Dear Creepypasta [#Wattys2016]

Hospitality

The man came into our hospital on February 26th, 1991. The official reports say there were no Canadian casualties in the Gulf War, but the closest we got was that day. I will never forget.

I was posted to the First Canadian Field Hospital at Al-Qaysumah as a medical assistant. A lot of our incoming casualties were Iraqi soldiers, and we treated them much the same as we did the Coalition forces. Some of my more conservative friends back home would raise issues with that, but this recollection isn't about my political opinions. It's about the eleventh patient we rolled into the triage area.

I noted the man's vital signs as the attendants loaded him onto a reinforced gurney. BP 120/90, breathing rate normal, heart beat steady. I frowned and looked the man over. No visible trauma of any kind.

The attendants carried him into one of the medical tents at the edge of the hospital, away from the more critical patients, and I followed. Doctor Butler was inside, splattered with the blood of many men. We had become fast friends since the hospital went up two days prior. He was from Quebec and I was from Ontario, but some things can be forgiven for the sake of friendship.

"What's wrong with this guy?" He asked me, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. I shrugged and he sighed in exasperation, bending over the elevated gurney to examine the man. The attendants left and we were alone.

Doctor Butler murmured thoughtfully, holding his fingers to the man's neck. The patient remained as motionless as ever, a living statue in his bed.

"He looks alright, but he won't respond to any stimuli." His brow furrowed. "Let me go grab Doctor Massinote. Watch him for me."

"Alright, Jacques." I responded. I barely noted his leaving as I ambled closer to the patient. I had more experience as a soldier than a surgeon, but this case was curious nonetheless.

I leaned in close to the man. His skin was tanned and leathery from years living in the sun, and his eyes were closed. I gasped when I saw one of those eyes twitch just a second later.

I was about to yell for a doctor when more movement caught my attention. The man's mouth was twitching now, as well. He appeared to be trying to say something.

"Hey, can you hear me? Marhaban?" I asked in a loud voice, inclining my head to hear his response better.

The man's lips opened, and he spoke in a broken, croaky voice.

"I am Sayid Malik, and I have a gun to your belly."

My heart flew out of my chest and I opened my mouth to scream, but the noise quickly died in my throat. I felt the weight of the gun barrel on my liver. Sayid would surely pull the trigger if I gave him a good reason or even a decent one.

I finally found my voice, shaky though it was. "We are just medical personnel here, pal. This is a hospital."

Sayid laughed weakly. I felt warm spittle hit my face, and the gun barrel never wavered. "That's good. Didn't plan on getting here the hard way, but that does not matter now."

Our conversation was interrupted by the commotion of Doctor Butler returning to the tent. He walked two steps before registering our predicament.

"At last, I've found you." Sayid said, in a deeply satisfied tone. I noted that strength was returning to his voice.

Doctor Butler raised his hands and froze. "Okay," His eyes were wide. "You've found me. Sure."

"Playing dumb, hm?" Sayid muttered. "Fine. Fine. We'll see how that goes."

No one moved for a long moment. The air smelled of blood and antiseptics. Finally, our captor spoke again.

"My name is Sayid Malik, and I've travelled a long way to kill you." His eyes never left Butler, burning into the doctor like the heat of the sun. "You wear the skin of a man, but you are a monster underneath."