Nora Stevenson

Chapter Three

Nora Stevenson, I think, professional spy, horrible friend, hospital gown-clad escapee. Who would've known? Insecurities flood my mind as I review my escape plan once more. Will it go alright? Will I remain undetected? Will Liam be waiting for me at the motel?
Two days have passed since our fight and I still have not seen him. I couldn't bring myself to pick up the phone. Convincing myself that it was best to let him cool down, I had postponed calling him—and somehow made it harder to do.
Forget Liam for right now. My mind calls me back to the issue at hand: getting out. I review my plan. First, I wait until the night shift begins—seven o'clock, when most of the nurses leave—and then I pull my CIA techniques into play. In my imagination, I picture the flat hospital pillows piled on top of one another in the vague shape of a woman's body. Then, the plan really springs into action. Second step: find some real clothes—preferably, my clothes. They must be in here somewhere...
Third step: secure—okay, steal—a doctor's coat and make my way to the exit. Pre-call a taxi. Wait and look like I'm doing something important until the coast is clear.
Fourth step: shed the doctor's coat and ditch this sterile germ nest. Hop in the cab and get back to the motel and, hopefully, Liam.
My mind exits agent mode and I look longingly to the clock across the room, which flashes six fifteen. Just forty-five more minutes. My heart pounds and I fidget. I haven't done anything like this in weeks—not since even before I got fired from the CIA.
Six thirty. I bite my lip nervously.
Six forty-five. I can do this, right?
Seven o'clock. I take a deep breath. I need to give the nurses ample time to leave the hospital.
Seven fifteen. It should've been long enough by now. I shut down the IV machine and disconnect it from my arm—ow—and then hobble to the door and close it silently. Swaying woozily from standing up for the first time in three days, I push onward and gather the pillows for my makeshift dummy. Stuffing them under the sheets, I cannot keep my mind off of Liam. I hope he waited for me.
After the dummy is set perfectly in place, I reach for a pad of paper and a pen. "Thanks," I write. I tuck it under the dummy's head to be found by Karrie the nurse. Alright, I think to myself, phase one is complete. On to step two.
Making sure that my hospital gown is tied tightly, I don the fluffy white bathrobe I'd requested earlier. There we go. I open the large door and peer out into the hallway. It is nearly empty, with just two bustling nurses at the other end. I step timidly out and scan the corridor for a closet. If I was a nurse, where would I keep my patient's clothes? I nearly smack my own forehead as the answer comes to me. In my room, of course. I swivel back around and sneak into my room again.
Frantically searching for my blue jeans, t-shirt, and jacket Liam had brought me before our fight, I swung open cabinets and drawers. Aha! I have found them. I take off the bathrobe and gown and put on my normal clothes again. They feel good. Now, I can act like a visitor. I won't even have to put on the doctor's coat!
Still dizzy, I make my way down the hall toward the light from the setting sun. A nurse approaches me. Watching her out of the corner of my eye, I head on to the doors.
"Excuse me, miss. Who gave you permission to be back here?" The nurse's New Jersey accent felt like sandpaper against my ears.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I signed in at the front desk out there. I know it's after visitors' hours; I just missed the call to come out. I was visiting a friend." My feet shuffle with a mind of their own as I hope and pray that the nurse will leave me alone.
"Yeah, okay," she says. "Have a good night, miss."
"Thanks, you too," I respond, turning to walk out the doors ever-faster. I nod to a doctor sheepishly, still pretending that I am a visitor. Suckers. Ha.
As I pass through the doors, I pull out my cell phone. "Hi, can I get a cab at St. Mary's Hospital, please? Five minutes, got it. Thanks." I wait on a bench, clutching my still nauseous stomach. Geez, I think. Someone could've just put a drop in my burger, but no. They had to do gallons upon gallons and make me sick for a week. The taxi pulls up to the front doors of the hospital and I climb in. "Hello. Sunnyside Up Motel, please."
"You got it," affirms the driver. He pulls away into the mass of work traffic blockading the streets. I cannot stop moving. I fiddle my thumbs with anticipation, praying that Liam had forgiven me. How horrible I've to him, and for no reason at all. I have a lot of apologizing to do—if he's even still there. I rub my forehead wearily with my palms and attempt to take a catnap in the backseat. It doesn't work.
Instead, I gaze out the window at the now-dark sky lined with skyscrapers and neighborhoods alike. The lighted shops crawl by as we inch forward through the traffic.
My mind wanders off.