Neon is the Colour of Vengeance (Flappers and False Gods)

THE SURGEON

There is a bathroom stall in a tiny jazz bar somewhere in Tenebrium City, with the words ‘I will change the world’ written on the back wall in permanent ink. Now it is surrounded by hundreds of messages, but back when it was written, some eight years ago, it was the first.

It was penned by a young and eternally hopeful man on his final day of pre-med, when he was still full of big dreams.

Now nearing the end of his final year as a surgical resident, Evan Carter hadn’t lost his desire to help people, but he had lost his optimism. It hadn’t disappeared all at once, rather it was a slow decline. The more suffering he witnessed the more he realised that Tenebrium City was nothing more than a meat grinder that drew people in and spat them back out irrevocably broken.

He couldn’t say when he had first started to feel that way, but the death of his uncle two years before had been the final nail in the coffin of his belief in a better future for the city. Julian Carter was more like a father to Evan. He had been a good man, prone to altruism, well liked and well respected in his community, but one rainy autumn evening he had left his home and never returned.

The next day police had turned up on Evan’s doorstep informing him that the man he had idolised his entire life had been murdered, likely by the mafia. That news had taken a heavy toll on him, but Evan tried his best not to let it show.

Outwardly, he had the perfect life. He was a skilled surgeon who already had multiple job offers waiting for him once he completed his final year. He had a strong group of good friends who loved and supported him, even if he wasn’t entirely honest with them. There were some things about his past he couldn’t share. He had a proud mother that would do anything for him. Yet, since that day, he felt hopeless, despondent, and more than this, he was bored and restless. Something was missing, something more than his uncle, but he didn’t know what it was.

That void was never more palpable than on nights like these.

Evan tossed the bloody bone saw onto the tray beside him as he reached for the rib spreaders. With difficulty he applied them to the man’s chest, before reaching his hand into the cavity. He pushed the internal organs carefully aside so he could see the heart. Very gently, he took the warm tough muscle into his hand and began to massage it.

Tenebrium Metropolitan Hospital was terminally understaffed and terminally overcrowded. The man on the table in front of him needed to be in an operating theatre, but there were none available, and Evan had been forced to do a dangerous, though potentially lifesaving procedure in a sterile room within the severely overburdened ER.

The door to the small room burst open and Dr Kiera Okonedo entered. She was tall and Black, with short chestnut hair that was currently hidden under a maroon scrub cap. Like everyone else at Tenebrium Metro, she looked tired and overworked.

“Dr Carter, what do you have?” she asked as she snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

“Pericardial tamponade. Had to open him up here, all the ORs are full. Suspected blunt force trauma to the head as well as a penetrating chest wound. Train victim.”

“Has someone from Neuro looked at that head injury?”

“He was scheduled for a high frequency MRI, but we didn’t quite get there.” Evan nodded to his hand, still deep within the body cavity.

Dr Okonedo lifted one of the patient’s eyelids with one hand, shining a small penlight into the pupil with the other. “Nonresponsive. How long have you been performing cardiac massage?”

Evan checked the clock on the wall. “Just over two minutes, but his output isn’t improving.”

“How long was he down before you opened him up?”

“Five minutes or so.”

“ORs are backed up. He’s gone. Call it and get back into the ER. There’s another tranche of train crash victims en route, and the mob decided that today was the day to shoot up a restaurant.”

“Tenebrium City,” he said as if that explained it.

“Tenebrium City.” She turned on her heel and left.

The Emergency Room was busier than Evan had ever seen it. There were patients everywhere; in cubicles, procedure rooms, corridors, even the reception area had been turned into a miniature triage. Some were even lying on the floor; the ER having long run out of gurneys.

The loved ones of the injured cried and begged for information as the medical staff were run ragged trying to save as many lives as possible. Police split up fights between rival gang members and patients yelled in pain from all corners. Every single person in the place knew that on this particular night, more lives would be lost than saved.

By midnight Evan had amputated three limbs, pronounced nine people dead and removed a total of thirty-two bullets from various patients. He had done more sutures than he could count and been involved in four surgeries: a personal record.

His fellow fifth-year residents were exhilarated. Accidents, crimes and tragedies meant juicy surgeries to hone their skills, but for Evan the whole thing was just depressing. Tenebrium City was a dark place, where the weak were preyed upon by the strong, where the rich stomped on the poor, and where the all-consuming culture of excess brought those caught up in it to ruin.

When he finally finished his eighteen-hour shift and stepped out into the cold night air, he found Harriet Walker waiting for him with her usual ever-present smile. She was White, blonde and tiny. Like him, Harriet worked at Tenebrium Metro. She was a scrub nurse, and she worked most of his surgeries. They were quite the team both inside and outside the hospital.

“You look like you need a drink,” she said, taking him by the hand.

“Sleep is what I need,” he said weakly.

“I know today didn’t go how we hoped but we’re supposed to be celebrating!”

Evan shrugged noncommittally.

“Everyone is already waiting at Trade. C’mon, just one drink won’t hurt.”

Body aching, head pounding and still wearing his scrubs, Evan allowed himself to be dragged along in Harriet’s wake.

Trade was a well-known bar in The Pleasure Quarter. It wasn’t a gay bar per se, but most of the patrons who went there were part of the community. It had a reputation for allyship that cemented it as a queer hotspot. It was a not-so-secret speakeasy, with its bare brick walls, wooden bar and tables made from beer barrels. Its bathroom walls were covered with hopeful scribbles and the entire place was bathed in green, blue, and purple neon lights. A live jazz band played in the corner as those so inclined danced.

Evan rebuffed all attempts at getting him onto the dance floor and made his way to their usual booth. As Harriet had promised, all his friends were there waiting for him.

“To Evan!” They cried in unison, someone thrusting a drink into his hand.

“To next year’s hottest attending!”

“To surgeries with mates’ rates!”

The drinks were ever flowing and the party never ending, though Evan wished more than anything it would.

A fortuitous break in the music as the band took a moment to themselves allowed Evan to hear the little bell over the door ring. Without thinking, he turned to look and what he saw was a stunning man. Tall and White, with hair so dark it was almost black and the palest grey eyes he had ever seen. His sharp jawline was only accentuated by the neon lights all around. It was abundantly clear that he was a ‘made man’. Mafia and gorgeous, he had alarm bells ringing in Evan’s head for all the wrong reasons. The man walked directly to the bar, had a quick muttered conversation with the bartender then left.

“See something you like?” Harriet asked, watching Evan watch the man leave.

“What’s not to like? That guy was…wow.” Evan’s eyes lingered on the door.

“Ask the bartender for his number—seems like they know each other.”

“Nah, I’d rather tonight just be about friends.”

“In that case, we’re heading out.”

“No, no way. I’m dead on my feet.”

“You are coming to the club whether you like it or not.”