Page 104 of Hide and Seek
“Babe?”
Panic rises in my chest as I grab my car keys off the entryway table and dash right past him, too worked up to stop and grab a pair of shoes or to even close my apartment door behind me.
My bare feet pound against the cold hallway floor, every last one of my internal stitches screaming in anguish, and despite the pain, I keep pushing myself forward, knowing I’ll have hell to pay later, but it doesn’t matter. Not right now. I have to figure this out. I have to know that this is real.
“Harper?” Laith calls behind me, his voice sounding so real, but I know deep in my heart that it’s not.
As I reach the first flight of stairs, my head whips back, staring at Laith still standing by my door, and it breaks me, but I keep running, hurrying down the stairs as my body screams for me to stop. But I won’t, this is too important. Too big. I have to confirm what I already know. I have to see it for myself.
Tears well in my eyes, blurring my vision, and I hastily wipe them away, terrified of missing a step and falling right to the bottom, but I push through it until finally reaching the underground parking structure beneath my building.
My car isn’t in its normal spot, and I have to search, trying to figure out where the hell Knight parked it the night he retrieved it from my attacker’s home. After taking way too long, I finally find it, hidden in the furthest row.
Within seconds, I’m in my car, one hand clutched over my aching stomach, the other pressing the engine’s start button. I back out of my spot faster than lightning, and before I know it, I’m on the road, my windshield wipers flying across the glass as rain pours down over me.
The agony of the run almost has me passing out, but I force my body to clutch onto consciousness, determined to seethis through. I suck in deep breaths through my clenched jaw, desperately willing the pain to fade while hoping like fuck that I haven’t pulled a stitch.
I arrive at Blackstone Private Hospital within ten minutes, and after bailing out of my car, I have no choice but to slow my pace. My body is physically incapable of keeping up with my desperation. People glance my way, looking at the crazed lunatic rushing through the parking garage, barefoot and in pajamas, but I ignore every last one of them, not stopping until I make my way through the main doors of the hospital and straight to the elevator that takes me down to the morgue.
My hands tremble as I picture Laith’s face. “No, no, no, no, no,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head as I wait for the elevator. I can’t stand still, rocking from left to right, and when my trembling hands become too much, I have no choice but to cross them over my chest and tuck them beneath my arms.
“No, no, no, no, no.” I repeat it like a mantra, over and over again, knowing in my gut that Laith is gone. I saw him with my own two eyes. Felt him. Held him. That man standing at my door, that wasn’t him. That was my mind playing tricks on me. It had to be. There’s no other explanation. Honestly, it’s almost ironic. Just last night, Knight was telling me that I was imagining things, and now this morning, I actually am.
The elevator door opens, and a bunch of nurses and doctors clamber in with me, pressing the buttons so that I don’t have to worry about it. They all mind their business, not gaping at me like the people out in the parking garage had. It’s not the first time someone around here has shown up in their pajamas and looking worse for wear, and it won’t be the last time. It’s a joke that goes around the hospital—if you haven’t had a little mental breakdown at some point, are you even a real doctor?
Reaching the basement floor, I slip out of the elevator and hurry down the hall to the morgue, my feet taking me fasterthan my body is capable of, and just as I reach the door and automatically go for the access card that usually hangs from my scrubs, I realize my mistake.
It’s laying on my entryway table, right next to where my keys usually sit.
“Fuck.”
Frustration surges through me. I could race back home and get it, risk running straight into the man who I know without a doubt wasn’t Laith, or I could take my ass up to security and ask for a new access card. Or . . .
My fists slam against the door. “Dr. McKullan,” I call out, hoping like fuck that someone’s actually in there. I never actually checked the time, but it feels quite early. He might not be in yet, but I keep trying. “Dr. McKullan. Please, open up.”
The door opens a moment later, and I find Dr. McKullan staring back at me, his brows furrowed as he takes me in. I’ve always done everything I can to appear professional in front of my boss, but right now, I couldn’t care less.
I need to know that I’m not losing my mind.
“Dr. Madden?” he grumbles, his gaze sweeping over the nasty bruises still lingering on my skin. “What are you doing here? You should be home resting. You’re in no condition to be working.”
I cringe and barge right past him. “I’m sorry,” I rush out, hurrying straight through the morgue and to the massive refrigeration unit across the back of the room. “I just . . . I need to check something. My friend, he was here. He—”
“Is everything alright, Harper?” he asks, cutting me off as he follows me deeper into the morgue, the few day shift pathologists side-eyeing me.
I shake my head, barely able to get a single thought out as I make my way down the refrigeration unit, looking for locker thirty-six. Finding it almost immediately, I grip the handle andquickly twist before yanking the door open and pulling the table right out.
Laith’s black body bag stares back at me, and I reach for the zipper without hesitation.
“Dr. Madden. What on earth do you think you’re doing?” Dr. McKullan demands, knowing damn well that I haven’t stopped to scrub in or even bothered to find a pair of gloves, let alone a pair of shoes, but that’s not important to me. I have to see Laith.
I grip the zipper tighter and pull it down, revealing the body beneath, and I suck in a loud gasp. There’s a man here, tall with dark hair. He’s attractive and has one hell of a nasty gunshot wound right in the center of his chest, but he’s not Laith.
“Where is he?” I demand, my crazed stare snapping up to Dr. McKullan as I hastily do up the bag and push the table back inside the unit. I dive for locker thirty-seven. Maybe I made a mistake. It’s rare, but it happens, and after performing Laith’s autopsy, I wasn’t exactly in the best head space. Maybe I wasn’t focused. Maybe I put him in the wrong unit. “The man who was in locker thirty-six. Laith Mitchell. Where is he?”
“What are you talking about?” Dr. McKullan questions, slowly coming closer as I pull out the next one and hastily check inside the bag, only to come up empty. “We don’t have anybody here by that name. Thirty-six belongs to a gunshot victim, James Harding.”
I stop and look back at the doctor. “No. No, that’s not right. I put him there myself. The man who was in locker thirty-six,” I repeat just in case he’s not following. He’s getting old so sometimes he forgets things. “Laith Mitchell. I performed the external part of his autopsy last Monday and put him in thirty-six. I made a note of it. That number has haunted me ever since. He was my friend. One of my best friends, and now his body is not here. I need to know where he went. Where did he go?” Mygaze snaps to the girls who are trying not to gawk at me. “Did one of you move him?”
