[ WP ] A woman you look after at the hospital is dying . You 're at her bedside and she has one final story to tell you . `` I killed myself at 17 , '' she starts .

*'' Sergeant Page, please report to room one. Sergeant Page. Please report to room --'' * 
 
 I jerked my head up from the desk of the nurse's station and a string of viscous drool erected a tightrope from my chin to the puddle formed there. The screen of my computer had gone to black. Judging by the fogginess and difficulty in waking, I'd been solidly asleep for a long time. 
 
 02:00 
 
 `` Fuuuu --'' I moaned. 
 
 Late. I was late for my rounds. It was late. Late for everything. The late had really soaked into the cracks and crevices of the night. 
 
 I eyed the coffee maker greedily. Empty. It'd have to wait. I pulled my ID card from the computer keyboard and grabbed my files, searching for the patient's as I walked, then scanned the notes I'd scribbled inside. 
 
 *Mrs. Jenson, four admissions in five days. Cardiac problems. ONG. * 
 
 You ca n't write something like, `` Not going to make it,'' inside your files. Someone might find it, even the doc on the next shift, and you're not allowed to treat anyone as hopeless. After a few years, though, you get to be pretty good at spotting the ones who are n't leaving. Since I'd started writing Outlook Not Good in the margins a few years ago, there had n't been anyone who had actually made it to check-out. 
 
 I knocked four times on the door. That it was shut was odd, but locked was bizarre. The nurse who had called had better still be here. I kept trying the knob and knocked five or six times before it finally opened. 
 
 `` Santa Maria. Where were you? I paged you forever ago!'' 
 
 `` Sorry...'' 
 
 In the corner of the room, the elderly woman was holding a tennis-ball-tipped quad cane threateningly. 
 
 `` What's go -- what's this?'' I asked. 
 
 The nurse pushed past me and out the door. `` Do n't know. You talk to her. *Loco*'s your problem now.'' 
 
 Stunned, I watched her go. The motion-sensors clicked the lights on every seven steps. She was n't cut out for this. 
 
 `` Mrs. Jenson?'' I stayed back as far as I could and put my hands up. Green tennis balls shook in the air as she kept the cane pointed toward me like a rifle. `` Mrs. Jenson, I'm Sergeant Page, a nurse here. Is it alright if I come in?'' 
 
 `` Depends. You speak English?'' 
 
 `` My native language.'' I smiled and the balls lowered to the ground. Mrs. Jenson looked relieved and drained. 
 
 `` Ma'am, you really should n't be out of bed... or fighting your nurses.'' 
 
 She waved my words away like swatting a fly and crawled slowly back under the pile of thin blankets. I Looked through her chart. 
 
 `` Been to the hospital eight times in my life. Never had a Mexican nurse.'' 
 
 `` Not a fan of hospitals, huh?'' 
 
 `` Ha! Who would be? Filthy places where old people go to curl up and die. Ones like that one will just try and kill you quicker so the next dying saps can come in.'' 
 
 I adjusted the heart rate monitor and recorded her blood pressure in the chart. `` Gabriela's okay, but if you want, I'll take care of you for the last... eight hours of my shift. Can you confirm your full name and date of birth for me?'' 
 
 `` Mary Jenson. 9/10/11.'' 
 
 `` Wow. That's easy.'' 
 
 `` My mother said she waited until after midnight just so that I'd be born on that day.'' 
 
 `` Huh. Born at 12:13, too?'' 
 
 `` Heh.'' 
 
 `` Okay, B.P. looks good. How are you feeling? Any pain, discomfort, difficulty breathing?'' 
 
 `` No, but I need someone to talk to.'' 
 
 `` Oh. Do you want me to call someone for you, or...?'' 
 
 `` Have you ever heard of the echo numbers?'' 
 
 My eyes found the clock just as the minute hand passed fourteen. I was way behind, and with Gabriela gone, I would probably have to pick up her slack also. 
 
 `` No...?'' 
 
 `` They're certain numbers, with significance to the ones who hear them, which echo around through a person's life.'' 
 
 `` Oh. Okay.'' Much as I wanted to listen to the century-year-old conspiracy theorist, I had things to do. I nodded like you would to a child saying something equally nonsensical. `` Do you have an echo number?'' 
 
 `` Yes. Many.'' 
 
 `` Mm. Well what happens when you hear the echoes?'' 
 
 `` It depends on the number. Sometimes, when I hear or see 1516, I'll get a phone call. That was my first home phone number that I had with my husband, you see.'' 
 
 `` Uh huh.'' She was slurring her speech now and her eyes were closed. If I humored her for another minute, she'd fall asleep and I could leave without causing a scene. 
 
 `` I killed myself at 17,'' she mumbled. 
 
 `` What?'' 
 
 `` Sometimes I hear them counting. Up or... down.'' 
 
 `` Mrs. Jenson?'' Something was n't right. She was n't falling asleep, she was dying. 
 
 `` I tried to kill myself when I was 18 years old. I always knew that when I heard the echo of that number... that... death would come back.'' 
 
 I pushed the panic button. 
 
 `` He's coming!'' Tears streamed from her face. `` I was so afraid of death.'' She drew a ragged breathe and choked on a sob. `` So... I swallowed those pills. To stop the number from coming. She tried to stop... me...'' 
 
 Mrs. Jenson's heart stopped.
