Chapter 4
I am so disoriented that I can barely understand what is happening. A complete stranger has his hands around my neck, cutting off the air to my lungs. I want to scream for help, but his grip is so strong that all I can do is gag. My vision flashes, and I see another man in front of me– this one from my memory– his hands wrapped around my neck in exactly the same way.
No, no, no, no. This cannot be happening to me again.
Panic swirls through me, but my survival instinct kicks in, and I fight back with every ounce of strength in me. But no matter how many kicks I land, or how many scratches my fingernails etch into his flesh, leaving blood seeping to the surface of his skin, the man doesn’t so much as flinch. He is freakishly strong, and I can’t help but think about how wrong and unfair it is that I am going to die here at the hands of a psychopathic stranger.
Andrew will be pissed that I escaped him just for someone else to finish me off.
That thought gives me a sick sort of pleasure. My arms are weak from fighting, and the lack of oxygen, and my vision begins to fade around the edges. My lungs are on fire, and my ability to physically fight back seeps away, but I realize I can fight back in another way. If this asshole is going to kill me, he’s at least going to look me in the eyes while he does it.
Latching onto that thought, I raise my gaze and lock eyes with him. I take every bit of repressed anger, and hatred that I have ever felt in my life and let it shine through as I glare at him. I hate that the last thing I see will be the loathing on his face. Just as my vision starts to fade to black, his expression changes from disgust and hatred, and shifts into… shock? Confusion? Disbelief?
He releases me, staggering away from me, and I collapse to the floor, coughing and spluttering, my lungs burning and desperate for oxygen. Sucking in big gulps of air, I look up and see that Reed– he doesn’t deserve to be called doctor– is nowhere in sight. I know I need to get out of this empty side hallway, but I just need a minute to compose myself. I stay on my knees, wrapping my arms around myself and hunching forward into myself. I am in a daze, and don’t know what to do from here. I could call the police, but my phone is in my purse, which Jamie took back to the conference room. But if my name comes up in a police report, Andrew will know where I am. Plus, if I report the freaking medical director for trying to kill me, there’s a chance the hospital could retaliate and fire me. Sure, I could sue them for that… if I had more than a few dollars to my name and could afford to hire a lawyer that is powerful enough to actually beat whatever insanely expensive attorney I’m sure they keep on retainer. My instinct is just to pack up my meager belongings, skip town, and find a new job in a different town, but I can’t even fill my gas tank until I get that first paycheck.
Okay, I can figure this out. Just breath, Bree.
I decide to just head back to the conference room. At least then I’ll have my cell phone and the ability to call the police if I decide to. Then I can sit in the dim lights and take my time to figure out what my next steps should be.
Slightly calmer now that I have my next steps planned, I slowly lift myself off the floor. I’m not lightheaded, so I’ve got that going for me. I scan myself for injuries, using a mental checklist that I realize I haven’t had to use for the last couple of weeks. I find that nothing much hurts apart from my neck throbbing where I am sure my fair skin is already darkening with bruises. I look down at my hands, and find that I have that asshole’s blood under my fingernails. While I’m glad I hurt him back– even if it was less than he deserved– my stomach gives a panicked flip and I rush into the bathroom. I all but sprint to the sink, opening the faucet to full blast, and pumping my palm full of soap. I frantically scrub my hands, desperate to get any trace of my attacker off of me. I notice that I am breathing much too fast, and I force myself to inhale slowly, count to 5, then exhale.
In nursing school, they taught us that to gauge a proper amount of time for handwashing, we should sing the birthday song twice through. In an attempt to calm myself further, I force myself to hum it softly while I continue scrubbing my hands raw. My voice is rough and crackly, which means he probably did a number on my vocal cords. I’m sure that if anyone walked in right now and saw me humming to myself over a sink of pink, bloody water, I would find myself locked up in the psych unit right alongside the patients I am supposed to be caring for starting tomorrow.
I shut off the water, and make myself take a few more deep, full breaths. I dry my hands, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. I’m barely holding myself together. If I see the bruises on my neck or my frantic expression, I know that I will lose it all over again. I think I have just enough of a grip on myself to walk back to the conference room, though. I hesitantly cross the remaining distance to the door, eyeing it distrustfully as if it is somehow at fault for my earlier attack. I pull the door open just a crack and peer through. The hallway looks empty, so I risk opening the door wider and poking my head out. Not a soul in sight, thank god.
I do not want to linger here in case Reed decides to come finish the job, so I end up doing an awkward half jog, half power walk all the way back to the conference room, keeping my head on a swivel. Even though I have to be at least 15 minutes late at this point, I am able to slip into the back of the room and make it to my seat unnoticed. The lights are all off, and some video about teamwork or something is playing.
Jason leans over and whispers, “Took you long enough. I almost came looking for you.”
I don’t tell him that I kind of wish he had.
Just then, the lights cut back on and I blink rapidly. When my eyes adjust, I see Katherine whispering with another woman I have never seen before, and she looks legit. She is wearing a perfectly tailored pantsuit, and her dark hair is slicked back into a neat low bun. Honestly, someone could tell me she was the president of some other country and I would believe it without hesitation.
Stepping away from the important-looking woman, Katherine turns back to the room and says, “Cambree Johannsen? Where is Cambree?”
My heart drops to my stomach, and I swallow thickly before slowly lifting my hand.
“You are needed outside for just a moment! Come on this way, please.” She sounds so pleasant that for a moment I wonder if this actually might not have anything to do with my… encounter with Reed in the hall. Until she adds, “Go ahead and bring your things with you.”
I gather my few belongings, torn between leaving with the well-dressed stranger or running screaming like a complete maniac. Or would that be the sane option? I have no place else to go, though. At least until I get my first couple of paychecks, then maybe I can find another job and run away to yet another new town. I can survive a month here, right? Right?
Belongings in tow, I hesitantly follow the woman out into the corridor, and she shuts the heavy mahogany doors behind us.
“Follow me right this way please.” She is all business. Not even a greeting or fake smile to soften her words.
I stop where I am, though. I might not have many choices, but that doesn’t mean that I have to be stupid about the choices I am forced to make.
“What is this about?”
“We just have a few questions regarding your… background check.” She hedges the question.
Fully unconvinced, I move forward and she follows suit. She doesn’t say another word to me as she guides me into the main corridor, and down another side hallway that she has to swipe her badge to unlock. From there, she leads me to a set of shiny silver elevators, where she again swipes her badge. These must be private elevators, because they open immediately. We step in, and I try to relax my shoulders and unclench my jaw as she presses the button for the tenth floor and we begin to ascend.
The elevators open into a short, gorgeous hallway, which is more reminiscent of a home than a hospital. Plush carpet lines the floors, and dozens of vibrant paintings hang on the walls. At the very end of the hallway there is another dark wood door, nestled between two other doors, one at the end of the left wall, the other on the right. My freakishly silent guide leads me to the door in the center. When we reach it, she gives two sharp, staccato knocks. A split second later, the door swings open, and she steps aside, indicating that I should enter ahead of her. Against my better judgment, I do. She steps in behind me, and I hear the lock of the door engage, right as my eyes lock with the man behind the desk.
And Doctor Fucking Reed glares back at me like he wishes he had killed me when he had the chance.