Tommy Finch wouldn’t say that he liked the sight of blood. That’d be pretty weird. It just didn’t bother him the way it did others. It never really had. Even as a child, while others recoiled and cried at a bloody, skinned knee, Tommy was fascinated. Like that time he and his younger brother, Andrew, had the genius idea to play tag on the staircase. They couldn’t have been more than six and eight years old. The goal was to dash up the stairs and touch the door at the top without getting tagged. On their very first try, Tommy took off and made it about halfway up, heady at the rush of excitement. But Andrew, ever the little brother, decided “tag” meant dive at his legs and tackle Tommy like a football player.
They tumbled down the stairs, landing at the bottom in a heap. Tommy felt a sharp sting on the side of his face. He reached up, felt something warm, and pulled back a blood-covered hand. Andrew just stared, mouth agape, seemingly unable to speak.
Rachel, the eldest sibling, who’d hurried over after the loud crash, did not have the same problem finding her voice. “Mom! Tommy’s head is bleeding! Mom!”
Hours later, after a trip to the ER and six stitches, Tommy looked in the bathroom mirror and traced the outline of the wound with his finger. To him, the gash and stitches made him look cool. He didn’t understand why his parents and siblings turned their gaze away from the ragged line on his face.
From an early age, Tommy had been fascinated with the human body. In school, he gravitated toward biology, physiology, and the other complex sciences over reading, writing, and history. His anatomy textbooks were dog-eared, and nearly every page had numerous highlights. It shouldn’t have come as a shock, then, that he ended up in the medical field. There was even a time when he dreamed of attending medical school. But that wasn’t in the cards for a kid raised by parents who had always stressed the importance of financial responsibility. They weren’t rich, but they drilled into him the risks of debt, sharing stories of friends burdened by student loans a decade after graduation.
“These people spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on degrees in goofy subjects,” his dad had said, shaking his head in agreement with his mom. “And to be what? An underwater basket weaver? Forget about it. Student loan debt is not a ticket to success. It’s a ball and chain.”
So instead of medical school and a career as a doctor, Tommy was selling medical supplies while others were saving lives. All things considered, Tommy Finch had done pretty well for himself. Sure, he hadn’t become a doctor, but he did sell to doctors. And he was darn good at it. Some might even say that was the more impressive skill. As a medical device salesman for Abel Corporation, Tommy had built relationships with doctors, nurses, and hospital administrators throughout Connecticut who trusted him for the most state-of-the-art equipment.
In many ways, it was an ideal job for a guy like him. It blended his natural sales skills with his interest in medical science. Sure, there was pressure to meet sales quotas, but he could charm even the most skeptical practitioners with his charisma and knowledge. And though he wasn’t personally treating patients, medical sales gave Tommy plenty of personal satisfaction. It was the type of profession that allowed him to look in the mirror at night and know he was a good person. He’d even heard reports of “miraculous” recoveries involving Abel Corp devices. Of course, he didn’t actually believe these to be miracles, but more power to people if believing so made them happy. He honestly didn’t blame the patients and their families for reacting emotionally, but had to admit it bothered him when some doctors spoke as if miracles actually existed. They ought to know better. Medical science had its limits, and Tommy preferred to stay grounded in reality.
Miracles aside, Tommy could connect with decision-makers at hospitals and speak their language. He was often invited to observe medical procedures utilizing recently purchased Abel Corp devices. Many thought he was crazy for voluntarily setting foot in hospitals when he didn’t need to, let alone observing surgeries. Tommy chuckled to himself, imagining Andrew’s reaction: The guy can’t even watch an episode of Grey’s Anatomy before bed without having nightmares, he thought. Tommy was a lot of things, but squeamish in the hospital wasn’t one of them. And observing Abel Corp’s products in action was an important part of his job. He was there to answer questions, provide technical support, and get feedback from the healthcare providers.
The surgeries he was allowed to observe were typically routine procedures. Today, though, was different. The patient was in cardiac arrest. The tension in the air was palpable, thick with urgency. Tommy saw the doctor in charge become distressed and say, “We’re losing him! Someone get Dr. Rich!
A nurse rushed out, scanning the hallways. “Where is he?” she muttered, her voice tense.
Somehow, Tommy maintained calm as the surgical team urgently worked to resuscitate the patient. His senses heightened as he listened intently to every communication from the team. “He’s coding. We’ve got no pulse. Need an MED.”
He watched the team’s coordinated efforts. The rhythm of their movements, the urgency in their voices—it was like a well-choreographed dance, but with stakes that felt all too real. The beeping of monitors, the sharp sounds of instruments clattering, and the cries of staff rang in his ears.
Then, just like that, the patient was dead.
Tommy stepped out of the room to gather himself. The cold hospital air hit him like a shockwave. Maybe I should have gone to medical school, he thought. Then I’d be able to do something truly meaningful. Doubts crept in. Was he making a difference, or just selling devices? When he returned, he was surprised to hear continued activity.
Dr. Rich rushed in, laser-focused. He immediately assessed the situation. “Let’s go!” he commanded. “Three, two, one, clear!” The team administered shocks with an Abel Corp manual external defibrillator—MED. The patient had been clinically dead for several minutes, but the team hadn’t given up. The operating room was incredibly bright, but despite the chaotic environment, Tommy remained visually undisturbed.
“Come on,” Tommy whispered under his breath. What if it were Elizabeth lying there? Or his parents? The realization that this could be anyone he loved gripped his heart. As the doctors administered shocks, Tommy quietly pleaded. “Please. Please. One more chance.” He counted along with the doctor: “Three, two, one, clear!”
With a sudden lurch, Tommy was yanked back into his own body, which was lying on the operating table. Blinding lights, the smell of antiseptic, and the hum of Abel Corp machinery overwhelmed him. His heart raced, and his breathing was shallow.
Everything went black.