The Crescent

Chapter 17

There were no rules in place that said Zacari couldn't be out and about at night, but all the same she swept through the halls like a ghost. Will watched as she smoothed a hand across the stair banister, her destination solidifying his suspicions step by step.

The Operating Room.

Baker was there. Even before Baker's return, The Operating Room was a place Will rarely visited. Memories of his last moments were potent there, and he wasn't keen on remembering the nitty gritty details. And yet, despite his best efforts, he did. Unfair how much he'd forgotten of his life and how much he remembered of his death. And now, with Baker occupying The Operating Room, it was more than a reminder. It was a malignant force, a place not just absent of light, but a place light came to die.

And Zacari was making her way there as if there was yellow brick road winding at her feet.

Will quickened his pace and caught up to her as she descended the staircase. This was the first time he'd been this near to her since she'd discovered his camera. She was, for once, without her dog, the only thing in her hands his camera.

"You need to be careful," Will said. "You can't trust him."

Of course, no response. Zacari was red-eyed and puffy-faced, as if she'd been crying, a scowl etched deep on her face. Will wondered if it had anything to do with her father.

They reached the foyer. The day-shift receptionist, Allison, was replaced by a younger woman, a few years older than Will would have been. He'd lost track of his age now. Or lost the care to keep track. She flipped through a People magazine with bubblegum pink headphones on the sides of her head like earmuffs. The only other obstacle might have been the unfortunate looking bellman, but he was slumped over in a chair by the front doors, snoring surprisingly delicately. Zacari had no trouble sneaking past either of them to the steps leading down to The Operating Room.

She paused at the foot of the stairs, and Will paused with her. He fiddled with his bowtie, plucked at a threadbare spot on his jacket, filled with dread for what lay ahead for Zacari. He reached out for her. Maybe he could pull her back if he held on long enough...

As soon as his hand made contact with the back of her arm the crushing waves obliterated his senses and sent him to his knees. When they finally receded Zacari was at the little black door. Two staccato knocks.

"Zacari, don't!" Will scrambled to his feet after her, but in an instant the door gave way and she slipped inside.

The door shut behind her with a gust of cold.

Will faltered. Was there anything he could do? He inched to the door. It was cold to the touch, and when he pressed his ear to the door, he felt Baker on the other side. He couldn't get inside; he knew that much. It was similar to the barrier surrounding the hospital Will couldn't cross, try as he might. But this – Baker's presence was not so absolute. There were breaches in his force, slivers just wide enough that Will could slip his hand through, if he focused.

After all, it was his camera.

He pressed his hands to the door and fought the force that was Baker.

"I'm a journalist, I'm a journalist, I'm a journalist," he whispered.