Chapter 2.
Martha rifled through a wash basket spilling over on to the floor frantically, glaring at the clock from the corner of her eye. Where is that damn shirt? She stood straight, putting her hands on her hips. She bit her lip and sulked. She rolled the top of her faded charcoal sweatpants down twice. They were stretching in their old age and constantly falling down but Martha couldn't bear to part with them, or the hole ridden electric blue v-neck long-sleeve top she was wearing.
"Brennan!" she called. Her boyfriend of two years stirred in the bedroom.
"What?" he groaned.
"Have you seen my work shirt?" Martha stomped around the living room, looking in ridiculous places – the back of the lounge, under the television.
"It's in here, babe." He called, Irish lilt coming through.
Martha sighed with relief and stomped in to the bedroom. Brennan pointed in the general direction of the shirt and she picked it up and put it on the bed. For the millionth time since the hospital changed the uniforms, she thanked no one in particular for the iron-free micro-fibre it was made in. She lifted her pyjama top over her head and threw it on the floor. Brennan eyed her eagerly, wishing she didn't have to go to work. He sighed.
"Something the matter?" Martha asked, her lip curling up at the side in a restrained smile as she concentrated on buttoning up her shirt.
"Well…you woke me up so that I could watch you dress." He said, putting his hands behind his head. "What am I going to do with myself when you leave?"
Martha laughed, running her fingers through her hair, pulling it back into a perfunctory pony-tail.
"Whatever you like. But I will be at work, so you're on your own." She replaced her sweatpants with her work pants.
Brennan groaned, rubbing his face. "I can't believe you're leaving me like this one New Year's Eve. You're a cruel girlfriend."
"No, I'm an un-poor girlfriend. One who buys the groceries and pays the bills. I'm getting overtime for this shift."
"Hey!" he protested, "I contribute! And anyway, when I finish my doctorate, I'll be rich and respectable and I can buy you anything you want. And then you won't have to work at the hospital and you can make me my dinner and have ten babies."
Martha rolled her eyes. "If you think that's happening, you're severely misguided."
As she got closer to the bed, Brennan shot forward and grabbed her wrist, pulling her down to the bed. Martha squealed and laughed, feigning protest.
"I've decided you're not allowed to go to work." He grinned. He leant down to where she'd landed next to him and kissed her gently. She stared at him momentarily then returned the kiss. She pulled her face away and glanced at the white digital clock on her bedside table. She hurriedly kissed Brennan on the forehead and leapt up out of bed.
"You are the devil, Brennan." She chided, smiling. "I have to go". Martha slid her made-for-comfort-not-style black shoes on.
"Martha...it is you who is the devil."
"Love you." Martha called as she grabbed up her keys.
"Have a good day, she-demon."
She laughed and went out the front door.
After Brennan's distraction, a small traffic-jam thanks to road works and an asshole in an Astra she arrived at the hospital fifteen whole minutes late. She rushed over to the elevator, catching it with her hand just as the door was about to close, sliding in with some slightly irate staff and visitors. When the elevator door opened up, Martha stumbled out, nearly losing her footing. She ran past the front desk, rushing out apologies to the matron behind the desk, tripping over the words. She slipped behind the desk and into the staff office, where she found the lockers. As she was stashing her bag in hers, someone came in the other door that came from the hallway to the medical ward. Some of the nurses thought it should be locked, since patients sometimes entered through it, mistaking it for a bathroom or thinking it led to another part of the hospital.
"Late, Martha?" asked the round, middle aged woman.
"Yes…I blame Brennan." She huffed. The woman breathed a laugh, not at all quiet. Janet was not quiet in any way.
"Is he not out partying tonight?"
"No. He decided to stay home. Didn't want to go out without me."Martha gave a proud smile.
"He's a good boy."
Martha looked at the clock near the door and frowned.
"You're rarely ever late," she reasoned in her northern accent, "I'm sure the matron won't kill you. Tania's late every other day and she still has her job."
Martha smiled at Janet. She was always kind, motherly. Her pale skin was red on the cheeks. She was only halfway through her shift but she was already puffed. Despite being a large woman, she could probably work a solid twenty-four hours before she crashed so this obvious strain was not a good sign. New Year's Eve was always busy, though. The extra money she would make for working a public holiday would be well earned. There was only one hour until the first day of the new year, well, forty-five minutes. She closed her locker and went out to the front desk and checked the roster board.
"I would suggest checking 12 first." Suggested the matron – a large dark woman with an exotic accent. "He came in unconscious and he hadn't woken up the last he was checked which was nearly twenty minutes ago."
"Okay, matron." She said, memorising the other numbers under her name. She spun on her heel and headed towards bed twelve. As she turned in to the doorway of the three bed room, she looked at twelve – it was empty. Martha's stomach dropped. She walked over to the bed and picked up the chart. Flipping through the pages, she could see there wasn't any severe damage, no alcohol in his system. It was noted that when he was found, he was 'delirious' and the person who found him thought at first that he was drunk. Placing the chart back on the end of the bed, Martha rushed out to the desk.
"Twelve is missing." Martha cried in a hushed voice. "Shall I call security or look for him myself?"
The matron heaved an exasperated breath from her large, plump mouth, "Go look for him yourself, Martha. If you can't find him, then come back. I call security now, okay?"
Martha nodded and rushed off down the hall. She searched every room in the medical ward, then went out the secure door, down the corridor to Accident and Emergency where she asked if they'd seen a patient who didn't belong there. They hadn't. She ran out of there and down the same corridor, checking every door. There had been no name on his chart since Twelve had no ID on his person. Martha wished there had been, since then she could call out to him. She couldn't very well run down the hall calling out 'Twelve'. She went into the men's bathroom, the women's bathroom, the cleaner's store room, the tea room. For a few hopeless moments, she stood at an intersection of hallways. Forward was the medical ward, behind her, Accident and Emergency. To her right were the elevators. If she took the left corridor, she would find the kitchen and the laundry. I may as well, she thought desperately. She strode down the hallway uncertainly. First, the laundry on the left side. This is where all the dirty linen from this level went to. From here it was sent down a laundry chute to the basement which led out to the car park. The laundry was sent off-site for cleaning. There were plenty of nooks and crannies in this laundry room and Martha checked them all. She even examined the laundry chute but, remembering that Twelve was roughly six foot and one inch tall and of an appropriate weight, she decided that would be impossible. She left the laundry and ventured further down the corridor to the kitchen. No one would be in there at this time of the night, so there shouldn't have been a faint light emanating from the small square window in the swinging door.
But there was.
As she got closer, she could hear a faint muttering. She walked slowly and quietly. She didn't want to startle the patient. That's what she told herself. Truthfully, though, this end of the corridor was dark and quiet. Twelve was of an uncertain mind-set. Martha was afraid for herself.
Instead of pushing the door in and announcing her presence, she stood next to the door on the opening side and pulled it quietly ajar, just enough that she could slide through unnoticed (hopefully). She held the door as the springs pulled it closed, to stop it from making a noise. The fridge door was open – explaining the ominous light – and in it was a person, a man: he was searching for something and he was constantly shifting his position. He would bend over so that his rear stuck out behind the door and his head was hidden and only the top of his wild brown hair protruded from the top. Then he would find something, straighten up, turn the found thing around in his hands for a while mutter something like "…supposed to be green? Yerch!", toss the find over his shoulder and resume his former position. He found a carton of milk and rejoiced, tearing open the spout and pouring it into his mouth.
"Catching up on your calcium?" Martha asked, finally deciding to announce her presence.
Twelve spat the milk back in to the carton and stared at her, wiping his mouth with his forearm. Now, Martha was able to get a look at his face. It was fine featured and distinguished. His skin was clear and the colour was pale and untanned but healthy looking none-the-less. His hair was short but cut into a modern style in many different lengths that stood up from his head in a crazy, slightly matted way. I'm sure it looks better when it's done properly, Martha assumed. Twelve was still in his hospital gown but he was facing her and half obscured still by the refrigerator door. He darted looks between the carton of milk and Martha, unsure of how to proceed…only momentarily shaken.