Born to Fly

The Darkness and The Penguin -✔

"Let me take you out to dinner tonight."

I flip through charts on a pink clipboard. "I'm not sure, Jim. If you're going to lecture me about my job, you can forget it. I've heard enough from you."

I can almost hear him roll his eyes through the phone. "I want to show you that I'm proud of you, that I'm okay with you doing this."

"I'm free tonight at 6. Where are we going?"

"Bamonte's Restaurant. It's an Italian place. Ever heard of it?"

"No. Is it new?"

"Something like that. I'll meet you there after work."

When he hangs up, I drop the flip phone in my pocket. "Hello, Mr. Mason. How are you feeling today?"

The older gentleman greets me with a pained hello. This patient suffered from a head-on collision four days ago. The other nurses tell me he was stuck under the vehicles for a whopping five hours before anyone bothered to call the cops. It all sounds so familiar.

Being as gentle as I can, I register his vitals. Blood pressure's recovering with medication. His pulse is a little low, though. My boss, Rachel doesn't expect him to last another week.

Mr. Mason grabs my wrist before I have the chance to log the updates. "You look just like my wife," he says.

"Do I?" We learned of this kind of behavior in school. Sometimes old men and women refer to younger nurses as their wives or sisters, usually to elicit our attention. If it's not that, they're almost consistently delusional.

"You have identical eyes. Her's was brighter than yours, o' course. Same, freckly skin. Her hair was blonde, though."

While he's murmuring away, I jot down his notes. His greyed eyes look at the popcorn ceiling like he's studying the last remaining memories of his wife. "Long and blonde. Kinda curly too."

"She sounds very pretty, Mr. Mason. I'm sure she was a delight." I finally wheel the equipment out of his room.

"No, she wasn't."

"And why is that?"

He rolls onto his side. "Let me tell you on your next trip 'round here."

The old man reminds me of another old man I need to get in touch with.

"Mr. Falcone?"

"Hello, Sera! Is it that time already? Do you have a schedule ready for me?"

"I do. Shall I read off the times to you, or—"

Carmine chuckles from whatever mansion he's running Gotham in. "That won't be necessary. I have someone at the hospital right now. Be ready to give it to him in five minutes."

"I can do that."

I've been open with the don about my occupation, but I never once told him what hospital I would be at, or what floor I'd be on. The thought has me checking around every corner. Sure enough, five minutes later, a scruffy, large man waltzes up to the triage desk.

"Sera Gordon?"

"That's me," I say, already folding up the paper schedule.

"I'm here to collect the file."

I hand it to him as nonchalantly as possible. The last thing I need is my supervisors getting suspicious that their new nurse is in a gang.

"Don Falcone will get back with you shortly."

I'm grateful for the short interaction, and even more thankful that he left the floor before Rachel laid eyes on him.

I return to Mr. Mason's room at the end of my shift. As per protocol, I write the name and contact number of his next nurse. Once again, I assess his vitals and wait for his tale to complete.