Page 3 of Doctor Clause

“Okay, honey,” Jordan replied, rubbing her back. “Calm down. I am just going on break. How about we get a hot cup of tea and talk about it?”

Leeona nodded, sniffling. “Mmm.”

Chapter Three

Stephen

He was one of the lucky ones who actually had an office inside the hospital. That meant the door was either open or closed. Today it was closed.

He wasn’t seeing any of the patients’ family members, or taking any silly requests from peers. At least, that was the plan. Unfortunately, there was already a gift sitting on the desk when he arrived.

Air escaped his lips, lungs fully deflating.

It wasn’t hard to guess what the gift was. The cute Christmas wrapping paper was a most unnecessary hint.

Every year it was the same.

The Santa suit.

It was always when the holidays approached. It always appeared in the same place. There was never a note. There was never a card. No one was willing to fess up to being the benefactor.

For some reason, his colleagues actually believed he was going to, one day, wear the outfit.

They were sadly mistaken.

That was never going to happen.

On the other hand, perhaps they simply enjoyed pushing his buttons, knowing the reaction their actions would bring about. He was easy prey.

With the parcel tucked neatly under one arm, he arrogantly dragged himself into the corridor, heading straight for the elevators. The lift doors immediately opened, as if they were afraid of getting in his way.

“Going down?” a female voice said.

The B button lit up.

This gift was going all the way to the bottom, the one floor no one enjoyed getting off on. In most cases, it was the end of the line. Whether the morgue or storage, there was an eerie air about the hallways. Frightening chills came with thoughts of what lay behind closed doors.

That one room was the same in every hospital, usually located on the lowest level—the store-it-all. It was barely ever entered, and what went in, never came out again. The items it housed were all well past their time, but still things which had been paid for by the hospital, and therefore, considered an asset.

Accounting departments were the biggest hoarders of all time.

He stepped over a box of decades-old decorations, first a string of knife-shaped tinsel cut outs, each dripping with dried-on, fake blood, from one Halloween or another. It was probably a surgical unit’s idea of a prank, which undoubtedly wasn’t well received.

Then came Christmas, some of which was more appropriate for a fright than goodwill, especially the frowning Santa with glowing green eyes.

In the end, it was all junk in need of a landfill, but simply tossing them away required too much paperwork. Red tape was everywhere, trying to trip him up.

A giant teddy, with a grim appearance, threatened to attack. If it fell on him, he was going down. The bear was the guardian of all things secret, all things, meaning a pile of years of red-and-white Santa suits. He tossed the latest version on the mound, watching it teeter for a moment, like a structure made from playing cards. He was an expert stacker though. It wasn’t going to fall.

Palms brushed against one another.

That was it.

The terrifying bear was in charge now and he was rid of another silly costume meant to embarrass him. Sure, everyone else would get their jollies, snickering behind his back. It wasn’t as gratifying for the one being made fun of though.

The venture into the hospital’s museum of holidays past set him back. According to the time displayed on his phone’s screen, the stash and dash took quite a bit longer than anticipated. That meant no trips outside the hospital for coffee or treats. The only other option was the cafeteria.

He probably shouldn’t have left the lift. The moment the doors opened; he saw the crowd. Still, he strutted like a peacock into the thick of things, turning around immediately to walk pompously back out again.

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