hospital. The sun dropped behind the mountains, setting the sky aflame. A wet chill lowered the temperature several degrees. She shivered and shrunk into her coat.
“Nice summer we have coming along,” she muttered.
James locked his car. “Let’s get inside.”
They passed through the hospital doors and all sound died. It felt as though the volume on life had been turned down low in the empty halls.
James glanced down at his watch. “Stephanie said the records room is empty during shift turnover. If we head down now, we should have enough time to get in and out before someone comes down.”
“What happens if we get caught?”
He smiled mirthlessly. “We get arrested.”
Her forehead throbbed with the first signs of a headache. She shut her eyes and pressed the heel of her palm against her temple. “That doctor of yours better help us out if we get in trouble. It’s her fault we’re here in the first place.”
“But it isn’t her fault Augustin Ramirez refused to cooperate with us,” James said. A sharp pain lanced through Elise’s skull, and she gave a small gasp. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know what’s wrong. I feel strange. Almost as though…”
Almost as though there was something that didn’t belong in a hospital.
She let out a slow breath and stretched out her senses, probing the strange presence.
“Elise?” James asked when she was silent for too long.
“It’s a demon,” she said. “Faint. Weak.”
“An actual demon, or one of the Gray?”
She tilted her head to the side as if trying to catch the faint strains of a distant song. It made her ache from crown to jaw. “Hellborn.”
“What’s it doing in a Catholic hospital?”
“I would love to find out.” Elise punched the down button.
The elevator began to lower, and Elise’s sense of the hellborn grew stronger by every inch they dropped. She covered her eyes with the heels of her palms, pressing gently, as though she could squeeze the uncomfortable itch out of her skull.
The doors opened on the basement level, and James consulted a map Stephanie had scribbled on the dance studio’s stationary.
“The medical records office is over here,” James said, peering through a door with a window. “There should be a fax machine inside.”
“Okay,” Elise said. “Watch the hall.”
She slipped into the records room. It was a long room filled with shelves, and at the far end stood a desk and plastic chair.
It clearly wasn’t designed to be comfortable for human occupation: the walls were concrete and water-stained, and the carpet was hardly in better condition. The only lights were harsh and unsteady, flickering on when Elise flipped the light switch.
She went along the side of the room, searching for the records that began with R. She found them quickly, but locating Lucinde’s records in particular was much more difficult. There were so many folders all over the place—she couldn’t imagine how the hospital hadn’t moved to digital records yet.
She thumbed through the names. Rand. Randall. Ramirez. Success .
Elise skimmed Lucinde’s records as she began feeding them through. She continued to skim the second part of the stack, which contained duplicate records from Lucinde’s general practitioner. Chicken pox, a case of the flu, referrals to several cardiologists over the years. Elise didn’t see anything about psychoses.
Each sheet of paper seemed to take forever to feed through the machine, and slow inch by slow inch she grew more nervous. She strained to detect any noise from the hallway, half-certain she would hear James failing to ward off a nurse outside. With David Nicholas’s bounced check, she definitely couldn’t afford an attorney.
The fax kicked out the rest of the papers and beeped. She put them back in the folder.
A pulsing noise throbbed between Elise’s ears. The pit of her stomach dropped, and a familiar nausea crept through Elise’s body. She slid the folder into place and
“Nice summer we have coming along,” she muttered.
James locked his car. “Let’s get inside.”
They passed through the hospital doors and all sound died. It felt as though the volume on life had been turned down low in the empty halls.
James glanced down at his watch. “Stephanie said the records room is empty during shift turnover. If we head down now, we should have enough time to get in and out before someone comes down.”
“What happens if we get caught?”
He smiled mirthlessly. “We get arrested.”
Her forehead throbbed with the first signs of a headache. She shut her eyes and pressed the heel of her palm against her temple. “That doctor of yours better help us out if we get in trouble. It’s her fault we’re here in the first place.”
“But it isn’t her fault Augustin Ramirez refused to cooperate with us,” James said. A sharp pain lanced through Elise’s skull, and she gave a small gasp. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know what’s wrong. I feel strange. Almost as though…”
Almost as though there was something that didn’t belong in a hospital.
She let out a slow breath and stretched out her senses, probing the strange presence.
“Elise?” James asked when she was silent for too long.
“It’s a demon,” she said. “Faint. Weak.”
“An actual demon, or one of the Gray?”
She tilted her head to the side as if trying to catch the faint strains of a distant song. It made her ache from crown to jaw. “Hellborn.”
“What’s it doing in a Catholic hospital?”
“I would love to find out.” Elise punched the down button.
The elevator began to lower, and Elise’s sense of the hellborn grew stronger by every inch they dropped. She covered her eyes with the heels of her palms, pressing gently, as though she could squeeze the uncomfortable itch out of her skull.
The doors opened on the basement level, and James consulted a map Stephanie had scribbled on the dance studio’s stationary.
“The medical records office is over here,” James said, peering through a door with a window. “There should be a fax machine inside.”
“Okay,” Elise said. “Watch the hall.”
She slipped into the records room. It was a long room filled with shelves, and at the far end stood a desk and plastic chair.
It clearly wasn’t designed to be comfortable for human occupation: the walls were concrete and water-stained, and the carpet was hardly in better condition. The only lights were harsh and unsteady, flickering on when Elise flipped the light switch.
She went along the side of the room, searching for the records that began with R. She found them quickly, but locating Lucinde’s records in particular was much more difficult. There were so many folders all over the place—she couldn’t imagine how the hospital hadn’t moved to digital records yet.
She thumbed through the names. Rand. Randall. Ramirez. Success .
Elise skimmed Lucinde’s records as she began feeding them through. She continued to skim the second part of the stack, which contained duplicate records from Lucinde’s general practitioner. Chicken pox, a case of the flu, referrals to several cardiologists over the years. Elise didn’t see anything about psychoses.
Each sheet of paper seemed to take forever to feed through the machine, and slow inch by slow inch she grew more nervous. She strained to detect any noise from the hallway, half-certain she would hear James failing to ward off a nurse outside. With David Nicholas’s bounced check, she definitely couldn’t afford an attorney.
The fax kicked out the rest of the papers and beeped. She put them back in the folder.
A pulsing noise throbbed between Elise’s ears. The pit of her stomach dropped, and a familiar nausea crept through Elise’s body. She slid the folder into place and
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