Page 34 of East (The Moral Compass 3)

“How the hell did she fall, then?”

“She fell over her own feet.”

“Don’t talk shit. What the hell happened? Where was she?”

“She was with me. Her feet got caught up, and she fell. That’s it. Nothing more.”

“Why do you have to be such a dick, Zed? This is my baby sister. Text me the address. I’m coming out, and I’m bringing Kara with me.”

Oh, fucking great. But it’s better than West coming. At least North has a sense of humour sometimes and might just see a funny side to this when I find one.

The surgeon said the operation would take about two hours, but four hours later, I’m still sitting in the room where they said to wait. Another two hours pass, and still, no one can tell me anything. My temper is flaring. If one more person tells me that these things take time, I’m going to lose it.

“Excuse me?” I ask as I grab a doctor walking past. “My wife went into theatre six hours ago and was due out a while back, but no one has come to tell me anything. Can you please find out what is going on?”

“I’ll do my best,” he said, releasing his arm from my hand and scuttling off in the operating room’s direction.

I stand, wait, and pace, and still nothing. Another hour passes. This is fucking ridiculous. Seven hours she’s been in that surgery. Seven fucking torturous hours. What the hell are they doing in there? I’ve known leg amputations that took less time.

The double doors open, and the surgeon walks directly up to me with his head bowed.What the fuck?

“Can you accompany me to my office please, Mr. O’Brien?” He opens the office door, switches on the lights, and takes a seat behind a large old wooden desk.

“What the hell is going on? You said two hours. Why has it taken you seven? And for God’s sake, tell me she is okay.”

“Mr. O’Brien. Please. Take a seat, and I will explain everything.” I sit down opposite, although my urge to pace is sending shocks down my thighs.

“Mr. O’Brien. Your wife’s break was not as simple as we initially thought. The pins we tried to put in place would not stay. So, we had to use a different procedure which unfortunately meant we needed to keep East under the anaesthetic a little longer than we had originally planned. The good news is the procedure worked, and the arm will heal fully.”

“And the bad news? There is always bad news when someone tells you the good news first.”

“Yes, Mr. O’Brien, you are correct. Unfortunately, your wife suffered a reaction to the anaesthetic; her heart stopped beating for approximately five minutes. We managed to resuscitate her, and she is doing well. She is in the Intensive Care Unit being monitored, and we will be able to update you further once we have observed her a little more.”

“What do you mean by approximately five minutes?”

“It was just over four minutes, Mr. O’Brien. I’m sorry, but we don’t know if there will be any lasting brain damage until she comes around. We have her sedated at the moment because of the pain her arm will cause, and we need to keep her as calm as possible.”

I can’t believe what the hell I’m hearing. I stand up and start to pace. “I want to see her.”

“That’s not possible at the moment.” He tries to sound authoritative and fails miserably.

“How much money do I need to donate to this shit hole to see my wife?” I scream at the surgeon.

“It’s not about the money, Mr. O’Brien.”

“Sure it’s not. How about five million? Will that do it?”

“Well, that’s an extremely generous offer but—”

“Ten million.”

“Mr. O’Brien. Please. It’s not about the—”

“Name your fucking price. When her brothers turn up, they will buy the fucking hospital and throw you out, you useless piece of shit. It was a broken fucking arm not brain surgery. Now, tell me how much, and let me see her now!” I yell. My blood is boiling, and if he doesn’t let me see her this minute, he’s not going to see tomorrow.

“Follow me.” He stands and walks out of the office, and I follow. We walk down several corridors, and a nurse hands me a blue gown, cap, and shoe covers.

I look like a freaking blue alien. This is totally fucked up. This is all my fault.

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