Chapter 6 #2
By the time the road narrowed to Atlantic Ave, the familiar sights of Port Grey revealed themselves in fragments. Damp salt fog rolled over the hood, softening the headlights. Clapboard homes appeared one by one, until they claimed the streets.
We passed the salt-stained town sign. It should have felt like home. Instead, dread rolled in with the fog. The moment I stepped out of the car, I’d be a target again. At least in the moving car—with Graham—the killer couldn’t reach me.
We pulled up to the hospital’s loading bay, headlights cutting across the wet concrete. Cold air hit my bare legs as I cracked the door open.
“Back inside, gramps,” Graham said, flipping the mirror open toward Uncle Silas.
“I beg your pardon?” Uncle Silas huffed. “I’m not some genie to be ordered around whenever you feel like it.”
“Don’t argue. The nurse is coming. Get in.”
“Oh, this is ridiculous.”
The grape-sweet scent of cigars drifted past as the mirror swallowed him. I took the mirror from Graham and tucked it into my clutch.
The nurse, broad-shouldered and built like a well-defined, muscular teddy bear, rolled a wheelchair toward us.
“Magdalene Maxwell?” he asked, his smile warm and disarming enough to make me forget where we were.
I almost smiled back. Then one of his locs slipped across his face, and I saw his eyes. Not brown, not green, or any other color that eyes should be—they glowed yellow.
Nuh-uh. That’s not normal.
My pulse ticked hard, drowning out the hum of the car.
I turned to Graham. “What the hell?” I whispered. “His eyes—something’s wrong. I’m not going with him.” My voice cracked, and I hated that I could hear the fear in it.
“Relax,” Graham said. “I called ahead. That’s Bishop. I know him. You’re safe.” He was out of the car before I could argue, circling around to help.
Hearing it didn’t make me feel any better. I tried not to stare, but the guy’s fucking eyes were glowing. How the hell was I supposed to react to that?
“Come on, Magdalene, let’s get you inside.” Bishop tucked the loc back into his ponytail, his voice calm and patient.
“It’s Maggie,” I said, clutching Graham’s suit coat tighter as I tried to stand. The second I put weight on my foot, I dropped back into the bucket seat. “Ow!”
“Spin in your seat and put both feet firmly on the pavement,” Bishop said evenly. “Pivot on the good foot. We’ll get you into the wheelchair.”
Part of me wanted to be pissed with Graham—for making me come in, and for not just carrying me like a normal overprotective boyfriend would.
With a little effort—and cold toes on near-frozen pavement—I hobbled into the chair.
“I’m going to park the car,” Graham said, his hand firm on my shoulder until I met his eyes. “It’s okay. I’ll be right there.”
Next thing I knew, Bishop was rolling me through the ER doors while the low rumble of the Shelby faded toward the parking lot.
The harsh lights and tang of antiseptic cleaner hit me all at once. Last time I’d been here was after Portia’s basement—something I’d rather forget.
Bishop steered me toward the reception desk; the squeak of the wheelchair echoed under the fluorescent lights. “I’ll keep you here with me until Graham gets in,” he said. “You’re already signed in, but it might be a bit.”
The monitor’s light washed over his dark skin, turning it burnished gold. It caught along the planes of his face, amplifying his yellow eyes. Still glowing. Still wrong.
“An SUV full of teenagers went off the bridge at Crescent Cove,” he said quietly.
“Oh god. Is everyone okay?”
“Can’t say much besides no deaths. It’s chaos back there—angry parents, scared kids.” He thumbed over his shoulder to the double doors containing the muted mayhem in back. “Feels like Christmas back home.”
“You’re not from here?” I asked.
“Nah—Chicago.”
“What brings you to Port Grey?” The question came before I could stop it. Those glowing eyes had me too curious not to ask.
“Internship,” he said. “I finished about five years back. Not much waiting for me in Chicago, so I stayed. Now, I’m the one training the interns.” He gave a flat, closed-mouth smile.
“Nice.”
The outside doors slid open and Graham walked in, looking fine as fuck—as usual. The kind of entrance that turned heads, even in an ER.
“Hey,” I said, giving him a slow once-over while Bishop fastened a wristband to my arm. “I like seeing you all spiffed up.”
“Aww—come on, Max.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and scuffed one shoe in front of the other like he’d suddenly forgotten how to be cocky. “Not in front of the staff.”
A blonde nurse giggled behind the desk, peeking at him through her lashes. “Nice to see you out of uniform, Officer Locke,” she said. “Missed you at Moon’s the past couple of months.”
“Nice to see you too, Veronica. Captain’ll probably rope me into the Christmas Jamboree at Five Corners—he does every year. Maybe you’ll win the bachelor auction this time.” He winked. “I know you came in second last year.”
“Oh, Georgetta and I will be there, for sure. You can count on it.” She leaned closer, voice dipping low. “I plan on bringing extra singles just for you.”
I blinked at her. I didn’t want to feel jealous—or possessive—or whatever the hell brewed under the surface. But watching her flirt with him hit somewhere I didn’t expect.
I forced a shrug and turned back to Bishop. “So how do you two know each other?” I asked.
“I’m in here practically every other day,” Graham said. “Kinda comes with the job, ya know? Besides, Bishop’s got the most tender touch when he fixes my owies.”
They both chuckled.
I raised a brow. “Of course he does.” I muttered under my breath.
“Hey, I’m glad you’re back, man. It’s been pretty quiet around here without you. Everything good?”
“Yeah, I just got back from a little time off.”
“Nice.” Bishop glanced at the monitor behind the nurses’ desk. “Looks like a room’s open. Let’s get you back, Maggie—see what’s going on with that ankle.”
Graham pushed the wheelchair, following Bishop through the double doors and into an examination room. I couldn’t shake the image of his eyes—or the feeling that something otherworldly clung to him. Whether he knew it or not was another story.
He helped me onto the exam table and ran a thorough inspection that had me flexing my foot in ways I didn’t know were possible—and crying through most of it. Finally, Bishop stepped out to find an X-ray tech.
The door clicked shut, and we were alone.
“What the hell is up with his eyes?” I asked, gripping his sleeve, turning him to face me. He didn’t tug his arm away, even though I could see the irritation in his gaze.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Max.”
“They are fucking yellow—what do you mean?”
Graham pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we just not do the freaky shit right now?”
“What? How can I not? My nurse—the one that’s supposed to be taking care of me—could be fucking possessed.”
“I don’t think he’s possessed.”
“How would you know?”
“Wouldn’t he be spewing ectoplasm? Acting weird or something?”
“I don’t know.” I threw my hands up. “I’ve never met the guy before—how am I supposed to know his personality?”
Graham exhaled. “Maybe it’s part of your… psychic thing. Maybe you can see what others can’t.”
“Well, duh—”
“But maybe he’s just an empath or clairvoyant or something.”
My eyebrows shot up. “You know what a clairvoyant is?”
“Not really. I heard the aunts say it one time.”
“It… is… possible,” I said, my mind sifting through every scenario. “But they’re more common than you think. If that were the case, I should’ve seen more around town these past two months.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.” He sat in the chair against the wall. “But he’s not possessed.”
A soft knock sounded at the door before a woman in holiday-themed scrubs stepped in, followed by Bishop wheeling a portable X-ray machine.