“Oh honey.” Clara put her hand on Emma’s shoulder and squeezed. “I wish there were something I could do. If staying here makes you feel better, then do it. I’ll check in on you when I go on break.”

“Thank you.”

“You hang in there. This is all going to be all right. You’ll see.”

Emma nodded as Clara left the room, hoping the senior nurse was right. She pushed herself up from the table, tossed her cup in the trash can, and went through the back door on the break room and into the sleeping area. No other staff members were using the room tonight, at least not yet. She stuck her purse under the bed in the back corner and lay down on top of the mattress, not even bothering with a blanket.

She was asleep before her head ever hit the pillow.

###

Clara eased the door open to the patient’s room and stepped inside. Miss Melody, a tough old bird who’d broken her hip, waved at her, clutching her signature pink lip gloss, as she stepped inside.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Clara asked. Miss Melody might be tough, but in addition to her broken hip, she had an iffy heart, which was why she was lounging in intensive care instead of a regular room.

 “Been sleeping darn near all day. A person’s not supposed to spend that much time unconscious unless they’re dead.”

Clara smiled. “That’s always the way it is when a body’s sick, isn’t it? You sleep all day, then you’re awake all night when there’s nothing good to watch on television.”

“If those cheapos at the hospital would get cable that wouldn’t be a problem. They’ve got reruns on older than I am.”

Clara put the blood pressure band on Miss Melody and took out her stethoscope. Miss Melody sat still and silent while Clara checked her vitals and made a note on her chart. Her blood pressure was a little high, but that was normal given the circumstances. “Is your hip hurting you?” Clara asked.

Miss Melody waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ve had corns that hurt worse.”

“Well, if there’s anything I can do for you, just push that button.”

“Unless you got Netflix in your scrubs, I’ll have to rough it.”

Clara laughed. “At least try to get some rest. Your body heals while you’re sleeping, so you’ll get out of here faster.”

“Hmmm. I may have to think on that one.”

“I’ll be back later to check on you.” Clara exited the room and headed back to the nurse’s station. Miss Melody was the last patient in her rotation, so it was paperwork time until she had to start the next set of rounds. She was halfway down the hall when she veered off to the left, deciding to take a short detour past the break room.

The break room was empty, and she slipped through the back door to the sleeping area. It took a couple of seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, but she finally spotted Emma on the bed in the back corner curled up in a ball. She eased a blanket out of one of the storage lockers and covered Emma with it before leaving.

Clara had tried not to get too much into Emma’s business, but the reality was, she was worried about the young nurse. Truth be told, Emma was in worse shape than some of the patients in her charge. Her body would only last so much longer before it collapsed. Either way, the bad guy won. If only there were something she could do. The older she got, the more she decided the world was becoming filled with crazy people.

Sweet little Emma with a stalker…some psycho attacking Corrine Archer…it was as if someone had declared a war against good. If Clara were thirty years younger, she’d be tempted to break heads. She was an educated woman with a solid professional history, but her life hadn’t started out that great. Growing up in the Ninth Ward, people cultivated all kinds of skill sets. She hadn’t needed any of them since the day she moved out of her mother’s shack and into the dorm room at college, courtesy of a full scholarship, but that didn’t mean she’d forgotten how to handle bad people.

###

He watched the hospital parking lot from the rooftop across the street. Her car was still there, but he knew she was no longer on shift. He’d called earlier pretending to be a police officer, and the receptionist confirmed that Emma had clocked out for the night. But almost an hour later and still no sign of her. If she got caught up talking to a staff member, she might be ten or fifteen minutes late leaving, but an hour was something else entirely.

She might have taken a taxi. From his position, he had a clear view of the front entrance of the hospital, and he was fairly sure he hadn’t seen a taxi pull through. He might be mistaken, but something told him he wasn’t. He thought back to the time he’d spent in the hospital for a broken wrist. Of all his injuries, it was the only time he’d actually gone to the hospital, but then, he’d been an adult and able to choose.

There had been a shooting at a bar that night and several people were brought in with gunshot wounds. He’d heard the surgeon who’d tended to them talking to the nurse outside his room, saying that he was going to stay the night so that he was available in case any of the patients needed him. That must mean the hospital had a place for staff to stay the night if they needed to. It made sense if they were handling a critical situation.

He was quite certain Emma wasn’t handling anything critical, not in a work capacity, but he’d bet anything that she was somewhere inside the hospital, utilizing that space set aside for personnel to stay the night. She thought she was being sneaky, but he was never far behind. This time was no different. Emma couldn’t hide from him. And he had one more card to play before the finale. With the private investigator out of the way, probably hovering over her rich, beloved mother, Emma was all alone again. And that was just the way he wanted her.

He scurried down the fire escape and up the alley to the hospital parking lot. The smoking area was off to the side, hidden from view of hospital windows and shielded from the parking lot by a tall hedge. At first, he’d been a little surprised that health professionals chose a habit like smoking, but then he supposed everyone had to have their outlet.

A couple minutes ago, an ambulance had returned to the hospital and he’d seen one of the paramedics head for the smoking area, already removing the black uniform shirt he wore over a white undershirt, trying to get a momentary break from the awful humidity. The other had remained in the ambulance and was slumped down in his seat, eyes closed, and probably wouldn’t stir unless a call came in.

He pulled his hoodie up and crept down the side of the hedge, careful to keep the security cameras from getting a good shot of his face. When he stepped through the hedge and into the tiny smoking area, the young paramedic looked up at him in surprise.

“Dude,” the paramedic said, “you scared me for a minute there.”

He glanced over and saw the shirt draped over a nearby hedge and held in a smile. “Sorry about that. I don’t suppose I could bum a cigarette?”

“Sure.” The paramedic reached into his pocket. “There’s been wild dogs roaming the alleys around here. We brought two people in last night who’d been bitten. Crazy shit.”

The paramedic pulled a cigarette out of the pack and looked back up.

He grabbed the paramedic by his hair and before the man could even utter a cry, sliced his throat from side to side. Blood spurted out from the cut and he pushed the paramedic backward before it got on him. The paramedic clutched his throat with both hands, blood pouring between his fingers, choked sputtering sounds coming from his throat.

He watched as he fell backward off the bench and lay there on the ground still gurgling until finally, his hands went limp and slid away from the incision. His eyes were wide open, frozen in that horrified look people got when they knew they were about to die. His mouth was open as well, as if he were trying to let out one final cry.