The Good Surgeon

The Good Surgeon
By Helligo Highway

The man who took my kidneys is a well-known surgeon, but even upstanding members of society can be monsters. This is no exception.

You would think that as a college student that I would be better at writing, but as long as you can read this and understand, my literacy skills aren’t what’s important now. I can’t tell you where I am, or my name, lest he (with that monumental luck he has) finds this post. The only thing that you need to know is that I am missing both of my kidneys.

No, I’m not on dialysis, and no, I don’t think I’m dying, yet. At this point I’m rambling, so I’ll try to give you the complete account of events that have led me to drop out of school and write this.

Being the cliché broke student swimming in debt that I was, my sophomore year of school I finally set aside my pride and got my first job. I was thinking something menial like waiting tables or wearing one of those green aprons and giving the cranky businessmen and women their chai lattes without cream. So naturally when I saw a listing come up for a night security position at the clinic a few blocks down I leapt at the opportunity. It was $10.50 an hour, so basically minimum wage, but I figured telling friends I was a security guard was better than Starbucks employee of the month. The ironic part is that I haven’t really ever been into working out or anything, I was naturally slim and that was enough for me. I suppose when I was interviewed I did a good job appearing fitter than I actually was because I was offered the job that same day.

According to my superiors, there wasn’t anything happening to warrant a night guard since their endless self-locking doors and half sentient security cameras scared off any thugs trying to get a quick high off medications. It was simply a new protocol. The man who was telling me all this laughed heartily and slapped me on the back while jokingly telling me that I may be the one being protected instead. I was fine with that, if I was going to be sleep deprived, I might as well get my classwork done at the same time.
So, that very same night I slapped on a blue button down and pinned my dinky ‘security’ badge on at the ripe time of 10:00 P.M. as the staff left. I waited for the cleaning staff to clear out before I pulled out my laptop. So by half past midnight I was all by myself. If you think hospitals and doctors offices are scary, let me tell you that they are ten times the nightmare fuel when the lights are off and your own breathing is the loudest noise in any given room.

This is all well and good and all, but I feel that this information is important for your willingness to believe what I’m about to tell you.

The next couple days were difficult as I had less and less sleep, making me sluggish as I did my hourly walk of the morbidly bare decor. More than anything, I did it to keep myself awake. Upon turning the corner of the cold clinical hall, I had noticed a tiny sliver of light glowing from under a door. This wasn’t really an issue in itself, since some doctors would stay late to get work done. What did pique my curiosity was that the door was one to an operating room, not an office. Confused, I remember trying to open the door with my key card only for the light to remain red. I jiggled the door handle, but stopped abruptly as I heard a muffled voice.

There was a low, guttural moan, followed by a high-pitched whine coming from behind the door. I flattened myself against the frame, having convinced myself I was just tired and the sounds were just my brain telling me to go to sleep. The next noise sounded more like an animal, like a pig going to slaughter, and less than a human. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck, the kind that sends shivers down someone’s spine. I also vaguely remember hissing out various colourful words, pressing my forehead into the door. The longer I listened, the more I was unable to convince myself I was crazy. No, there was definitely someone in there.

I had panicked, ok? I started banging on the door, instead of calling the police or anything, I started making a bunch of noise.

“H-Hey! Is someone in here? I’m part of security!”

Immediately, I regretted my rashness as the moaning stopped. I should have just minded my goddamn business. I stepped away from the door, grabbing for my baton. I slipped behind it as I heard the intricate clicking and a beep as the door unlocked itself. The metal sheet opened silently at an agonizing pace, while I stood frozen in fear. This part is a little foggy, but I was definitely caught off guard. As soon as I shifted towards the door, something came at me like a fog machine at full blast right into my face.
Even after what was to follow, I can definitely tell you the scariest part of this whole f****d up situation was when I tried to move, and realized I couldn’t. Very quickly, my eyes had began to sting when they shot open. It was like I was trapped under an invisible lead blanket from every angle. My head was slightly propped up, and as my eyes adjusted from my pupils dilating in fear, I realized that I was laying on one of the operating tables.

That moan was louder, it was nearly in my ear when my eyes shifted to the right. On the table next to me, there was another person, laying with his mouth slightly ajar. His eyes were blood-red from crying, and snot dripped from his chin in the surgical lighting. If it weren’t for this, I might had been attracted to him. His light brown hair and hazel eyes, he could have gone to the same college as me.

My eyes drifted down. I let out a scream that got stuck in my throat and came out as a pitiful cry. There was a brilliantly tall man standing over the side of the operating table, his entire hand embedded deep into a gaping, surgical hole in the man’s stomach.

Every muscle in my body tensed and tried to run, hide, whatever, but just get the f**k away. I felt like a lifeless doll, forced to stay in place.. I was trapped. After a minute of nearly choking on my spit and seizing lungs, I calmed down enough to watch.

If it weren’t in this particular situation, the guy operating on the awake man would have seemed like a regular surgeon. His hands didn’t tremble, and he stayed completely focused. He occasionally reached for different tools beside him, and would regularly use a small tube to s**k up the extra blood that leaked out from the guy’s abdomen. It was impossible for me to tell what exactly he was so intent on, until there was a particularly large spurt of blood. The man slowly lifted a large mass from the now wailing patient and set it down into a surgical dish. I knew that what had been taken out what not supposed to leave the human body, whatever exactly it was.

Unlike what I assume most surgeons would be concerned about, the man seemed perfectly at ease with the fact that the guy was losing copious amounts of blood from the extraction. More liquid began to drip down the sides of the table and stain his gown. The guy was so terrified that he literally pissed himself.

The unforgiving room was filled with quiet sobbing from both of us as he began to sew the man back up silently. I recall staring up at the blinding white light that shone down on me and thinking about how much people would miss me, or how long it would take people to realize something was wrong in the first place. My chest had tightened as I realized that I wouldn’t be missed as much as I hoped. I had a few decent friends that I had made, but I couldn’t imagine them looking for me if I disappeared. No partner, no best friends, no siblings, and no reliable family either. Child services was a b***h, and as a result, I had long stopped hoping for a loving family while I was growing up. It was a miracle I was able to get into college on a scholarship just because I was half decent at math.

‘And now I’m here, and I’m gonna die.’ I remember thinking.

“Plea-se.. I wan-tto li-ive..” I slurred, barely able to speak above a whisper. The paralytic had begun to wear off.

The acute movement had stopped out of the corner of my eye, my heart rate starting to pulse in my ears as I listened to the man put his tool down and slowly walk towards me.

I sickeningly remember how I had thought the man looked like an angel, as his figure was outlined with the artificial lighting when he looked down at me. In hindsight, it was probably my brain’s way of trying to protect me from realizing how much danger I was in.

His eyes were an emotionless, frigid grey while he looked back at me in fascination like a damn specimen.

He took in a breath, “Don’t worry, I will let you live.”

His voice was beautiful, melodic, angelic, flawless. I was going to live.

“He will not.”

His voice was cruel, inhuman, sharp, demonic. He was going to die.

Already, the guy on the table next to me was deteriorating. His stomach was bloated from bleeding, and his skin was ghastly pale. I hate myself to this day for just being relieved it wasn’t me.
I watched as the man took off his bloodied gloves, replacing them with new ones, and opened another set of surgical tools from the sterilized packaging. He placed them orderly on the side table next to me, and adjusted the lighting from my face to my stomach.

“W-Wait..! Y-You said–” I stammered.

“I said you will live. But what will keep you from going to the police? After this, you will need me to keep you alive.”

The realization was stifling as he injected me with another dose of paralytic. I had drifted in and out of conscience as he cut me open. The pain was foreign and just simply wasn’t supposed to happen. It was inside me. He had put in two little sacks where my kidneys were supposed to be. The guy that had been beside me was long since dead before he finished.

Now fast forwarding a little, I had woken up at the front desk later, being shaken. The operator had come in early and caught me asleep. When I jumped up, I felt a sharp pain in my abdomen. That pain persisted for several weeks, a pain that along with my psychological trauma and constant paranoia led to me failing my classes and working full-time as a security guard at the clinic.

This all happened two months ago. But I still remember walking down the hall to get my stuff while apologizing to the receptionist and meeting eyes with a tall man in a white coat. Just seeing those disgustingly cold eyes made me nauseous. It was the same man.

The woman greeted him kindly, and he returned the favor with a nod. She had called him ‘doctor’.

  • Advice from a pizza

    This wasn’t too bad. You certainly handled the idea of a “rogue” surgeon with care, and it didn’t seem too off-the-wall or ridiculous either. A moment like this is truly frightening. I only had one small gripe: I wish there was some mention of how the protagonist would have to “rely” on the doc even though I can guess.

    • Advice from a pizza

      Good job btw!

  • Nancy

    How will the doctor keep him alive? I like that the author has left that up to the reader’s imagination.

  • Jed

    3/5 Really creepy read, just a few things could’ve been established earlier in the story.