Thanks mozzi-girl, My Quiet Riot, and But I Have Promises To Keep for the reviews! Honestly I'm excited to see where this story goes as well, it'll be an adventure for all of us! :)
Chapter Two: Escape
Floating in darkness, two pairs of rough hands yank Shawn Mallory's dead body from his watery grave and lay him down on the deck of a speed boat. A woman's voice, cold as stone but smooth as silk, speaks out with a disapproving shake of her head, "Silly boy."
I release all of the panic in my body as I lunge out of the bath tub, clasping my hand around the nurse's mouth. I'm able to suppress her scream of surprise, but she immediately starts to flail in fear. She thrashes violently and I can feel her warm breath on my hand as she continues to scream to no avail. I'm soaking wet and have next to no energy, so she easily escapes my grip. She backpedals away from me as fast as she can, but she underestimates the small confined space of the bathroom and smacks right into the wall, hitting her head on the towel rack. The nurse drops like a stone unconscious, but I'm able to catch her. I lay her down gently on the floor and brush her blonde curls away from her face. She'll be alright, just a nasty bump on the head, I tell myself. This nurse, who's name happens to be Whitney Blane, according to her name badge, can't be much older than her early twenties. Blane. I'll have to figure out who the sister she mentioned was later, but for now, my main priority is getting the hell out of here. I go to leave the bathroom, but I freeze in my tracks when I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Is that me? The man staring back at me isn't who I was expecting at all. This man had a sickly gray complexion to his skin, there wasn't a trace of color to be seen. His hair was short, snow white, and felt feathery, almost fake. Any muscle tone he had was gone, and it looked like he hadn't eaten a proper meal in years. This man was a living zombie. This man was me. Did all of this happen from being shot? The mystery keeps growing.
I tear myself away from the mirror and focus on finding some clothes so I can leave. I rummage through a closet in my room and luckily find a pair of old scrubs. They're a little big on me but it doesn't matter. I find a surgical mask and hat, so it covers up my ghastly appearance nicely. Shoes, shoes, I need shoes. I glance back at Whitney who is still passed out on the bathroom floor. I'm going to regret this. I take her nice flamboyant pink Nike's right from her feet and cram my own into them. They're a little small but they will have to do. I take one last look in the mirror. Well now I look like any other creepy doctor getting ready for surgery. I inhale sharply, take one last look around the undecorated room, and peek my head out of the door. Not a soul in sight. I step out of the room and start to walk quickly, quick enough to where people will think I have somewhere I need to be and won't bother me, but not too quick as to where it looks like I'm a psychopathic killer making his escape. I'd like to think I'm not a psychopath.
I weave my way through the halls of the hospital, passing groups of doctors and nurses here and there who are too busy to be bothered by me. Someone notices me though. "Hey doctor!" I feel the blood in my veins freeze. I turn around and look into the eyes of an older nurse. She has some stress wrinkles and straight brown hair that ends at her neck. She peers over a pair of glasses with a look that could cut stone. I swallow hard as I contemplate what to do. Her expression completely changes as a warm smile spreads across her face. "Good luck with surgery!" I nod as a thank you and continue to walk. I bet she'll kick herself later. Eventually, by some miracle, I come across an exit on the side of the hospital. Ten thousand thoughts blow through my mind. You need real clothes. You need money. Did you even think this through? How along until you know who finds you and throws your sorry behind in jail? That last thought shoots a flash of anger through me, and I'm confused by it. I brush it off, push open the doors, and step out into the fresh air for the first time in what feels like forever. All of my problems seem to suddenly solve themselves when I am presented with the perfect gift.
Standing in the alley with me is a man talking nervously on his phone. He is middle-aged and dressed in a nice blue suit with a matching hat and a briefcase and everything. His back is turned to me but he is so involved with his conversation that he wouldn't have noticed me anyway. Obviously a business man. "Yes I know I heard the price. Yeah I have the money with me right now. No I'm sure I want to do this. I already have the perfect hotel picked out, my wife will never know." GUILTY. JUST LIKE THE REST OF THEM, seethes a raging voice in my head involuntarily. Where did that come from? I look down and realize my fists are clenched tight. I unclench them and shake out my hands. I need to get his clothes and money, and I'm running out of time. I scan the alley and spot two empty beer bottles rolling around on the ground. Those will do. I snatch them up and stalk over to the man quietly. "I'll see you later tonight." With that the man hangs up his phone and stuffs it in his pocket. He spins around to leave but comes face to face with me instead. He's startled past words as he stands staring at what looks like a surgeon. "Pig," I snarl as I collide both bottles into his head. They shatter and with a defeated "uff", he collapses on the ground (I didn't bother catching him), bits of beer bottle shimmering around his sleeping body. I wonder how many people I will have to knock unconscious today.
It takes me a good fifteen minutes, but I'm able to switch clothes with the man. I don't really need to go into details. I lay him face down dressed in my scrubs, pink Nike's and all. I finish buttoning up the pale blue business shirt, and put on the navy blue jacket. These clothes actually fit nicely, which surprises me. I look down at the business man. I guess he is rather scrawny, like me. I flip open the briefcase to find work documents and. . . a few hundred dollars. Perfect. With a confident smirk, I close the briefcase, scoop up the blue business hat and place it over my white hair, and make my way out onto the streets. It's time to begin. "Taxi!"