Page 30 of Betrothed
“Let’s not jump to conclusions just yet. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“O-kay. If you don’t come back, I’ll call someone fromGhostbusters.”
The girl was a little kooky just like everyone had to be working a night shift in a hospital in a city where many crimes had gotten extremely creative. As I took long strides down the hallway, my tennis shoes made squishing sounds, like suction cups on the aging square tile floor. The air was chilly, which helped patients sleep, but I was suddenly freezing.
Maybe I’d listened to one too many of Emily’s crazy stories, although some of them were real and they were violent. She’d seen a lot of brutality.
I’d seen more, which was why I was likely immune to gunshot or knife wounds, people burned with cigarettes or thrown on hot grills. You bet people were sick fucks.
But nothing could compare to the life I’d left behind.
The memories were always with me, usually masked and almost never interfering with my current life. Yet every so often, when something in my life appeared out of the ordinary, specific images flowed into my stream of consciousness.
In medical terms, my subconscious was losing the battle at protecting me from my past.
Why right now I didn’t know, but as I moved further down the corridor, I was struck with how oppressive and tight the hallway suddenly seemed. I glanced from room to room, noticing the doors were closed as they were supposed to be.
I rounded the corner, sweeping the shorter corridor with my eyes. For the sound to travel this far meant whatever had fallen or been pushed off a shelf was very heavy. Maybe someone was hurt.
When I noticed the door to the storage room was partially open, I slowed my pace. A nurse was walking toward me, smiling as soon as she noticed I was in the hallway.
“Dr. Hamilton. How was Italy?” Pam was a nurse practitioner who enjoyed peppering me with questions. About everything, including life.
“Breathtaking. Delicious. Infuriating. That about sums it up.”
“Mmm… Now I have dozens more questions. You feel like catching up later this week? Maybe heading to our favorite club for a little male shakedown time?” She shimmied her hips, laughing as she did. Along with Emily and another doctor, about once a month we hit a snazzy club near the hospital that everyone who was anyone frequented.
Among the four of us, we had the most creative methods of rating men. “I think I can swing it. If I can get through the next couple of days.”
“I hear that.”
Before she walked away, I studied the area. “Hey, Pam. Anything weird happen a few minutes ago?”
From what I could tell, there was nothing out of the ordinary, other than a gurney that had been left in between two rooms.
“Not that I know of. I just popped off the elevator though. What do you mean weird?” She narrowed her eyes.
“Just a noise.”
“Try going to emergency. They are nutso tonight. There’s a full moon.”
“No, thank you. About time for long winter’s nap.” Backing away, I managed to laugh easily, which was why experiencing a heightened level of apprehension was so unusual.
As she walked away with pep in her step, I had to consider I was still suffering from whiplash of dealing with my entire family being in one place at one time. I couldn’t remember the last time the whole family had been together. I’d been a child and things hadn’t gone well. In fact, there was no way my father or unclewould have considered clustering in one place had it not been for the fact the groom’s family had rented an island for the wedding.
And there’d been armed guards everywhere.
And I’d thought my parents were rich. Not only had the entire island been lush with foliage including olive trees and jasmine, but there had also been a huge castle that had been meticulously renovated. Between the main near fortress and the half dozen other buildings, the island had been able to accommodate both families and members of the wedding party.
Thank God for speedboats or my claustrophobia would have been on high.
Great, my fabulous Italian vacation, which had been the first in four years, was being compared to a horror movie unfolding before my eyes.
Even with a meticulous overview of my life as of late, I continued heading toward the storage closet. In my mother’s kinder days, she’d often referred to me as a bloodhound since I never let anything go.
Which was why I was forced to accept that I wouldn’t stop until I discovered the source.
I was less than three feet from the door when I heard another noise, only this time it was hard, monotonous pounding.
