Chapter 2
The orderly leaned his weight forward.
I leaned back.
For one strained second, the door stayed fixed between us. His shoe prevented me from closing it, but he couldn't open it without shoving me.
“You're delaying a physician's order,” he said.
“Which physician?”
His eyes shifted toward the man with the stretcher.
That was enough.
I slapped the red staff-assist button beside the door.
A sharp alarm sounded in the corridor.
The orderly swore and pulled his foot away. I shut the door, turned the lock, and crossed to Gabriel.
“That brings half the floor,” he said.
“It brings witnesses.”
The monitor accelerated as he pushed himself upright. I handed him the gown. He threaded his arms through it while I detached the ECG cable from the bedside lead, leaving the electrode on his chest. The monitor flattened and released its full alarm.
I opened the door just as Tessa appeared at the far end of the hallway.
The two men and their stretcher were already gone.
* * *
Tessa came toward me at a brisk walk, her dark green scrubs wrinkled from twelve hours of work. Her expression moved from irritation to concern when she saw my face.
“What happened?”
“His monitor lost signal.”
“You hit staff assist for a loose lead?”
“He sat up suddenly. He's having trouble breathing.”
Gabriel stared at me from the bed. His breathing was shallow, but not from whatever I was claiming. He understood a second later and bent forward, one hand braced against his ribs.
Tessa stepped inside.
“Mr. Reed, can you hear me?”
He nodded.
“When did he wake up?” she asked.
“Just now.”
The lie came out too smoothly.
Tessa checked his pulse, pupils, and oxygen level. While she worked, I watched the doorway. No orderly returned. No transfer order appeared on the workstation.
“Page respiratory,” Tessa said.
“I'll get them.”
“Mara.”
I stopped.
Her gaze dropped to the pump. “Why is that line clamped?”
“The alarm started before he woke.”
“What alarm?”
“I didn't see the code.”
She looked at me for a long moment. Tessa had trained me on this floor. She knew when I was afraid, and she knew I rarely lied well.
“Go,” she said.
I left before she could search my pockets.
* * *
I didn't call respiratory.
Instead, I took the service elevator to the basement and found an empty wheelchair outside central supply. My hands shook as I unfolded a blanket across its seat.
The hospital at night was a collection of separate worlds. Upstairs, monitors chimed under soft lights. Down here, laundry carts rolled over bare concrete and the air smelled like bleach and warm dust. Delivery doors opened toward an alley beyond the loading dock.
I checked my phone. No messages from Tessa. No security alert.
When the elevator opened again, Gabriel stood inside with one hand against the wall.
“You shouldn't be standing.”
“Your supervisor told me respiratory was downstairs.”
“She let you leave?”
“She walked out to find a portable monitor and didn't lock the wheels on my bed.”
That sounded like Tessa: deniable help delivered as an oversight.
I guided him into the wheelchair. Before touching his shoulder, I paused.
“Can I help?”
“Yes.”
The word was quiet but clear.
I drew the blanket around him. The hospital gown covered most of his chest, though dark ink showed above the collar and down both forearms. The nasal cannula was gone.
“What about your oxygen?”
“I can breathe.”
“That wasn't my question.”
He looked up at me. “I took it off.”
I found a portable oxygen tank beneath a supply counter and fitted fresh tubing to it. He didn't object when I placed the cannula back over his face.
“That report you were working on,” I said as I pushed him into the service hall. “Was it about this hospital?”
“I inspected safety systems for insurers and county contracts. Fire doors, backup power, access controls.”
“That sounds boring enough to be safe.”
“It usually was.”
A laundry cart rattled around the corner. I pulled Gabriel into an alcove until it passed.
“What did you find?”
“Records saying repairs were complete when they weren't.” His voice faded beneath the hum of ventilation. “Locked units with failed emergency releases. Generator tests copied from earlier reports.”
“And you told Vale?”
“I requested a meeting.”
“What happened after that?”
His brow tightened. “Parking garage. Someone called my name. Then headlights.”
He pressed a hand to his forehead.
I waited, but no more memory came.
* * *
At the basement junction, a red access light glowed above the loading dock corridor.
My employee badge should have opened it. I held the card to the reader.
The light stayed red.
I tried again.
“Access denied,” a flat electronic voice announced.
“They've canceled your badge,” Gabriel said.
“They couldn't know yet.”
The ceiling camera rotated toward us.
A door banged open behind me.
I pushed the wheelchair into motion. We passed the laundry room, pharmacy storage, and a row of vending machines humming beneath fluorescent lights. At the far end stood a stairwell leading to the old outpatient wing.
Gabriel caught the wheel rims. “Stop.”
“We can't.”
“You're running toward another locked door.”
He pointed to a narrow steel door labeled MEDICAL GAS—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Beside it, almost hidden behind a linen bin, was a mechanical fire-release lever.
“Pulling that sets off an alarm,” I said.
“And unlocks this smoke compartment.”
“You really did inspect hospitals.”
“I remember doors.”
Voices carried from the junction behind us.
I pulled the lever.
A bell began to ring. Magnetic locks released throughout the corridor with a series of heavy clacks. I shoved through the outpatient door and pushed Gabriel into a dark waiting room full of vinyl chairs and silent televisions.
My phone buzzed.
SECURITY INCIDENT—BASEMENT LEVEL. REMAIN IN PLACE.
We kept moving.
* * *
The old outpatient wing connected to a chapel used mostly by families and volunteers. Beyond it, a side entrance opened onto a small employee parking lot beside the loading dock.
We were thirty feet from the exit when Gabriel reached back and caught the wheelchair brake.
A woman stood in front of the glass doors.
Tessa had removed her badge and stuffed her hair beneath a black knit cap, but I recognized the set of her shoulders. In one hand she held a paper chart. In the other, she held the capped syringe I had seen connected to Gabriel's line.
“Mara,” she said, barely moving her lips. “Tell me you didn't take him off the floor.”
“He was about to be transferred by two men without an order.”
“There was an order.”
“Not in the chart.”
“That's the problem.”
She opened the paper folder. The transfer sheet bore Gabriel's name, a destination in the restricted east wing, and Tessa's electronic signature.
“I didn't sign this,” she said.
Gabriel stared at the page. “Who can use your credentials?”
“No one without my password.”
“Then how did the unresponsive note get entered from executive administration?” I asked.
Tessa's face changed.
She hadn't known about that.
The loading dock gate began to rise outside, flooding the glass entryway with white headlights.
Tessa looked toward the light, then at me.
“If I open this door,” she said, “there's no version where tonight goes back to normal.”
May you like
“No,” I said. “There isn't.”
She took out her key.
