Page 5 of Burned By Sin
Switching off the boxy TV in the corner which was playing to itself, I collect the discarded magazines no one would ever choose to read willingly and put them back in a stack on a low table. Pulling a crumpled twenty from one of my many pockets, I smooth the note over my thigh and push it into the vending machine. Piling a few sandwich boxes, packets of crisps and chocolate bars into my arms, I slip back across the hall to lay them out onto an empty wheelchair I spot and silently glide it into the room without being seen.
No, I can’t save them, but I can at least feed them for one night. Their future beyond that is in someone else’s hands. Resuming the job I’m being paid for, I stroll out of Falcon Ward before starting on the next, shifting from room to room without anyone noticing I’ve been there at all. The silent savior no one wants or needs.
The rest of the night is uneventful, each level of the hospital filled with the bleeping of heart monitors and soft snores filtering through bluecurtains. Occasionally there’s a cry of agony or distant alarm, to which clusters of nurses rush and I promptly jerk out of their way.
Approaching the final ward, I sanitize my hands as I always do when moving from one to the next, then press the red button to open the double doors. An empty nurses’ station sits to my left. Blue tunics and navy Crocs disappear into the room at the end of the corridor, a red light flashing above the door. My shoulders slump as I’m forced to head in the opposite direction, starting with the room at the far end.
“I’m not sure when he’ll be here, Mrs. Mitcham, but—” drifts out as I push the door open.
“It’s okay, Kaylah. Thank you. I’ll take it from here.”
Kaylah steps aside, revealing a very empty bed. I bend to retrieve Mrs. Mitcham from the floor, staring at the ceiling to avoid seeing how her hospital gown has ridden up her wrinkled thighs. I have nothing against the female figure, but when someone old enough to be my grandmother is trying to shift my hand from the back of her knees to other places, a line needs to be drawn. After placing her back in bed, I tuck the covers beneath the mattress tight enough to hold her until a doctor comes in the morning. Her pruned fingers caress my bicep.
“You know, I’d still be able to show you a good time, for the right price.” She winks over her glass eye.
“How about I pay you not to throw yourself out of bed, Mrs. Mitcham?” I manage a friendly smirk. A small, fragile laugh leaves her, shifting the white wisps of hair on her bony shoulders.
“I’ve told you, call me Sarah. I want to hear my name on those full lips of yours.” I flinch as her thumb brushes across my mouth. Whoever I was in a former life, I must have been a hell of a dirty bastard to deserve this.
“Get some rest and stay put. You’ll break your new hip before you even get the chance to use it.” That earns me a wiggling eyebrow, and I curse myself for not choosing my words more carefully. With a wave of my hand, I stride out and pull the door shut behind me. Kaylah is ather desk filling out yet another incident form. Leaning my forearms on the counter, I huff in frustration.
“Stop giving that woman my work schedule.” Kaylah doesn’t care about my rough tone, she’s too busy laughing behind her hand and failing miserably to hide it. Rolling my eyes, I push upright and walk off. “Her death is on you if she falls too hard one day.”
Her giggling fades, a solemn quiet following as I head toward the elevators. Maybe I shouldn’t always be so sombre. Although the barriers I’ve cemented in place would never allow it, maybe I should attempt to joke with the staff, potentially make a few friends. It’s not like I’ve got anything left to lose. The thought drags a frown across my face, plummeting my mind back in time as the elevator descends.
I’ve replayed that night with Harper over and over. Her in my arms, in my bed on repeat, searching for some sign I missed. A clue that she’d been dangling a carrot in front of me, waiting to stab me in the back the second I let my guard down. But there’s nothing. Either she was a skilled liar, or I’m a classic lovesick fool. Odds are, it was a bit of both, but it doesn’t matter now. The life I’ve stumbled into is the best I could have hoped for.
With my record and lack of qualifications, just having a roof over my head and a paying job is a miracle. I’m done fantasizing about achievements, or hopes of companionship. The idea that someone might be able to drag me from my grieving and adore the person I was always supposed to be has gone. I’ve had a target on my back for longer than I can remember, whether it was from the streets where I grew up, the JDC or Waversea Academy. I don’t know what it feels like to simply be accepted, until Harper gave a hint of it. Then ripped it away.
Stretching my neck, I pass the front reception where I started and drop the clipboard onto the counter. My shift’s almost over, so I waste time strolling through the hall of consultation rooms. No one will be in them this late, and there’s no point stepping back onto a ward for the little time I’ve got left.
I find a dark corner, drop onto a seat and let my forehead fall into my palms,the world narrowing to the small square of shadow around me where no one can see the tremor under my ribs. In these minutes of quiet, I can finally let go of the urge to keep moving, to let the ache inside breathe a little. Loneliness is different at night, a weight that has nothing to do with hunger or cold, and everything to do with the hollow space where a voice used to be. I’m left rehearsing conversations that will never happen and bargaining with ghosts for chances I will never get back. Moments I can never relive.
Pulling off my beanie to push a hand through my hair, I prepare to head back when a noise reaches me. A metallic crash so quiet, I could believe it was a trick of the mind but the churning in my gut urges me to check it out. Tugging my beanie back in place, I curl my hand around the baton on my hip and creep along the rest of the corridor on silent feet.
A flash of light appears beneath a door on my left before disappearing. Gritting my teeth, my hand hovers over the handle while I force my shoulders to rest a little, and throw the door wide open. A cowering black hoodie lurches back, his flashlight shining in my face to obscure his facial features from view. I hear a soft curse as he takes in my size, the baton in my hand and raised clenched fist with the other.
“I don’t give a shit what you’re doing. Get the fuck out of here before I throw you out.” I reach for the light switch since his light is giving me an instant headache, the room brightening to see him crouched beside the open medicine cabinet.
“P-p-please, my mom is s-sick. We can’t afford the medicine she n-needs.” His voice surprises me, my eyes realizing this boy could barely be older than twelve or thirteen. Although, evident by the picks hanging from the cabinet’s lock, he’s had to grow up a lot quicker. Mousey brown hair pokes out from beneath his hood in tight curls, his mocha skin littered with freckles.
For a long moment, I just stand there. This wasn’t what I expected for my first break in, and the fighting tactics I usually rely on seem a littleexcessive for a teen. Finally, I huff, and place the baton back in my belt.
“You have to go.” Stepping aside for him to leave, his eyes flick back to the cabinet, indecision passing through his young features. “Don’t do it, kid. Believe me, it’s not worth it.” I shake my head, banishing the memories trying to rise. The justice system doesn’t care for age or circumstances. A criminal is a criminal. But still, the desperation in his eyes resonates too closely to an emotion I battle with every day. “Look, the medical director that runs this place in reasonable, maybe he could-”
“M-my mom has terminal cancer,” his voice wobbles and a tear leaks from his eye. “There’s nothing anyone can do, but she’s in so much pain. I can’t see her like that anymore.” The breath that saws out of me is slow and shuddering, a searing ache ripping through my ribs and settling in my heart.
I look at my feet, combatting the emotions swirling in my chest. Being a night porter is my job, my chance at a fresh start. I can’t throw it away, especially if I were to get caught and fired. I’d be done. I might as well fill my pockets with morphine and codeine too because I’d need to make money somehow if I let him do this. Fuck, why am I even considering that?! But then again…I know how it feels to watch your mom suffer and not be able to help.
From a young age, I’d seen it all. Desperate people forced into lives of crime to get by, men who join gangs to protect their family and mothers standing on street corners just to put food on the table. I know what it means to be ruthless when needed, but the streets also taught me about compassion.
To know if the kids from down the hall who are loitering in my doorway, are actually locked out because their mom hasn’t returned yet. To realize the woman in the bungalow down the street isn’t oddly paranoid, but has agoraphobia and needs her letters slipped under the door, not left in the mailbox at the end of the path. To understand the homeless man sleeping on the front steps isn’t insane enough to believethe birds will talk back to him, but is actually an ex-marine suffering from PTSD. A coffee and a pouch of bird seed each morning was all he needed, not judgement and abuse.
I know these streets, and perhaps not personally, but I know these people. They are my community. I’m one of them, so why am I pretending to be anything else?
“Can you run fast?” I finally ask, clocking the security camera in the top corner of the room without really looking at it. The boy nods quickly, his brows pulling together slightly. On a slow breath, I rest against the doorjamb as casually as I can manage.
“Pull your hood lower. There’s a scalpel on the counter above you. When I tell you to, grab it, take what you need and run at me. There’s a fire exit directly opposite this room, run as fast as you can and don’t look back. And don’t come looking for more. Next time I won’t let you go.” More tears have gathered in his eyes, but he nods slowly. Running a hand over my beanie, I saynowthe second my own arm blocks him from my vision. I hear him shift, the rattle of pills being shoved into his pocket as I stand upright and feign shock.
