Lucidity

Chapter 3 - Lightning Strikes

Kat drummed her fingers impatiently on the back of Alex’s chair. They’d never had a suspect use the stairs before. Usually the hardest part was trying to look inconspicuous while crowding on the elevator with the people they tailed. “We need to steal one of the elevator keys. Then we can call an elevator whenever we want.”

It wasn’t an impossible idea. Kat’s distractions and Alex’s sleight of hand had already garnered them keys to the old rooftop helipad, the seventh floor Annex, and the basement boiler room. Not bad for a couple of kids.

Finally, the elevator came to a halt on the first floor. Kat pushed Alex out, parking him at the junction between the corridors leading to the cafeteria and the ER. She pushed the stairwell door ajar, listening. At first, there was silence and she worried that they’d lost their quarry. Then the tap-tap of sneaker clad shoes began to approach.

“Keep your eyes open,” she told Alex. She took up her own position in the hospital gift shop where she could watch the paths to the main lobby and the pharmacy. The volunteer at the register looked at her in disapproval as Kat grabbed a copy of Cosmopolitan to hide behind.

The dark-haired woman emerged from the stairwell between her and Alex, moving past Kat without glancing in her direction.

The itching beneath Kat’s scalp grew from annoying to nerve jarring, now accompanied by the telltale smell of wet horse. Shit, not now. The magazine began to rustle then shake as Kat’s hand twitched uncontrollably, her fist clenching without direction, crumbling the magazine into a wrinkled cylinder.

Damn seizure. She forced herself to breathe deep, willing the seizure to remain partial, only usurping her arm and hand, refusing to allow it to spread further through her brain or body.

“Are you all right?” the volunteer asked, her voice sugary with politeness.

“Go ‘way,” Kat said through clenched teeth, all her concentration and will power focused on her renegade brain.

Their suspect turned toward the main lobby. She heard the wheels of Alex’s wheelchair graze across the carpet, stopping in front of the gift shop.

“Come on,” he urged, breathless with the exertion.

“I’m calling for help.” The volunteer went behind the counter to the phone.

Kat tried to drop the magazine. Her hand remained clenched tight. To hell with it. She took her place behind Alex and began pushing him with one hand.

They couldn’t lose their prey.

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Grace disapproved of the new decor in the lobby. It must have been updated when the Tower opened. She crossed over thick cinnamon-colored carpet that reminded her of rotting peaches. From the volunteer desk wafted the odor of flowers not-quite-decayed.

What designer had convinced them that this decor evoked feelings of confidence or a healing atmosphere? The wood was stained an ochre color. The art covering the walls consisted of twisted pieces of rusted steel. To Grace’s eyes it appeared splattered with blood as if it was evidence recycled from crime scenes.

She shuddered and quickened her steps toward the large revolving doors at the entrance. Here was her escape, her way home. Back to Jimmy.

Rain buffeted the glass, creating an impenetrable grey shroud beyond the brightly lit lobby. Grace hesitated, pulling her hand back from the cold steel surrounding the vibrating glass. Her breathing quickened and the hairs on the back of her arms stood at attention. Beyond the doors, storm clouds stacked high, threatening to swallow the sky.