Page 57 of The Night Shift

I see a pillar at the head of the stairs and slide behind it.

Drip, drip, drip.

I peep around and see a light in the distance. Dim with an orange-ish hue. A room. The door to which is partially open. Heart pounding in my chest, I start walking towards it, still crouched low and looking around to constantly check that I’m not being followed myself. Wouldn’t that be a crazy turn of events? The stench gets stronger. I’m careful not to make any loud noises. I push open the door with my hip and not with my hand. Just like Holly does. The second I get inside, I turn on the flash-light of my phone and see a bed. A cold chill wraps around my stomach. At first, I’m unable to fathom the scene. There’s a girl passed out in the center.

It’s not Holly. No, this girl looks positively dead.

She has long dark hair and light brown skin and is lying on her back with her mouth wide open. There’s a large, gaping wound across the anterior neck, extending from ear to ear. The gash doesn’t look very deep. At least not deep enough to kill her. There is profuse hemorrhage, with patches of dried blood staining the front part of her red sweater. Her body is contorted at weird angles — one hand over her head and the other is hanging off the edge. Her legs are intertwined with the bedsheets, and her dark hair is a tangled, matted mess. I walk around to get a better look. That’s when I notice the pool of blood beneath her slashed wrist.

Drip, drip, drip.

I crouch down, my expensive shoes carefully positioned away from the blood and press a finger against the girl’s neck. Nothing.

Drip, drip, drip.

“Excuse me?” I call out. “Ma’am?”

No response.Drip, drip, drip.

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask. “Are you cold?”

I inspect her right arm, the one hanging off the edge of the bed.

This isn’t Holly’s work. Holly would never do something like this. For starters, she’d never harm another woman. And secondly, this is way too messy. Too…barbaric to be done by even a surgicalintern, let alone a surgeon as experienced and brilliant as Holly. Whoever did this obviously doesn’t know how to use a blade. Pathetic.

It’s difficult to estimate how long ago this was done. The average person has a total of five litres of blood in their body. You’d have to lose at least two litres before being in any danger of dying. I stare at the small pool on the ground. That’s at most three coffee mugs worth of blood. Not enough to kill someone. Not enough time either. It would take someone hours to die from blood loss if they cut their wrist. Putting it under running water would exacerbate the process, but that’s not the case right now. Which means the killer could still be in the building.

This doesn’t make any sense. How did she die? Who did it? And why —

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!”

I spin around. A figure bursts through the doorway. A man, his face contorted in a mask of rage. But it's not his rage that chills me to the bone. It's the glint of metal in his hand. A gun.

What thefuck?

My confusion gets choked off as he lunges at me,a feral scream escaping his mouth.I throw myself to the side,scrambling backward on my hands and knees, desperate to escape.What the FUCK is going on?! The rough concrete wall stops me cold, and a loud noise explodes next to my head. Duststings my eyes. I blink hard, trying to see, as the metallic tang of blood fills my nose and mouth. The world spins for a moment. The man is almost on top of me, his face filled with rage.

Panic floods my vision and a horrifying realization cuts through me like a freshly sharpened knife. Did he kill this woman? Didhecall Holly here? Is this fuckingNate Lawson? I look at him. A surge of my own rage, hot and primal, threatens to consume me. I clench my fists, the urge to fight this maniac overwhelming. But reason elbows its way back in. He has a gun. I don’t. I'm just flesh and bone. One reckless move could get me killed, and who would help Holly then?

I need to get out of here. I need to find Holly and I need to keep her safe.

I look to my right. The boarded-up window is too far away, and scrambling towards it would be like offering myself up on a silver platter. I glance at the door to my left. Maybe I can make a run for it? I know I can outrun him, but can I overpower him? Probably not. While I maintain a healthy physique through regular exercise,I must concede that this madman’s muscular build surpasses my own.I would be no match for him in a physical confrontation. However, desperation can be a powerful weapon. If I can somehow subdue him, maybe I can find Holly and help her too. The mere thought of something happening to her ignites a fiercely protective spark within me,a sensation that burns brighter than any logic.

My gaze darts back to the man. His gun is slightly lowered and he’s looking at the woman sprawled on the bed. Dead and cold. Her lifeless form seems to fuel his rage, his face contorting even further.

“I’m gonna blow a hole in your fucking skull,” he rasps, tears welling in his eyes. He snaps the gun back towards me. The cold metal presses into my forehead,the world dissolving into a single sharp point of pressure.Every frantic beat of my heartechoes in my ears. His finger tightens on the trigger. I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the deafening explosion, but all I hear is a choked sound. Wet and gurgling.

I open my eyes.

A glint of metal catches my eye. Not the gun. No, this time it’s the long, wicked blade of a scalpel protruding from the side of the man’s neck. He stares at me, eyes wide with shock as blood drips down along the nape of his neck on the collar of his t-shirt. His grip slackens on the gun, and it clatters to the floor with a heavy thud.

My gaze snaps up.

A cold wave of relief washes over me.

Holly.

The man stumbles back, hand clawing at the hilt of the scalpel protruding from his neck. Eyes flared wide, he releases a silent wail trapped behind his lips. I watch, fascinated, as Holly delivers a swift kick to his knee, sending him crashing to the floor in a heap.