by Hamel, B. B.
“Dr. Chen, huh. I take it he’s their personal doctor?”
“I guess so. He didn’t go into detail.”
“All right, that’s good to know then. We can reach out to him if we need to.”
“It’s not much though. I mean, we still don’t know anything.”
“No, we don’t, but we’re getting started.” He chuckled slightly. “You know, I’m weirdly jealous of Gavin.”
“Yeah? You wish you got chased out of town by the mafia?”
“No, but he found someone he loves. That’s no small thing.”
“I didn’t know you were a hopeless romantic.”
“Not exactly, but you have to admit, there’s something appealing about the whole thing.”
I hesitated and eyed my empty wine glass. “Honestly, I don’t ever plan on having a family.”
He was quiet for a second. “I’m curious about why not, but you don’t have to tell me.”
“I know I don’t.” I clenched my jaw and felt like an idiot for saying that. “I gotta get going. I’ll see you later.”
I hung up before he could argue and tossed my phone to the other side of the couch in frustration.
I didn’t know why I told him I didn’t want a family, because that wasn’t exactly true. It wasn’t that I didn’t want one—but that I couldn’t have one.
My fingers played with the scar on my stomach again and I stared up at the ceiling of my tiny apartment and heard water dripping somewhere, the muffled sounds of my downstairs neighbors arguing, a radio playing in the apartment next to mine, and I pictured all their tiny lives playing out in rooms like mine, their own thoughts and feelings centered on their own experiences, and my quiet life another side effect, another minor thing happening on the margins. It was strange, picturing it all, and I felt a crushing sense of loneliness, one I hadn’t felt in such a long time—or at least hadn’t let myself feel.
It was Dean and I knew it. He woke this up in me, made me start thinking about my future, about what I wanted from the rest of my life, and I almost resented him for it. We’ve known each other for a while, but it wasn’t until recently, when we got involved with this mafia thing, with this money laundering mystery, that I began to wonder if maybe I did need more.
It didn’t matter what I wanted or needed. Biology was just that, and reality couldn’t be denied.
I got up, filled up my glass, and tried not to let my bitterness overwhelm me.
6
Dean
I lounged back in my office looking over a patient file, exhausted from a long shift. I tried to focus on the chart in front of me—lab results, doctor notes, patient history—but none of it cohered into anything resembling a rational diagnosis. It was frustrating, but unsurprising. This sort of thing was usually fixed by a good night’s sleep, something that I’d been sorely lacking lately.
It was past midnight and the hospital was quiet. Everyone hated night shifts, except for me, of course. I actually liked the hospital at night—the silent, dimmed halls, the sounds of the nursing and janitorial staff moving around as quietly as they could, the hushed voices over beeping monitors. Night was always a surreal time, and I felt as though I got my best work done when the place was half asleep.
Except for tonight, of course. Tonight, I was on the tail end of a twelve-hour shift and ready to get the fuck back to my apartment and into my comfortable bed, but I had one last task before I could check out for the evening. I checked the time again, and again, and finally took out my phone to text Fiona.
—Hello, Fiona, are you ready to break some laws?
She got back to me ten minutes later.
— Can you not say it that way??
— I take it that means you’re all set. Come meet me at my office.
She didn’t reply, but ten minutes later, I heard footsteps on the carpet outside. I stood and opened the door, and there stood Fiona, her auburn hair shining, her eyes pissed off and wary.
“I still think this is a massively bad idea,” she said.
“And I still hear you, but respectfully disagree.” I stepped out of my office, shut the door, and locked it. “Now come on, let’s get moving.”
She grunted in reply and followed me to the elevators. We rode them in silence up to the top floor, and stepped out onto the administrative wing.
Most of the lights were off. I lingered in the elevator lobby, listening for any sounds, but heard nothing. I grabbed Fiona by the wrist on instinct and held her there, and although she glared at me, she didn’t try to pull away. We walked inside together, trying not to make any sounds, and I had to admit that the place seemed almost eerie in the evening. Only emergency lights shone, casting barely enough to see by. I took a small pen flashlight from my pocket and clicked it on, and Fiona gave me a look, but said nothing.
We reached Maria’s office and the door was unlocked. The inside was as cluttered and messy as before, but it looked somehow ominous without the bright fluorescents. Fiona reached for the switch, but I stopped her, hand on her shoulder.
“Keep it dark,” I whispered then handed her the flashlight. “You check the filing cabinets.”
She gave me a look then shook her head in frustration but started rifling through drawers. I walked to the desk and booted up the computer as I looked through Maria’s bookshelves.
Nothing interesting jumped out at me. I did notice that the bundle of cash in her bottom left drawer was gone, which had to mean something—she probably took it home with her and spent it all. I wondered what a hospital administrator would need with that kind of money, what sort of extravagances she was addicted to, but then again, she could need it for more mundane things. Sick relative, old debts, any number of crushing financial burdens could cause her to take mafia money.
Once the computer turned on, I stared at a login screen, before pulling open the knee drawer. Inside was a Post-It note with a string of letters and numbers written in Maria’s cramped hand.
“Shitty security,” I muttered, grinning as I typed in the password and logged in.
I plugged a USB stick into the computer tower then started copying over files. I did it in big batches, taking entire folders, not discriminating. She had a lot of stuff on there, and I had no clue what I was looking for, so I figured I could go through it all later.
“Look at this,” Fiona whispered, holding the flashlight over a stack of papers.
I got up and walked over, peering over her shoulder. I got closer to her than I needed to, mostly because it was dark, and this was exciting, and she drove me wild. She glanced back at me but said nothing, nodding at the pages.
There were numbers in columns, lots and lots of numbers. “What am I looking at?”
“Financial report from 2016.”
“That’s pretty old. And you know what it says?”
“I’m not an idiot.” She gave me a look.
I laughed. “I guess I’m an idiot, because that looks like gibberish.”
“This is for one particular insurance company. Here, there are more in these folders.”
“Anything recent?”
“I think she has it up to this year.”
“Grab that folder.”
She hesitated. “Won’t she notice it’s missing?”
“I’ll replace it the day after tomorrow.”
She sighed, took the folder, and tucked it under her arm, then went back to searching. I walked to the computer, finished downloading files, yanked the USB stick, and turned off the computer. I stood and watched Fiona for a second, marveling at how far she’d come. A couple weeks ago, she never would’ve set foot in Maria’s office like this, and now she was stealing like a professional. I was proud of her, in a weird way, and insanely attracted to her dedication.
“We should go,” I whispered.
She nodded and stood, folder tucked under one arm. As we moved to the door, I heard a sound out in the main cube farm. I held up a hand and peered around the corner—and spotted a janitor dumping trash c
ans into the big bucket attached to his cart. He hummed to himself, bobbing his head to a portable radio playing classic rock.
I moved back into the office and put my hand over the flashlight. Fiona stared at me, eyes wide. “Janitor,” I hissed.
She turned off the flashlight. I took it and slipped it into my pocket. The office was pitch black then, the door opened only the barest of cracks, just enough to see. I felt Fiona press herself closer to me, looking outside, and we stood there frozen in place. Her body was warm and I slipped an arm around her waist, not thinking about it, moving on autopilot—and she drifted closer to me, pressing tighter like a cat.
I breathed her smell and wondered what was happening here, in this moment, in this place. I always told myself I wasn’t going to get involved with women, that I had to keep myself as far away from them as possible. Sex was one thing, but feelings, relationships, melding two lives together was a step I couldn’t take, and I knew Fiona wasn’t the type of girl to go for a one-night stand.
She was something else. Smart, angry, beautiful. I wanted more of her every time we were together, and now in this office, in this moment where our futures hung in the balance, I found myself needing her more than I dreamed possible.
The janitor moved as if in slow motion. We stayed in that office, waiting as he went cube to cube, dumping, humming, sometimes singing. He was a skinny white guy, stringy dark hair cut short, patchy beard and blotchy skin.
“We have to make a break for it,” I whispered.
“We can wait until he goes.”
I shook my head. “He’ll do the offices next.”
She sucked in a breath. “Shit. You’re right.”
“He’ll come here last. So when he hits that first office up there, we’ll get out, okay?”
“Maybe he won’t. Maybe we can wait.” I heard the hope in her voice, and I knew she was lying to herself.
I pulled her tight against me. She let out a surprised breath and I pressed my lips against her ear, whispering directly against her, my body ringing with the illicit thrill of it. “We have to run,” I said. “Trust me.”
She turned slightly, almost pulling herself free, but stopped. I felt her tip her chin up toward me, her cheek brushing against mine, as her lips moved closer to my ear.
“Don’t ever pull me like that again.”
And then she pushed me back and I could see her glaring at me in the darkness.
I grinned at her, unable to help it, then looked back through the crack. The janitor cleared the last two trashcans, then angled for the office at the front left the room.
“Ready?” I said.
“Wait—”
I threw the door open and strode out, walking fast, but not running. The janitor was in the office, dumping the can, his back turned to us. I reached the far end of the cube farm and put it between him and me.
Fiona followed, hurrying and barely making the edge. We walked to the far end then paused and listened as the janitor left that first office and went to the next one. I held up a hand, waiting, waiting, and once he was inside—I made my move, reaching back to grab Fiona’s wrist, tugging her along.
I heard her curse, and I knew she was pissed, but we reached the elevator bank. I smashed the button, and the doors opened. She slipped in first, and I followed, and I leaned back against the wall, releasing a pent-up breath as the doors slid shut and the car dropped down.
Neither of us spoke in the heavy quiet of the elevator ride. When it reached my office’s floor, I turned to her and held out a hand. She stared at me, her eyes sparkling malice, and she handed the folder over—but didn’t release it.
“Are you sure you can read it?”
The doors started to shut, and I held them open with my foot. “I’ll figure it out.”
She snorted. “Maybe I should keep this.”
“Maybe, but I have a feeling you don’t want to risk getting caught with something like that.”
She opened her mouth then shut it again. She released the folder, passing it into my hands—and the responsibility that came with it.
I hesitated another moment, looking at her, and I felt her apprehension, her anger, and I wanted to ask her what happened to make her hate me like this, to make her cringe back when I came too near, and instead I turned away, letting the doors close behind me as I left her there and returned to my office.
She wouldn’t answer. I knew it as well as she did. I’d have to earn my answers one way or another, whether she wanted to give them or not.
7
Fiona
I felt like I was on an adrenaline high for the next day. Every time I paused for long enough, I thought about our little heist, and my stomach did strange flips.
Not only because we’d robbed the hospital administrator’s office. There was also that moment near the door, when he whispered in my ear, and pulled me close against him, and I liked feeling his body so near, warm, liquid with pleasure and ease, confident and strong—I liked it so much more than I thought I would. When his lips were close to my ear, I felt a shiver of pleasure roll down my spine. It scared me, and I lashed out against him like I knew I would, pushing him away.
I shouldn’t have done it. I should have leaned into that moment and enjoyed it like I wanted to, but years and years of keeping people at a distance trained me to react with anger to any perceived hint of emotion and warmth.
It wasn’t a good quality of mine, but it was necessary to get me through the day, to keep me going, keep me sane.
I didn’t hear from him right away, not until a couple days later. I was looking in on a patient, a young girl named Lynn. She was a little pixie of a thing with short dark hair, big round eyes, and a beaming, infectious smile. I’d seen her in the hospital a couple of times before, each time coming in for the same complaint: a constant headache, most of the time mild and dull, but sometimes so intense it made her vomit and shake. Today was one of those awful times, and she grimaced as I walked into the room, as if having another person around made her head hurt worse.
“How are you today?” I asked, lingering next to her bed before checking her vitals.
“Oh, you know,” she said, “hanging in there.” She tried to smile and grimaced again.
“What did Dr. Foster say?” I asked. She was Richard’s patient, which was a shame for her, because Richard was a total asshole. He was a good doctor, but a real jerk.
“He’s ordering more tests,” she said. “Although we’ve done everything already. Bloodwork, MRI, everything.”
“There’s always another test.” I sighed a little, adjusted the flow on her IV, and pretended to be busy, while really, I just wanted to make sure she was comfortable. “Dr. Foster’s good. He’ll figure out what’s up.”
“I’m suffering,” she said. “You know what I mean? I’m starting to feel like this thing won’t ever go away.”
“I know, I’m so sorry.” I frowned a little and gave her that look every nurse learned to give—a strange combination of pity and empathy.
“Thanks.” She tried to smile again and managed it.
“Try to rest if you can. Do you need anything? Water or anything?”
“Water would be good.”
“Sure thing. I’ll be right back.” I walked out into the hall, got her a big cup with water and ice, then lingered at the nurses’ station.
Dr. Foster really had ordered everything. I’d looked at her chart the last time I checked in on her and saw that he’d done pretty much everything, which suggested he had no clue what was going on with her. I knew doctors pretty well, and when they got to the point of not knowing a damn thing about a patient’s condition, they’d more often than not punt them off on someone else, or send them home with some bullshit diagnosis and some generic prescription.
I didn’t want that to happen to Lynn. She was a sweet girl, maybe a couple years older than me, and I couldn’t imagine living with a chronic headache like that.
I sat down behind the nurses’ station and
hovered over the phone. I wanted to call Dean and ask him to come down and give his opinion, but I knew I shouldn’t do it—that would be swerving far out of my lane into inappropriate territory. But I knew that if anyone could help her, it was him, and Dr. Foster would never ask him for help. They were sort of friends, and sort of rivals, and Richard Foster would be much, much too proud to ask Dean for a second opinion.
I cursed to myself, dialed his pager number, and hung up. He’d get the page and come when he could.
I returned to her room, left her some water, made small talk, and as I went back to my station, I spotted Dean lingering in the hall with a mildly confused look on his face. I walked out and waved him down before one of the other nurses or doctors could ask him why he was lurking around.
“I was wondering if it was you,” he said, leaning up against the wall outside of Lynn’s room.
“I was hoping you could help with something.”
“Sure, no problem, but I have to admit, I thought you were making a social call.”
I snorted. “I wouldn’t page you if it weren’t for work.”
“Fair enough.” He glanced toward Lynn’s door. “Is this about the patient in there?”
“Her name’s Lynn, twenty-five, chronic headache.”
“Who’s her doc?”
“Foster.”
He smirked. “That asshole.”
“He’s got no clue what’s going on with her. Hit her with every test imaginable already and still got nothing.”
“You want me to take a look at her chart?” His knowing smile pissed me off and I had to take a breath before I answered.
“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind.”
He shrugged. “Anything for my partner in crime.”
I wanted to scream but I forced a smile on my face. He knew how strange it was for a nurse to call in a doctor for a second opinion, and he’d be risking the wrath of Dr. Foster if he went in there and spoke with that girl, so I couldn’t be too angry with him. Even if that cocky smile pissed me off.