Dancing with the Dead ✔

Chapter Nineteen - Stalker Much?

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

Still lying face down to my pillow, my hand roams through my bedside drawer for my phone, knocking out my make-up box to the floor in the process.

Shit.

With a loud sigh, I raise my head and open my eyes. I roll over and lazily switch into a sitting position. I drag one hand to my eye and start rubbing it while my other hand searches for my phone. With a slight glance, I spot it right next to the lamp. I grab it and light up the screen.

You've got one new message.

My gaze is drawn to the clock on the top right of the phone. 11.51 PM.

Well, at least it's not a phone call, which means I can still continue my good night sleep. But what's so important that someone has to text me in the middle of the night? With my curiosity building up, I open the message.

Meeting at ICU. 7 am sharp.

- C. Allen

I let out a long, heavy sigh and drop my head back to my pillow. I have a feeling tomorrow's going to be a long day.

***

My eyes are fixated to the crowded elevator, which door is sliding close. I still can't believe all three other elevators in this hospital have been broken for almost a week now and the technician still can't fix it. I glance at my watch while I pace up my steps. It's already six forty-five. Judging by the number of people inside that elevator, I have to catch this one or I'll be late for my meeting, and I certainly don't want to be late for my meeting.

So, I start running. "Hold the door, please!" I shout.

One of the people inside must've heard me because the door slides open again. My sneakers screech as I stop abruptly before the elevator. I squeeze myself into the crowded elevator and switch my gaze to the person closest to the buttons.

"Thanks," I say to the lovely old lady, giving her my warmest smile. She returns the smile before pressing the close button.

The elevator makes a roaring sound and starts moving. I roll my eyes and sigh. I guess it's only time before this one breaks too, huh?

Out of habit, I stretch my hand, intending to press the fourth-floor button, when I realize it's already been pressed.

Ah. I almost forgot.

Usually, people rarely go to the fourth floor since only the operating rooms and the critical area are located there. But since it's almost 7 a.m—the visiting hours for ICU patients—it's possible if there are visitors going there.

Ding!

The elevator stops on the second floor. I step out to give way for other people. The second floor consists of the specialist clinics and laboratory. Most of the people—walk-in patients, including the nice old lady —get out of the elevator, leaving only a few people inside. When I step back into the elevator, I see an all-too-familiar face waving his hand lightly in my direction with his usual aggravating smirk.

Stalker much?

I quickly wipe the surprise off my face and replace it with a cool act instead. "Detective," I say, trying to sound calm.

"Doc," he replies, his voice holding a hint of a teasing inflection.

I press the close button and stand next to him. "I'm not officially a doctor yet, you know?" I say, slightly irritated. I turn my head in his direction and flash an apologetic—if not awkward—smile, hoping he'll put an end to this hatred game we're playing.