Page 124 of Death's Daughter
ICU is on the third floor. Something called the birthing center is on the second.
I press the UP button and wait for the elevator to arrive. Stairs might be faster, but I don’t know where they are and I don’t want to waste time looking for them.
Nova might know about Daan. Might have taken Chessa tohis room in the ICU to provide additional “motivation” for me to come, to cooperate. I could see that. He’s my friend, surrounded by rooms full of other fragile humans, near death. Easy pickings for someone like her.
But on the other hand, the birthing center, which presumably includes a nursery full of helpless newborns…
I grimace. If I fuck this up, go to the wrong place, more people will probably die before I can get to the right place.
If I were Nova, impatient, a little crazy, and overly dramatic, what would I do?
When the elevator arrives, I step in—over another body in blue scrubs—and make my choice, pressing the button for the appropriate floor.Please let this be right.
After a few seconds, the elevator glides to a halt, the doors roll back, and I’m greeted with a view of a similar corridor.
Only this one contains oversized black-and-white images of baby hands. Curled around adult fingers, gripped into tight fists, or with an index finger reaching out, like God in the Sistine Chapel. Metal letters on the wall welcome me to the Birthing Center. And in the distance somewhere, likely behind the double doors to my left, a baby is crying.
New life, the antithesis of Death. Plus, humans are innately driven to protect offspring. Something about the big eyes, floppy heads, and vulnerability. Same thing for puppies, kittens, whatever.
In short, threatening babies is more likely to get Nova what she wants quickly and she probably knows it.
At least, that’s my gamble. It’s what I would do if I were her. In fact, it feels almost inevitable, as if I’m being drawn to that location.
I push through the set of double doors, ignoring the alert that sounds at my entrance.
Just inside, a nurses’ station is on the left. A plastic sign holder on the top of it, asking people to sign in, is tipped over on its side, next to a clipboard. Messages and warnings flash on the computer screens, and call buttons are going off unattended. The station is abandoned… or not.
On the floor, an arm stretches out from behind the corner of the desk, hand still outstretched. Someone trying to run. Or stop Nova.
Because Nova’s there. Waiting in front of the desk, pacing a step or two in either direction.
Relief mixed with dread fills me. I guessed correctly. Nova and I are more alike than I would like to admit.
She stops pacing and smiles when she sees me. Her clothes are still soaked in blood, but now it’s darker, drying. She looks like a final girl out of a seventies-era slasher film. She’s so small and non-threatening, barely over five feet tall. Somehow, though, that makes her even more frightening.
Off to one side, Chessa is in a desk chair with wheels, her face ashen and her injured arm pressed against her side. Her fingers have swollen and turned an alarming shade of dark purple.Shit.
But she’s still alive.
Down the hall behind Nova, the sounds of muffled crying drift toward me. Babies, yes, but also new mothers, if I had to guess. How horrible to have brought new life into this world, only to be immediately confronted by the possibility of its loss. An empty bassinet, made of clear plastic, has been abandoned in the middle of the corridor.
All the patient room doors are shut—and locked, I hope. If hospital doors lock, I don’t even know. It probably doesn’t matter—it would only slow her down a little. If at all. Pulling life through a door would be no issue for someone who managed to tunnel through the ground to kill.
“I guess you were right,” Nova says to Chessa, with mild surprise. “That was much faster than killing everyone and waiting for her to notice.”
“This bitch,” Chessa mutters, rolling her eyes. But she’s smart enough to keep her voice down. Her chin is trembling; beneath the bravado, she’s terrified. But she’s not going to let Nova see that. God, I love her.
Please don’t let me fuck this up.
“Hi Jo.” Nova beams at me. “Thanks for coming.”
I close the distance between us slowly, watching Nova with wariness. “Could have gotten here faster if you’d told me the plan.” I’m not sure why she’s not attacking right away. What is she waiting for?
Her expression hardens. “Oh, no. I think that might not have worked out as well for me.” She gestures at her bloodied clothes. “Where’s your boyfriend? We didn’t really have a chance to chat.”
Interesting. She’s afraid of Carter. Or maybe that’s too strong a word. She’sconcerned. Still. A good sign. Assuming Devon can get here in time with him.
Assuming he will come. I am not letting myself contemplate the alternative.
