Crimson

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Thick ruddy tears swelled in Isabella's eyes as her thoughts passed over the man whom she knew so little. Again, confused at the strength of her feelings, the weight of them for a lover or close loved one who passed, heavy grief which threatened to pulled her consciousness away from her own grasp, Isabella rushed to bring her attention back to work.

Opening up her locker, Isabella rushed to retrieve a spare set of scrubs. Looking around the dark room, she quickly undressed as she threw the scrubs upon her. Looking downward as she pulled the top down of her garment, Isabella noticed the lace of her bra seemed to stick out slightly. Annoyed, she threw off her pants before shoving her scrub bottoms on.

Now, a couple of minutes late for her shift, she ran through the hospital before arriving at the staircase. Her steps thundered as she flew up the stairs to her work floor. All the while, her thoughts continued to devolve into her own torment as she focused on all of the obstacles before her as well as Cheryl's snide remarks and terse face. A face she has become familiar with, one, which, her fist clenched on its own, begging to slap or punch her.

A slight chuckle resounded in the stairway, an echo, which distracted her before realizing it came from her own mouth. Smiling, Isabella reached the landing of her floor before reaching for the handle. As her mind continued to daydream of assaulting Cheryl, she barely noticed the handle bend awkwardly as she pulled it open. Silently it bent before protruding outward unaware of her strength; Isabella left the stairwell and embarked upon the floor towards her assigned ward.

Moments would pass before anyone noticed the anomaly of the new door handle. Confused and unnerved, the maintenance individuals could not make any sense of this vandalism, as the metal should have broken free of the locking mechanism.

Walking briskly into her ward, Isabella looked around to examine if any onlookers remained poised to address her tardiness. Hank and Lucy sat in the nurse's station shuffling some papers as Isabella made her way toward them, her eyes darting around, looking for Cheryl.

Watching her approach, casually, Hank laughed to himself knowing why she exhibited this behavior. Allowing her to remain unmolested in her agitation, Hank shifted in his seat before it made a soft, long creak. Isabella's eyes shot towards his before silently beckoning him to speak.

Finally savoring the moment to its finished, Hank said, "Don't worry Dorothy. The Wicked Witch hasn't arrived yet." As a pencil hit his chest, the culprit being Lucy as she returned to her work with a smile.

Immediately feeling her energy decrease, Isabella's hand began to throb. The very hand responsible for the broken combination lock and the door handle. Carefully examining it, she noticed a slight discoloration in her palm before rubbing it with her thumb as Hank joked with Lucy, mimicking the Wicked Witch's cackle. Confused, she continued to examine her palm as they bantered back and forth.

Returning to address Isabella, Hank said solemnly, confusing her gaze as troubled, as grief, "Looks like they put someone in his room already."

As her eyes briefly passed over the room, once again returning to the letter he left behind. Beads of sweat formed as she ruminated upon the letter, the memento left behind by Henry, the elderly, yet troubled soul who saw lizard people. The very same entities, which troubled Isabella.

Taking her away from her ecstasy, her removing her from the grasp of one who brought her such joy, such fulfillment, the avatar for these creatures, the luminescent beings who spoke in such a manner befitting ancient creatures, Isabella grew to accept them as reality. Another reality she shared with Henry. A collective feeling, a collective delusion, one could say if they knew what thoughts passed through her own mind.