apology not accepted

1

Mr. Smith got out of his car. It was the usual Saturday morning, and he had private practice. He was glad that his kids didn't have school today. That would have just added more to his list. But today he had to only drop his wife where she works and get on with his work.

    Derek Smith was considered as the best neuro-surgeon in the New York City. Coming to that level, he knew, had been a great strive. This was because life had been much different, much harder for Derek than it was now, when he was a boy.

    The now well-off Derek walked through the entrance of the hospital he worked at. "Good Morning, Mr. Smith," greeted Carly, the receptionist, beaming at him. As he was walking into the theatre, he bumped into Andy Lerman, a Pediatric Surgeon, whom he considers his 'best bud'.

    "Hiya D-Dawg!" Andy said, slapping his friend on the back. "Andy, better watch your language. Talking like that is a direspect to those scrubs." warned Derek.

    "Just chill-ax. See ya on Monday, bro." Andy waved at Derek and left.

    Derek silently laughed at Andy's ludicrous behavior. He wasn't as serious as many of the other doctors Derek knew. Derek assumed that Andy got his jolly, pleasant nature because he dealt with kids. While Derek was watching Andy trot off, his phone started ringing, startling him.

    The caller ID told him it was Michael, his Anesthetist for that day. Pressing the green button, he said, "Be right there, Mikey," as he rushed to the theater.



*        *        *



Out of his scrubs and back in his shirt and pants, Michael Spencer came out of the changing room. "Wow, that was fast.” said Derek, looking at him.

    "Yeah. I got some errands to run. I better hurry. I'll see you later, then.” Michael said, and hurried off.

    Sitting in the hallway outside the theater was a man in a hoodie, looking down with his head well hidden by the extra large hood. Michael Spencer ignored the man as he walked past him. Maybe he was imagining it, but Michael thought he felt a pair of eyes on him. Just as Michael was out of his sight, the hooded man was on his feet, walking into the operating theater.   





*          *          *

Adjusting his tie, Derek Smith walked out of the Male Doctors' changing room. His Saturday list was done, but in the evening, he had casualty. Derek sighed as he thought about the stress he had to undergo as a doctor. The pay was superb, but you cannot value mental sanity using any unit.

    After a day of work, he had often felt so tired that he thought he might die. Being the best in your field will get you good practice, good money, good living standards. But being worn out because of it causes one to lose the chance to enjoy the bliss of simplicity, of not being in the elite class that was sometimes criticized by the envious elements in the society. Many a times had he wondered how peaceful a person feels after he dies, how light, how wonderful. He has seen patients with in the most critical conditions embark on their final journey.      Derek shook his head. Being quite healthy and young, death was one of the last things he had to worry about. He took his bag and turned towards the door-- and saw a strange, sinister looking figure standing before him. Wearing a hoodie that covered most of its face, the figure just stood there, unmoving. Derek felt the eyes staring at him through the fabric. It couldn't be Andy -- pranks was usually his thing-- because he had left hours ago.

    Derek stepped back. "Wh-Who are you?" he stammered.

    "Forgot your friend, doc?" the figure snickered. "Well, if you really can't remember..."

      The man pulled the hood back. Derek gasped at the face in recognition. No--it couldn't be. It was impossible--

      "I'd love to stay and chit-chat. But time is gold for me. Some of us don't earn millions in a day by cutting and chopping people." He pulled out a dagger and started walking towards Derek.

      Derek couldn't find his words. Shock had him stupefied. There was nothing in around him to help defend himself. The exit was behind his attacker. It was all over.

      The killer had Derek in his grasp within seconds. He held the horrified man by his collar. As he ran the dagger through his neck, he whispered, "Goodbye, Derek Smith. Apology not accepted."

      Derek felt the excruciating pain. In a while, it stopped. Stopped as felt himself being pulled out of his body by an invisible force.

      The body that once used be New York's finest neurosurgeon collapsed to the hard, cold ground. The dreaded killer turned around his heel and walked away. The lifeless body continued to bleed rivers of red from in between the jagged teeth of the knife.

    Perhaps Derek felt that death was one of the last things he had to worry about, but it had still been on his list.