Supervillainess (Part One) (2 page)

In the understaffed hospital where he spent
sixteen to twenty hours a day, Kimber had grown accustomed to
becoming a one-doc shop for a new patient, though he often worked
on a team with one or two others, staffing level permitting. On
days with short staff, he handled triage, resuscitation, assessment
and stabilization, even dressing patients in hospital gowns before
flagging down someone to take them to the appropriate follow-up
room. It wouldn’t surprise him if he one day ended up filling out
the patients’ intake paperwork, too.

Kimber’s body followed a
mechanical, much practiced routine as he began to tend to his
latest patient. He stripped off the clothing only to discover it
was not a hench
man
in his bathtub but a hench
woman
. Judging by the extensive
scarring on her torso and legs, this wasn’t the first time she
wound up near dead in an alley, either.

Patient presents with multiple gunshot
wounds, abdominal perforations, dozens of contusions, severe
laceration wounds of the right extremity …

He categorized her wounds and their severity
as he worked. Three were from gunshots, and her right forearm
looked as if it had been put in a blender. She sported two more,
deep knife punctures in her torso. Her ribs were black and blue,
probably broken, and too many bruises and scratches to count
covered the rest of her. He didn’t know exactly how much blood
she’d lost, but she shouldn’t have been breathing.

Familiar adrenaline kicked in as Kimber
realized just how bad of shape she was in. He worked as fast and
gently as he could, afraid of traumatizing her body even more. He
didn’t have the kind of supplies, equipment or diagnostic
instruments here at home that he really needed. He had skimmed some
materials from the hospital to create a robust first aid kit, but
it was never intended to treat multiple gunshot and stab
wounds.

If she passed during the night, it would
likely be because of the internal damage she had sustained, which,
even as he was the best doctor in his graduating class, he couldn’t
help when he couldn’t see it. His screw up in Chicago, the reason
he fled the city, had nothing to do with his skills as a physician
and everything to do with a flare up of faulty judgment.

Kimber soon lost track of time. Every
thought – except the burning urgency to help her – fell away.

***

Five hours later, he slumped against the
wall of his bathroom and started to doze after a twenty four hour
workday.

His alarm went off, and he jerked in
response. The buzzing sound managed to pull him out of his stupor,
and he stood with effort. After turning off the alarm clock, he
returned to the trashed bathroom.

It looked like he massacred someone in the
small space last night, not like he tried to save a life. Blood
splattered the tile flooring, the walls, the mirror, the ceiling,
everywhere but the bathtub, which he had cleaned out while
simultaneously washing down the unconscious woman’s body.

Kimber leaned over the edge of the tub and
checked his patient’s pulse.

Miraculously, she was alive. By all rights,
she should’ve been dead long before he found her in that alley.

Straightening, he wiped his face with one
hand and spent a full two minutes trying to decide what to do. His
professional side told him to take her to the hospital and deposit
her in a bed. He couldn’t identify or fix any internal damage
caused by her wounds without the help of advanced medical
equipment. Weirdness aside, the city could send her to prison after
she healed, if she really were a criminal.

After the exchange with the police officer
last night, and the citywide superstition about villains, he had an
unsettling instinct warning him the hospital wasn’t the right place
for her. But was his bathtub any better?

Scratching the back of his head, he left the
bathroom and changed out of the soiled clothing. He plucked his
phone off the bed where he tossed it last night and groaned when he
saw it had returned to life – but only had two percent battery
left. His stepmom had texted something about visiting this weekend,
and three reminders popped up on his screen.

Annual performance evaluation. 8AM

“Shit,” he muttered as he checked the time.
It was 7:03.

Kimber’s phone battery died, and he resisted
the urge to throw his cell across the room. Instead, he hurried to
finish getting ready for the day. He turned on the news for
background noise as he made a quick breakfast. At the mention of
the criminal mastermind, General Savage, Kimber peeked out of the
kitchen.

A picture of General Savage was on the
screen. He really did resemble a supervillain with sinisterly sharp
features, dark eyes, a goatee trimmed to a point, a sneer and a
black mask.

“This city,” Kimber murmured as he watched
the latest reports on his criminal mastermind plans. He would never
understand why the police couldn’t stop organized crime when the
mob boss was so popular, he had his own website, Instagram account
and Twitter handle. Couldn’t they pin down his location using
electronic means, or just show up at the locations he checked in
from on his social media accounts?

Kimber normally ignored the news, but this
morning, he found himself interested in the latest rumors about the
local supervillain. He was about to turn it off and leave when a
familiar face flashed across the television screen.

The picture belonged to the woman he had
rescued.

“The location of General Savage’s daughter
remains a mystery,” the newscaster said. “She and her brother are
competing to take over their father’s criminal enterprises in a
series of high-risk games created by General Savage to test them.
From what we’ve been told, Keladry Savage has vanished after one
such game. Some reports indicate she was killed, and some that she
was wounded and is in hiding.”

How was the reporter saying any of this with
a straight face? More importantly, what were the odds a mobster’s
daughter ended up in his bathtub?

I have no luck at
all,
Kimber thought as he continued to
listen to the news.

“As a reminder to the general public: do not
aid Keladry Savage, if you see her,” the newscaster stated.
“General Savage has threatened to issue a hit on anyone interfering
in the games, and the police and local hospitals are under strict
instructions not to respond to calls involving either of the
Savages.”

Kimber may not have understood the city’s
unhealthy co-dependency with the mafia, but he did understand the
potential danger of sheltering a mob boss’s daughter in his
home.

What am I supposed to do
with her?
Perplexed, he didn’t turn off the
television quite yet. Did he help her, because no one else would?
Call her father to pick her up and endanger himself? Test the
police after witnessing how unlikely they were to act at
all?

Kimber ate, too distracted to taste
anything. His gaze fell more than once to the bloody trail marring
his carpet and leading to the trashed bathroom.

Blood was hell to get out of anything once
it dried. There was no chance of getting his security deposit back
on the apartment. The absent thought faded as he listened to yet
another stern warning about not helping the Savage twins.

Still, he debated taking Keladry to the
hospital. Concerned the hospital would toss her out, he decided to
ask around and find out if what he heard on the news was true and
if so, to grab the supplies he needed to help her until she was
strong enough to leave.

Kimber lifted her carefully from the tub and
took her to the guest room, which consisted of a futon and twenty
boxes he had been meaning to unpack since he moved in. Draping
blankets over her, he placed a bottle of water by the bed, grabbed
his backpack and jogged the ten blocks to work.

Sand City, the major metropolitan area
located in the Pacific North West, sprawled across the Snake River
and was half the size of New York City. Tall high rises
concentrated at the city’s center gave way to a matrix of apartment
and office buildings before fanning out into a patchy network of
suburbs extending forty miles in every direction from the city.
When Kimber researched the area around the only hospital to offer
him a job, the city had seemed like any other large American city
with a moderately effective transportation system, rents that far
exceeded the national average, a city government that was slow to
repair potholes and even slower to address first responder’s pay
raises, and sorely lacking in an adequate health care
infrastructure. There was a need for someone like him, and, on the
surface, Sand City had seemed normal.

Until he moved in and began to see the news
and papers reporting about supervillains. Initially, Kimber assumed
it was an April Fool’s joke. But as April first slid into April
second, then into May, a new year, and April returned, he gradually
began to accept the city’s bizarre fascination with the local mob
boss and only questioned what the hell was going on when he was too
tired to keep his blinders on.

He was the last person who had a right to be
critical after the mess he left in Chicago and tried to stay
focused on his job. He never had a reason to acknowledge the
existence of, or discuss, General Savage, the alleged local
supervillain, before this day.

Seated in his supervisor’s office for his
performance appraisal, Kimber couldn’t help but smile as she went
down the list of his accomplishments for the year. As proud as he
was of all he had done, he was also cognizant of how fortunate he
had been to find a place like Sand City General.

“ …
excelled in every
regard,” his supervisor, Tish, finished. “I’m happy I snapped you
up before anyone else did.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Kimber smiled at the
sixty-year-old department administrator overseeing the emergency
room and ICU. It was with some skepticism he rehearsed his
questions about the superstition he could no longer avoid. Of the
two concerns on his mind, he debated which one was appropriate to
ask first: Why his boss had hired him at all after checking his
Chicago references, or the truth about helping Keladry Savage.

“Look this over.” Tish handed him the
written performance appraisal. “If you have no concerns, sign and
date.”

Kimber skimmed the evaluation, satisfied he
had near perfect scores in every field, and no patient complaints,
during his first year at the hospital. He signed and handed it
back.

“The local women’s shelter sent me a letter
of appreciation for your volunteer work there last summer as well.
I’ll include a copy when I email you the appraisal,” his supervisor
continued. “Keep everything for your records. As part of your
performance, I’m awarding you a three day weekend with the
guarantee no one will call you in.”

Surprised at his first real break since
arriving, Kimber bit back his first instinct, which was to refuse.
He had nothing outside of work, no interests or hobbies or friends.
His work was his identity and purpose in life. What was he going to
do with three days off?

“If you need me, I’m happy to come in,” he
said.

“Nonsense. I checked your timesheets before
deciding between a financial award and time off. You need the time
off,” she replied. “I wanted to give you a week off but had a
feeling you wouldn’t take it. So, take your three days, and any
time you need a day off, I won’t ask questions or complain about
the timing. You are the best we have. I want you to feel like this
is your home now, and I don’t want you hesitating to take breaks
when you need them. The work will always be there.”

He smiled, touched by her earnestness.
“Thank you, Tish.”

“My pleasure. Now, any questions before I
push you out the door?”

“Not related to the performance appraisal,”
he answered slowly. “About the city.”

His supervisor sat back with a warm smile.
“Have you settled in okay? Learned your way around?”

“Yeah, thanks. The only thing I’m not so
sure about is General Savage,” Kimber started. “Our hospital is
open to everyone. If the General’s children are hurt, I would have
a hard time understanding why we would turn them away.”

Tish’s smile faded. She studied him for a
long moment. “This is a pretty specific concern. Is this a question
of morality or … is there a basis for asking?” While polite, the
inquiry was much cooler than anything else she had said.

Kimber resisted the urge to shift under her
suddenly intent look. “Question of morality. I saw on the news no
hospital is supposed to take uh … henchmen and his children as
patients. I was curious if it applied to us, since we take
everyone.”

His supervisor relaxed, and her smile
returned. “You are by far the most dedicated member of my staff.
I’ve witnessed both your worth ethic and your ability to adapt to
whatever comes through those ER doors. Your coworkers adore you,
and so do your patients. But there are some rules that come into
play from time to time with regards to General Savage. This is one
of them. If he says we must refuse his children, then we will do as
he says.”

“Morally, how is that right?” Kimber
pressed.

“Morally, it’s not. But he pays your salary
and mine. General Savage is the single largest donor to our
hospital. If turning away his two kids will allow us to save
thousands of lives a year, then our choice is easy.”

Kimber nodded. It almost made sense –
financially. He wasn’t able to wrap his head around refusing to
treat anyone in the shape in which he had found the General’s
daughter.

“I understand your concern,” his supervisor
said. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “But don’t voice it
too loudly, Kimber.”