Page 117 of The Night Shift
And despite the absurdity of this entire situation and the storm of nerves twisting in my chest, his calmness sort of, kinda calms me down too. “Yes, not yet.”
He lets out a quiet sigh, leaning back against his car with his arms crossed over his chest. He tilts his head slightly, which I take as his way of saying, “go ahead, love.” Without another word, I turn and walk toward the building, the weight of the scalpel burning against my arm with every step.
The building is an old, abandoned psychiatric hospital, or at least it is according to Google Maps. Its red brick walls are covered in moss and ivy, with broken windows scattered throughout gaping at me like empty soulless eyes. The air is so cold. Even Theo’s coat feels thin against the chill. I pull it tighter around me. I reach the entrance. I breathe out, watching my breath form in the cold air and with a glance behind me, I step inside, broken glass crunching beneath my boots.
There’s nothing but pitch darkness inside the building. Rain seeps in from a tattered hole in the ceiling. I take out my phone and turn on the flashlight. To my right, there’s a long hospital corridor that stretches into more darkness. The walls are stained and peeling. The floor is littered with scraps of old paper, broken tiles, and, unsettlingly, discarded medical equipment that looks like it’s been untouched for years. The place smells of rot and fear.
I clutch my scalpel tighter, heart pounding in my chest. What am I even supposed to be looking for? Another dead body? A gun-wielding psychopath? I peep into one of the rooms and see an operating table. I keep moving ahead. What if there’s nothing to find here? An insidious sense of dread starts creeping around me like black smoke. What if this is a trap? I peek into the second room and see three metal beds, along with a bunch of broken IV stands stashed in the corner. I move ahead. What if this person knows I came with Theo?
My entire thought process comes to a screeching halt and so do my feet. The sense of dread turns into something debilitatingly familiar.
Maybe I shouldn’t have left Theo outside. Alone. Without a weapon. What if that was the goal? To hurt him. Or worse.
The thought cuts through me like cold steel slicing through my wrists, and before I even realize it, I’m moving back toward the exit. Maybe it isn’t that bad of an idea to come back in with Theo. It’s better than leaving him outside all alone —
A sharp, clattering noise rings out, cutting through the silence. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my phone’s flashlight in hand.
What the fuck was that?
I grip my scalpel tight, fingers cold, knuckles white. I point my phone up ahead. Nothing. Just shadows. What the hell? I definitely heard something. I wasnothallucinating. Not thistime. My skin prickles. I draw in deep, shaky breaths, willing myself to calm down. Maybe it was the wind. Must’ve knocked something down —
CRASH!
I immediately turn to my left and — fucking hell. Rats. A mass of them, scattering across the floor, their red eyes reflecting the light, teeth glinting in the dark. Pure relief floods me, softening my posture. Thank god —
A hand slaps over my mouth, yanking me into one of the rooms. My scream is smothered, swallowed whole by the rough palm. My body goes into instant panic mode, thrashing against the stranger’s grip, but I’m too slow. A fist connects with the side of my stomach. Sharp pain radiates through me.Fuck! My scalpel slips from my hand, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Something else hits the side of my head and shoulder. Pain shoots up my side as I thrash.
I try to kick. My knee lands somewhere, but it’s not enough. I headbutt him, aiming for his nose, but it only makes both of us stumble, crashing into the wall.
His voice is low, furious. “Dumb fucking cunt!”
He pulls my hair hard, yanking me back, and I feel something cold and jagged sliding along my thigh. Searing pain. I cry out.
It feels like my flesh is being torn open, the sharp edge of something cutting into me. I glance down and see a glass shard. I jerk forward instinctively, but his hand tightens around my hair, keeping me where I am. I feel the shard digging deeper, and I can’t stop the scream that rips from my throat. Wetness starts to seep down my leg, warm and thick. Blood.
The sharpness of the glass pulls away momentarily. But the moment of relief is short-lived. His hand grips my throat, his fingers tightening. The air is sucked out of my lungs, suffocating me. My hands claw at his wrist, my nails digging into his skin,trying to pry him off, but he just tightens his grip, and the world starts to dim.
My heart thunders in my chest, panic rising in my throat. My chest is on fire. My head goes light. My limbs go heavy. I need…something. I…my scalpel. I feel the world tilting, darkness threatening to swallow me whole. My pulse is deafening in my ears; my chest is collapsing in on itself. Fading...fading...fading…
His grip loosens completely.
I crash to the floor, gasping, coughing, my hands instinctively clutching at my throat. Air bursts into my lungs, cold and painful, but I take it. My chest rises and falls in frantic gulps.
Dizzy and disoriented, I look over my shoulder and see a hazy silhouette. Theo?
He’s on the bastard, his fist connecting with the man’s face with a sickening crunch. Blood sprays, splattering his knuckles. But he doesn’t stop. Another punch. Harder. Then another.
The man’s fist catches Theo in the ribs. Then an elbow in his face. He grunts, doubling over. Blood trickles from a split in his lip. He wipes it with the back of his hand before grabbing the man’s wrist, twisting it painfully, and slamming his arm against the wall. “You fuckingthinkabout touching her again —” Theo growls through gritted teeth, landing a punch square to the man’s jaw. “And I’ll cut off your fingers —” Another punch. “And shove them” —punch— “right” —punch— “down” —punch— “your” —punch— “throat.”
The man’s head snaps back, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. All over the red snake on his gray, faded hoodie, and — wait a second. Iknowthis man. I…I’ve seen him before. He’s the same guy who was trying to enter my building this morning.
“Actually,” Theo staggers back, prompting my attention back to him. Chest heaving, he spits on the floor — red streaks ofblood mingling with saliva and swipes the back of his hand across his split lip, smearing more blood onto his jaw.
He doesn’t look at me. He just picks up my scalpel from the ground, walks back to my attacker, and grabs his arm, slamming it up against the wall. No words, just the cold, vicious intent in his eyes.
The man’s eyes widen in realization as Theo holds his arm in place and pries his fingers open one by one. The blade of my scalpel shines for a split second before it presses flat against the man’s fingers, aligning it with bone. There’s a moment of resistance. Theo adjusts his grip. The blade sinks deeper, grinding through cartilage and bone with a sickening crunch. Blood sprays across the lower half of Theo’s face and the man’s half-severed fingers drop to the floor with a faint, fleshy thud.
The scream that erupts from the man’s throat is bone-chilling.
