Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
The first floating staircase is on the left, about fifteen feet from the entrance, but he weaves past that, as well as a bank of elevators. He passes a sitting area filled with couches, where several people read books or scroll on their phones while waiting near a door with “Inpatient Surgery” painted above it.
Past the inpatient waiting area, Leon pauses to get a drink from a fountain. Water dribbles down into his beard as he stands, sucking in a deep breath. He closes his eyes, swaying on his feet. For a moment, I think he might be about to pass out—a best-case scenario I hadn’t considered—but a beat later, he swipes the back of his sleeve across his damp face and stumbles onward.
Trailing one hand along the wall, he tracks onward toward another large desk at the back of the hospital. I’m not sure what this desk is for, but the hallway to the left bears signs pointing the way to the East Wing and various lab stations. Behind the desk is a door labeled “Radiology,” and to the right is the entrance to the cafeteria.
The tension in my jaw eases a bit. Maybe Leon realizes he needs to sober up before he sees his family and is on his way to buy some breakfast.
If that’s the case, I’ll find another place to lay low, and text Sully to let her know where she can find me. There appear to be several waiting areas scattered throughout the hospital and, according to the signs by the elevators, a chapel and yoga room on the fourth floor.
I haven’t set foot in a church since I was in high school, but I know enough yoga to pass as a practitioner. I can spread out a borrowed mat in a corner, lie down in corpse pose, and savasana until my phone vibrates. After too little sleep last night and a stressful morning, a nap wouldn’t be an unwelcome thing.
Fuck, I’m actually craving a nap.
Maybe I’m becoming an old man faster than I think.
I’m still meditating on the horrors of my sleepy, weakening body when Leon veers left instead of right, headed down the hallway toward the East Wing. I have no idea where he’s going, but no one stops him, or me, as I trail him down a narrower hallway. The ceilings here are only twelve feet high and there’s a lot more traffic.
Most of the people approaching from the opposite direction see Leon weaving toward them and veer out of his path, but the old woman with a walker just ahead has her back to him.
She has no idea she’s about to be mowed over from behind.
I’m about to call out a warning, when Leon suddenly careens to the left, bumping into the opposite wall and a teenager with a wad of cotton taped to the crook of his arm.
“Hey, watch it,” the kid calls out, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny throat as he turns to glare at Leon.
But Leon only lifts a hand and stumbles forward.
I glance around to see if any staff members have noticed the interaction and are calling security. But the only nurse in the hallway is talking to a distraught elderly woman in a wheelchair, who seems confused about where she is and why she has to have her blood drawn.
Cursing understaffing, I circle around the woman in the walker and hurry after Leon, who’s moving faster now. Wherever he’s going, he seems to know the way. But then, Sully said her father spent a lot of time in the hospital after his drunk driving accident. If it was this hospital, he’s probably fairly familiar with the layout.
At the end of the hall, the building opens up into another atrium, this one with trees planted throughout and tables and chairs arranged in the center. Here, several people work on laptops or take calls on their cell phones beneath signs that read, “No calls, please. This is a Quiet Zone.”
But no one’s policing that policy, the same way no one’s policing the clearly inebriated man cruising toward the glass elevator on the right side of the space.
The elevator is the same size as our luxurious bathroom at the hotel last night, with streak-free glass that makes it easy to see inside.
I spot Sully and the older woman she’s speaking to as the car descends from the third floor to the first. I reach for my phone to text her a warning, but it’s too late. I watch helplessly as she steps out of the car—still distracted by what looks like a tense conversation with the other woman—and practically runs into her father.
Or rather, he runs into her.
As she moves past him, he lunges for her, grabbing her elbow and holding on tight as he slips and falls on the tile.