Doctor Gregory Smith was sitting on the chair next to the patient. The patient looked only about thirty-two years old. His arms and his waist were heavily bandaged and his breathing seemed very much strained. 

     Gregory Smith was himself a thirty-five year old man, who had been in practice for the past nine years. The next month, Greg thought, would gift him the tag of 'one decade in medicine', of which he really was anticipating a lot. He ran a hand over his head, thinking how his service provided him an almost bare scalp in just nine years. 

      Greg got up. He made the patient, a man, comfortable and again sat down. 

      The door of the room opened, and the nurse in-charge came in. Greg checked his watch and smiled at her punctuality. She smiled back and took out the syringe that was in the clean plastic. She made the necessary preparations and then injected the medicine into the patient's system.

      "Has any person related to the patient been contacted?" Greg asked.

      "No one, yet," the nurse replied, sighing.

      "Why not?"

      "The phone's in the laboratory. Police are checking for any fingerprints. And, the phone has a password. They say that they will start contacting people as soon as the phone is hacked."

      Greg nodded and the nurse left the room. He leant back on the hard chair and closed his eyes, thinking how the man was here. 

      Greg was busy with a serious case of leukemia, when the man was brought to the hospital. Greg had to immediately hand over the leukemia case to another doctor and attend the man.

      The man's case was an exceptional one in the hospital. It was a wound-a stab wound. The man was stabbed in multiple places of his body, except for his head, which appeared as if it was hit by a hard object. The wounds inflicted on him were not deep enough and looked as if he was stabbed in a frenzy. The man's body was basically a bloody mess.

      Greg had immediately taken the man into the operation theatre. The operation had gone as he had expected. But he knew the truth. The man hadn't the slightest chance of surviving and the only thing which they could do was to keep him comfortable, which was exactly what he was doing. 

      His phone suddenly vibrated in his breast-pocket, interrupting his thoughts. He took it out hastily and took a look at the screen. Unknown. He received the call and pressed his phone onto his ear.

     "Hello?" He said. Silence. He decided to try again. "Hello? Hello?" No one.

      Sighing, Greg cut off the call and turned his attention to the patient. He felt bad that this man was dying a very premature death. In Greg's entire life, he felt that he had not seen a more sickening sight than the one he had seen of the patient when he was first brought into the hospital. The bloody mess around him had been very disturbing and that could be noted on seeing the faces of the people around him. 

       What disturbed Greg the most was the way the patient's eyes were - staring into the blank space, as if they did not belong to this world. 

      The door of the room opened again and the nurse came in, looking slightly breathless. She waited for a moment. Greg stared at her with a hopeful expression.

      "We have had a few goings-on," the nurse said.

      "Yes?" Greg prompted.

      The nurse said, "The phone, as expected, had only the patient's fingerprints on it. The police have successfully hacked into the phone and the man's identity has been found." She stopped abruptly.

      "Yes?" Greg prompted again.

      "The patient has been identified as a Mr Francis Weatherfield. His age is thirty-three. The police got to know his identity after contacting one of his recently contacted people. He is presently supported by his wife and his daughter, who are his only family," the nurse finished.

      Gregory thanked her. She left the room, assuring him that she would provide him with further updates. 

      Gregory then looked at the patient and shook his head. The patient, Francis, was a handsome man. It pained Greg to think of this man leaving his life in front of him. 

      When Francis had arrived, the police had thought that they could question him after the operation. But, seeing the man, Greg was more than sure that it was going to be impossible. So, Greg had taken the responsibility to be with Francis in his final moments. He knew that the police would then send the body to the laboratory for a post-mortem. 

     The nurse arrived once more. This time, Greg knew, for a different purpose. He soon got to know that it was a very different one.

     "Francis's wife and their daughter have come," she said. 

     With a pained expression, Greg got up and came out with the nurse. Outside the room, it was a little cold, which made Greg shiver. But the shiver lasted only for a moment, as he was diverted by the sight in front of him.

     A striking woman, probably of thirty-years of age, was sitting on a chair, hugging a girl who looked seventeen or so. Their pretty faces were both tear-stained and their expressions showed much grief.

     On seeing Gregory, they rushed to his side. In a loss of words of what to say to these grief-stricken people, he merely pointed his hand to the room. They went in and he followed them.

     Inside, it was no different. It had been difficult for Greg to say that Thomas was living his final moments. On saying this news, both the ladies started sobbing. Greg found himself in an embarrassing position. He quickly called the the nurse and went outside, assuring himself that the nurse would take care. She did - but only for a few moments. The cries of two of the three ladies in the room reached a very high pitch. Greg looked up. 

     Francis was dead.