The Scalpel Pointed Back

...

Two minutes ago, Dr. Michael Harris, the hospital's arrogant director, was still defiant as I bound his wrists with an IV tube.

"You're done for!" he sneered. "I called the police. You think a scalpel is gonna make me flinch?"

His words barely hit the air before I drove the blade into his gut, then yanked it out. Blood sprayed across my white coat, warm and sticky.

I adjusted the livestream camera, my hands steady. "Don't worry. Soon, the world will see you squirm."

His bravado crumbled as he clutched his wound, his eyes wide with fear.

Two minutes later, I flipped on the camera, flashing a cold smile to the digital void. "Evening, folks. Here's the thing. Three days ago, these people caught HIV. You have three hours until the treatment window closes."

I started a countdown timer, its red digits glowing ominously on the dissection table behind me.

Sirens wailed outside. A police officer's voice boomed through a megaphone.

"Hanna Carpenter, don't do anything rash! We can work this out. Name your price."

My jaw tightened, my eyes narrowing to slits. They thought I was crazy, but my sister was clinging to life on a dialysis machine.

All I wanted was what was stolen from her.

The livestream chat erupted, thousands of viewers piling in. They thought it was a stunt until they saw Michael's blood-soaked shirt.

[Holy crap! That's the doctor from the news. The one who botched that kidney surgery!]

[This woman is out for blood. I'm here for it. Take those bastards down.]

[The others are innocent. She's unhinged. Where are the police?]

The hostages huddled against the morgue's icy steel cabinets, trembling with dread.

I spun the scalpel between my fingers, the blood on it catching the light. "I only want my sister's kidneys back. What's wrong with that?"

The megaphone crackled again. "This is Captain Anthony Hatcher. I swear on my badge, we're scouring for a new donor for Lauren Carpenter. Don't throw your life away. She'll be okay."

"You deaf?" I snapped. "I want her kidneys back, even if they're stitched into someone else's body."

...

The livestream went viral, spreading like wildfire across the internet.

Netizens dug up the story: Lauren went in for a routine appendectomy at this small-town hospital and came out missing both kidneys. The hospital blamed an intern, claiming the organs were misplaced. The intern swore they'd been thrown in the trash. I spent two rain-soaked days scouring a landfill, finding nothing.

Lauren was transferred to an ICU, hooked to a dialysis machine that hummed like a death knell. My parents were ghosts of themselves, aging decades in a week.

I vowed to reclaim her kidneys, no matter the cost.

A deep voice cut through my thoughts. "Dr. Carpenter, we're heartbroken this happened."

It was the dean, Robert Sharp. He sighed, "We fired that intern. What more do you want?"

I froze, my grip tightening on the scalpel. Lauren lost her kidneys and her future, and they thought sacking some kid balanced the scales.

"You're hard of hearing?" I snapped. "I want her kidneys back! I don't care if they're in Timbuktu or sewn into some rich bastard's gut. Dig them out!"

Robert's tone sharpened, his patience fraying. "We would never do that. It was the intern's mistake. You think a few dead doctors and patients will magic her kidneys back? You're a doctor, too. Can you live with ruining their lives, knowing they'll be ostracized forever?"

I went silent, the words hitting like a punch.

An elderly patient croaked, "I'm supposed to go home tomorrow. Please, let me go. I've slaved away my whole life. My son is getting married next month. I can't die here."

My fingers clenched the scalpel, the metal cold against my palm. Robert's voice slithered through again. "Calm down, Hanna. We won't fire you. You can still save your sister."

His words snapped me back. I stared into the camera, a bitter laugh escaping. "They're just gonna catch HIV. Lauren is facing death. If you want them to live, find her kidneys. Two hours and fifty minutes left."