Angela moved towards her duty with a light step and a sparkle in her eyes. What else could she do if she loved her job so passionately? Her colleagues teased, claiming Angela lived in the clouds. How could one be so devoted to a profession filled with so much responsibility, where the salary left much to be desired? But for her, it wasn’t just a job—it was a passion, and she had no intention of changing anything.
She liked racing to the most challenging calls, seeing glimmers of hope in the eyes of those waiting for her help, saving even those who seemed impossible to pull back from the brink. She excelled in her course, and many predicted a dizzying career for her in major clinics. However, after her practice in emergency services, Angela realized: this was exactly where she belonged. For seven years, she had been fully dedicating herself to her work.
So absorbed was she in her work that there was hardly any time left for a personal life. And there wasn’t much desire for one either. The past, tied up with family, had left too much pain.
‘Angela, it’s time for your shift!’—the grandmothers at the entrance greeted her each time warmly. She never just walked by with a mere nod.
‘Hello, girls. Yes, back to work again!’
One of the old ladies shook her head. Again on the night shift.
‘Why aren’t there men among you who could work the night shifts? You always have to deal with the sick, the drunk, and even aggressive people.’
‘What’s the difference? They’re all patients. Well, I must go. Thank you. Just be careful yourselves.’
‘Alright, run along, dear. Just take care of yourself.’
Angela headed to the stop, while the grandmothers started discussing her among themselves.
‘Poor girl, right? Others would have long since come to hate doctors, but she chose this profession herself.’
‘That’s exactly why she chose it, to make sure there were fewer bad medics like the ones her mother had.’
‘Of course, we remember! That girl has had her share of suffering. And her father was a real monster. How did she even grow up to be such a person?’
‘Yeah, fate… Her parents died in a drunken brawl. What about him now? Do you know anything?’
‘No, where would I know from? Maybe he’s gone too. With that temper…’
Angela guessed what the old ladies whispered about when they saw her. That was their nature—to reminisce a bit about the past, to gossip. But they meant no harm; it was just their way.
Angela jumped out of the minibus, waved to the driver—a young man who always looked at her with some sadness but never dared to strike up a conversation. She inside, he behind the wheel. He smiled and waved back.
‘Angela, great that you came early! The chief physician was looking for you.’
‘Great, thank you. I’ll check in now.’
Stepan Vladimirovich greeted her joyfully, as if she were family.
‘Angela, Angela Vasilievna, have a seat. I feel, Stepan Vladimirovich, that you want something from me. Otherwise, why such joy at my arrival?’
Stepan Vladimirovich had always treated her almost like a grandfather to his granddaughter. Though at first, they often argued—he could not accept the modern treatment methods Angela proposed.
Once a serious conflict erupted between them, and Stepan Vladimirovich couldn’t hold back: ‘Who do you think you are, you little thing?! Trying to teach me? Get out of here! You’re fired!’
His words brought Angela to tears. She went outside, followed by colleagues pleading with her to stay. They assured her that Stepan was not a bad man, just too quick-tempered.
And then, as if fate decided to intervene, right opposite the emergency station, a terrible car accident occurred. Two cars collided at high speed. Four people were in extremely critical condition. Their rescue required swift action. Before loading the victims into the ambulance, their condition had to be stabilized at least a little. One of their hearts stopped.
Stepan Vladimirovich tried his best to bring him back to life, but to no avail. Then Angela decisively pushed him aside. He tried to stop her, saying she had no right to use such a method, that it was illegal, and nobody did that. But Angela restarted the victim’s heart. Yet, she felt as if she had burned out inside.
After all the victims were taken to the hospital, they sat on the street together for a long time. Stepan Vladimirovich, who had been fighting for human lives for over thirty years, now talked with Angela, sometimes fell silent, then started speaking again. Since then, they became true friends. And Stepan began to do something he had never done before: he started listening to Angela’s advice.
‘Angela, you are always right, as always. I understand, it’s against all rules. It shouldn’t be done; you might not make it, but if anyone can, it’s only you.’ ‘Stepan Vladimirovich, stop beating around the bush!’ ‘Angela, I have three paramedics down with a terrible flu. There’s simply no one to send out tomorrow. I know it’s after a night shift, but can you stay at least for half a day? Valentina Sergeyevna will replace you after lunch.’ ‘Stepan Vladimirovich, why make it so complicated? You know I won’t say no. There’s nothing for me to do at home. I didn’t even get a cat so it wouldn’t be lonely.’
‘Angela, if the shift is too tough, if you get tired, you must tell me, okay?’
‘Alright, agreed.’
The night turned out to be surprisingly lively. A vagabond stabbed another, a wife met her husband with a rolling pin. Only the calculations were off—it hit the wrong target. And by morning, a case occurred that could have been added to the jokes. The husband came home not at eight, as usual, but at five in the morning. And at home, his ‘beloved’ was not alone—with a lover. The man, apparently a hunter, thus had buckshot in his shotgun. The lovers survived, but now the doctors had to extract the buckshot.
Just before the shift change, everything quieted down—a typical situation. People were heading to work, to schools, to nurseries; there was no time to think about ailments. Those who had been out all night were now sleeping, and those who had woken up were waiting for the liquor stores to open. So, in the mornings, there was usually an hour or two of relative peace. Everyone gathered at the station, drank coffee, and joked.
‘A call for the brigade!’
The doctors looked at each other in surprise. Who could possibly fall ill now, during their rightful free time? A fresh brigade, including those who had stayed from the night shift, was dispatched. However, they returned quickly.
‘Where were you? That was quick.’
‘You wouldn’t believe it, in the morgue.’
Angela choked. Now they’re even called there?
‘Exactly. A lady came to pick up her husband. Apparently, he was an important person or just wealthy. Paparazzi gathered around the morgue, and she needed to play her part correctly.’
‘Play how?’ Angela was surprised.
‘Exactly. She’s perfectly healthy. Even her pulse is normal. But for the newspaper material, she needed to fit the image.’
Angela shook her head. Times really are strange—even death is turned into a show.
‘You’re absolutely right, Angela. I think this won’t be the last call from her today. If journalists were at the morgue, they’ll definitely be at the cemetery too. If needed, I’m ready. Just need to create the appearance of work.’
‘You actually played along with her?’ ‘Why not! For such gratitude, I’d even perform a polka-butterfly.’ The doctor showed several large bills. ‘Oh, how cleverly she slipped them into my pocket—I didn’t even notice!’ Everyone in the break room burst into laughter. ‘Well, you’re clearly on a lucky streak today. By evening, you’ll have collected enough for a new car!’ Still laughing, they heard the dispatchers’ phones come to life. It wasn’t even a quarter of an hour before the station was empty. A call for Angela came precisely at eleven.
‘Angela, the central cemetery. The caretaker will meet you there and guide you. Seems like someone well-off is being buried.’ Angela immediately remembered the morning incident with her colleagues. She was sure: it was that same woman.
‘Alright, let’s go, let’s take a look at the inconsolable widow.’ The driver smirked. ‘Think it’s her?’ ‘Certain. Such coincidences just don’t happen.’
The funeral turned out to be lavish. Angela immediately noticed the expensive coffin, the multitude of fresh flowers, a crowd of people and photographers, and the ‘inconsolable’ widow, who was too actively whispering with a man right by the coffin. After a quick glance at the deceased, she turned to the woman.
‘Are you feeling unwell?’
And then the widow as if snapped out of her role. Quickly glancing at the man, she hissed: ‘Wrap this up quickly, time is pressing!’
After which, wringing her hands, she began to sag. The man in a formal suit, likely a notary or family representative, managed to catch her and seated her on a chair. Angela grimaced—everything was exactly as she had suspected. The widow was feeling fine. Whispering to the medics: ‘Give me a pill, and you can be free,’ she almost laughed.
Angela became angry. Now, when she was spending time on this farce, somewhere a genuinely needy person might lack help. Rejecting the offered money, she loudly snapped her case shut and was ready to leave.
But something caught her attention. And not just something—someone. Specifically, the one lying in the coffin. When the man next to the widow commanded to close the coffin, two workers moved to carry out the order. However, Angela couldn’t take her eyes off the face of the deceased. Something seemed strange. She cautiously touched his cheek. Cold, but not the cold of death. Just cold, as it happens when a person hasn’t moved for a long time or is frozen.
‘Stop!’—Her hand raised up. The workers froze, and photographers began actively capturing the event.
‘What’s happening? Why are you interfering with the funeral?’—The widow ran up.
Angela pretended not to hear. She pulled out her phone and dialed Stepan Vladimirovich.
‘I need urgent answers. Remember how you told me about your friend in Africa, who was almost buried? All the signs that were then. It seems we have a living dead here.’
The widow recoiled and incredulously looked at her companion. ‘What the hell are you standing for? Command them, bury him! I’m paying you for work!’
The workers exchanged glances. ‘No, boss, if the doctor says he’s alive, we won’t take the sin on our souls.’
The man tried to handle the lid himself, but then the driver rushed out of the car with a crowbar in his hand. Obviously, Stepan Vladimirovich had already explained the situation to him. Journalists followed him. They formed a dense ring, not allowing the widow or her companion to come closer.
Silence. Angela carefully, millimeter by millimeter, checked the pulse. Impossible. Impossible that she was mistaken. There it is! It’s there!
‘Quick, get him in the car, fast!’
The pulse was so faint and barely discernible that there was almost no hope for successful rescue.
Angela spoke to the journalists: ‘Please, I have no time. Call the police, hold them. And tell them that no autopsy was conducted, though now it’s necessary.’
Throughout the ride to the hospital, she was in contact with Stepan Vladimirovich, who consulted with a poison expert. Angela followed every instruction he gave, without asking questions. Every second counted.
When they arrived at the clinic, where medics were already waiting, the man had a noticeable pulse. Angela leaned over him, whispering: ‘Can you hear me? You simply must survive, you must.’
Did the man’s eyelashes flutter in response? Now, all that was left was to wait.
A tired Angela later sat in Stepan Vladimirovich’s office. He placed a mug of strong tea and a huge sandwich in front of her. Noticing her surprised look, he explained: ‘Lidia stopped by and strictly ordered to feed you.’
Angela smiled. Lidia was Stepan Vladimirovich’s wife, who had immediately accepted Angela as a daughter of her own.
‘Well, not exactly. It’s just that the shift was quite special.’
‘Indeed, you don’t encounter that every day. Your ‘deceased’ has little chance. After all, a night in the fridge is no joke. Though, maybe that’s what saved him. The poison hadn’t fully dissolved and absorbed yet.’
The phone on the table rang. Angela froze with her sandwich halfway to her mouth, and Stepan Vladimirovich picked up the receiver.
‘Yes? What?!’—His face brightened, then spread into a wide smile. ‘Well, for such news, I’m ready to shell out for some brandy!’
He put down the receiver and turned to Angela. She could barely contain herself, not to shout:
‘Well?!’
‘See… Maybe you really were born under a special star? They revived your ‘godson’! Of course, he has a long recovery ahead, but he will not only live but also comprehend!’
Angela almost jumped through puddles after a brief summer rain, making her way to the stop. A minibus approached. The driver, a young man, looked at her in surprise—it was unusual for him to transport passengers at such a time. But Angela, smiling, opened the door next to him.
‘May I?’
The young man replied with a bright smile.
‘You know you may.’
Angela sat down and turned to him.
‘My name’s Angela.’
‘And I’m Viktor. Looks like I’m the luckiest man today. I thought I’d never get to talk to you except through the rearview mirror.’
Angela laughed. If only he knew how happy she felt at that moment.
A year later, the entire shift gathered to send Angela off on maternity leave. Everyone’s eyes were slightly moist with joy.»
