Page 30 of What’s Left of Me (What Left #1)

I miss my guests.

For days it's been too quiet and it seems I've fallen to the wayside with the FBI. There isn't much to distract me here, and I refuse to admit that I’m wasting time between scheduled counseling and drawing during my free hour waiting for them to come back. The longer I don’t interact with people on the outside, the more isolating CGP feels. I enjoyed seeing Jo and Vinny, even if they cringed away from what’s left of me.

As much as I dislike being blamed for more murders while sitting in prison, at least the visits involving the copycat passed the time. I'm antsy now for more details and another visit, and I’ll even take another grueling session of questions from Sterling if it means someone comes back to see me.

But I’d rather my visitor be Jo or even Vinny.

When I close my eyes in the cell and don't focus on where I am, I can pretend I'm sleeping in one of the lumpy beds at my foster parents’, waiting for the next day of school to see my two loves again.

I would give almost anything to have those days after graduation back when things were finally looking up.

I was going to escape.

Not just from Citrus Grove but from her, and from everything that still haunts me. I’m an artist, and my medium is meant to be colors and paints, not blood and guts. I can’t look at my art the same anymore, even after all of these years.

That loneliness creeps unwanted back into my chest again as the days tick on. It just reminds me that unless I have something worthwhile to offer to the outside world the rest of my life is little more than bland walls, 24-hour watch, and slowly wasting away.

At least visitors pass the time.

Scrubbing a hand across my eyes, I try to will away the image in front of me. Fake Porscha is quiet today, like my mind can’t come up with anything snarky for her to say. She sits silently in my line of vision no matter where I look, and this isn’t who I wanted as a constant companion.

My mind is playing tricks on me again. Yesterday Fake Porscha appeared to me with dimple piercings like Jo and it was the biggest mind fuck of the week so far. I despise who Porscha was, but I love Jo for who she’s become. Unfortunately I can’t tell her that.

I clear my throat for the third time in ten minutes, rubbing at my chest. I swear the air quality’s gone to shit, and I tug and the neckline of my prison jumpsuit. I want to complain about it, but I doubt there’s jack shit this nurse is going to do about it. She’s new, taking over for Nurse Swan.

“Mr. Constantine?”

I glance to my right, spotting the newbie now.

She’s a little green skillswise, but they paired her with the oldest doctor here who is a stickler for the rules.

So far he’s taught her how to do everything the boring way, and I think she keeps mostly to herself when she isn’t flirting with the guards.

As much as it disturbs me, Wallsburg seems to be a favorite of hers.

I don’t get how he’s so popular with the ladies.

“Mr. Constatine sounds so formal, sweetheart. Just Alastair is fine.”

She nods as a blush paints her cheeks. I like the red of her hair contrasting against her green scrubs, and it makes her freckles stand out too against the blush. I’m pretty sure she’s fresh out of school, maybe even from the university up the road. “Of course. Alastair, you have a visitor.”

“Is it a couple of cuties?” I ask with a grin. “If they aren’t married I don’t want them.”

“Oh, no,” she says, eyes widening. “Just one person. A woman. She says she’s here from the university.”

I tilt my head. Not Jo then, which is a letdown. And it doesn’t sound like one of Sterling’s teammates either. Newbie here has worked enough days to know there’s a list of professors and approved students to let in, and the FBI and my two former lovers made my visitor list. “Is she a professor?”

She shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t know. She spoke with Warden Bradshaw and now-”

Abruptly, she stops talking and squares her shoulders.

Being new means she isn’t completely used to the order of things around here, and most of the nurses and workers wouldn’t give me even half of what she just blurted out.

Her eyes narrow when she realizes the mistake, and I just grin.

“I can’t talk about details, Mr. Constantine. She’s waiting downstairs.”

It’s kind of amusing watching her try to backtrack. I grin at her. “What was your name again?”

“Nancy - uh, Ms. Underwood. Nurse Underwood.”

Of course it is. “Well, Ms. Underwood , lead the way.”

She lets out a sigh and nods before leading us from the room.

The door to my cell is open, and I wait expectantly for a guard to step in and cuff me up before we start the descent downstairs.

It’s odd enough that the nurse is escorting me between floors, but I’ve seen plenty of newbies blunder through procedures and get sent downstairs ahead of me.

Swiping my hand over my brow, I realize my skin is a little clammy.

Newbie looks back at me expectantly from the doorway, and when I zero in on her features I realize her pupils look surprisingly small right now.

Shaking the odd thoughts from my head I try and keep focused.

Most of this floor is vacant right now but even when inmates are supposed to be down on the other floors someone is always walking around as a safety measure.

Usually there is someone standing in or just outside of my line of sight to slap the chains on my wrists before I leave the cell.

Even heading down for meals requires the cuffs because no one trusts me.

The seconds tick on but no guard steps in. The nurse is still standing there, rocking on her heels. After a moment she clears her throat. “Are you coming?”

“Is that a joke?” I snap, narrowing my eyes. It’s probably a trick, or maybe Kyle or Norbert is standing outside of my line of view waiting. I managed to make both of the guards mad a couple days ago and could see one of them doing something petty to make my day suck a little more.

She frowns. “No? We need to get downstairs for your meeting.”

“No way,” I tell her, shifting backward until my legs hit my bed and I sit down.

My head is a little fuzzy, and it’s not like I’ve been avoiding eating and drinking so I really have no reason to feel dizzy.

“I’m not falling for that. You think I want to get in trouble again, Nurse Newbie?

Get the guard over here now and follow the procedure. ”

She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have.

I don’t trust the scenario playing out in my head even as I start to cough again, and she stays outside of the cell fidgeting with her hands.

I definitely feel like I’m being set up, and something smells fishy.

New nurses typically don’t see us in our cells.

We go down to the medical ward for treatment or medicine, and the only reason care staff comes up to the third floor is for a medical emergency.

More seconds… then a full minute. No one steps forward and Nancy doesn’t approach. That might be the only smart thing she’s done thus far, keeping distance between us. I lick my lips, glaring at her. “This is a trick.”

“I’m just following instructions,” she says, clearing her throat. “You have a visitor and I’m to escort you to the elevator.”

I don’t trust her but at this point my curiosity is too great. It could be the tightness in my chest, and I think my breathing is a little shallower than normal. Is this panic? Shifting on the bed I stare, and she takes a gasping breath, pressing a hand to her chest.

Something’s wrong. All at once I stand and stop focusing on her, listening for noise on the rest of the floor.

The cells aren’t soundproofed so we can hear each other, and usually I can hear people making noise moving around or being escorted around the floor, either to someplace else or back to their cells.

This place is eerily silent, and I thought I heard others coughing and speaking earlier, but now I hear nothing.

Screw it.

I get up and stumble forward a step, my breathing harsher as I hurry towards her. She shrinks back to the wall, and I grip the bars of the cell and peer out.

There’s no one here with us. It’s just me and the nurse, and that feels like an ignorant mistake. Isn’t everyone afraid I still have killer tendencies since the FBI thinks I’m training a fucking protege?

“Where are the guards?” I snap, and my voice sounds strange. I would call this the beginning of a drug trip, but that doesn’t make any sense. I try to shake my head to clear it, but that doesn't seem to help.

Nancy leans forward, her eyes sparkling as she stares. “I can’t believe I got to meet you.”

That’s not promising. I reach out, grabbing her wrist, and the psycho grins instead of looking afraid. “What’s going on Nancy?”

“You don’t have to worry,” she tells me, flashing me a grin.

“Although things would be e-easier-” she breaks off as her breathing stutters, and the motion sends her to her knees as she presses her opposite hand there.

I let go of her arm, glaring down as I fight the sudden dizziness.

If I end up on the floor I’ll be an easy target for anyone, and that can’t happen.

Licking my lips, I try to respond, possibly yell at her, but nothing comes out. Nancy grins and sets her hands on the ground, her pupils even smaller than before.

Is there something in the air? Where did it come from?

When my knees hit the ground too, I hear footsteps. I turn my head, expecting to see a fleet of guards here to throw me into solitaire.