Monachopsis

Chapter XXXI: Hunting For Hags

I don't think I'll ever get over how quiet a hospital can get. Growing up, my mother worked as an E.R. nurse during the week. She always used to say that commenting on a lull in the E.R. was like inviting a curse. But now, as I snuck through the barren halls of Dane County Memorial Hospital, I felt like even the smallest noise would draw attention to us.

"Talk about spooky," I murmured. I followed Dean and Sam down another hall. Sam turned and shushed me. I stuck my tongue out at him.

Just as we were about to round another corner, Dean turned abruptly, causing me to almost slam into his chest. Sam picked up the cue better than I did, turning with him just in time to help catch me before I sent us spilling across the shiny floor. The surprise had me sucking in a breath, causing the air to once again catch in my throat. I held my breath, not even daring to move for fear of setting loose the coughs held captive in my chest.

"Goodnight, Dr. Hydaker," a woman was speaking.

A man replied. "See you tomorrow, Betty."

"Try to get some sleep," Betty said. Then a tall, lanky man strode past. Miraculously, he didn't even glance in our direction.

As soon as he disappeared down the opposite hall, I let loose. My body shuddered with the hacking seizing my body. I leaned against the wall for support and shoved a tissue against my face to catch anything I might cough out.

When the hacking ceased, Sam spoke up. "Gray, maybe this isn't such a good idea--"

"Shut up, Sam," I rasped, stashing the used tissue in my jacket pocket. "The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can leave." I turned to Dean. "Lead the way."

He hesitated, sharing a look with Sam that I didn't quite understand. Then he turned and started down the hall. We snuck by the Nurse's Station and down the dimly lit corridor, halting at a closed residential door marked 237. The lights inside were off, but a quick look through the small window in the door confirmed a small, hunched figure sat in a wheelchair. Sure enough, an inverted cross was hung on one wall.

Sam put one hand on the doorknob. Dean and I drew our guns. I clicked off the safety, nodding to Sam. Dean clicked off his safety, and Sam opened the door. Immediately I raised my pistol, darting inside the room and to the right. Dean creeped in right after me, gun raised as he moved silently around the old woman. Sam was the last one in, softly shutting the door and pointing his gun to the back of her head.

Nobody moved. No one dared even to breathe. From where I was standing, I couldn't see the woman's face clearly. But she sat very still. Unless I concentrated, I couldn't even be sure if she was breathing or not. The only light in the room came from outside, the moonlight interrupted by the open blinds. Dean leaned in close to her face. The hand holding my pistol tightened.

"Who the hell are you?!" My heart skipped a beat. I sucked in a breath and immediately began coughing. The old woman continued to rave. "Who's there? You trying to steal my stuff? They're always stealing around here."

Sam hit the lights. In the fluorescent glow, she didn't look witch-y. Well, not as witch-y.

"No, ma'am," Sam said hastily, still reeling. "We're maintenance. We're sorry. We thought you were sleeping."

Dean was pressed against the small dresser under the cross, looking annoyed more than anything else.

The old lady rasped, "Ah, nonsense. I was sleeping with my peepers open!" She choked out a laugh and jabbed a finger in Dean's direction. "And fix that crucifix, would you? I've asked four damn times already."

Dean turned. The cross, which had been hanging inverted, spun right-side up when he tapped it. He turned to us with a bewildered expression. I managed a small smile as I tucked my safety-on pistol into my jeans. My heart was still pounding, but between the coughing and the adrenaline, I was short of breath.

I looked from Dean to Sam, and shrugged my shoulders. I pointed my thumb at door and mouthed, Can we go now? I'm hungry.