“Doctor…” Camilo whispered suddenly, staring out the glass window toward the examination table. “Look at the monitor!”
Esteban dropped the diary and rushed out to the steel table. The cardiac monitor, which had been attached out of standard routine, was displaying a faint, erratic twitch. The sudden realize hit Esteban like a wave of cold water. Sister Beatriz wasn’t dead. She had been in a state of deep, induced suspended animation. The two-hour wait requested on her back was the time needed for the rare toxin to fully wear off without surgical intervention, which would have killed her instantly had they cut into her chest.
“Get the atropine and oxygen! Now!” Esteban shouted, pushing Camilo toward the emergency supply cabinet.
Camilo scrambled to pull the necessary medical equipment from the shelves. Esteban quickly attached the oxygen mask over Beatriz’s mouth and nose, monitoring her shallow, reviving breaths. Her chest began to rise and fall visibly as the paralysis gradually released its grip on her nervous system.
Within minutes, her eyelids fluttered open. She gasped for air, her dark eyes wide with panic as she took in the stark, sterile surroundings of the morgue. She looked around wildly until her gaze landed on Esteban’s medical scrubs and his reassuring, calm expression.
“You… you waited,” she whispered, her voice barely a dry croak. 👤
“We waited,” Esteban confirmed, holding her hand gently to steady her trembling frame. “You are safe here, Beatriz. But you need to rest. Your body has been through an unimaginable ordeal.”…
