Flat Line

“This one’s yours, Jasmine.” 

A manicured hand reached for the chart, the blue nail polish glinting under the stark fluorescent lights of the hospital. The other cradled a large cup of coffee. Steam departed from the paper cup like a fleeting ghost, fading after its short-lived journey through the biting January cold. Concealer did little to mask the dark bags under her hazel eyes from days of neglected sleep.

Jasmine nodded in silence, her gaze skimming over the labs, avoiding the patient’s name. The stagnant air of the hospital hung heavy around the nursing station, but it was nothing compared to the fog that refused to withdraw from her mind. Sleep pulled on her eyelids, with a weight far too heavy this early in the morning.

The sky hadn’t showed traces of sunlight, yet she was already inside the brick walls of New York-Presbyterian Hospital, black Uggs on her feet—soon to be traded for her pink, gem-embedded crocs and a plethora of charting.

“Let her finish changing first, geez.”

Stephanie clicked her tongue at the charge nurse, rolling her chair over with a soft squeak and wrapping her arms around Jasmine’s knees in a tight hug. “The girl looks like death.”

“Don’t say that.”

Jasmine, being the superstitious sort, playfully swatted at the dark-haired woman, the folder bouncing off the messy bun held haphazardly in place by a scrunchie.

Julia, the charge nurse, rolled her eyes, her properly centered blonde ponytail swaying behind her as she continued her rounds. A soft rustle of papers and the rhythmic beeping of monitors created a wordless instrumental, as she ensured everything was up to her standards.

The two friends exchanged looks, Jasmine taking a sip of her lukewarm coffee while Stephanie made a face at Julia’s retreating figure.

“Amber called out…I think they gave you hockey guy.” Stephanie leaned in, her curiosity pulling her gaze to the chart in Jasmine’s hand. “That’s the second one this week.”

“Hockey guy?” Jasmine raised an eyebrow, chugging her coffee as she quickly scanned the notes.

Stephanie nodded, her slanted eyes narrowing into mischievous slits, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I heard one of the girls say his room is haunted.”

A chill coursed down Jasmine’s spine, and she swatted at Stephanie again. Her friend loved to provoke a reaction—even if it meant scaring the living daylights out of her. Unlike the educated professionals around her, Jasmine held fast to her belief in the supernatural. Spirits and ghosts? No, thank you. She did her best to steer clear of anything resembling creepy.

Perhaps it was because she was the child of immigrants, where superstition wove its way through family tales and whispers, but Jasmine felt a visceral dread of that otherworldly realm. To her, it was all too real, and Stephanie found her fear utterly hilarious.

“Amber said stuff just kept falling over.” Stephanie continued, delighting in the way Jasmine bristled, goosebumps rising along her olive-toned skin. “The guy’s been in a coma for two months…”

“Shut up.” Jasmine pushed the young nurse away, biting her thumbnail as her eyes returned to the chart, focusing intently.

Alex Volkov, twenty-eight-year-old male. Post-traumatic brain injury… hemorrhage—brain surgery. Medically induced coma—steady vitals…

“He was transferred here two weeks ago.” Jasmine’s curiosity got the better of her as she continued to read through the notes. “He flatlined twice… damn, that sucks.”

“Well, it’s an easy ride for you,” Stephanie said, pushing off from a desk and rolling back to her computer with a grunt. “All you gotta do is watch him. I’ve got five patients today. And you got the fancy room.”

Jasmine’s features brightened at the thought. “Just one? Awesome!”

“Lucky you.” Stephanie rolled her eyes, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the keyboard. “Apparently he’s a big shot… but I never heard of him.”

“You follow hockey?” Jasmine waltzed over, seizing the chance to pester her friend.

Stephanie snorted. “Fuck no. Like I got time for that?”

“Probably why you don’t know him.” Jasmine began massaging Stephanie’s shoulders, feeling the tense knots beneath her fingers. “He’s probably loaded.”

“Probably.”

She wrapped her arms around Stephanie’s neck, inhaling the fresh scent of soap. “You showered.”

“I know… isn’t that awesome?” Stephanie smirked, leaning back into the embrace and closing her eyes with a sigh. “I’m fancy like that.”

Jasmine snorted, giving her a light smack on the forehead before grabbing her things to go change. Her mood noticeably brightened. She had a slight bounce to her step as she tossed the coffee cup in the trash. The caffeine surged through her, lifting her spirits and energizing her pulse.

A coma patient and just one assignment? That was a breeze. Jasmine decided she would do everything in her power to stay on this case. Who knew—maybe she could even catch a few extra winks while sitting in the room. Smiling to herself, she headed to the locker room and changed, emerging in her signature crocs and scrubs.

With her stethoscope draped around her neck, she peeked at the room number and made her way down the hall, eager to start what promised to be a chill day. Jasmine opened the door to room 81-18 and stepped inside, announcing herself as usual. The visage of a young man greeted her. His broad shoulders spoke to his hockey player profession, and the scruff along his neck and chin complemented his strong jawline. His chocolate brown hair was neatly combed, while an oxygen mask rested over his mouth.

She folded her arms, taking a moment to appreciate the striking athlete. Her gaze slid down to his muscular arms, noting the prominent veins at his wrists and the securely placed IV line. She leaned over to check it closely.

“Looks good,” she said, adjusting the tubing slightly.

“Ow.”

Jasmine stilled, her eyes darting to his face, sure she had heard something. But the hockey player remained utterly still.

“Ugh,” she muttered, trying to shake off the growing unease. “I’m going to kick her ass for scaring me. Now I’m hearing voices… damn Steph.”

“You heard me?”

This time, she couldn’t deny it. Jasmine spun around, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

“God, please tell me you can see me.”

“Oh my God, oh my God.” Jasmine began to hyperventilate, slowly retreating from the bed as her eyes landed on a translucent figure—the exact image of the man lying on the bed—standing by the window, his piercing blue eyes fixed on her.