Page 75 of Wild Temple

That was our cue to turn around and walk the other way. As cool and as casual as possible, I escorted the girls through the ER to the hospital.

We made a few twists and turns. Down an empty hallway, we ducked into a laundry supply closet.

At this point, we were all pretty ripe. Days in the jungle without showers, deodorant, or basic hygiene left us pretty seasoned. We peeled out of our soiled jungle garb and helped ourselves to fresh, royal blue scrubs.

Jack grabbed a white lab coat and put it on. He cupped his hand over his mouth and mimicked a loudspeaker. “Paging Dr. Donovan. You’re needed at the bar, STAT.”

It broke the tension and put a smile on my face. I could certainly use an adult beverage or two.

With surgical masks to conceal our faces, we stepped back into the hallway. In our current state, we could reasonably pass for a tattered crew that had been on shift for 12 hours.

We moved through the maze of grungy pastel hallways, putting as much distance between us and the police as possible.

We passed by patient rooms in the NICU. Ventilators wheezed and clacked, and heart monitors blipped. A few nurses on shift drifted in and out of patient rooms. Each unit had a dry-erase board by the door with patient info: first initial, last name, physician, and other relevant information.

One board in particular caught my eye as we passed. It read:

JANE DOE

Bella?

Dr. Kusuma.

I stopped the others and peered into the dim room.

The bed was empty.

I knocked on the bathroom door, but there was no response.

The TV was on. The bed was still warm.

I stepped back into the hallway and stopped a passing nurse. It was probably a bad idea because I had no hospital credentials. No ID badge.

She was so busy and flustered she didn’t notice. The cute brunette was an American. I figured she was here with a volunteer mission or exchange.

“Excuse me, where is the patient that was in this room?”

“She’s not in the room?” Tabitha replied with concern. Her name was written on her ID badge. She poked her head into the room to confirm. Then she checked the bathroom as well. Confused and growing worried, she said, “She was just here.”

“Her name is Isabella, right? Do you know her last name?”

“No last name. She came in after a motorcycle accident. Unconscious. Brain swelling. She was put into an induced coma to reduce swelling. We brought her out of it yesterday. Only thing I could get out of her was a first name. She couldn’t remember much.”

“She’s an American, right?”

“Yes.”

I described Isabella.

“Yes, that sounds like her.”

“Did she have any visitors?”

Her brow wrinkled as she scanned my chest for credentials. “I’m sorry. Who are you again?”

“I’m sorry, we’ve got patients to see,” Jack said, tugging at my arm.

Two officers rounded the corner.