Oh, How We Drift

Oh How We Drift - Chapter One

1.

The hospital loomed overhead, a huge shadow in the night, the windows speckled with yellow, the aura of bright lights from within. The moon hung in the sky above, its dim glow illuminating the streets below with an icy blue hue. The streets were quiet, the late night hours had sent most of the living to sleep, wrapped up warm and safe in their beds, waiting for the call of the morning sun.

The entrance to the hospital was empty, save for one parked ambulance sitting against the curb, waiting for that midnight call out. A soft breeze flowed through the bushes out front, swaying the greenery back and forth in waves of motion. Footsteps could be heard from nearby. The front of the hospital was a huge wall of thin metal frames and panes of clear glass, cleaned meticulously from both inside and out. The glowing red sign read 'Springfield General', it flickered between different tones of brightness in the night air; the electricity in the American countryside town had never been the most reliable.

The huge glass doors of the hospital entrance slid open as a shady figure stepped into the light. It was a man, middle-aged, with soft features and a clean shaven face. His thick brown hair flopped down into his eyes, which glowed with an envious green colour. He stood at just over 6ft tall, and wore a massive, grey woollen overcoat. The man strode up to the hospital welcome desk and rang the bell, his dark black shoes clip clopping on the tiled floor. A woman emerged from the back room behind the desk, clearing her hair from her eyes she looked the man up and down; it was awful late to have a visitor.

"I'm sorry but, visiting hours are closed sir, you'll have to come back in the morning." The receptionist said in a clear tone, but the man simply stared back at her with his deep green eyes. He stared for a moment more before suddenly shaking his head and clearing his throat.

"Ahem, terribly sorry." The man apologised, "I was in a world of my own there for a second, haha." He laughed, never once breaking eye contact with the woman, "I'm aware visiting hours ended a while ago, don't worry, I'm actually here on police business, I'm a detective for the city police department."

"Okay," The woman replied sceptically, "I'm gonna need you to show me a badge...or something, then."

"Of course." The man replied, pulling a square leather pouch from his coat pocket, he handed it to the woman and brushed his hair backwards out of his eyes with a long fingered hand. The woman looked over the leather pouch, squinting at the labelling. "I think you should find everything you need on there, ma'am." He assured, forming eye contact with her again with his emerald eyes.

The woman looked over the badge again and handed it back to the man, "It all checks out I guess, so who are you here to see?"

"It's a strange request from the department actually, an old case...we suspect longterm poisoning of some kind, from a plant or herb or something strange like that. His name is Christopher Watkins."

The receptionist pulled out a clipboard with about twenty sheets of paper pinned to it, running her finger down the list, "So, have you been with the department a while? I've never seen you in here before."

"Quite a few years now yes, I'm starting to lose track haha. And I like to think I manage to catch the criminals before a hospital is even needed ma'am."

The woman laughed in response, a borderline nervous chuckle, she stopped about three quarters down the fourth page, "Yes, Mr.Watkins, on the fourth floor in the Rose Ward...but it says here Mr.Watkins has been comatose for the last eleven months, what could you even get from seeing him?"

The man smiled, taking his badge from the desk and sliding it back into his coat pocket, "We detectives have our ways, Miss Stuart." He said with a grin, and started to walk down the hall.