Free Blood Day by J.L. Murray

station behind it. Viv frowned and headed toward it. It appeared to be empty. A woman's pink cardigan was hanging on the back of an office chair, charts and paperwork carefully assembled across the desk, a pen on top of a fluid intake chart. A door had been left open on the other side of the plexiglass, as though the nurse had to run out in a hurry. Viv could hear a woman's voice down one of the two hallways that led away from the lobby.  
    Viv headed toward the voice, heels echoing dully against the pale green walls. The floor here was painted white and shone with wax. Viv passed empty gurneys abandoned in the hall, tucked neatly against the hall in between doors. Some had restraints made of leather or canvas attached to them. One still had a pair of handcuffs latched to a bar on the side of the gurney. The cuffs gleamed under the fluorescents.
    Viv stopped when she heard a small noise. She turned to find that one of the doors was open. Over the sound of her own heart thumping hard in her chest, it took a moment for her to register the sound of crying.
    Without thinking, Viv stepped into the room. It contained only a single bed. There was no other furniture in the room. No pictures or windows or dressers. Upon the bed was a woman, who sat up with a soft noise like the sound a dove makes when she saw Viv.  
    “You're not supposed to be here,” said the woman, though she didn't look unhappy to see Viv. She wiped at her cheeks with the thin blanket that covered her.  
    “I heard a noise,” said Viv. “Are you all right?” Viv stared at the woman in the bed. She looked so familiar.
    The woman gave a weak, pained smile that faded instantly. She was very thin, recently malnourished, Viv surmised. Yet her skin had a healthy sheen, as though she had recently started eating well. Viv eyed the IV that led to the woman's arm, which was dotted with fingerprint-sized bruises. The woman's gown slid off her thin shoulder, and Viv saw the same bruises there, too. Scars dotted her neck and forehead, nearly faded.
    “You were an addict,” said Viv.
    “Are you a doctor?” the woman said.
    “Yes, ” said Viv, approaching the bed. “I used to be. But that's not how I knew. My husband was hooked on Slack. He had scars just like you. From the boils.”
    The woman looked away. “I'm getting better,” she said softly.
    “I can see that,” said Viv. “You look good. Healthy. Do I know you from somewhere?”
    The woman looked back at her. She was timid, but with a cold anger behind her eyes. Viv recognized it; it was the same anger she revealed when she let her guard down.
    “How would I possibly know you?” the woman said.
    “I don’t know. Perhaps you were a patient of mine, from before?”
    “No,” said the woman, her eyes watching Viv’s face, studying her. Viv had to look down at her hands.
    “My name's Viv,” she said. “I'm afraid I'm really lost. I'm supposed to be starting a new job today.”
    “I’m Sia,” she said. There was a quiet authority to her voice, as though she had been among the best in her profession, or part of the social elite. Her black hair was tied into a messy knot on top of her head, making her fine bone structure more striking. Even under the fluorescent lights, even with the scars and the starving frame, Sia glowed. “What's your job?”
    Viv smiled a small smile. Not a fake one this time. “I don't really know. I think I'm doing something with blood.”
    “Well, they must trust you,” said Sia, sounding bitter. “Blood is very important here.”
    “Sia, are you all right?” Viv said. “Is this a hospital?”
    “How should I know?” said Sia flatly. She pulled the blanket away with her free hand and Viv saw that she had a leather restraint, fastened with a small padlock on her wrist. The lock jingled merrily against the sidebar on the bed when Sia moved her hand. She pulled the blanket up to show Viv that both ankles wore the same restraints.
    “I was well-behaved,” said Sia,