Page 112 of The Gift
I don’t really think much of our interaction if truth be told, I’m internalising more, the longer she does her thing. Which is a bit shit, but I don’t care. The first couple of jabs are okay, the third hurts more than it should, and I break my silent vigil, groaning in pain.
My eyes fly to her. But she’s ignoring me, doing her job. She drags the needle out of my arm slowly, taking her time doing whatever she deems necessary. And who am I to argue she has zilch bedside skills when I can’t even be bothered trying to strike up a conversation, instead I’m getting lost in memories that are hazy to say the least.
Once she’s finished taking vials of blood and recording my temperature and blood pressure, her professional mask changes. It falls away and my stomach bottoms out when she finally looks at me in the eyes, “Do you know who I am?”
Her question isn’t completely unexpected, I was getting strange vibes off her, though it does shock me, or maybe scares me is more accurate. I really thought I was being overly paranoid and hypersensitive. I thought my anxiety was leading me down a dark path, but it wasn’t. Looking at it now, it was her proficiency at what she was doing that had me ignoring my own voice. The very voice I have been relying on for so long.
The realisation pisses me the hell off, kind of adding to the moment, in the wrong way of course.
“I thought… you were Nurse Amanda,” I say sarcastically, pointing to the name printed on her uniform, before looking for her hospital ID. The collection of cards, keys and security devices hang from the clip are the same as every other staff member carries. She looks and acts legit in her uniform, well she did.
“For now,” she says, and her voice deepens as she drops her act. Of course, she puts my vials of blood in her front pocket and not in the collection basket.We’re evidently at the point where neither of us are pretending. Although, until I know what she wants, and what this is about, we are still pretending in a sense.
I start cataloguing everything about her. How tall she is, her weight, any particular features. My gaze races over her, while she waits expectantly, looking half bored, half amused.
Her short black hair is held back by a wide headband in the hospital colours, but now looking at it closer, it looks suspiciously like a wig. The thick green frames of her glasses are so large they hide other features of her face, the slight tint to the lens means I can’t confirm her eye colouring. From a distance, she’s good, close up you can see the small cracks in her disguise.
“So, who are you?” I demand, grabbing my phone and flicking a call straight through to Henley. Watching her, watch me. It’s all sorts of creepy.
She takes a step forward, wicked quick, snatching my phone from my hand.
“I’m going to be real with you,” she starts, in what I assume is her natural voice; it’s deeper with a strange accent. And she purposely steps out of my reach so I can’t make a play for my phone.
“By stealing my phone, and taking my blood? Please don’t tell me that’s you being real,” I scoff. And obviously there’s right and wrong ways to speak with people who have the upper hand in a situation like this, but I’m in full defensive mode realising how trapped I am.
“Watch your tone, omega. Sit there, and shut up,” she spits, and the sharp bark in her words is opposite of the way she stands, acts, and scents. I react in an instant pulling my sass back, but I don’trespondto her influence. Which is such a relief.
Another part of her act cracks when I don’t submit.
And while she deals with that unspoken revelation, I take the opportunity of sizing her up again, zeroing in on all her features, hoping some of it sticks for the invariable interrogation that will come as soon as she leaves. Interestingly, she speaks like an alpha, without the necessary genetics but she also doesn’t scent. It’s almost like she’s not in the room, like nothing but an apparition, or ghost.
Something must change on my face, and a grin spreads over hers. My phone rings, Henley’s name flashing up on the screen, but Nurse Amanda, who is apparently not Nurse Amanda, blocks the call.
“If I don’t answer they will come running back.”
She shrugs unconcerned. “They’re on the ground floor, in Room 3A with a group of alphas from the Alliance. If they take the stairs, it will take them eight minutes to get here. If they take the lift the time blows out, to on average twelve minutes depending on where the lift is to start with. So, for now I think it’s safe to assume I have at least five minutes before anyone gets here.”
She’s got this mad gleam in her eyes, like it’s not predatory, but it could be. I don’t want to call her unstable because she’s clearly switched on, but my alarms are blaring and I’m finally listening. And while not Nurse Amanda stares at me, I move, putting as much space between me and her as possible. With a shitty arm, it’s not easy. I’m slow and cumbersome as I scurry over the bed watching her the whole time. The bitch even flinches when I whack my shoulder on the portable drawers as I get to my feet.
A blaze of white stars flash over my vision, and even though I was slow off the mark to start with, crappy situations are nothing new to me. Back on the survival train, I employ all the techniques I used to use, locking shit up faster than humanly possible.
She watches me, or more accurately she studies and analyses. Once we have the bed between us, she starts up, which is all kinds of weird. Like is she lulling me into a false sense of security. Is she here to intimidate me, or is all this simply a game to her.
“I know they’ll rewatch the feed of our time a few times over, so some of what I say will be for you and some for them. But first up, girl power, telling them to go to their meeting. Like full kudos toyoufor finding your voice in a room ofalphas.” The way she talks is as confusing, and freaky, as she is. Although the insinuation and over exaggeration on key words is a good clue she’s not fooled by me being Bailey Henderson, injured TV presenter.
I’m not sure if she’s going to flip, or if she has already. I stay quiet and let her do the talking.
“You should be safe here, and in some respects because of what your pack did, you are. And the failings of the hospital security is on neither of you.”
And sadly, no matter how hard I try, sometimes things slip past my lips that would be better for everyone, mostly me, if they stayed as private thoughts. “That’s generous of you. You could have reached out instead of hijacking me like this.”
“Not my style,” she smiles, though it morphs into one of those fake, malicious, evil ones straight out of the movies. “I heard you visited Regalo.” She speaks as if we’re long-lost friends standing around talking about what we did last week.
“How?” I challenge, flicking my chin up slightly, until I catch myself. Trying to hone in my sassy. I can seriously already hear Henley snarling in my ear telling me to tone it down.
“Does it matter how? You should be more focused that I know you were there. Are you aware he was murdered by another inmate three nights ago?”
“Who are you?”
