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.