Chapter 2
Fourteen years later...
The machines light turns green as it lets out a soft beep when my card slides through—accepting that I am indeed Shae Gresham. With a weary sigh, I open the door leading into outpatient surgery. The white walls swallowing away the light created by the humming fluorescent lights. White tile floors squeak under my tennis shoes, the stench of cleaning chemicals and medicines mixing together into a toxic cologne—our hospital's signature smell.
Letting out a low sigh, I berate myself for being so rash as a college freshman. Ready to rush through any door open to me in order to gain my final sense of independence away from my mom and step-dad. But, with my naivety and need to move out as quickly as possibly I had signed up for a nursing degree. Though I'm lucky that Chikelu Hospital was generous enough to help pay for school, I'm now entitled to work for them for at least four years. A tempting idea at the time that I had wasted no second in devouring that only left me with an associate's degree. Now, two years later, at the age of twenty, I'm already beginning to feel the stress add a decade to my looks. Sometimes outright hating my job.
The doctors have bipolar mood swings that change at the drop of a dime. Friendly one moment then yelling at me and my co-worker for not moving fast enough the next—even when we've done more than thirty patients in four hours. However, they pale in comparison to the older nurses. There is a saying, "Nurses are known to eat their young". I can't even recall the number of fresh faces I've seen popped in here only to vanish a few weeks to a month later with the older nurses having satisfied looks on their faces.
I'm too young for this stress.
Luckily though, I don't have to work weekends or major holidays and I'm not an on-call nurse. Honestly, I feel sorry for those poor souls who get called at the break of dawn to rush to work. I briskly walk towards my nurse manager, Shirley Stocks. Her short rusty red hair making her easily noticed in the distance. At the age of forty-three, Shirley has been working here for over twenty years and her looks show it. Bony, crooked fingers tap in rhythm against her clipboard, the joints stiff with arthritis. Her sides and torso plump from three childbirths, her face drooping with fatigue. Pink lips press into a thin line when she spots me walking down the hall, a shaky sigh leaving her lips.
"We have sixty-seven patients today," she says, "You have bed six, seven, and eight today. Hopefully we can be done by five." I nod and fake smiles grow on our faces. Not towards each other but for our patients, preparing ourselves for another long day.
As Shirley waddles away to her patients, I stride over to my own. Opening the blue curtain I take patient seven's chart off the wall. My eyes scan over the papers, noting his gender, age, and need of a knee operation before noticing that no one had yet to take a blood sample from him—a simple procedure. As I close the curtains behind me, I turn to face my first patient of the day with a practiced perfect smile on my face.
The hefty middle age man is bald with a few stray hairs sticking up here and there, the upper half of his body covered with the typical hospital dress that ties in the back; a blanket protecting his lower half from the hospital's chill.
"Good morning!" I greet, making my voice sound chipper, "How are you, today?"
The old man smiles at me before shooting into a full-length story about his day. I inwardly cringe, hoping that he'd do the regular 'fine, how are you', but do my best to talk along as I take his blood pressure. "Alright Mr. Cormick, do you have an addictions? Smoking? Drinking? Perhaps some—"
"I know the routine darlin'. No need to start getting all fussy," the old man laughs, "Been smoking for about fifty years and drinking for half of that. Of course I only do that to socialize."
I hum in response, reading the little needle before jotting the numbers down. "You're having chest and back pain, correct?"
"That's what I told them up front."
Again I nod and pull up the back of his shirt, placing my stethoscope against his back. "Breath in deeply for me. That's it, once more." The patient slowly releases his second breath and I jot down another note. His breathing seems fine at least. "Have you been doing any vigorous activity lately?" I ask, pulling the medical instrument from my ears, "Picking up heavy boxes or doing a new exercises?"
His wrinkles downcast into a grimace. "Hell no, but my grandson has taken up to that bendy-windy crap." I absently nod, placing the other equipment back into the drawer. Whenever I look up however I see a gleam in his eyes. My heart sinks.
"You know you're about his age," he comments, a smile growing on his face, "If you want I would be happy to—"
"Thank you but I'll have to decline," I calmly interrupt, grabbing the clipboard and hastily standing up, "Doctor Long will be here soon to take care of you."
My patient nods with a confused smile and with a small wave I walk out to place his clipboard back on the wall. This dull pattern continuing for every patient I have for the rest of my workday.
****
A tired but happy sigh escapes my lips when the clock's little hand lands on five. Snatching my purse out of one of the cabinets, I glance around for Shirley. Eventually, finding her engrossed in stickering a patient's chart.
"Mrs. Shirley," I call causing her to pause and look up at me, "I'm leaving for the day." Her lips turn up in a crinkled smile. "Bye Shae, get some rest. I can see dark circles growing under your pretty blue eyes."
I shrug and smile. "I'll try."
"You will not try, Shae. You will get some rest."
A short laugh leaves my mouth at the comment and with a wave good-bye I exit the building. The drive home is quiet, my radio letting out a soft and sweet serenade. Pulling up to my two story small apartment, I swiftly exit the car and make my way up to the red door to my makeshift home. The lock gives a small click as I twist the key and as I enter the apartment I dump my keys, purse, and shoes by the door before walking into the kitchen area. My stomach growls as I reach into the fridge and pull out a plate of leftover spaghetti, ignoring my craving for the cookie dough that sits beside it.
"No, Shae," I quietly scold myself, placing the plate into the microwave and setting it to heat, "Eat healthy. Less sugar more actual meals."
After devouring my meal, I dump my plate in the sink and head upstairs. Grabbing a change of clothes from my bedroom before walking into the adjoined bathroom between my roommate's room and mine. I grimace when I see a pair of wrinkled red boxers on the otherwise neat floor. Scrunching up my nose I reach out with my foot and clasp the offending clothing between my toes and throw it into the laundry basket. Making a mental note to talk to the owner of the boxers about this later.
Placing my clean clothes on the counter, I peel off my work uniform and throw them into the hamper before eagerly jumping into the shower. With the twist of a knob I sigh as the feel of warm water washes over my skin. The heat melting the stress accumulated in my muscles and making me sigh in pleasure. I take my time lathering myself up and washing away the suds, delighted to finally be home. But like all good things, this soon comes to an end. The warm water steadily drizzling down to a cold chill.
Climbing out of the tub, I wrap a towel around my slim form and glance at my blurry reflection in the fogged mirror. Posing for fun as I run a hand down my chest to my sharp hips. My usually tamed red hair falling in wet waves around my shoulders, the natural sun-kissed highlights from my days in the summer sun giving it a beautiful shine. The only thing I truly wish were gone are my freckles. They cover every inch of my pale flesh and even applying makeup to my face won't hide them some days.
Grabbing my self-salon kit, I rub sugar scented body lotion onto my skin. Thoughts of dinner dates and moonlight walks filling my head. A sharp squeak abruptly enters my ears—the noise similar to that of a finger running over glass.
I freeze. My heart racing as a thought comes to mind. Did I lock the front door?
My grip tightens on the towel, my heart beginning to beat erratically in my chest. I turn towards the mirror and start to shake.
'Hello, Shae' is written clearly in the fogged up glass. Gathering my courage I lean closer towards the beautiful incursive handwriting when a handprint covers my name with a thump. Stumbling backwards, I let out a scream—my hazardous half-fall sending bottles of shampoo and body wash crashing to the floor. My face pales when something blue runs out of the corner of my eye. The feel of warm breath on the back of my neck making me snap my head to look back.
Nothing is there.
I turn back to the mirror, figuring my mind is playing tricks on me when something flashes across the mirror. My blood runs cold. It was only a glance but I can't help but feel a growing fear settle itself inside my mind at the image. A figure made of bones and sharp teeth, with black eyes staring straight at me.
Maybe I'd imagined the disgusting smile it flashed at me. The creature had been there only for a second but a pulse tension begins to grow in me. Terror washes over me as a deep chuckle echoes throughout the bathroom, the silence following unnerving. Eyes wide with fright I hear the door slowly creak open before me. Every instinct in me yelling at me to flee but I can't find the courage to move away from the mirror. Frozen to the floor in fear.
An arm wraps around my waist and I let out a blood-curling scream.
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