I had just turned to leave when someone grabbed the back of my head and slammed my face into the glass of the payment window.
"So you're the one who stole my daughter's kidney!"
"You piece of garbage! Give it back!"
My skull pressed against the cold glass, my ears ringing.
A rough, foul-smelling hand clamped over my face.
The man's eyes were bloodshot, his teeth bared like he wanted to tear me apart.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a girl—seventeen, maybe eighteen—being clutched tightly by a sobbing middle-aged woman.
"Everyone, look at this!"
The woman's voice rose to a shriek.
"This is the girl who stole the kidney we waited a whole year for—"
"If Director Swanson and Director James hadn't called to warn us, we'd have been completely fooled."
"My poor daughter has been on dialysis for a year now. Her father and I—our hearts are breaking..."
The woman's wailing drew a crowd of passing patients.
Their fury found a target. Pill bottles, medical supplies—whatever they held—came flying at me.
"I hate people like you who cut in line!"
"We're all sick here! What makes you so special?!"
All the fear and tension that had been festering in these hospital corridors suddenly found its outlet.