Haunted by the Past (Original)

Chapter 38

The nearly two-hour drive to Raven Hill was both quiet and loud. As soon as we hit the road, Eli started blasting heavy metal by underground artists I had never heard of. He tried to get us into the mindset for what we were about to do while silencing every speck of guilt we had for Jorge Molina. It certainly was hard to think straight while lyrics were being shouted to you. Half the time the songs weren't even in English, which was probably why I never heard the songs before.

Driving up to the front of St. Catherine's was both nostalgic and deeply unsettling. It was the hospital where I had my appendix removed as a pre-teen, and it was where my grandparents spent their final days. It stood in the dead of the night with its lights illuminating the emergency entrance as a beacon on the edge of our small town. Seeing it again after so many years, one of many visages I swore never to see again, brought up emotions I didn't know I had for it. Yet to witness it during such a quiet hour was strange.

"We need to get our stories straight before we go in," Eli commented while he sat in driver's seat with his laptop open in front of him. "It'll be easier if you play sick."

I pondered over the situation for a moment, "I could fake appendicitis. At least until they realize I don't have an appendix anymore."

"That'll do. We only need a justifiable reason to be there. You don't need to actually be seen by a doctor," he nodded.

"But it's so quiet. What if they try to see me right away?" I frowned.

"When have you ever seen an ER that efficient?" he humored. "Once we sit down in the waiting room, start gagging. I'll help you to the bathroom. While you're fake vomiting, I'll look for an opportunity to grab scrubs from the nurse's station."

"And if there isn't one?"

"I'll create one."

"Ok, but what names are we going by?"

Eli shrugged, "Mr. and Mrs. Smith?"

"Quite presumptuous to think I'd marry you," I teased.

"It honestly doesn't matter what you tell them because you're not going to finish the admissions form," he shook his head.

"I thought you wanted us to have our stories straight?" I mused.

He rolled his eyes, "Fine, we've recently moved in together. I am John Smith. You can be Marilyn Monroe for all I care."

I clicked my tongue, "Robyn Fenty."

"Who?"

"RiRi!"

"Am I supposed to know what that means?"

"You know what? Don't worry about it. You said it doesn't matter."

"Anyway," he said with emphasis as he closed his laptop shut. "Time to move."

Walking through the carpark, I prepared for my upcoming performance by recalling the last time I had appendicitis. I remembered being in such agonizing pain that I could hardly think straight. My father had to help me into the emergency room as I couldn't walk on my own. Grabbing my side, I cried out in fake pain and leaned into Eli. Thankfully he understood the cue and wrapped his arm around my shoulders to support me.

As soon we walked through the automatic doors, we were greeted by a burly security guard, who motioned towards the triage waiting room. The room was sparsely populated with people waiting to be seen, but it was far more people than I had expected given how quiet the exterior of the building was. A female hospital staff member busily pushed papers at the reception desk at the back. She barely glanced up before motioning for us to approach.