“They’re calling him Dr. Death.”

Jocelyn stood, peering at me dramatically from beyond the nurses’ station where I sat at my computer charting my patients.

I glanced up at her over my screen and rolled my eyes. “Give him a break,” I said, typing in my notes. “The guy’s been here all of eleven hours. It’s his first day.”

“That’s the point,” she whispered. “He has a hundred percent kill rate.”

I scoffed but didn’t look back up. “You cannot call him that. We don’t need patients hearing nurses whispering about a Dr. Death.”

“Can we call him Doctor D?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because Doctor D sounds like a penis thing.”

She huffed. “Okay, but seriously. Somebody should look into this. Six patients dead?”

I checked my watch. “We work in an ER, Jocelyn. It’s not entirely unheard of.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be chief of emergency medicine? Isn’t it your job to investigate stuff like this?”

I did a final tap into my computer and looked up at her. “Dr. Gibson hasn’t retired yet and the board hasn’t voted on his replacement, so no, it’s not my job.”

“But it will be. You’re totally going to get it. Don’t you think you should dress for the job you want and stop the carnage?” She stood back and crossed her arms.

I could feel the eyes of a dozen other unseen nurses peering at me from around the floor. Jocelyn was sent as an ambassador. Once the nurses latched on to something, they weren’t letting go. This poor guy. He was not going to like it here.