Chapter 2: Traces in the Rain
The clinical smell of antiseptic hung heavy in the hallway as Julian stepped out of Room 412, his mind racing through impossible scenarios. Dr. Vance followed closely, his clipboard clutched to his chest like a shield against accountability. Evelyn stayed behind for a moment, checking the small bathroom attached to the suite, only to emerge empty-handed and pale.
“Security hasn't logged an exit on this wing,” Dr. Vance stated, his voice flat, devoid of genuine surprise. “The stairwell doors are alarmed. If she opened one, an alert would have sounded at the nurse’s station.”
“Unless someone disabled it,” Julian said, spinning around to face the older man. The scratch on Julian's cheek throbbed, a physical reminder of the struggle they had shared just hours before she was admitted—or rather, imprisoned here. “Who has access to the master overrides, Doctor? You? Or the board members funding this entire wing?”
Vance’s stern expression didn't flicker, but a micro-twitch in his left eye betrayed his discomfort. “Mr. Hayes, your accusations border on paranoia. The stress of the accident has clearly taken a heavy toll on your judgment. Your wife suffered a severe concussion. Her perception of reality was entirely compromised.”
“My wife was lucid,” Julian whispered, stepping close enough to smell the faint scent of peppermint and coffee on the doctor's collar. “She knew exactly what she was doing. And she knew you were trying to erase her.”
Evelyn walked up, placing a firm, manicured hand on her son’s shoulder. Her teal suit jacket rustled as she tried to anchor him. “Julian, stop. Let’s look at the security logs ourselves. Vance, if Clara wandered off into the city in a hospital gown and a light blue robe, she won't survive thirty minutes in this weather. Help us find her.”
May you like
The doctor hesitated, then nodded stiffly. “Fine. We will check the central security desk. But if this turns out to be a manifestation of her dissociative fugue—or yours—we will have to involve hospital administration and legal counsel.”
Julian ignored the veiled threat. He turned his attention back to the window overlooking the ambulance bay. A yellow cab was idling near the curb, its hazard lights blinking rhythmically through the downpour. In the backseat, a flash of light blue caught his eye—a glimpse of fabric pressed against the rain-streaked glass before the vehicle pulled away into the heavy city traffic. Julian didn't wait for Vance. He bolted down the corridor toward the elevators.
