The Haunting Isolated Patient Of Clinical Care Island

Gracing a seashore community, an illuminated windmill that spins every hour, except the eleventh one, always seemed to be an accurate conversational time piece, honoring the final sixty minutes before a daily transition noting a different designated sun location period.

Caroline Jane enjoyed her complimentary hot dog, received as part of the holiday vacation get away prize package, the high school student accepted, after judges confirmed the senior’s ‘I got this’ behavior, acknowledging her honorable achievement, declaring ‘she turned over her cell phone the most during morning roll call and afternoon recess’.

Standing up, adjusting the comfortable slip in shoes, fashionably designed by Goodies, Caroline confidently left the seating and past behind.

“You know those studious studiers never experienced texting,” the customer server mentioned, “when they took a break, years ago, they were not granted the luxury to write and press send,”

Listening but not hearing, Caroline headed outside into the bright spring warming trend captivated by the beach, embracing a postcard message. Surveying the crashing waves, the soon-to-be collegian could not believe the bloodshed haunting the crystal placid setting.

Decades ago, following prime time memorization block programming, medical students Kelly, Farrell, and the double ‘D’ twins, ‘Dalton and Dunspaugh’ discarded intellectual exercises and finally investigated the waterfront surf, a short excursion from campus.

Tagging along undergraduate BS academic, Weber, who always wondered, what the future hospital residents were doing on her case management turf, once controlled by the Florence Nightingale attitude.

Kelly and Farrel were the young lovers, adolescent scholastic sweethearts, whose healthy charts were well researched craving white jacket fantasies. Joining the entourage, the Double ‘D’ duo’s tempting lookalikes, fixated on children and well known for their authored papers describing the true nutritious facts connected to feeding an infant, using mother’s natural resources.

Proudly sporting a military style professional attire, Weber found the group one late evening stalking the periodical aisles, staying abreast on all the recent newsworthy information being reported. Not long after the blankets were spread out, the three-hour lecture trance revived itself, flexing mental muscles upon the hard-working healers. Rebelling, Weber innocently continued her naive actions, believing enthusiastic solutions would solve the world’s problems. Welcoming the evening spotlight, coastal salt sweetening the air encouraged Weber, who wanted something more from the nightly excursion.

Rising, separating herself from the group Weber noticed, the ocean teasing the land, then leave quickly, only touching for an instant, making trusting tranquil sounds that would sedate anyone, “this is very calming,” she mumbled venturing towards the entertainment pier.

White stockings collected sandy remains, and Weber sultry stare absorbed happy go lucky youthful sounds, featuring winning bells and rollercoaster downward thrilling startling screams.

“You should have changed the uniform and worn those colorful scrubs,” an unseen advisor suggested, “there is red blood all over.”

Feeling a jolt, Weber turned around, heading back not expecting any supernatural retaliation, surprised discovering an empty space and no trace, proving anyone inhabited the scene, “where did my friends go?” Weber asked conjuring a ghastly character, plastic chair sitting with a needle in the arm and bag situated above his head.

“Who are you?” Weber inquired, sparking an eerie conversation.

“The patient,” responded the figure wearing a sheet that only offered tie closures, keeping the garment together,

“Where are my colleagues?”

“They are not your colleagues,” the patient clarified, “they are doctors, they came and left.”

“What happened?”

“Maybe they,” the patient spurred a stern tone, “had to check their new handicap going for the green over at the country club.”

As the sinister giggle sent a disturbing message Weber seemed concerned, “what did you do with them?”

“Well,” the patient started boasting, “the two lovebirds now have actual broken hearts while Double D twins busted open, if you know what I mean and I know you do.”

“No, no,” Weber whimpered.

“Now nursing student Weber, I want you to know, I am innocent on any charges that put me in this situation,” the patient alerted, “as for them, God made me do it.”

“What did you do?” Repeated Weber.

“It is not what I did nursing student Weber,” the patient snickered, “it is what are you going to do? Oh, let me guess, escort me off the party atmosphere, take me to my room, place my body under the covers and then dearly depart.”

Knowing her schedule, freaked Weber and she lunged forward, fixing the intravenous contraption and spotted him in a trainer workout choreographed episode, ensuring he erected himself, presenting a vertical stance.

“You know, we now have something in common,” the patient interpreted, “we are both isolated, on a lonely clinical care island.

Carefully shepherding the perceived helpless, Weber took the patients' arm, and they both disappeared into the mist.

“Caroline Jane,” a bench occupied voice shouted,

“Who are you?” Caroline Jane addressed the stranger.

“Barry Brinkley, the local University application coordinator, and was wondering if you were going to join us in the fall,”

Smiling, realizing she was accepted, “I hope so.”

“Great,” Barry Brinkley acknowledged, “remember those poor souls never used the gizmo gadgets you turned over to your teachers, they had no way to silently chat and warn each other, trouble was brewing.”

As an incoming freshman, the future customer registered Barry Brinkly’s points, “Caroline, the cornerstone common denominator to all the degrees, is social interaction, knowing how to talk to each other properly. Probably by the time you fulfil your commitments behind our hallowed halls, those miniature dialogue computers will have more clear communication and direction.”

“I have not chosen a major, still exploring,” Caroline Jane honestly explained, “are you going to be there?”

“I should be,” Education scholar Dr. Barry Brinkley grinned, “but if I am not my assistant will be able to help.”

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