Hanson

Before

I grab the dead man’s body and drag it onto the bed, then cover it with sheets. I rummage through my bag and put on the nurse’s outfit and a fake badge, prepping for what’s to come. I grab his health chart and check it, making sure everything’s still the same as it was the last time I snuck into the hospital. I already know everything I need to know, and this chart confirms that. How ironic is it that he’s the one; the perfect match.

I put my hands under a running faucet and run my fingers through my hair, then I put on some fake glasses. A quick glance in the mirror is all I need to confirm that it’s spot-on. It’s go-time.

Without hesitating, I grab the bed and wheel it toward the door. Before I pass through it, I take one last deep breath, knowing it could very well be my last.

I peek around the corner. The guard keeping an eye on him has gone to grab his lunch. Perfect timing.

I roll the bed into the elevator and take it up to ward fifteen. I pass several nurses and doctors and greet them with a smile. They’re busy talking about their work today. None of them seems to notice the fact that my patient is out cold. Or rather … dead as a doornail.

Good. They’ll notice me soon enough. But not until I’m where I want to be.

I roll the bed into the ward and find the room I’m looking for. I’m glad no one has tried to stop me. I don’t think they would’ve survived it if they did.

I wheel the bed beside the little girl, lying in the other bed and hooked on the machines.

Seeing her still robs me of my breath and shakes me to my very core.

My little girl.

Liver failure, they said. She wouldn’t survive.

I begged them to take mine, but I wasn’t a match, and neither was her mommy.

Her body has given up, but her willpower hasn’t. I’m sure of it.

Time is running out. They’ll be here soon, and I have to be prepared. I take off the nurse’s outfit and grab my bag. I take out a bomb vest and tie it to my chest. No need to cover up anymore. When someone sees me, they’ll know exactly what I want.

I load another gun and tuck it into my pocket. Then I sit on Daisy’s bed and wait. I grab her hand and hold it tight, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “It won’t be long now. You’ll be with Mommy soon.”

She doesn’t answer, of course. She’s in a coma right now and unresponsive. But I know she’s in there somewhere.

Though I wouldn’t want her to see me like this, wouldn’t want her to remember her daddy like this. As a criminal. A murderer.

I swallow away the lump in my throat as I realize there’s no way back. This is it. This is when it’s all going down. And the moment a nurse steps into the room, I get up and point my gun at her.

Her eyes widen, and she freezes, bewildered. She almost screams, but I place a finger against my lips, and say, “Don’t.”

Her chest rises and falls. She’s panicking, I can tell, so I have to act as quick as I can.

“Contact the OR. Tell them to get ready,” I bark.

“Why?” she asks, her voice shaky.

“She’s getting the operation. Today,” I say. When she doesn’t move, I yell, “Do it!”

She immediately grabs her phone and calls the staff. I don’t know exactly what she’s saying, but I’m pretty sure she’s including the fact she’s being held hostage and forced to make a call. But I don’t care. Let them know how badly I want this, and how much I’m willing to sacrifice.

When all is said and done, more staff enter the room. I guess they got the call too. But none of them move beyond where the nurse is, probably scared of getting shot. However, I’m outnumbered now, and that increases the risks I’m not willing to take, so I show them my bomb vest.

They take a step back in fear, some of them picking up their phones again, probably to call the police. I don’t give a damn. I already knew they’d be coming anyway. Right now, all I care about is my little girl.

“Is the OR ready?” I growl.

“Yes, but why? What do you plan on doing?” the doctor asks. “She’s just a little girl. You can’t—”

“She’s my daughter! Goddammit. Don’t you people understand?”

My desperate plea comes across as they all grow silent, their faces turning white.

“There’s a body there,” I say, pointing at the bed. “Bring it to the OR too.”

“Okay …” the nurses say. “But the OR is for—”

“Do what I say, and no one gets hurt,” I bark, showing them the bomb vest again so they know I mean business.

One of them swallows and steps forward, clutching the bed. “Okay. Let’s take her to the OR then.”

More step forward, trying to wheel her out, but I won’t take my hands off the bed.

“I’m coming with you. I’m not leaving her side,” I say.

They all look at each other and nod, but I can see the disapproval in their eyes.

It doesn’t matter if they think this is right or wrong. I need to be there so I know things get done.

“Roll them both to the OR,” I command.

It’s going slow, but everyone is finally moving, doing exactly what I say while keeping my little girl alive. They wouldn’t want to jeopardize a living, breathing person. That’s not what they signed up for. They made an oath, and now I’ll force them to keep it.

So we all roll out into the hallway. There’s tape everywhere, and an alarm is going off. All the staff have left the area except the ones accompanying me. Behind the tape, police officers are screaming at me.

“Put down your weapon. No one has to get hurt,” one of them shouts.

“And I don’t intend to hurt anyone as long as everyone does what I say,” I shout back, then turn toward the staff. “Now go to the OR.”

“What is it that you want?” the surgeon asks.

“For my little girl to live,” I say.

“All right. We can make that happen,” he says, holding up his hand. “Just put down the weapon and kick it over here.”

I frown. “No … We’re going to the OR.”

I know they’re trying to negotiate with me, trying to make me release the “hostages.” But that’s just it. I don’t care about them or myself. I just want my little girl to be okay. What happens after that doesn’t interest me.

So I force everyone to move into the elevator and down to the OR. Even there, the police are waiting, but no one stops me from going inside. Of course not … they’re terrified I might detonate the bomb around my waist.

I won’t as long as everyone does precisely what I want them to do.

“Prepare the room like you normally would,” I say, pointing at the staff to get to work.

When they finally move, one of them, a woman, approaches me, and says, “But what are we supposed to do?”

“You’re going to operate on her. Give her a new liver.”

The woman’s eyes widen. “But there’s no transplant available.”

“Yes, there is.” I march toward the other bed and rip off the blanket, revealing the dead guy. “Here.”

They’re all glaring at the dead body now with faces pale as snow.

“But we can’t do that. He might not be a match—”

I point my gun at the one who’s talking so they all know I mean business. “I’ve done my research. He’s a perfect match. She can survive on pills, can’t she?” When they don’t answer, I repeat it much louder this time. “Can’t she?”

Some of them nod, and others look on in dismay. They’re probably wondering if I’m serious.

I am dead serious.

I don’t give a damn how they do it, but they are going to give her his liver, and they are going to make it work. No fucking question.

“You give her that new liver. She. Lives. That’s my only demand.” As they wait for my next move, I flick the gun, and say, “Now get to work.”

“But you have to put on a gown first,” one of them says with a shaky voice. “To keep everything sterile.” When I stare her down, she adds, “You don’t want her to get sick, do you?”

“Fine.” I nod. When she hands me the gown, I put it on with a bit of trouble because I want to keep my gun where they can see it. After I place the mask over my mouth, they all carefully scrub in themselves and begin.

I stay put while they do their thing. The bed is prepared, and my little girl is placed on top, still hooked to the machines. The anesthesiologist makes sure she’s under and won’t feel anything. One surgeon makes the incision in the dead man’s body and prepares the donor liver while another surgeon cuts my little girl open. The nurses and doctors all take utmost care for her and the transplant, but I can tell they’re on edge.

I don’t blame them. It can’t be easy to do your job when there’s a man with a bomb vest pointing a gun at your head. But I can’t let them go either. Not until it’s done.

It feels like it takes ages for them to give her the transplant, but I don’t move a muscle until they’re finished.

As they sew her back up, I ask, “Did it work?”

“Well, we’ve cut out the cancerous parts, but her body took quite a hit,” the surgeon explains, taking off his bloody gloves.

“Tell me the truth,” I say, trying not to look at the wound in my daughter’s belly. It hurts to watch, but I have to keep looking to make sure it’s done correctly. If it helps her live, then it’s a necessary evil.

“So far, her body is accepting the liver, but we don’t know for sure until—”

“Will she survive?” I interrupt.

“If she takes her meds …” the doctor says. “Probably, yes.”

The nurses attempt to wheel her bed away, so I stop them. “Where are you going with her?”

“The recovery room. She needs to come to from the anesthetics,” the nurse explains.

“Her body has been through a lot,” the doctor says. “She needs time to heal.”

“How do I know you won’t take the transplant out when I’m gone?” I spit, not taking any chances.

The doctor raises his hands. “We never take out transplants unless they’re being rejected.”

“So if her body accepts the liver, she gets to keep it?”

He sighs out loud then, and with a bleak face, he says, “Yes.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief too. “And the body? What will you do with it?”

“The coroner will handle it.”

I nod a couple of times. “One final thing … don’t tell my wife. Ever. I don’t want her to know where Daisy got her transplant. Got it?”

“But she needs to know her girl is going to get better,” the doctor says, frowning.

I grab him by the collar. “She can’t know the liver came from him, or she’ll demand it to be taken out. I won’t have it.”

The doctor raises his hands, saying, “Okay. Okay. We won’t say anything.”

“Good.” I walk toward the bed and kiss my little girl on the cheeks. “Stay strong. Get better fast. You’ll be home before you know it.” I squeeze her hand again. It’s probably the last time I’ll see her. Maybe forever.

I forfeited the right to regret my actions the moment I made this decision.

And as the nurses wheel her out, the doctors evacuate the OR, and the police come in to arrest me. I take off the bomb vest and chuck it away, then I go to my knees.

I won’t fight. There’s no reason to. Not anymore.

The police hurl me to the ground like wrestlers, sitting on top of me to restrain me and take my gun away from me.

I don’t care. None of it matters as long as she lives.

I’ve fulfilled my purpose.

I killed a man and sacrificed my freedom to save a girl.

Anyone would do the same for their baby.