This week, we had to write about a character’s decline.  That’s it.

Dr. Eugene Westphal  sat forward in his chair, elbows on his knees.  He started to speak, paused, and then made sure he was looking the Chief of Staff directly in the eyes.   “So you’re firing me.”

“Of course not,” said Dr. Marcus Jansen, leaning back.  “I was hoping you’d consider taking a spot on the board.”

Dr. Westphal’s left eye twitched, the usual sign he was holding back.  “You know I don’t belong there.   I’m a surgeon, dammit, not a paper pusher.  Besides, those bastards are the reason why we’re sitting here, right?”

Dr. Jansen sighed.  “It’s not just the board.  You’ve been making mistakes, Gene.  The sponge you almost left inside Mrs. Hansen.  The cut on Mr. Cartwright you started in the wrong spot.  The…”

“I’m quite aware of my performance.  If we’re going to sit here and count surgical errors I’m sure I’m still miles ahead of most of my residents.”

“Gene.”  Dr. Jansen sat forward again, clasping his hands on the desk.  “We’ve known each other for almost forty years.  I consider you a friend.  And as your friend, I have to be honest with you.  I think your memory is slipping.  And I don’t mean dementia, Christ no.  But these past few months I’ve…”

“Fuck you, Marcus.  And fuck the board, too. ”  Dr. Westphal rose from his chair and headed towards the door.  “I’ve got a little girl’s life to save.”

Dr. Jansen hung his head, hands still clasped.

********

Clara Carthon was eight years old.  She was bright, eager, and had the jump-rope record at Edgerton Elementary.  She also had a mitral valve that was leaking blood into her lungs.

“Needle driver,” called Dr. Westphal.  The surgery was progressing smoothly.  Clara’s heart had reacted to the bypass machine with ease.  The mechanical replacement tested perfectly.  All that was left were the sutures and her transition off the machine.

“Doctor, her heartbeat is increasing.  Blood pressure dropping.”

“Shit!” He handed the driver back to the nurse.  “There’s massive clotting in the CBP circuit.  Increase Heparin to two-hundred!”

“You sure?” said the nurse.  “All the way up from ten?”

“It was at ten?  What the hell?  No, it should have been one-hundred.”

“So, you…”

“One-hundred!  Now heads-up people.  This could be touch-and-go.”

Though appearing calm to the lay observer, the surgical team worked desperately for an hour and a half.  The clot dissolved and the patient’s vitals slowly returned to normal.  Transition off the bypass machine went without a hitch, and after closure, the patient was transferred to recovery.

Furious at his team, Dr. Westphal washed up in silence.  Ready to lay into the next person who opened their mouth, he glanced at Clara’s chart and noticed the pre-op orders he had written this morning:

HEPARIN:  10 units/mL

His heart sank.

********

The nurse entered Dr. Westphal’s office, appearing guarded.

“I apologize if I was harsh with you in the OR,” he told her.  “It was entirely my fault, the Heparin.  I missed a zero.”

“Doctor Westphal” the nurse choked.  “I’m sorry.  Clara isn’t waking from the anesthesia.  Her vitals are fine.  We think it’s a coma.”

He sat motionless, afraid to breathe.

“I thought you should know before we tell the family.”

“No.”  He couldn’t look at her.  “I’ll tell them.”

It only took a minute to reach Clara Carthon’s family in recovery, but it was the longest walk of Dr. Westphal’s career.  He’d delivered worse news than this, many times.  But this time was different.  As he approached, he could sense the family’s apprehension, as if he were holding a scythe at his side.

“Your daughter’s new valve is working, as is her heart.  Unfortunately, she is not waking as soon as we expected.”

Dr. Westphal could feel his chest tighten.

“We’re afraid she may have slipped into a coma.”

The words hung in the air like a fog, growing more dense the longer no one spoke.  His left eye twitched.

Clara’s father was the first to break the family’s stunned silence.  “What do you mean, coma?  It’s just temporary, right?  She’ll wake up?  How did this happen?”

Dr. Westphal usually offered generalities and platitudes in response to this question.  Today was not usual.

“Your daughter’s blood clotted during the surgery.  While this is always a risk during this type of surgery, it could have been attributed due to an order I…”

“Mr. Carthon?  Mrs. Carthon?” Dr. Xiong interrupted.   “Your daughter is waking up now.  You can see her if you like.  She can’t talk just yet, but she appears to be alert and oriented.”

“Oh thank God!” screamed Mrs. Carthon, hugging Dr. Xiong.

Dr. Westphal watched as Clara’s family hurriedly followed the surgical resident.  He should have felt relief.  He wanted to feel relief.  He felt nothing.

“Dodge a bullet?” he heard behind him.  It was a kid in scrubs.  He didn’t recognize him.

“Here,” said Dr. Westphal, placing his name badge in the intern’s hand.  “Give this to Dr. Jansen.”

“Sir?”

Dr. Westphal walked towards the exit, his head bowed to the floor.  His eye stopped twitching.

Spooky: Using a young girl in this way to tell a story is obviously going to work on me, Mr. Bastard. The story works pretty well period, though, and it feels honestly medical without feeling dull, which is a nice trick to pull off. 3

DK: Straight-forward, but effective. The twitching is a solid recurring touchstone. The clinical language is kind of a double-edged sword; I appreciate the way it heightens the realism, but it also holds me off of getting to know the character as closely, I found. 3

Even though this isn’t the best work I’ve done, it’s certainly the longest I’ve spent writing a story.  The little section about the surgery?  Took me about 2-3 hours of research to make sure I had the details right (as if the judges would even check).  Even then, I’m sure part of it is inaccurate.  All I knew is I wanted a realistic surgery on a child that could put them into a coma if something went wrong.  Didn’t realize that would take me so long to figure out.

As for the rest, I’m pretty happy with it.  The surgical resident stealing the good news (when he’s probably made more mistake than Dr. Westphal if we’re counting) may have been my favorite part. The eye-twitchy thing…threw that in at the last minute.  It doesn’t resonate as much as I would like, but overall I’m happy with it, and my scores.

I’m also happy the Vogons don’t have to vote anybody off.  We’re now down to ten players.  The race is on.

The challenge this week was to create a character with a seemingly useless superpower, then give them an opportunity to use it (for better or for worse).

“So. Martin.” The cold, direct voice of The Administrator filled his office. “You know why I called you in here?”

Martin remained erect, but frozen, in the steel guest chair.

“Of course you do,” he lamented. “You know, they told me that you weren’t cut out for this. That your psychological profile was…unsatisfactory. But I saw something in you. Perhaps I was blinded by your striking resemblance to me. Perhaps my instincts have softened in my old age. Regardless, it turns out they were right.”

The Administrator approached from the shadows, his jet black shoes clapping against the limestone floor. His chiseled face revealed less emotion than his tailored suit. Towering over him, his thumb and index finger cupped Martin’s chin. He let go.

“I thought I could prove your worth to us. You know, start you off slow.”

Martin stared blankly at him, watching him place a cigarette between his lips.

“After all, we couldn’t give you the ability to start the world on fire until we were sure of you.” On cue, the cigarette lit itself.

“The ability to make someone else sneeze seemed pretty innocuous. Easy to keep hidden. And a quite effective tool at extending someone’s life. Have to admit, you impressed us when you saved the Senator, delaying his first step into the crosswalk.” The Administrator turned his back to Martin, resting his hands on his desk.

“But you couldn’t help yourself. You had to play with your new toy. Showing it off at parties, placing bets on who would sneeze first. Making the President embarrass himself at his own inauguration. All fun and games, I know. But telling your wife was the last straw. This organization has the power to make this world a better place, but only if our secret is kept.” The Administrator paused, then turned around. “We’re now half way to keeping that secret.”

Martin’s eyes darted at his boss, rage masking the pain behind them. He kept quiet.

“It’s a shame, really.” He put the cigarette out. “I don’t like killing anyone, even for the greater good. Even though I’ll gain your power when you die.” The Administrator laughed. “Now, do you have any last words before you spontaneously combust?”

Martin did not.

“Alright, then. I admit this will take a few seconds longer than my cigarette. You seem to like parlor tricks. How about we end this with a magic word? Shazam? Presto-chango?”

Martin’s expression remained unchanged.

“Oh, I got it. Here we go.” His splayed his hands out in front of him as if it were necessary. “Abracada…ah! Ah! Ah-CHOO! Abracachoo!”

Martin rose from the chair, watching The Administrator clumsily stumble with an endless sneezing fit. Walking behind his former boss, he waited for him to rise from his latest attack. In one motion, he cradled his head and snapped his neck. The lifeless body slumped to the floor.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. “Come in!” called Martin, finishing the last button on his new suit.

“Sir!” barked the young man as he entered. “Are you done in here?”

Martin nodded.

“Good. We may not have much time. Talks are breaking down between the U.S. and China. And both sides have their bombs aimed and ready.”

“Well then,” Martin replied, looking down at the body. “It looks like we’ve got a fire to put out.”

“Sir?”

Martin looked up. “So to speak, son.” He approached the young man, putting his arm around him as they exited his office. “So to speak.”

Spooky: Hot damn, all y’all. Another thorough beatdown of the challenge’s parameters, and although the ending was apparent enough, it was still satisfying as hell to get there. 4

DK: I think I appreciate inherent cheesiness more in this challenge than most of the others. The line about the striking resemblance really, really got me for some reason, but again, this is a fun power too. 4

My story is all kinds of obvious.  I’m probably the ninety-four thousandth person to use “The Administrator” as the antagonist, and like Spooky said, the ending was the most natural way for the story to progress.  I also was never quite satisfied with the mood, having a mix of suspense and goofiness all in one.  I mean, it’s pretty hard to make a superhero story bone-chilling.  I tried, and I think I just missed it.

Still, I think it’s pretty fun, and I’m glad the judges enjoyed it.

What I didn’t enjoy was a teammate non-subbing, making the Vogons have to send another member to the guillotine.