Locked

Chapter Three

Late the next afternoon, the rain finally subsided to a light sprinkle. V took advantage of the layoff to go for a walk – and maybe pick a few pockets.

The sun tried to shine through the deep clouds. It occasionally won the race, pleasing the few people out on the streets with a little warmth. V leaned against a lamp post; the sun wasn't very strong, but it put a smile on her face whenever it landed on the few spots of skin that were absent of clothing. She made her way down the street, heading towards the more medical oriented area of town. Picking a few pockets along the way helped to brighten her mood, and by the time she reached the hospital, she was in high spirits.

Hands in pockets, V ran up the stone steps of the giant mansion-turned-hospital. This was her last chance at helping Clara. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. V stopped at the top of the stairs; she had a weird feeling she was being watched. Swivelling around, she could see no one who would be watching her. Either she was being paranoid, or someone was very good at this. She headed inside the immense building.

She did not like hospitals, no one did. They were filled with disease and dying people. Nurses and doctors shouted over the hubbub of crying infants, wrestling individuals, and screams of pain. There was a small desk over to the side of what she assumed to be the waiting room. A young nurse sat there, filling out paperwork, and occasionally surveying the insanity of the scene before her. That will be a problem. Hiding herself amongst the sick and dying, she shimmied her way along the wall, through the throng of people, to the door waiting ajar on the far side of the room. Assuming this was the way into the heart of the hospital, she slid inside, just as the nurse looked back up for another round across the room.

V had only been here once before, but she remembered the layout of the back rooms and made her way around corners, past doctors and nurses alike, and up a few flights of stairs until she found what she was looking for. Of course, the door was locked. V glanced left and right – no one around. She pulled out two small nails and began working on the lock. After only a few long moments, the office door swung open. V slipped inside and left the door ajar.

She didn't have to wait long, a dark shadow stopped on the other side of the door. Perhaps puzzled by the open door, a masculine voice called out, asking a nurse if anyone had been through here recently. With a negative answer, the man entered the office.

From the man's perspective, the office was exactly as he had left it. The feeble light from the hallway poured from behind the man, illuminating his sturdy frame, and hiding V from sight. The man – most assuredly a doctor, felt around for a match. He never left his lamp lit as the hospital was run down enough without adding the cost of oil to its charges. However, the box of matches was not where he had left it.

V lit a match; the doctor would have jumped a mile if not for the heavy oak desk in front of him. The doctor slammed his knees against the underside of the desk; he then fell backwards into his desk chair, cursing as he fell to the ground. During all this, V managed to light the single oil

lamp in the office. Seeing V's face for the first time, the man's mouth made a long O shape, but before he could say anything, a woman's voice sounded from the hall.

"Doctor Wellingstone? Are you alright?"

V put a single finger to her lips, indicating the doctor not reveal her location.

"I'm fine Miss Hendrew. Just fell over my chair in the dark." The doctor forced a small laugh and picked himself up off the floor. He closed the door tight and up righted his chair before sitting in it.

V waited a moment for the doctor to make himself comfortable.

"My dear, I haven't seen you in years! So sorry about your father, but how are you? The doctor chatted lightheartedly.

V was not so amiable, "I need your help Doctor Wellingstone."

"What is it dear? Anything for an old friend." The doctor paused a moment, as if considering the facts. "Where are your guardians?"

V studied a crack in the wooden floor. "Who cares?" She grumbled.

The doctor understood – she had no guardians. He would have taken her in, but his wife and four children at home would have disapproved.

"What can I do for you then Miss Claymore?"

"I have a friend, a very dear friend, who has become very ill in a matter of days. No physician will care for her. I'm desperate." She spoke the last words as if her very life depended on them – which they almost did.

Without missing a beat, the good doctor pulled out his writing utensils. "What are her symptoms?" He asked. V picked them off her fingertips. When she was done, the doctor promised to ask his colleagues for help. He told V to bring her friend in and he might be able to admit her. Thanking the doctor profusely, V could not even begin to think up any ways to pay him back for his kindness. Doctor Wellingstone escorted V out, making her trip out a lot easier than the trip in.

Back on the stone steps of the hospital, V was ecstatic – Clara would be fine! Doctor Wellingstone was an excellent physician; if anyone could help Clara, it would be him.

The uneasy feeling of being watched returned, ruining her good mood. She tried not to move about too quickly as to spook her stalker. I definitely have a stalker. She was sure of it. Surveying the crowd slowly as she descended the stairs, V saw a family of three exiting the hospital. There were a group of street merchants who had set up shop on the opposite side of the square. A cluster of nuns hurried off towards the distant church. Nearly everyone was in a group of some sort. Deciding her stalker was more deceptive than she gave him credit for, she decided to leave for home – through the alleys of course as not to lead whoever it was to Clara and Eddie. If V had been watching closely, she would have noticed a finely dressed man in black and blue silks and a black top hat enter a dark carriage oozing expensive tastes. She needn't worry about someone following her – he already knew where she lived – that wasn't the problem.