The hospital air is thick and unmoving, pressing in like an invisible weight. A sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic blankets the space, clinging to every surface. Staff darted past Nadia and the charge nurse standing in the drab, white hallway, their hurried movements a stark contrast to the stillness in her chest.
After Nadia's recent meltdown—demanding they do something for her father—the elderly nurse is doing her best to keep the situation from spiraling further.
"I'm sorry," the nurse said gently, "but there's nothing more we can do." She gestures toward the machine in the corner. "That's the only thing keeping him alive."
Opening his chart, she hands it to Nadia, her voice softening further. "There's no brain activity, sweetheart. The doctor had no choice but to legally declare him brain dead."
Nadia clutched the folder, her knuckles whitening around the edges. There is desperation in her voice, fragile and trembling, when she replies. "But people pull out of this, right?"
The nurse's face, full of sorrow, shakes her head. "I'm afraid not."
Tears blur Nadia's vision as she glances into the room—just in time to see a nurse reach for the ventilator. Her stomach twists into a knot. "What are you doing to him?"
Her pulse spikes; panic takes over. Darting across the room, Nadia grabs the nurse's hand. "No—stop! Don't take that off him!"
The nurse hesitates, her uncertain gaze flicking toward her supervisor.
"I'm sorry, Miss Winters," the charge nurse says, stepping forward. "Your father has a DNR."
Nadia's breath hitches. Her fists balled at her sides. "I'm his daughter! I'm ordering you to leave it on."
The charge nurse's expression was firm but kind. "We're legally obligated to honor his wishes." She nods at the attending nurse, then places a reassuring hand on Nadia's arm. "Take all the time you need."
***
Sitting on the edge of the couch, hands animated as she speaks, Rachel quickly lays out her idea to the captain.
"So here's what I was thinking," she begins, excitement lacing her voice. "We stage an arrest—spread word through the precinct about what he's done. Then we take him to an arraignment, where he'll, of course, get off. And after that, we wait—until the killer strikes again."
The captain raises a brow. "So you want to set a trap."
Rachel runs her fingers through her hair, unconsciously mimicking a gesture she's seen the captain do a hundred times. With a small chuckle, she lowers her hand. "It might be the only way to catch her."
The captain exhales, crossing his arms. "You're putting numerous lives at risk. Besides, I doubt anyone would be willing to participate."
"I already have two undercover officers lined up," Rachel counters, unwavering. "And I'm sure I can get a judge to agree."
"What about the innocent bystanders at the courthouse?"
"His case will be the last on the docket—after everyone else has gone home. I'll make sure the place is cleared before they bring him out."
The captain studies her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "You've really thought this through, haven't you?"
Rachel nods, leaning forward. "I truly believe it's our best shot at stopping her."
The captain sighs. "Let me think about it, alright?"
***
Exhausted from crying, Nadia decides it's time to go home. The hospital administrator catches up to her just before she steps through the door.
"I wanted you to know that your father's final arrangements have been taken care of."
Nadia hesitates. "So I don't need to choose a casket or anything like that?"
The administrator offers a small nod. "His wishes were to be cremated."
A memory surfaces—just a few months ago, sitting by the Buffalo River. She's fishing with her dad when out of nowhere he broaches the subject.
"Stop being so morbid, Dad; you're not going anywhere anytime soon," she had said, oblivious to how sick he really was. You were trying to tell me then, but I didn't listen. Her throat tightens, and she wipes away the fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. The administrator's voice pulled her from her thoughts.
She hands Nadia a card. "The mortuary will call you when he's ready."
The next morning, Nadia returns to work. She had considered calling in sick—almost did—but at the last minute, she changed her mind. Keeping busy seems to be a better option than replaying the last few years with her father over and over in her head.
Yet, no matter how hard she tries, the memories continue to replay in her mind. I've enjoyed every second we've had together, she thinks.
Tony hadn't been around much when she was growing up, traveling for work the way he did. But he always returned with a special gift—neatly wrapped, just for her. And when he was home, he made sure every moment was unforgettable, more so in the last couple of years.
At first, the sudden attention had been a welcome change. Then the feeling in her gut told her something wasn't right. One day, she finally asked him outright. He denied being sick. He asserted that he merely enjoyed spending time with her.
Nadia confided in Angela, who offered a different theory—maybe he feels guilty for missing so much of your childhood.
Nadia didn't believe that is the reason. Why would he feel guilty when she always makes up for lost time, she asks?
With a stern look on her face, Angela quickly retorts, "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. You're one of the lucky ones who gets to spend time with your dad." She pauses then adds, "No one is promised tomorrow, so enjoy what you have today."
It sounded like sentimental nonsense at the time. But now, Nadia sees the truth in it.
Despite everything, she knew something was off. Her father was growing weaker—less mobile. His once healthy tan faded to a ghostly white. "I should've seen it coming," she whispered, wiping another tear away.
"Are you alright, Winters?"
She sniffled. "Allergies."
"Well, take a damn pill so we can go."
Nadia scoffed. "Who pissed in your Cheerios?"
"No one. I just don't want to be written up for standing around."
Kirk drags a scraggly, handcuffed man through the precinct. "Finally got him, Sergeant." He sneers at the man. "Caught him in the act. There is no way his lawyer, Monroe, will get the charges dropped this time."
The suspect smiles, flashing yellow, rotting teeth. "We'll see about that."
Rachel steps forward, fists clenched at her sides, locking onto his soulless brown eyes. She squares her jaw with fury burning through her veins. She asks, You know how many children's lives you've ruined?"
The man tilted his head, unfazed. "I was just showing them a little love—something they don't get at home."
Disgust twisted Rachel's stomach. "You're a filthy perv, you know that?"
He chuckles darkly.
"I hope you rot in hell for everything you've done." She turns to Kirk. "Get him out of my sight before I do something he'll regret."
Kirk snickered. "Yes, Sergeant."
Rachel looks over to find everyone watching. Hiding the smile playing on her lips, she says, "Get back to work."