Deviant

Chapter 6

DEVIANT

Callie Hart

Copyright © 2014 Callie Hart

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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places and characters are figments of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. The author recognises the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products and works mentioned within this work.

CHAPTER SIX

 

 

SLOANE

 

Coat? Check.

Purse? Check.

Car keys? Check.

Twenty-hours after the shift from hell began and it finally looks like it's ending. I always feel like a fraud when I put my civilian clothes back on. Like I'm only pretending to be a functional member of society, someone who shops at The Gap and remembers to color coordinate their jacket to their handbag. I'm most at home in my scrubs, but people tend to look at you funny if you do your grocery shopping in a pair of blues.

"Night, Sloane. You working tomorrow?" Jerry, one of the orderlies, is here almost as much as I am. He's a young guy, twenty-two perhaps, with a growing family to feed. Works every hour God sends.

"Sure am, Jer. Catch you for some coffee?"

He grins. "Count on it. I'll need it after tonight."

I'm within sight of the exit when I start to get nervous. This is where it always happens. The fourteen-foot stretch of floor space between the reception and the entrance is like some kind of magical hot spot. Nine times out of ten, something or someone will charge through that door while I'm occupying that space and I'll end up turning right back around.

Ten feet.

Five feet.

I hold my breath.

I'm at the door. Seattle's autumn wind buffets me, whipping my hair up as the doors slide back to reveal a clear night sky beyond, a bruised shade of royal blue. I breathe a sigh of relief. I did it. I'm free and clear for a whole seven hours. I'm going to spend every single one of those seven hours in bed and it's going to be amazing.

I'm in my car, pulling out of the parking lot, when a souped-up black Camaro screeches around the corner, nearly crashing straight into me. We both manage to brake in time, but barely. The driver of the Camaro leans on their horn, shattering the peace of the nearly empty parking lot.

I can't see whoever's at the wheel but I know they want me to get the hell out of the way. There's only one reason a car would come tearing at breakneck speeds into a hospital lot and that's because of an emergency. I reverse so hard my tires spin.