The Switch

Chapter Eighteen | My Legs are in Perfect Working Condition

My brain felt like it had been shut off. I couldn't comprehend anything that was being told to me over the phone, though the woman from the hospital kept talking.

Nick was in the hospital.

I interrupted Rebecca, hoarsely asking, "What happened to him?"

"Well, uh, we're not completely sure. He was found by someone behind a bookstore in an alley pretty beaten up. That's all the information we can disclose over the phone, but please come to the hospital. He hasn't woken up yet, but I'm sure he'd love to see you. You were the last person he called, so we reached out to you first."

"Yeah, of course I'll come," I responded automatically, not completely processing anything she was saying. "I'll be right over."

I ended the call and stared up at my dark ceiling for a few moments. Everything was going so well. We had a clue for the murder case and Nick and I were getting closer each day. How did this happen? I stumbled out of bed and groped for the light switch. Hastily, I slipped on some pants and flip flops, not bothering to change my shirt or tame the mess that was my hair.

The hospital was about 20 minutes away, so I hailed a cab. Eventually one screeched to a halt outside the hotel and I clambered in.

"Fischer hospital, please," I said breathlessly.

The driver nodded and glanced back at my dysfunctional self. He probably thought I was insane.

Once we arrived, I shoved a wad of bills into the driver's hand and muttered a quick "thanks." The hospital loomed above me like a large, sterile prison. Everything about it gave me the creeps. Mermaids try to avoid hospitals while we're on land, because we never know what might happen if a doctor tries to analyze our blood.

The sliding door squeaked open and bright, artificial light surrounded me. The scent of lemons and bleach permeated everything, clogging my nose. I rushed to the front desk, my purse awkwardly swung over one shoulder.

"Hi, I'm here for Nick Thompson. I'm his girlfriend and he just got admitted."

The lady eyed me for a few seconds before typing on her computer. I could feel the judgement radiating off of her.

"He should be in room 121," she told me. "It's down this hall and to your right. I'm not sure if they're taking visitors yet, though."

"Okay, thank you," I replied, already speed-walking down the hall.

As I approached his room, a nurse came out, shutting the door behind her.

"Are you Marina?" she asked.

"Yes, I am."

"Hi, I'm Rebecca." She smiled at me sympathetically. "Nick is doing just fine."

"What happened to him?" I inquired breathlessly.

"Well, it appears that he was assaulted. He has a couple broken ribs and a concussion. The strangest thing, though, is that he has a bite mark on the side of his neck, and has lost quite a bit of blood. If someone hadn't found him when they did, then I'm not sure he would have made it."

Of course. The killer mermaid. She had done this.

"Can I see him?"

"The doctors are setting his ribs and stitching up the neck wound now, so not yet. They should be done within half an hour. I'll let you know. In the meantime, let me show you to our cafe. They have excellent hot chocolate." I followed Rebecca down the hall, glancing back at the shiny brown door that separated me from Nick.

About an hour later, I sat sipping some lukewarm coffee in a hard chair, reading a fashion magazine. I flipped through the pages, looking at the pictures with a mixture of disgust and awe when I saw Rebecca approach.