7:15 AM – St. Ignatius Hospital
Benjamin Moore strode through the hospital doors with purpose, his usual smirk dialed back to something more subdued—more normal. The whispers from yesterday still clung to him like a bad scent, but today, he'd play the part of the perfect, unsuspecting surgeon. No more predictions. No more eerie accuracy.
Just save lives. Like a normal damn doctor.
He nodded at the nurses, forcing a casual smile. Some returned it hesitantly; others pretended not to see him.
Fine. Let them stare.
"Dr. Moore!"
Lisa Chen hurried toward him, her expression tight. "We've got a critical case—Room 412. Multiple organ failure."
Benjamin's pulse jumped. Don't react. Don't look.
"Lead the way."
Room 412 – The Patient Who Shouldn't Die
The man on the bed was in his fifties, skin sallow, breathing labored. The monitors beeped a frantic rhythm.
"Mr. Daniel Hartwell," Lisa recited. "Admitted for acute kidney failure. Dialysis scheduled, but—"
Benjamin's gaze flicked to the man's chest.
Black haze.
Thin, wispy tendrils curled around his heart and his kidneys.
Both.
Benjamin's jaw clenched. Don't say it. Don't—
"Has cardiology cleared him?" he asked, keeping his voice neutral.
Lisa blinked. "What? No, it's just renal—"
"Get an EKG. Now."
She hesitated. "But the nephrology team—"
"Lisa." He met her eyes. "Just do it."
She hurried off.
Benjamin exhaled, rolling his shoulders. Act normal. Don't scare them.
But the haze darkened.
8:30 AM – Nephrology Department
Benjamin leaned against the wall outside the nephrologist's office, arms crossed. Dr. Aaron Kessler, the head of the department, was a man who wore his arrogance like a second lab coat.
"Kidney failure," Kessler said, flipping through the chart. "Clear-cut. We'll proceed with dialysis."
Benjamin's fingers twitched. "His EKG showed arrhythmia. Mild, but it's there."
Kessler barely glanced up. "Not my department."
"It should be. If his heart gives out during dialysis—"
"Then cardio can handle it." Kessler finally looked at him, his lip curling. "Unless you're suddenly an expert in nephrology and cardiology?"
Benjamin's smirk returned, sharp and dangerous. "Funny you should ask. I am board-certified in both."
A beat of silence.
Kessler's eye twitched. "Get out of my department, Moore."
Benjamin held his gaze. "Order the echo. Or I will."
Kessler scoffed. "Do whatever you want. But Hartwell's getting dialysis at noon."
Benjamin turned on his heel and left.
Stubborn bastard.
12:05 PM – Dialysis Unit
Benjamin watched from the doorway as the nurses prepped Hartwell for dialysis. The black haze was thicker now, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
He's going to die.
But this time, he wouldn't say it.
He'd stop it.
"Hold on," he said, stepping forward. "Has cardiology reviewed the EKG?"
The nurse—Mira Patel—frowned. "No orders for cardio."
Benjamin gritted his teeth. "Page Dr. Langley. Now."
Mira hesitated. "But Dr. Kessler—"
"Page. Him."
She did.
Twenty minutes later, Dr. Langley arrived, looking irritated. "What's the emergency?"
Benjamin handed him the EKG. "Look again."
Langley scanned it, then froze. "Shit. Mild left ventricular hypertrophy. Why wasn't this flagged?"
Benjamin didn't answer.
"Hold dialysis," Langley snapped. "We need an echo first."
But it was too late.
Hartwell's monitor screamed.
V-fib.
Benjamin moved before anyone else could react—crash cart, epinephrine, clear!
The body jerked.
Nothing.
Again.
Beep.
A weak pulse.
But the black haze didn't fade.
Hartwell coded twice more in the next hour.
At 2:17 PM, he was pronounced dead.
Cause: Acute cardiac arrest complicating renal failure.
Exactly what Benjamin had seen.
3:00 PM – Dr. Thorne's Office
Benjamin didn't knock. He shoved the door open, his control fraying.
"You knew."
Dr. Thorne looked up from her desk, her expression unreadable. "Knew what?"
"Hartwell. His heart. Kessler ignored it. You let him."
Thorne sighed, setting down her pen. "Benjamin—"
"Don't. Just don't." His voice was low, dangerous. "A man died because this hospital is run by egos."
Thorne's eyes hardened. "You're out of line."
"Am I?" He leaned over her desk. "Or am I the only one who sees what's happening?"
The door opened behind him.
"Dr. Moore."
Benjamin turned.
Ethan Cole, the hospital's head of legal, stood there, his suit as crisp as his tone. "I think it's time you left."
Benjamin didn't move. "This isn't a legal matter."
"It is when you're harassing staff and making claims without evidence." Cole stepped closer. "We've had reports. About your… behavior."
"What behavior?"
"Predicting deaths. Stalking patients. Freaking out your colleagues." Cole's smile was razor-thin. "Sounds like something the medical board—or the police—should know about."
Benjamin's hands curled into fists.
Thorne stood. "Benjamin. Go home. Now."
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Benjamin turned and walked out.
The door slammed behind him.
4:30 PM – Police Precinct
Detective Rebecca Barker leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. The anonymous tip sat on her desk, typed and unsigned.
"Ask St. Ignatius about the doctor who knows when his patients will die."
She'd dismissed it at first. Then she'd pulled records.
Three patients. Three deaths. All predicted by Dr. Benjamin Moore—down to the hour.
Her phone buzzed. Captain Reyes: "You're on the Hartwell case. Possible malpractice."
Rebecca exhaled.
Time to pay a visit.