Chapter 8 Digital Stalking
Chapter eight
Digital Stalking
Zane
I found her Instagram. Private, but her profile picture showed everything.
Dark hair in a messy bun, exhausted brown eyes that still manage to look amused, crooked smile like she knows all your secrets. She's in scrubs, standing next to a beat-up van with medical crosses painted on the side, and fuck me, she's beautiful in that "I could save your life or ruin it" way.
She's also completely out of my league.
@NurseLenaHands. She literally told me her handle. Handed me the keys to stalking her like the tech-savvy creep I apparently am.
Lena. Her name is Lena.
It's 6 AM Thursday, and I'm in my garage, scrolling through her public tagged photos like a fucking teenager.
There she is at some hospital fundraiser, looking uncomfortable in a dress.
There she is with other nurses, middle finger up at the camera, laughing.
There she is next to her van, "Mobile Mercy Unit" painted on the side in careful letters.
She's a nurse. Not a doctor. A nurse who runs a ghost clinic out of a van. Who treats people in Home Depot parking lots. Who came to my voice while sitting on what was probably a questionable stool.
Perfect. She's fucking perfect.
Brick texts:
Ribs are fucked. Meet me at UNM?
The ribs I broke yesterday when he thought skimming was a good idea. Three quick shots to the side, enough to teach but not hospitalize. Except now he needs a hospital. Poetic.
Different hospital. Presbyterian's closer
Already here. Plus that sweet nurse from last time
UNM. Where she works. Universe is fucking with me now.
I’m there in a blur. The hospital is massive. She's in trauma. Brick needs the ER. Different departments. Safe distance. I keep telling myself this while my body goes through the motions of parking, walking, waiting.
Every nurse that passes makes me look. Pathetic. Like a dog waiting for its owner.
My phone buzzes.
Angel: You okay? You've been quiet
Angel. Lena. Angel who is Lena who is completely out of my fucking league.
At a hospital
Three dots immediately.
Angel: Are you hurt??
Angel: Which hospital
Angel: Diablo, answer me
The concern in her texts does something violent to my chest.
Not hurt. Here for a friend. Stop worrying
Angel: I'm a nurse. Worrying is literally 90% of my job
Thought saving lives was your job
Angel: That's maybe 10%. The other 90% is worrying, documenting the worrying, and preventing doctors from killing people with their egos
Fuck, she's funny.
Which hospital?
I look around. She could be here. Could walk past right now. Would I recognize her voice? Would she recognize my hands?
Presbyterian
The lie tastes like ash.
Angel: Good. UNM is a shitshow today. Three-car pileup plus a construction accident. I'm drowning in trauma
She's here. In this building. Probably covered in blood, exhausted, still making jokes while literally saving lives.
"Zane Quinn?" A nurse calls.
I stand, help Brick toward the exam room. Through the window, I see the parking lot. A beat-up van catches my eye. Medical crosses on the side. "Mobile Mercy Unit" in careful letters.
Her van. She's here.
"You good?" Brick asks.
"Fine."
But I'm not. I'm putting pieces together. She works trauma. Runs a ghost clinic. Parks in the same lot I'm staring at. Lena. Angel has a name and a van and a life that has nothing to do with violence or vengeance.
My phone buzzes.
Angel: [Voice note attached]
Six seconds.
I shouldn't listen here. But I do. Earbud in while Brick gets X-rays.
"Missing your voice today, Diablo." She sounds exhausted. "Which is inconvenient since I'm elbow-deep in someone's chest cavity." A pause. "Not literally. Well, not anymore."
I listen eight times. Like an addict. Her tired laugh at the end ruins me.
Later, I'm home, and Dylan's having a crisis.
Dylan: How do you know if a girl likes you?
She tells you
Dylan: What if she doesn't?
Then she doesn't like you
Dylan: What if she's just shy?
I think about Lena. About how she sent me audio of her coming before telling me her name. About how I know her Instagram but not her last name.
Talk to her. Use words. In person
Dylan: Says the guy who probably doesn't even know his girlfriend's last name
Fuck. Kid's too smart.
Dylan: Wait. You don't, do you?
Dylan: OMG YOU DON'T KNOW HER NAME
It's complicated
Dylan: You're stalking someone on Instagram aren't you
Dylan
Dylan: This is amazing. You're a disaster. I'm getting advice from a disaster
Talk to your chemistry girl or I'm telling your mom about the vape pen
Dylan: You wouldn't
Try me
Dylan: Fine. But when this goes badly I'm blaming you
Dylan: Also her name is Jessica and she's perfect and I'm going to die
Kids. Fucking drama queens.
My phone buzzes.
Angel: Want to hear something true?
Always
Angel: I looked for you today
Angel: At the hospital
Angel: Every tall guy with dark hair made me stop
Angel: Which is insane since I don't even know what you look like
I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't—
I know what you look like now, Angel. You're perfect
Three dots. Stop. Start. Stop.
Angel: How?
Does it matter?
Angel: Yes
Angel: No
Angel: Maybe
Angel: This is weird, right?
The weirdest
Angel: Want to stop?
No
Angel: Good
Angel: Because I have your voice notes saved in a password-protected folder labeled "Tax Documents 2019"
That's the least sexy folder name ever
Angel: That's the point, Diablo
This woman. Lena. This perfect disaster named Lena who saves lives in a van and comes to my voice in parking lots.
You're perfect
Angel: I'm a disaster
A perfect disaster
Angel: Same time tonight?
I look at her Instagram profile one more time. Lena. Still no last name. But Lena.
Wouldn't miss it
Angel: Maybe tonight you'll tell me your name
Maybe tonight you'll tell me yours
Angel: Maybe
Angel: Or maybe we stay strangers who know each other's orgasm sounds
I record another voice note. Twelve seconds of telling her exactly what I'd do if she was here. How I'd push her against the van wall. How I'd make her come with just my voice and my hand around her throat.
Angel: JESUS
Angel: I'm in the supply closet
Angel: AGAIN
Angel: You can't send that when I'm at WORK
You love it
Angel: I'm going to drop something sterile and it's your fault
Good
Angel: Menace
Angel: Gotta go. Trauma coming in
Angel: Tonight...
Tonight
Angel: [skull emoji]
A skull emoji. From a woman named Lena who saves lives in a van.
I'm completely fucked. And I know her name.