Chapter 6 - Inside Operating Room Four
The young scrub nurse’s face was deathly pale, a stark contrast against her vibrant teal scrubs. She clutched the stainless-steel tray so tightly that her forefingers were completely devoid of color. The heavy metal instruments inside—clamps, retractors, and suction tubes—clinked softly against one another as her hands trembled violently. Dr. Thorne abandoned Chloe instantly, his professional instincts kicking in as he crossed the distance between them in three long strides.
“What is it, Miller Junior?” Dr. Thorne demanded, his voice dropping into a low, urgent medical register. “Did we lose pressure?”
The young nurse—a fresh medical resident whose name tag read Dr. Sam Miller, a detail that hit Chloe like a physical blow—shook her head frantically. Her wide, terrified eyes flicked from Dr. Thorne over to where Chloe stood frozen against the wall.
“No, the pressure is holding for now,” Sam whispered, her voice cracking under the immense weight of the room she had just fled. “It’s… it’s not the machine. It’s what she’s doing inside the cavity. She stopped using the standard retraction protocol five minutes ago. She’s working entirely by feel, Dr. Thorne. She won’t let the monitoring tech touch the console, and she told the anesthesiologist to up the paralytic twice.”
Chloe pushed herself off the wall, stumbling forward with her knees shaking beneath her pink tweed skirt. The revelation that the young resident shared a last name with the cold surgeon sent a fresh wave of panic crashing over her senses.
“She’s murdering him!” Chloe screamed, her voice echoing down the sterile hallway with desperate abandon. “She’s killing my father on purpose! I heard you! You just said she hates him!”
Sam Miller flinched as if she had been physically struck, turning her terrified gaze fully onto Chloe. There was no mistaking the striking resemblance between the young resident and the older surgeon scrubbing inside; they shared the same sharp jawline, the same piercing steel-gray eyes, and the same terrifying, unyielding composure.
“Dr. Gretchen Miller is a board-certified genius, not a butcher,” Sam retorted sharply, her voice suddenly ringing with defensive pride. “If she wanted him dead, she could have walked away this morning when his heart gave out in the lobby. She didn't. She walked in.”
“Then why are you running out of your own operating room?” Chloe fired back, tears streaming unchecked down her face, ruining her makeup entirely. “People don't flee a successful surgery looking like they just saw a ghost!”
Sam opened her mouth to reply, but before a single word could escape her lips, the heavy double doors behind her swung open once more with slow, deliberate force.
Dr. Gretchen Miller stood in the doorway, her surgical gown stained a deep, ominous crimson across the chest and forearms. She had removed her bloody latex gloves, revealing long, elegant fingers that were entirely steady. She looked down at Chloe with a gaze so intensely cold it seemed to drop the temperature in the hallway by ten degrees.
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“If you want to scream, Ms. Vance,” Gretchen said, her voice eerily calm and devoid of all human warmth, “do it quietly. Your father is awake, and he’s asking for his favorite little liar.”
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