Los Angeles traffic. Three words that instilled panic and fear in any motorist unlucky enough to travel through the congested, smog filled streets. The familiar sight of a construction crew, filled the air with the loud thundering of a jackhammer chiseling into the black asphalt. The blaring static of radio combined with overheated motors and blaring horns added to the discordant symphony.

One petite figure moved quickly through the confusion, threading between traffic cones and through the halted cars with experienced ease. Light from the sun rained down upon her mop of orderly, blonde curls, causing them to shimmer. She raced up a slight platform and parked her bike in its usual spot. The hive quality of the busy hospital mostly ignored the newly added, yet common enough in this job, shrill piercing rings of a beeper over the normal low rumble of whispered conversation and gossip.

She discarded her sweat suit for blue scrubs as her empty locker quickly filled with personal items. Tightening her cap, she stepped purposely over the spotless floor in white booties and entered a room where a middle aged, caucasian male stood dressed in the same combo of blue and white.

"What do we got?"

"Fifty year old male had a huge interior wall MI this morning. Collapsed while jogging. Paramedics resuscitated him, but his EKG is pretty ugly. He's hypertensive."

"This diagnose type two." She paused and circled a section of the screen before her, displaying an internal view of the patient's heart, with her index finger. "Who cast him?"

The other doctor's tone reflected his words as the punch line to a well-known joke. "Rosenburg."

"I'll be right in."

"Patient wants to meet you."

She looked at him, thinking she misheard. The blue clad figure merely shrugged. She grabbed a sanitary mask and stepped into the sterile room.

"He's pretty out of it."

"The doctor's here." The nurse's voice was soft as she lifted the breathing mask. The young doctor peered into disconnected eyes shortly before pulling back.

"We're just going to pull the thirty-two today."

"Okay."

"Sucker." She was handed the requested item and a playful glint entered her eye as she glanced over at a male nurse. "Jimmy."

The nurse pressed a metallic, black button and a calming, soul beat filled the air. She pulled a thin thread through tissue, deftly stitching the injured area with a curved needle. Her hand fumbled with the loose end as the overhead light flickered off the water used to irrigate the incision.

"Kid started walking. Three unassisted steps." The male doctor ventured.

"Get it on video?"

"Wasn't even there."

"Failed as a father, already. How does that feel?"

He looked up and grinned as her slight chuckle downplayed the severity of her question.

"Retrograde on. Come down to half flow. Give me a little volume."

"Coming down to half flow. Here's comes your volume."

"Ready to come off?"

"Ready."

"Okay, let's come off."

"Okay, we're coming down. We're clamped and off bypass."

Everyone looked up at the monitors and the high pitched, and monotonous sound was quickly replaced by a normal heart beat. The sweet sound of a saxophone once again filled the air as the nurses started to discard used tools and supplies.

"Oh shit."

"What are you missing?"

"Sponge."

"Bummer." The doctors looked at each other and bent down to search the floor with their eyes.

"Got it."

"Attention everyone."

A nurse helped her out of the used scrubs and spoke in a soft voice. "Presbyterian's on line two."

"Watch his rhythm. He's going to be irritable."

The doctor's voices faded off as she walked into an attached room with a phone.

"She's getting good, huh?"

"Yeah, she's getting that attitude."

"Getting an attitude?" The last statement was spoken in jest and a slight ripple of laughter flowed through the otherwise silent room. Suddenly, the normal beat of the patient's heart was replaced by a piercing alarm.

"Shit. VTAC."

"Paddles. Kill the music. Get her back in here." Each of the sentences was spoken rapidly in a clipped tone, each more severe than the last.

The rapidly quickening pulse of an experienced medical team echoed through the room as a female nurse opened the door separating the doctor from her patient. "Dr. Rice?"

The doctor looked at the nurse and hung up the phone, a confused expression settling on her face. She made her way back into the OR. "Have you given him Ladocaine?"

"A hundreds gone in."

"Buzz him again. Paddles at three hundred."

"Clear?"

"Still nothing."

"Start compression." She paused, her eyes never leaving the grim sight on the monitor. "Kill the alarm! Hold on . . . not working. Got to open him. How long before we go back on?" she asked someone off to her side.

The receiver of her words was quickly connecting the various mechanics of a machine. He spoke rapidly, knowing now was not the time for excuses. "Uh, it'll take me ten minutes just to set up."

"Come on."

"Nothing."

Dr. Rice sliced into flesh already starting to yellow from the lack of blood flow. "Internal paddle. Charge to twenty."

"Ready."

"Twenty."

"Hit it."

"Nada."

"Go to thirty."

"Thirty."

"Hit it."

"No response."

She put the paddles aside and prepared to do battle for the man whose life was slipping away. Her hand entered the incision and she cradled the heart, trying to manually coax it to beat. "Come on. I have to go back on bypass here."

"Almost there; give me seven more minutes."

"Come on. Come on. Come on." Her voice started to lose strength, but still she refused to give up. There was no way in hell he was going to die on her table.

"He's going."

She looked up in the opposite direction of the other doctors, into strange wide eyes startled to be noticed. Her hand continued to pump the organ and eyes locked: one determined - the other surprised. "He's not going anywhere!" She paused. "Come on. Don't do this. Come on. Damn it, come on. Tom!? Come on, come on. Tom?! Come on."

Two silent figures stared at her from behind the clear glass separating the rooms, yet allowing viewers to look inside. One stared at the doctor as she continued to try and force the heart in his former body to beat, even though he no longer resided there. The other couldn't take his eyes off her as she struggled valiantly, though futilely, for the man's life.

She raced up the stairwell trying to run away from the pain reflected in her patient's wife's eyes. Her dead patient. She sunk down onto a step as she came to the realization of her inability to run away from something that was inside her. Her tears flowed unstopped, her sniffles the only sound filling the empty space.

On the table. On my table. I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

The tall figure she felt before bent down in front of her, trying to offer solace. Only, this time, she did not notice him.

I'm sorry. What happened, what happened? A graft inclusion, what . . . ? It was textbook; it was textbook.

The figure looked deeply into her eyes but saw no glimmer of awareness of his presence in the blue pools. He waved a hand in front of her, but still she did not see him.

I should have gone back on, I should . . . I should have massaged longer. I should . . . I should have gone back on. I should have massaged longer. I lost it.

He laid his hands over hers as they lay trembling on her knees. She merely pulled her hands through his and ran her fingers through her hair, unconsciously stopping the motion and gripping the curls in tight fists. Even though the tension of the roots being pulled at such force would normally elicit signs of pain, she was lost in her grief and confusion. Her tears never stopped, neither did her thoughts.

I lost it.

Bottles of various colors and sizes lined shelves set at multiple heights. Though the two men had no use for the products, their attentions were drawn to the labels and words that had about as much meaning to them as a car to a horse. The darker figure continued to study the display on his side of the shelf as his lighter companion's thoughts were absorbed by earlier events.

"Have you ever been seen, Casio?"

"You're looking at me." He responded matter-of-factly.

"No, not by me. And not by the dying or the delirious. Have you ever been seen, like you were a man?"

"In a diner once, a blind woman turned to me and asked me to pass her the mustard."

A paled, angled face shook slightly. "But she was blind."

His companion flexed his index finger to emphasize his point. "Ah, but she knew I was there."

"That doctor . . . in the operating room. She looked right at me."

"She didn't see you Seth. She can't see you. No one can see you unless you want them to."

"And if I want her to?"

"Why do you want her to?"

Feeling slightly challenged, Seth's tone became defensive. He sounded much like a child trying to explain to an adult a truth only he, himself, could see. "To help her."

His friend appeared to mull this over but was interrupted by a loud voice from the side, tinged with fear. "Open it, open it now." The loud click of his gun cocking accompanied his words and the store fell silent. "Everybody down. Get down! Do it!"

Random thoughts ran through the customers' heads as they lay face down on the cold floor.

Oh shit. Just give them him the money. Just give him the money.

Did I leave the lights on? I left the lights on.

I should have gone to Ralph's.

The gun wielding man pointed the black metal straight into the teller's face. "Do it!"

"Relax I'm doing it okay?" I've never been to the grand canyon. I'll never see my grandkids again.

The two dark clad men filed unnoticed behind the men, Seth placing his hands on the protaganist's shoulders and Casio on the antagonist. What am I doing? Just be cool; I should be cool.

"Be cool, man. Be cool."

The younger man stared into his victim's eyes as his thoughts echoed from the attendant's lips. He grabbed the bag of money and raced off.

"Wh . . . shit."

"They don't need to see us."

She stood in the dark, staring at a table. The table. Her eyes gazed over the thin mattress and the cotton sheet covering it, the shadowed vision of a man's body flittering past her unblinking eyes. She did not notice when the light overhead flicked on and a young voice spoke. "You're here early."

The thought of someone else sharing in her guilt, blaming her for the confusing death sent her rushing for the bathroom. She had barely slammed the lid against the porcelain back before her stomach relieved itself of her meager breakfast.

Her face very pale, she walked out of the bathroom slowly replacing her cap when she noticed a cart go by. It wouldn't have phased her, such a thing happened often enough, except that this cart was for her surgery, one she was supposed to be performing in a few minutes. She looked questionally at the male nurse only to have a similar expression returned. A doctor stood behind the door opposite her and she made for him when he looked at her.

"Uhm . . . "

"Ferris was looking for you." She looked into an empty room. "Maggie." He titled his head toward the opposite direction. Looking in the direction indicated, she saw a familiar face holding a blue mask to his face. He nodded and came out to where she was standing.

"What's going on? I have a mitrovalve to do."

"They canceled it."

"Who canceled it?"

"Sheffield."

"Why are you telling me?"

"He's busy."

"He's chicken shit."

"Maggie, you're sick."

"I'm not sick."

Their voices coincided, clashing as she fought for control of the conversation. "You're sick and you can't operate."

"I'm not sick, I can do . . . "

"They rescheduled it for Monday. It's an elective valve, its no big deal." He reasoned at her indignant look.

"It's unprofessional and it embarrasses me in front of my staff." She walked to the opposite side of the room where Seth stood unnoticed. He looked at her with compassion.

"I saw the chart on Balford?"

"Wha...?"

"I'm on the committee, Maggie. Its on review. Its not your fault."

"I know."

"So what the problem?"

Her anger diminished and her voice was shadowed with uncertainty. "I don't know."

"Maggie, you put up a terrific fight."

"Yeah. We fight for people's live in here, right?"

"Mhmm." He nodded.

"Don't you ever wonder who it is were fighting with?" She paused, thinking about what she just said. "I'm crazy and I'm chemically imbalanced."

"You're tired. You have moments." She shook her head and his face showed tenderness. "Why didn't you call me?"

Seth, who had been keeping a distant watch, crooked his head in surprise.

"Cause I don't sleep when you stay over."

"You never sleep whether I stay over or not." Seth's eyebrow raised and he switched his attention to Maggie much like he was watching a tennis match. "You're good. You know it. Come back here Monday and get back on the horse."

She contemplated his words but was cut off from responding when a nurse entered the room. "Doctor?"

He kissed her hand and Seth, who had come forward to stand in front and between them, looked at Maggie with a strange mixture of anger ad curiosity. The doctor left, and the deep, soulful eyes watched Maggie's hand as it dropped to her side. He returned his gaze to her face, his eyes and heart filled with a sadness he couldn't explain.

The library was filled with patrons of all colors and sizes. Seth could hear the thoughts as they filtered through the labyrinth of shelves and stairs. He walked toward the rear of the library, passing the computers holding the new card catalog.

Commencing search.

Where are the cards? You could touch the cards.

She's been looking at me for the past half hour. Maybe if I just hang here a little . . .

As he neared the reading area where comfortable chairs sat before rectangular tables, he smiled at the strains of Dickens and Twain, Stoker and Hemingway floating about the patrons' heads. He passed families with young children and solitary figures, both young and old. His steps slowed as he absorbed the various stories being read.

It's a delicious evening and our own bodies once sense any vibes . . .

What if I screamed? What if I screamed right now?

When a woman decides to sleep with a man, they enter a . . .

You knew there would always be a spring as you knew the river would flow again after it had been frozen over. When the rain kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason.

The gentleman walked off and Seth sat down, running his hand over the book.

A middle-aged man lay in a hospital bed humming happily and eating ate ice cream. The privacy curtain was pulled securely around him as he continued to enjoy the forbidden treat. His happiness was cut short as the curtain was pushed back and he quickly hid the container and spoon.

"All right, they have rescheduled the operation for Monday."

"What happened yesterday?"

"Ah, they had an intermural golf tournament. I don't know. Who knows with these people?"

Maggie walked in, her patient's chart in hand. "Good morning, Mr. Messenger."

She had pronounced his name wrong, the g sounding very reminiscent of a certain brand of baby food. Mrs. Messenger took exception to this. "The g is soft, like Messenger."

Maggie noticed something strange. "What is that on your lip?"

"What, am I slobbering?" He moved his hand to wipe his mouth and inadvertently dislodged his stash, causing the spoon to fall clattering against the floor as the women looked on.

"What am I, a prisoner now?"

"You want to get better, or you want Ben and Jerry's?"

"This operation is a big deal, Mr. Messenger. If you're going to continue to eat in this manner, you might as well skip it. Save yourself the thirty grand." She mispronounced his name again.

"Well, doc. If you had performed the operation yesterday, like you were supposed to, I would be sucking carrots through a straw in my arm. What the hell happened?"

"The circumstances weren't optimal for the procedure."

"Hey, I ain't the procedure. My name is Nathan Messenger and I'm sitting right here."

He raised his eyebrows and she made a hasty retreat. She walked down the hallway, her mind absorbed by the chart in her hand. Seth followed closely behind, but, as usual, no one saw him. She looked up, only to see Mrs. Messenger at a nurses' station. Maggie made a quick escape into a nearby elevator, leaving Seth to stare at the grey doors.

When she exited a few floors down, Seth was waiting for her. She continued to walk silently, but, instead of looking at her chart, she looked at the various children's artwork scattered about. She stopped before a pane of glass in place to allow visitors to watch the children playing in the nursery. Her hand, though small, dwarfed the brightly painted, small one on the other side and she closed her eyes, her forehead resting on the glass. Seth stood on the other side, watching her. His sad eyes reflected something more than his usual, childlike expression: searching wonder. When she walked off, he continued his intent to follow her, but soon lost her again as his attention was absorbed by the multitude of other angels visiting children in their rooms.

Maggie sat quietly amongst the cribs. The silence and wonder of new life did much to soothe the confusion and pain growing in her heart. A tall brunette entered the room, her face alight with surprise. "Maggie, what are you doing here?"

"Hey Ann. I was on my way to x-ray and I thought I would just stop by and . . . hide."

"From what?"

She sighed. "I should have gone into pediatrics."

"Oh no. Every guy you meet is either married or a gyn. now. Never date a guy who knows more about your vagina than you do."

Maggie's laughter was light at the unexpected joke. The loud, wailing cries of a baby broke the still peace and Ann rushed over to offer comfort. She lifted him up and patted his back. "Oh, poor little guy." Maggie stood and walked over to the crib. "Yeah okay. He never stops crying."

"What's wrong with him?"

"No insurance. Yeah. Found him in a dumpster behind the house of pies. We worked him up the wazoo for everything, from drug exposure to diabetes. We got nothing."

"May I?" Maggie motioned to her stethoscope.

"Sure. Yeah."

Ann laid the baby back into its crib and Maggie placed the scope against the baby's chest, her face flushed with puzzlement. She shook her head. "Did you do an ultrasound?"

"You hear a murmur?"

"Its worth a shot."

"Yeah." Ann returned the baby on her shoulder, gently patting his back. "Okay, baby yes. So, what are you hiding from?"

Sigh. "My patient's wife." Ann's eyebrows raised in a silent question. "She wants me to tell her that that her husband's going to be okay and that I have every confidence. And, uhm . . . I don't. And after all this time, and after all this work, I suddenly have this feeling that none of this is in my hands, nothing. And if it isn't, if it isn't, what do I do with that?"

Ann didn't have any idea what to say. Instead, she continued to rock the child she was holding. Seth looked into room, also at a loss for words.

Maggie was sitting alone in a lamplit room with a few baby care books. She was hoping to discover the reason for the child's distress, but only managed to increase her weariness. A headache started to form from behind her eyes and she mentally cursed herself for reading with such poor lighting.

She stood, closing the books and rubbed her eyes. Walking out into the hall, she enjoyed the quiet of the early morning. She knew no one was usually around at this time, so she was surprised when she saw a tall figure pressed against a door. "Excuse me." The man turned around and Maggie's thoughts were absorbed in bright eyes and a handsome face. "Are you a visitor?"

"Yes."

"Well, visiting hours have been over since eight."

"Why do they have that?"

"What?"

"Hours. Doesn't it help the patient to be visited?"

"Well, who are you visiting? Mr. Messenger?"

"Right now?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"You."

"I don't need a visitor."

"You're not ill?"

"No. I'm one of the doctor's here."

"Are you in despair?"

"I lost a patient."

"You did everything you could?"

"I was holding his heart in my hand when he died."

"He wasn't alone."

"Yes he was."

"People die."

"Not on my table."

"People die when their bodies give out."

"Its my job to keep their bodies from giving out. Or what am I doing here?"

"It wasn't your fault, Maggie."

"I wanted him to live."

"He is living. Just not the way you think."

"I don't believe in that."

"Some things are true whether you believe in them or not."

She stared for a moment, listening to his words as they resounded in her head. She knew this was the first time they had met, but he seemed so familiar. "How did you know my name?" He pointed at her ID badge and she gripped it. "What's yours?"

His smile was wide. No one had ever asked his name before. "Seth."

"Seth." She nodded. "You better get out of here Seth or security's going to think you're a psyche patient."

She turned to walk away from him and back to her duties. After a few seconds, she turned back to find an empty hallway. None of the doors had been disturbed, not even the double, sliding ones. She turned a complete, three hundred sixty degree circle but still didn't see him. Normally, her rational mind would have unerringly searched for a reason behind his disappearance. But, for now, her heart ruled and she smiled, leaving the mystery unsolved.