Traffic (Complete two-hundred pages) (Moving to Kindle Vella in 30 Days! )

26

WINDOW

JACK SLIPPED OUTSIDE. He had expected he would see the stars in the atmosphere and feel the dry hot air but instead he saw only a ceiling of clouds tent over the sky. The weather was 64 Fahrenheit, and the ground was wet from the rain. No doubt it would start again soon. The humidity was 67% and the wind 13 mph. Knowing he couldn't trust the nurse now, he decided not to leave through the parking lot but to creep along the shadowed edges of the hospital building and make his way into the bushes. Soon he saw windows pass him by. First administrative offices, then a primary care waiting room, then a psychiatric ward, then pediatric care where a single wall-sized fishbowl of all colored fish illuminated under a tiny purple light. He then crept passed a patient room, unlit. Then another patient room, unlit. Then a third--

And he stopped. His eyes caught sight of a hand through the window, bandaged and cut between the thumb and index finger. But the nails a modest French gloss that reflected the parking lot lights identically on every finger glistened. He looked closer and moved his shadow to let the light spray up the arm and across the collarbone and the untouched neck of a Spanish beauty whose head was turned but whose long black hair cover her chest. The rest of her body was covered by a scarlet blanket which he had seen before. UNAM, a university of Mexico City was written over the blanket.

This was her.

He tapped on the window. "Penelope," he whispered. No movement. He tapped again just a bit harder. "Penelope," he whispered. No movement. He knocked loud this time to wake her, but she would not budge. "Penelope."

He decided a different route. He examined the window and realized it was cracked ever so slightly. Grabbing for the wet ground, his fingers dug into the mud beneath the grass and he pulled up a dull but large rock from the dark. He banged it against the brick wall below the window, and banged it thrice until it broke in two. Digging again for the pieces that spilled, he found a sharp jagged remain and used it to cut the window mesh. A round semicircle was cut and he was able to then push his hand through and pull the unlocked sliding window to the right to open it wider. Once it budged a few inches he was then easily able to pull it open from the gap. That's when he said Penelope's name one last time, and heard a moan.

Sweetheart. Penelope, it's me. Jack. I'm here for you. You're not alone. With his clean hand he felt through the mesh and grabbed her arm. "Penelope." She did not groan again. She lay perfectly still. His heart started to throb again. He quickly crawled his fingers down her bandaged arm to feel her wrist. Her pulse was slow. He said her name again. Her arm was so cold. He lifted her blanket over her to cover her arm but saw she was wearing nothing. Not even a patient's dress. Although he could understand, her clothes were likely destroyed and those patients clothes were basically paper. He grabbed her hand tight. "Everything's going to be okay." He said it. But it was more a gesture to himself than to her. He didn't know if everything would be okay.

Suddenly she moved.

Jack shook. Her face turned slowly. And what he saw made his eyes grow wide. The entire half of her face on his side was covered in hospital bandage gauze, and the other side had a purple stitch curved under her eye from the bridge of her nose to her ear and then back down to the edge of her mouth, where her lips began. Jack was frozen in horror.

He felt the rain start again, falling onto his head drip after drip. He knew she could not see him, try as she might to open her eyes to his dark silhouette. It was all he could do to hold her hand. And then she muttered something. Indeterminable.

"What?" he said. But she merely muttered even softer in response. She knew he was there, he could tell as she tried to motion her hand within his grasp. So he tightened his grip over her rough, dry fingers. A light smile curled ever so softly under her gauze, but quickly he saw the tears roll down over her lips. And her chest heaved and she moaned, wailing at the lowest possible volume. Eyes always closed, she muttered again, but this time she thought she'd said his name. His full name. But maybe it was just wishful thinking on his part.

What was he to do? Pull her out of the window? Throw her on his back and run her from the hospital with the IV tied around his neck? Call an autonomous rideshare? It sounded crazy but that might be the best possible answer. Then again, if he left her there for a couple hours, at least he would know where she was. He could call Mr. Golem by a local telephone. But why didn't Mr. Golem come to see if she was here in the first place. Why did Jack need to discover this on his own? Did Mr. Golem know she was here? Or did he even care what happened to "his spy"?

That was when Jack questioned. . . if she really was a spy at all.

His hand still on hers, he studied her frailty, and pondered the idea of her frailty. By the looks of it, it looked like the most she was capable of was selling car security software internationally. She was just a security salesman. That was an idea.

Disappointed, he was about to let go. That is until he moved his fingers to caress her palm before he went. That's when the sudden caress of his fingers under her palm struck and was obstructed by the familiar crinkle of paper wrapped within her fingers. Curious, Jack hesitated before pulling the paper out from under her curled fingers and was careful to take out the wrinkles in the folds with his thumb the window mesh so as to protect it from the rain which fell down harder as the seconds drew on. One second, two second. In the streetlight he turned the note and found the words "Avenida" Avenue "Presidente. . . Masaryk. . . 390A." An address.