I'm underwater.

A deep weight crushes above me, a thick liquid in my lungs. It's so dark, then too bright.

I'm floating.

I try to breathe, but the air is sticky and thick.

I'm being crushed.

I gasp for oxygen, trying, trying to breathe.

"Okay he's crashed. Can we start CPR."

2 hours earlier

"Ethan! That's ringtones not funny! Look. That Scott Ellison's definitely after you. Just keep in touch, okay?"

Ethan watched as the call went to voicemail, then switched off his phone, turning his attention back to Alicia.

"Just Cal." He said to Alicia's questioning look.

"He alright?"

"Just a bruised ego I think." Ethan said, not unkindly. "Nothing a few shots won't sort out."

Alicia smiled. "It's our time to be happy."

With work the next morning, the night ended early. Ethan ended up walking most of the way back, wanting to save his money and enjoy the relatively warm night. His flat was in the rougher end of town, but within walking distance of the hospital and some shops. Cal had been staying on and off, and despite enjoying his company, Ethan was glad to have the flat alone tonight. He was looking forward to watching TV then heading to bed.

The night was quiet, and Ethan couldn't shake that ominous, prickling feeling that someone was following him. Yet he didn't see anything untoward, and he seemed to be alone on the street.

The block of flats was dark despite the complaints made by the tenants, and Ethan squinted to tap in the code for the flats. He got it wrong, and was getting the torch app on his phone up when he heard steps behind him.

"Dr Hardy."

The voice was low and ominous. Ethan spun round.

It was Scott Ellison.

"Mr Ellison?" Ethan said, maintaining some professionalism despite the situation.

He took a step closer.

"You killed my Dad."

"No- no! That's not true!" Ethan spluttered. The gravitas of the situation hit him. Scott was a good foot taller than him, it was dark and nobody was about.

"You killed my Dad." Scott repeated, taking a step forwards.

Ethan took a step back, hitting the door. He considered trying to get the code in and into the relative safety of the flats, but he couldn't do it fast enough, and anyway, Scott would just follow him in. Better to keep him out here, away from his neighbours.

"Your Dad died in a tragic accident. We tried as hard as we could. But he was too sick." Ethan said soothingly. "Nothing could save him."

"No." Scott said, his voice hard. "You didn't treat him because you don't agree with what he does."

Ethan shook his head. "We treat everyone at the ED"

"You're lying!" Scott roared, spittle flying everywhere. Ethan winced, back.

"I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry. Nobody deserves to lose their father."

"No." Scott spat. "But everyone gets what they deserved."

"Scott," Ethan pleaded, hating the desperation in his voice. "Don't do anything you'll regret. Walk away. We'll never talk about this."

"It's far too late for that," Scott said, smiling to himself, enjoying a private joke.

He took another step forward and swung his fist, smashing Ethan in the face. His glasses shattered and his world swam in and out of focus. Another punch caught Ethan in his stomach, and he doubled over winded. Scott battered him, kicks coming in from different angles. Ethan tried to stand, but before long he was on the floor, curled in a fetal position, desperately trying to protect his stomach and head.

Scott eased off, panting from the exertion. Ethan tried to move, gasping with pain. He pulled himself to his knees, then staggered up, leaning heavily on the door handle.

"Please," he wheezed. "Stop."

"The pain didn't stop for my Dad." Scott said, bringing his face so close to Ethan's that he could feel his hot breath.

"His death was painless. He had pain relief. It wouldn't have hurt." Ethan whispered.

"You just don't learn!" Scott screamed. "You doctors - you think you're God!"

Suddenly there was a glint of silver and Ethan felt a hot blinding pain in his stomach. He gasped, and for a moment his eyes met Scott's, and they stared at each other, startled. Then Ethan crumpled to the floor and Scott fled, leaving him alone.

The pain was all-consuming, waves that blocked out any reason or attempt at logic. Ethan gritted his teeth, trying to get oxygen into his lungs. At the back of his mind he knew he needed help. Seven years at medical school - he knew he would bleed out if he didn't get into surgery soon. He tried to put pressure on the wound, but he was too weak, his arms trembling.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, his hands shaking so hard he could barely read the call. Cal. He tried - he tried so hard - to drag his thumb across the screen to accept the call, but he was too weak, too cold. The call went through to voicemail, and Ethan wanted to scream with frustration. He tried to tap at the screen, but his grip loosened and the phone fell from his hand, clattering on the concrete, tantalisingly near. He was shaking - from shock or cold he didn't know - and black blurred the edges of his vision.

This was it.

He was going to die.