"Could they make this place any creepier?"
Nicholas pulled into the parking space at Fithian Memorial at three minutes after nine. There were smatterings of cars and hospital vehicles parked in small clusters, but other than he and Clara, the entire visible area was devoid of activity.
"I can't imagine how," Clara said, pulling the strap from Aunt Maureen's bag over her shoulder.
"I mean, it's totally deserted," said Nicholas. "Visiting hours just ended a few minutes ago – you'd think we'd at least see some people leaving."
Clara opened the car door and stepped out. "True – but I've probably got a better chance of getting in since it's so empty."
Nicholas looked at her as she stepped into the dim glow of the parking lot lighting. A few roaming fireflies were the only other light source in the area.
"Hey – you sure you don't want me to come in with you?" he said.
"No, I'm good," Clara said, taking a long look at the old hospital. "I'm sure she'll be asleep by now. Hopefully I can get to her room and just drop this off." She tapped the bag. "I'll try to be fast."
She walked off toward the hospital's main entrance. The sunlight earlier had made its weathered facade look elegant in a shabby way – but now it looked like an abandoned mental asylum. Nicholas had really called it. It was truly creepy.
Clara reached the front door and pulled the handle. It was locked. Through the next set of doors she could see the nurse's station she'd passed earlier, which now stood unmanned. No staff roamed the dark hallways either. Weren't hospitals supposed to be filled with nurses sticking needles in patients throughout the night? But Clara did see something that gave her hope – on the opposite side of a glass walkway stood a door leading to a central courtyard. And it had been propped open with a bulky ashtray.
Clara stalked her way around the building's exterior to the courtyard. "The place must have the most open beds of any hospital," Clara thought as she looked inside the dark rooms. "And the strictest visitor's policy." She reached the propped-open door and stepped inside.
Clara looked around – first left, then right. Nothing. Then a nurse crossed the hallway, far enough down where there was no chance he'd have noticed Clara. She turned right and headed toward Aunt Maureen's room, feeling relieved that there was at least one person on duty in this place.
She passed a room and saw a nurse drawing blood from a sleeping man. Clara wouldn't have even known that anything was going on if she hadn't been looking so carefully – the nurse was practically silent. She continued walking with her head down and rounded the corner to Aunt Maureen's wing.
Clara kept moving. She could see a couple more patients in beds, but those rooms were in the minority. Breach Point must not have many sick people. She hoped Aunt Maureen would be leaving behind an empty bed soon enough.
She approached Aunt Maureen's room, reaching for the strap to pull the bag from her shoulder. When she finally looked up, what she saw in the room froze her in place.
Inside the room lay Aunt Maureen – still unconscious.
Surrounding Aunt Maureen – two on one side of her bed and the third on the other – stood figures in dark hooded outfits. Clara couldn't see any of their faces. They didn't speak. The only sound was the breeze blowing in through the open window behind them.
Clara tried to move but her limbs wouldn't cooperate. She watched as the short figure closest to Aunt Maureen leaned forward. Slowly, he caressed her hands – and began glowing. The orange light started in his chest, pushing through his clothes. It flowed down his arms, working its way through his hands and into Aunt Maureen. Her body seemed to raise up under the sheet – but her eyes remained closed.
Clara's heart pumped and her breathing had sped up so much that she was dizzy. She lost her grip on the bag and dropped it at her feet.
Her eyes widened as the sharp noise of the bag hitting the linoleum echoed down the hallway. All three hooded figures looked up and saw her. As the glowing figure dimmed, Aunt Maureen's body relaxed and sunk back into the bed. Seeing that snapped something inside Clara. She ran.
She made it to the first corner before she heard the figures approaching behind her. She didn't turn to look. She rushed to the hospital's central intersection, only then realizing that she didn't remember which direction led to the glass walkway out front. Clara went left, but it only took her a few seconds to realize that it was the wrong choice – there were no doors leading out.
She heard footsteps and took a quick look behind her. One of the hooded figures led the chase while the other two were further down the hallway. The taller one was holding the shorter, lumbering figure, helping him along. This seemed to be the only reason they hadn't caught up to her yet.
Clara took the next turn and found herself in a short passage that led to a series of operating rooms. A plastic sign mounted to the side read "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY – PRESS BUTTON TO ENTER". She slammed her hand on the huge metal button. A buzzer on the other side of the door sounded, but no one was inside to let her in.
The footsteps grew louder. She scanned the area and saw another sign on a small door. Yellowed cardboard in a rusted metal frame read "REHAB ROOM". Clara gave it a hopeful push and the door opened. She burst inside, pushing it shut behind her. She looked for a lock but the industrial handle had none.
The Rehab Room hadn't been used in many years – something Clara could tell from a quick glance. Workout equipment had been scattered across the floor mats. Benches stood at odd angles. The walls were faded and the everything inside smelled like detergent. With her arms out at her sides, she crept across the room, hoping that the trio chasing after her would pass it by or encounter someone in the hallways to scare them off – unlikely as that seemed.
Clara reached the far side of the room and hunted around behind the larger pieces of equipment. She'd hoped to find a door leading outside, but there was only a solid wall. She followed the wall around and saw another door that led out of the back of the room. As she debated whether or not she should investigate it, Clara saw narrow shadows pass by under the front door. A second later, they were back. She opened the rear door and went through it just as her pursuers entered.
Clara found herself in a large storage closet – really, a room unto itself. She took inventory. The shelves held weights, cables, mats, pads – but nothing that looked like it could be used as a weapon. Especially against three people. She went in further and kept herself still.
A mumbled discussion began in the Rehab Room. The voices went silent – and then a deep male voice said, "In there." It sounded like he was just outside the closet door.
Clara looked behind the shelves – there was no other door leading out. She scrambled, looked up – and saw a small window high above the shelves, filtering in moonlight. It was at least fifteen feet up. She could hear the figures approaching again and worked her foot onto the lowest shelf.
Getting herself off the floor wasn't a problem, but getting from the first shelf to the second, then from the second to the top, took all the upper body strength she had. She hoisted herself all the way up and then laid flat. The door opened and the she heard the figures enter.
Clara couldn't be sure if they'd seen or heard her – there was still a chance that they didn't know she was here. The figures moved around beneath her. One of them whispered, "I thought I saw her," which gave Clara a deep chill. She really was being chased, she thought. People were actually looking for her. And Aunt Maureen... what they did to her in the room...
The figures turned and started back toward the door to the storage area. Clara felt bolder now – she peeked her head over and watched them. Maybe she'd be able to get away. She could feel the chill start to leave her body.
Then the last figure stopped – looked back – and straight up at her. She couldn't see any features other than his glaring eyes. "Up there," he said. The other two whipped around and looked right up at Clara.
She sprung forward and grabbed the window, yanking on its tiny handle – but it was stuck. The figures climbed onto the lowest shelf, helping each other up. She could see the details in their clothes now – dirty work boots and rough cuffs on their hoodies. She pulled harder on the window but it wouldn't open.
Clara looked around the top shelf. The most sturdy object it held was a weight bar. She grabbed it and shoved it through the window, smashing on the first try. She took a few seconds to clear as many of the shards from the frame as she could before looking down. The figures were now up to the middle shelf.
Clara reached across the gap between the top shelf and the window and grabbed its frame. Then she pulled – hard enough to get the top half of her body through the window. She looked around and saw the full expanse of the courtyard below her, with a winding path that led to the front of the building.
Clara pulled harder – she was almost all the way through, but the window frame was too small for her to bend her legs in any way that would help her free herself. Instead, she flipped around, grabbing the top of the frame, and pulled herself further through.
She wriggled and got her thighs through the window, carefully maneuvering her legs to get past one remaining piece of glass still stuck in the frame. Clara had almost freed her legs when she felt a hand grab her ankle on the other side. Her fingers gripped the frame tighter and pulled, but the hand had a firm grip on her. It began pulling her back inside the building.
Clara visualized where the body attached to the hand was positioned. She gave a hard kick in that direction and made solid contact. She heard a muffled grunt as the hand released her ankle.
She flew backward through the window. And as she went down, the lone glass shard dug into her leg, ripping through cloth and skin.
Clara let out a helpless moan as she slammed into the damp grass of the courtyard.
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