless his country music-loving soul, had once saved him from going hungry at work. One night, Emerson had fallen asleep on the couch and forgot to pack his lunch for the following day after waking up late. But thankfully, Cooper had shared some of his microwaveable chicken pot pie and leftover cornbread squares. It was the best lunch and conversation he had 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 had simply waltzed in and saved the day like Southern Superman.

Easy friendships made the most demanding jobs tolerable. So although he felt bad for not finishing his work, he promised himself to make it up to them another night.

As he entered the very same deserted lounge, heading towards the lockers in the back corner, a grin spread across his face. He knew that nobody would be mad at him for leaving early, especially if he told them that he'd only had an energy drink for lunch... nine hours ago. If the MA at the nursing station had heard that, she would have probably dragged him out by the back of his scrubs.

He chuckled to himself as he imagined the scene. It would've been even funnier if he'd told some of his patients about his day, especially the elderly patients, as they were always a lively bunch and eager to share their thoughts and opinions on everything from healthcare to politics. He knew that if he had mentioned his lack of nutrition to them, they would've taken it upon themselves to lecture him about the importance of staying hydrated and eating well. He could almost picture them following him out the door, still chatting away about the injustices of insurance companies and the state of healthcare in the world. Then they'd ask about his schooling, plans, job, girlfriend, and interests, or repeat everything they'd already said and add, "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 they might reach into their purse or pocket and produce a crumpled canary-yellow piece of paper with the names of one or two specialists they'd forgotten to mention during the visit. The names would be written in an indecipherable scrawl that could make any doctor feel like they were at risk of losing the monthly "shittiest handwriting" award.

Oh, yes. Emerson found his job frustrating at times, but he couldn't deny that it provided him with valuable hands-on clinical experience and looked impressive on his resume.

And the best part? Hot nurses. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he unlocked his locker, pulled out his wallet, car keys, and phone, and prepared to head out.

Grabbing his phone made him reminisce about the time when he wasn't allowed to have his phone while on duty. It wasn't a big issue, but back when he'd first started on the job, he'd always found himself reflexively reaching into his pocket to check the time before realizing his phone wasn't there and resorting to using the workstation instead. Nowadays, though, he didn't even notice it, and sliding its weight into his pocket at the end of the day felt cumbersome rather than comforting.

He pressed the power button and waited for the usual 'Welcome' message to flash across the screen. Then came the inevitable startup flash at maximum brightness, causing him to wince. He asked himself why he never looked away during that part.

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

He stuffed the phone into his right pocket, causing the waistline of his pants to sag. He grimaced but retied his scrubs tighter to prevent them from falling down when he walked home. The thought of his pants falling down and accidentally flashing his neighbor Mrs. Fennimore made him shudder. He shut the locker.

"Hey Em, what a crazy day, huh?"

Emerson glanced over as Liam sauntered into the lounge, appearing as if he had just finished a grueling ten-hour shift—which he had. With a crooked half-smile, Liam made his way toward his locker, which was across from Emerson's, and began to spin the lock open.

Emerson leaned against the lockers, crossing his arms and holding his wallet and car keys in one hand. "Psh, you're telling me? I had... what's-her-face today for my 4:45 with Dr. Harish," he replied.

"Oh, dude, wait—I know exactly who you're talking about... she was the one who needed the bilateral chest x-ray, right?" Liam asked, opening his locker.

"Exactly. And you know how it goes, she keeps changing up which imaging facility she wants to be sent to and always wants their contact info even though it's all in her damn discharge papers," said Emerson.

"Or even when it's automatically sent in the visit summary through email. I mean, come on, can't you see how busy we are? The information is right there! You should be comfortable enough with basic technology by now, right? It's wild," Liam agreed, shaking his head in frustration as he searched through his locker.

"Right? And are you working tomorrow?" Emerson asked.

"No, actually!" Liam turned, his fatigued expression brightening up with a sincere smile. Emerson couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy, but he still smiled back, genuinely happy for his friend.

Liam continued, shutting his locker after pocketing his own things, "I finally managed to get a day off approved—it only took working overtime for like ten days straight. And I'm still somehow broke!"

Emerson let out a chuckle and remarked, "Ha! You know it's because they catch you taking those five extra minutes on your supposed thirty-minute lunch breaks."

Liam shut his locker with a hearty laugh and exclaimed, "Damn, Em. What are we even doing here? I'm turning twenty-five in less than four months, but people keep saying I look like I'm thirty!"

"Who says that?" Emerson cocked an eyebrow.

"Everyone!" Liam exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. "The patients, the nurses, even the damn cleaning staff! Especially Laura!" he replied defensively.

"Laura?" Emerson deadpanned.

"Yeah, you know... Laura." Liam re-locked his locker.

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

"Screw you, man." Liam smiled and checked his watch, "Christ almighty, alright man, I'm off—see you never, hopefully!" He waved on his way out.

"Same to you," Emerson nonchalantly replied, waving back.

'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. But, dear lord, did he need a break.

After pocketing his wallet and car keys, he headed out, switching off the lounge lights and closing the door behind him. He started walking towards the front exit, the same direction as Liam, and towards the employee garage where he had parked, when suddenly his stomach rumbled so hard he thought he was about to shit himself while standing. "Whoa, easy boy, easy," he said, patting his belly. He took out his phone and checked the time.

12:46 AM

It was already so fucking late. Damn.

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

Little did he know that at that moment, his poor neglected stomach had committed the worst betrayal in human history, surpassing even that of Judas.