Angel of Mercy by Jackie McCallister

nature of their condition. As a nurse who mainly spent her time in surgery, Chelsea didn’t have much experience in a situation like this. Her confusion only grew as she heard the content of what he was saying.
    “Oh, no, oh no! Oh no ! Don’t do that! Stop ! Stop !”
    Then his voice subsided to the point that Chelsea couldn’t hear him clearly enough to make out the words. He muttered and grunted a few times. Chelsea leaned over to touch him, in hopes that she could wake him gently. Just then his eyes opened wide and He made a strangling noise in the back of his throat.
    “Gaach, Stop it godammit! Stop it! You can’t do that!”
    Gerald’s eyes were wild, and he reached toward Chelsea with grasping fingers. Chelsea recoiled, but pushed the button that would call the nurse before she did. The nurse who had spoken to her outside the door came in and quickly took stock of the situation.
    “Please move your chair back, Miss,” she said briskly. “We need to change the patient’s bed and get him into some fresh clothing.”
    Chelsea complied, and the nurse threw closed the curtain that was next to Gerald’s bed. All was quiet for a moment, but obviously the nurse had done what was necessary to waken Gerald from his nightmare, for the next thing that Chelsea heard was Gerald sitting up on the edge of the bed and then sliding into a wheelchair. The nurse made quick work of putting clean bedding on the hospital bed and getting Gerald Giacomo into fresh attire.
    “He’s too weak to be able to dress himself,” Chelsea thought. “He really is in a bad way.”
    Finally, dry, awake, and calm, Gerald was deemed to be presentable. She threw open the curtain and said, “Look who’s here to see you,” to Gerald. To Chelsea, she said, “Make it 5 minutes max. He’s a sick boy.”
    Gerald smiled, but it was a rather weak effort. Obviously sapped by the ravages of this particular infection, it was all he could do to be welcoming. Chelsea pulled her chair back to the side of his bed.
    “Hey, stranger,” she said. “How are you?”
    Gerald made an effort to smile and exchange banter with her. But he couldn’t. Whether it was the infection, the content of his latest nightmare, or a combination of the two, all of Gerald’s efforts to be what culture calls “manly” fell to pieces. So too, did Gerald. He looked at Chelsea in silence for a moment. Then his eyes filled with tears that soon spilled down his cheeks. Specialist First Class Gerald Anthony Giacomo was sobbing and didn’t appear to be recovering any time soon.
    Chelsea was surprised. Not by the fact that a soldier was in tears, for she had seen that many times in the medical ward in which she worked. But she was surprised by the immediacy and the frank and total broken-heartedness of Gerald Giacomo at that moment. She pulled her chair even closer and laid her left hand on Gerald’s shoulder. For a good 15 minutes, there they sat, nurse and patient, friend to friend. Soon the natural empathy that was so much a part of Chelsea came to the front. She cried as well.
    Just as it appeared that Gerald was coming under some semblance of control, Chelsea heard a squeak behind her. Thinking that a doctor or nurse might be coming in, she turned to look. It was the nurse who had helped Gerald last. She was closing the door to give the patient and his guest some space, and some privacy. Sometimes, the best psychology in the world was a friendly ear. Clearly the nurse hoped that might be the case for this particular patient.
    Suddenly Gerald dried his eyes and got his breathing under control. He looked at Chelsea with eyes that were still wet but were steady in their gaze.
    “I’m a bad man, Chelsea. Stay clear of me.”
    Chelsea’s brows knitted ash she looked at Gerald. Her heart went out to him as he was obviously struggling with something that had occurred recently.
    “You're not a bad man, Ger…” was as far as she got before he sat up on the bed and slammed his