Alexis Graham was drawn to curses. Not in the macabre, self-styled witch sort of way where she collected worthless rocks and had an astrology tattoo on her calf. She just got sucked up into them. As long as it didn’t involve dire injury, something in her life always went wrong. From games of musical chairs as a child where the legs broke to $400’s worth of attempts to win a $5 hand of blackjack when she turned twenty-one. No one believed her, but the rental house her family lived in for one year when she was eight was totally haunted by a large, gangly dark shadow.
Out of high school, she got her EMT certification and began work on an ambulance in the inner city. They kept four of the emergency vehicles in the bay and Alexis got assigned to the good ‘ole 103. Violence in West Adams was as frequent as a homeless man taking a dump on the street corner, but only the medics on the 103 ever got hurt. They would suffer someone getting put out of commission on a biweekly basis. It was the only vehicle that ever had a death. Alex kept with her personal tradition and made it through those eight months of work just fine, but not one of her colleagues did.
You could call Alex the lucky sort of cursed.
She thought for just a second that her life was becoming a bit more normal when she went to nursing school—no wobbly desks, no fetal pigs that were accidently still alive, but she always knew to be on the lookout for the next ill omen to cast a shadow on her life. She didn’t need to keep a lookout because the next curse she got herself involved in practically reeled back, held it there for a second, and then slapped her in the face.
Straight out of school and fully certified to save lives, it was easy to find work as a nurse. But it was incredibly difficult to find a job that wasn’t the night shift. But find that magical unicorn of a job Alexis did, accepting a position at St. Miera Memorial and Childrens’ Hospital.
She packed up her belongings in the back of a short U-Haul and dove feet first into her new career 250 miles from home.
Alex had two days to settle in before orientation on Thursday, and in that time the first murmurings of the curse were in literal bold print. With no wi-fi for the foreseeable future due to a scheduling error on the cable company’s part, she lugged herself down to the library. Near the entrance, the local paper pronounced that “The Miera Curse” was getting it’s own Netflix documentary series. Combined with a Google search, the recent history of her new employer spelled ominous in all caps:
The “Curse,” as it was coined, started almost six years ago in the neonatal unit over Christmas weekend. A newborn, name pending, went missing—a story that had made the national news. Every nurse, doctor, tech, and any visitors were absolutely grilled. No lead was too small and no stone unturned, but no amount of police work or pleading on the six o’clock news turned up any results.
Next year, it happened again with an older child. Devonse Williams, age 4, disappeared from pediatrics, December 28th; Three years ago: Ashlyn Frye, age three, December 24th; Two years ago, Dvonde Brown, age six; The previous year, Benjamin Baldwin, premature on New Year’s night.
The newspaper’s announcement that the feds were getting involved didn’t surprise Alex. Apparently last year saw a steep decline in births and treatment at the hospital for patients under the age of ten. Parents would rather go out of network-- which was saying something.
And that was the thing: no one knew. Every year saw more security, more cameras, less privacy. The crash carts were thrown out, mattresses thinned down. If it was big enough to hide a child in, St. Miera’s now forbade it. By Thanksgiving of this year, the hospital would be instituting pat downs. By Christmas, the hospital was expected to have full body scanners straight from the TSA. The governor had passed an order allowing the hospital to bypass fire and safety codes and do away with emergency exits for crying out loud.
The hospital administrator had made a pledge, “The Devil himself couldn’t get in or out of the building without us knowing,” but Alex had to scowl. She was here, and that meant things wouldn’t work out that simply.
But it was summer and she’d have plenty of time to prepare herself for whatever hellishness awaited.
December 25th, 2:07 P.M.
The average high security prison was more expedient (both in and out) than St. Miera’s today. Alexis pulled her sleeve back and calculated how late she would be as the line moved up a single pace. No special privileges for employees, no way around the pat downs and the single x-ray machine for the entry line; it was all the same in the opposite direction.
Alex craned her body to the side in a half moon trying to get a peak. It was always slow, but this was just ridiculous. The problem presented itself in the largest man Alex had ever seen. His patchy auburn hair had stuck up in the line as he was a head higher than anyone else, but only now as two guards patted his massive frame could she see the absolute girth of him. He had to be at least 500 pounds. She hadn’t worked long as a nurse yet, but she knew what that body size looked like already. This guy’s proportions were more front heavy than the rotund shape she’d seen however, almost like his stomach distended from starvation.
A woman was rifling through his duffle bag pulling out an unusual assortment of belongings: bright colored scarfs, a spray bottle, a limp piece of plastic that looked like it might inflate into a hammer. The clown. Alex had heard about him. He came less than he used to, but the clown never failed to come during Christmas week to attempt to cheer up the children.
They confiscated his duffle bag and the line took one thumping step forward.
“His name?” Alex’s work friend Lindsay laughed as they exited the handoff together. “I guess he hasn’t been here in a while. It’s not surprising, last time I saw him he seemed to be in agonizing pain whenever he moved. His clown name is Red, we all call him Herring behind his back.
“Red Herring?” They couldn’t be serious. Lindsay read her face like a batting coach stealing signs.
“You were about to declare him the murderer, weren’t you?” Lindsay’s voice dropped to a mute whisper as she spoke, Alex having to do some lip reading to double check. The topic was hammered home in orientation: leave it to the police, never bring it up. If a single word about the series of missing children ended up on your social media, you were gone. Calling the disappearances a murder was surely a red fucking line. “The first three times it happened,” Lindsay continued, “Herring got a lot of heat. I wasn’t here the first year—I came in to fill all the firings that happened—but I heard the police tore through his home without a warrant, and I mean tore.
The rest of the conversation would have to wait. The two departed down opposite hallways to begin their rounds.
As Alex came back to the island an hour later, finally ready to take a deep breath, she saw her first glimpse of the clown. Red, as Alex was not ready to concede he was a herring, lumbered down the hall in full face paint, his magical affectations bundled together in his arms. Not once in her life had Alex seen clowns as anything but creepy, but Red managed to beat the rap. He had an almost Santa-Clause like quality with much of his face naturally so rosy that extra paint beyond white wasn’t needed. Added to this, his apparent inability to paint the fat rolls on his neck gave a pitiable quality to the man.
“You’ve been here, who do you think it is?”
Lindsay shook her head and hunched over the computer in a way to block off as many of the staff from getting a good look at her. “It’s pricklier than ever today, and you’re asking me that?”
Alex grinned. There was no one more prone to gossip than nurses. It didn’t take prodding, just ten more seconds of silence. “I don’t know. Someone who works here, has access to the crematorium or something like it. You’ve seen what security looks like; it’s impossible to get anyone out of here.”
“Just murder then?” Alex didn’t like it. This was all too complicated to be a flight of fancy. The news would fear monger on about the occasional nurse or doctor who went off the handle and murdered a dozen patients with their medical knowledge over the course of a year, but that seemed like a crime of convenience.
“Murder. Molestation. Cannibalism. Whatever it is, it’s someone—” Lindsay shut her mouth as her peripherals picked up movement.
Alex made to look busy as a white coat came by. She wasn’t a usual doctor on this floor though, just someone Alex had seen in passing in the elevator or cafeteria. Sallow complexion for what it was, thick round glasses, hair pulled into such a tight bun that it strained the forehead.
“Doctor Nguyen,” Lindsay breathed as she passed by. “Important woman, filling in today. Apparently Dr. Appeldorn had a psychotic break or something. Might be dead, might have quit. Either way we’re short.”
“She’s in. . .?
“Surgeon. A really good one. If she’s helping today, she volunteered for it. No hospital is going to waste its top talent with mediocre work like this.”
“Maybe she just wanted to see the clown,” Alex said, and then the two got back to work with a single fleeting smile.
Not all the rooms were filled but St. Miera’s was at capacity with the staff it had. They couldn’t hold a single child more, legally. So Alex rubbed her eyes and did a double-take to try and read the chart again. Looking down at the newly admitted five-year-old girl in the wheelchair, Alex gave her a comforting smile and a less comforting shrug.
"Let's find a room for you then?"
Clipping the chart onto the back of the wheelchair, Alex steered the little girl around a gurney, two arguing techs, and Doctor Nguyen who was rushing in the opposite direction. The brave little soldier in her seat watched the chaos with saucered eyes and blank expression, at least at first.
The next person they passed made the little girl retract. Her hands quivered, her feet scrunched up to her butt, and her shoulders slapped the back of the chair as a red grinning clown shambled on by.
“Hospital clowns are a real thing, believe it or not,” Alex said. “I looked it up.” As if a Wikipedia entry was the mark of normalcy.”
Polly. That was this kid’s name; her chart said Pauline. She was admitted with a small scrape to her elbow and hemophilia. As Polly was happy to share, she had just gotten really excited opening presents and got her feet tangled up in a sweater sent in the mail by grandma and thrown aside. For that sin alone, she’d have to be watched until tomorrow.
It was with her admittance that the shift began to skew off-kilter. Alex wasn’t wrong and they were indeed at capacity, but in the hubbub and chaos, a clerical error had been made: Polly was assigned, when she shouldn’t have been, to a taken bed while its patient was a floor below in X-ray. Any other day, the double booking would have been fixed easily enough when that other boy got brought back, but that wouldn’t happen. Not today.
Mr. Red ended his juggling. Silhouetted against the window to a grey sky, he caught three saline bags to sparse applause from the tweens in the room. He bowed from the waist as low as his bulbous gut would allow, not letting the reception damage his ego, too much. He was there for them after all. The kids were at the age where clowns were transforming from scary to lame, so Mr. Red knew he had to follow up the expected with something magnificent.
"And for my next trick–" he began in his ever-present somber tone, interrupted by the door swinging open.
"There you are, I was looking for you," a man said dressed in the navy-blue security guard uniform of the hospital. His name tag read Vinh. “If you want to go to another room, you let me know; you’re not getting out of my sight.”
Mr. Red’s painted-on smile turned blue. “Oh ho!” he shouted, miraculously holding his monotone speech, his eyes pallid with the years smudging the twinkle that resided there for every true children’s entertainer. “The lad is so excited to see every one of my tricks, he won’t let me get away.” Mr. Red held out his heads to be cuffed. His head thrown back in mock submission.
Vihn moved to swat away the hands with clubbed sausages for fingers and heard a faint click as he did. He pulled backed in astonishment seeing a cuff clamped down on his wrist, and with the size of the clown, he was pulled like a Dachshund on a leash as the other cuff locked over a bed’s siderail.
The kid’s cheered at that, they really did, and Mr. Red smiled. It was a better trick than he had planned, and even though the kids couldn’t be consciously aware of the inherent comedy in subverting authority, he was pleased to find the humor so universal.
And then the uppity security guard named Vihn screamed. He yelped bloody murder.
“Hey, cool it kid, these aren’t real cuffs.” Mr. Red leaned in with a reassuring hand on the guard’s back. “Cheap magic props? See the little switch on the side right there? Just hold that.”
The calm logic of the situation took over and Vihn whimpered to a seething silence. He brought his hands together and flicked the switch. Just like that, he was out but the damage was already done. The kids looking on in a traumatized kind of shock was bad enough, but behind him the door burst open with a kick. The new nurse was first: Alexis. Cute in a nontraditional kind of way, bit gossipy. And within two seconds after that, five others had poured in, including two doctors.
He had expected as much; people were on edge this time of year without the Miera Curse.
The excitement forced Mr. Red to retreat, hold his belly and cough a full lunged cough—he was no smoker, that was for sure.
Alexis was on the clown already, the second he could breathe. “Just what were you doing here, you creepy mother fu—” she paused to look at the kids, oldest in the bunch eleven which was old enough, but still. “--funny guy.” She finished.
The clown stayed silent, but the rest of the room had erupted into so much noise that she couldn’t make sense of it all. The security guard, Vihn, was babbling on, trying to address three people at once. He looked scared, some pleading in his eyes. She’d definitely find out what he screwed up later. Nurses Lav and Dave were already among the kids, trying to keep them calm, checking for any injuries or clues under that pretense.
The cacophony came to a head as the security chief pushed his way into the room. Big burly grey mustache, mutton chops. “What’s the matter here? Eh? You’re one of mine, let me hear it.”
It was awkward for the security chief to give precedence to him over the doctors in the room, but Vihn spoke up. “I overreacted.”
“Ho? How so?”
It was inappropriate to have this conversation in such a public forum, but Alex was curious too. With the state the hospital was in, the alternative was probably a lockdown.
“I—I was following the clown for the obvious reasons, and I got jumpy.” His boss really wasn’t going to let that stand, he could see it. “Freaked out about a magic trick, it’s silly.”
“Obvious, eh?” The chief really was a man of few words. “With me then. We’ll have a talk. Apologies to everyone else, go about your business.”
The two stopped by the elevator, and Vihn could feel the heat pouring over his cheeks.
“You’ve been here three years.”
“Yes sir.”
“You’re a fuck up.”
“Yes—sir.”
“You get my point, boy?”
Vihn couldn’t look him in the eye. “Yes.”
“No you don’t. Look at me,” the chief said. Vihn did not. “Your dad worked here for twenty years, God rest his soul, and despite the short staffing, he’s the only reason you got the job. Be more like him, will you?
“Be like him how. . . ?”
“For Christsake’s, I’m not asking you to hang yourself or feel an unaccountable amount of guilt. Start by leaving the clown alone. Stand in places where people can see you. Help when you are asked to help.”
By every and all account, Doctor Nguyen was the god of St. Miera’s and higher on the ladder than any patron saint. Even this floor, one alien to her was now her domain. She stood absolute, and on an overworked Christmas day where the staff worried about rapers and murderers, she paid those factors no mind at all. The other doctors might as well have groveled the way they stared at the floor during her passing.
Nguyen was here because of her mother, in a way. As a first-generation immigrant Mẹ Nguyen had imparted her wisdom to her one and only child: “They’ll fuck you if they get the chance, so don’t give them one,” “Do whatever you want because they’ll still fuck you if you do the right thing,” and of course, “You’re going to be a doctor, don’t fucking argue.”
Safe to say Mẹ Nguyen had a singular viewpoint on the world, but it was all advice that Doctor Nguyen was following today. This hospital had given her benefits and opportunities no other would, academic liberties and resources to indulge her curiosity.
Either someone would need to take the blame for the kidnappings, rightful or not, or Doctor Nguyen would just have to resign herself to making the most of the time she had here left.
“Well? What is it?” Nguyen snapped as a young nurse entered her office.
“It’s. Um. The clown. He’s. . . off.”
The doctor opened her hand like feeding a piece of cheese to a dog and the nurse obeyed.
“It’s Alexis. Alex.”
“Right, Alex. I have to be in surgery in about forty minutes, and this means that we’re going to be even shorter staffed. You know what I’m doing right now?” Alex shook her head. “Of course you don’t, I’m trying to get someone here to cover, maybe for the surgery because that would be easier believe it or not. The last thing I need to deal with is a bloody clown." The doctor's brows knit as she whipped her head back to Alexis. "Even if we weren't busy, what could possibly possess you to come to me. To bother me of all people. Call up administration, their time is worth much less."
"You think I should then? Call admin I mean?"
"This is a consult now? You just came in so you could say I agreed?" Doctor Nguyen stood, ripped the coat off the back of her chair and threw it over her shoulders, rushing past Alex in the span of two seconds. "Unless you come up with the evidence to put him in the electric chair, forget the clown and do your job," her voice trailed off as it shifted away like a speeding train.
To Alex, it sounded as much as an invitation as an admonition.
"Bleh. Blurgh. Blah." The sounds of exaggerated vomiting emitted from Mr. Red’s cavernous body as one scarf after the other sprang from his throat. As the final ribbon fell to the floor joining the other two feet of cloth, the clown gave a mild shrug. "Well, there you go. Magic."
The two children in this room looked on in dumbfounded stupor. In truth, their blase reaction to the trick matched Mr. Red’s own understated presentation, so all things were equal.
"How about. . ." Mr. Red trailed off, looking out to the hallway absentmindedly. In a fit, he gave a rattling cough and then sniffed. He pulled the chart off the bed and looked it over, the faintest hint of skepticism in his droopy face. "The doctor thinks you had an allergic reaction to the food here? I think anyone would be allergic to this food.” Crickets. “I’m qualified to make that diagnosis. I went to med school and clown school, I'm what you call an osteopath." Mr. Red’s baggy eyes looked around the room, apparently expecting a laugh or two. He regretted not having something to write with (only so much space to carry stuff in), that was a joke he wanted to use again.
Licking his lips, the clown nodded. "How about we just do balloon animals?' Reaching inside his stained yellow jumper, Mr. Red pulled out a small gas canister. "Who likes snakes?"
Vihn sat in the break room. For security, that was in the basement. He spun the can of Sprite on it’s axis, just watching the drops of dew slither down the sides. He looked at his texts and shook his head, turning the phone off.
The security chief was right; Vihn was not cut out to be in any job that required snap decisions. He had no gut for it, no confidence, and this job only made it worse. He had seen what his dad’s last few years had done to him like so many others in this place. Everyone oozing with personal responsibility,
In that way, Vihn was lucky. He lacked the competency to feel responsible, like he was along for the ride as those above him made the big decisions, as those around him fixed the real problems.
Alex opened the door to room 3 and discovered the small space littered with poorly crafted twists of air and plastic. They bounced on the ground in a depressed state, like the most unfortunate residents of the local pound that would never get adopted.
"Oh you again," Mr. Red said without even looking her way. "Great timing. We can end with a joke. What did one cannibal say to the other as they ate a clown?" Mr. Red gave the nurse three seconds to answer, gave the children two seconds more. "Does this taste funny?"
The kids were only six, but they laughed anyway, a dullness in their face that questioned whether they really got it.
"I'll be right back," nurse Alex said, "I have a call to make."
Only seconds after she was out the door, Mr. Red slapped his thighs and hefted his massive gut up. "Thanks, I'll be here all week. I really will." Grabbing his gas canister that jingled with a metallic ping, Mr. Red moved on to the next room.
And who did he find but little Miss Polly. She sat in her bed staring out the window. As his footsteps thudded on the floor, she adjusted her gaze to this new aberration and retracted in her bed, terrified.
"I remember you," Mr. Red said. "Or I should say, I don't." He chuckled for real this time. "I was in here earlier and you were not. In fact, the boy who was in your bed? He’s getting his x-ray’s done, right here.” Mr. Red pointed to the right side of his chest. I dare say, you are in someone else's bed." He slowly fetched a chair and pulled it by her bedside. "This won't do at all." He pulled the curtain just so, blocking the view to the door.
He placed the gas canister on the nightstand with a thunk and she retreated to the very edge of her bed. Mr. Red brought out the ribbons of cloth and stripped them away, leaving a thick spool of thread that had joined them together. As the girl watched with quivering eyes, he wetted the end and attached a needle before placing it in his lap. From his sleeve, he brought out the balloon filler and twisted the cap, a scalpel falling out. Finally, from a pocket of his jumpsuit, he pulled out a syringe, an opaque mixture sloshing inside.
And then he smiled. "Do you want to see the magic trick I learned in medical school? How to make a little girl, disappear."
Nurse Alex’s feet churned up smoke as she found someone who could help. Vihn had just stepped out of the elevator, rested up and ready for the crush. He wasn’t remotely what she wanted, but he represented the only choice without making a fuss.
She opted for the fuss. Shaking her head, she stomped back to the island, ready to call the reinforcements proper. Her shoulder brushed against the clown’s elbow as he emerged from Polly’s room. She’d have to check on the girl after, lord knew a visit from that thing making jokes about cannibals would scar her for life.
Sweat dripped down one side of her neck as she and the clown walked to the island together; it was like walking next to a horse, except this horse and kept it’s eyes on you. They passed Polly’s room and Alex couldn’t see anything but the curtain from the small square porthole window. She slid into her rolling chair and zipped to the intercom. Her body was stiff like a log and she was conscious of how tense it was, conscious that the clown would see her and suspect.
“Alrighty then,” Mr. Red said, rubbing his hands together. I’m going to head out for the day. Have plans tomorrow, but I’ll be back the day after. Keep those kiddos happy and thinking of Santa for me. Santa visits hospitals all the time, not just Christmas.” He chuckled and began putting the effects he’d stored on the desks in his arms.
Alex had halted, glaring him down, studying the little details. He looked the same, had no weird bulges in his pocket, or bulges in his jump suit that weren’t already there. She cursed and let go of the button, not willing to sound the alarm. What was a little dark humor really? The kids probably heard three ‘fucks’ a day from nurses not watching what they said in the hallways. And it wasn’t like Red was ashamed making that joke in front of her, the staff probably already knew what his sense of humor entailed.
She should let it go. Biting her tongue, Alexis gave up. As the clown shuffled for the elevator, she decided peek in on Polly. Best to mitigate any damage if possible.
Doctor Nguyen emerged with a radiology tech wheeling out a transport bed. Two boys were in the room now.
“Where did you move the girl?”
“The girl?” Nguyen said. Unlike so many people who would lean down a bit, peer over their glasses to analyze, to show disapproval, Nguyen did the opposite. Her head bobbed up and she looked at Alex through the full scope of her spectacles like they were magnifying glasses honing in on the most hidden imperfection. “Not a good day to mix up the rooms, nurse. Take your break if you have one."
"No stop. Everyone stop!" Alex said, her voice cracking. "There was a girl in there, Pauline. I put a tiny little five-year-old girl in there and now she's gone. That," Alex’s index finger jabbed violently in Mr. Red’s direction, slowly making his way to the elevator, "thing– he was the last to see her."
The sound that came from Nguyen’s throat sounded like a phlem covered grunt. "I was just checking the x-ray results. This room has been those two kids since yesterday. The documentation is on the door, it’s at the foot of their beds.”
"No! It was open. I put a girl there two hours ago.”
"You couldn’t have done that," Doctor Nguyen said, her lips finely pursed.
"But I did." Alex’s voice was becoming more frantic by the second. "She’s gone. And psycho clown here is the last one to see her. I know it."
Mr. Red turned to stare down the hallway his eyes squinting into straight slits. He heard someone say something about him, he just didn’t know what. He shook his head and used the tip of his thumb to press the call button again, lest he press both buttons at once.
Alex stormed down the hall, pointing at him. "He's a big guy wearing a giant-ass jumpsuit. He could be hiding her in there! You don't know!"
Vihn sidled uncomfortably next to Mr. Red, watching the procession as Nguyen followed, each step hitting the floor like a dropped knife. The clown looked down at him and he shuddered but stayed. The doors opened and the clown was already moving, but Vihn held his hand out in a show of force that was more symbolic than physical, and yet it was the most decisive thing he had ever done in his life.
Now everyone was together by the elevator, with a ring of the other nurses and techs and medics gravitating over.
“This is ridiculous,” Nguyen said. “Look up the patient’s room in the system before you start accusing others for your mistakes.”
“No,” Alex wheeled on the doctor like no one in this hospital had done in sixteen years. “Today of all days! We’re not taking chances. Clown, take off your jump suit.”
The clown pulled his baggy yellow jumpsuit with pink pom poms tight, outline his gargantuan belly and moobs, you couldn’t call the fat that rolled over his waist a muffin; he was rocking a full-on stack of pancakes. It didn’t satisfy her and the audience was growing-- a fact that Nguyen realized as well as she divorced herself from the situation and left. The clown chuckled and acquiesced, leaning over and placing his collection of gags on top of a rolling defibrillator.
The room hushed as his fingers rose to the zipper, grasping it like a toothpick. He slowly unzipped his jumper with the speed and presentation of someone in his profession. The drama!
Alex held her breath as the first vestiges of a red undershirt appeared, sweaty and glued to his skin. It stopped halfway down his torso and from there a large tract of pocky skin under a light dusting of brown hair crested. He didn’t make it far enough down for his belly to flop out before she held her hand up begging for him to stop.
What had she expected? A sumo suit from the local Halloween shop? Really? The heat started in her toes and by the time the jumper was zipped all the way up she felt like she was on fire. The clown smiled with jagged teeth; he saw the shame on display before the entire floor, and he didn’t hesitate to capitalize on it, addressing the room:
“Shall I do anything else for you? Sing a song? Do a jig. Pole dance?” He said that last bit with the sultry jiggle of his hips. “Maybe some quarters will fall out of my fat rolls, maybe some children too. This hospital didn’t have these problems when I worked here.”
He was gone. Down to the lobby like that and the crowd dispersed.
Alex stood in place, staring at nothing for what felt like ages, an eternity that lasted until Vihn interrupted, “Come on. If you can’t find someone we need to look together. Not a good day to lose track.”
Alex nodded, about to follow him, but her feet refused. They rooted and she looked up. “What did he mean? When he said these problems didn’t exist when he worked here.”
“Oh, that. My dad mentioned it. He used to be a doctor here, chief surgeon before Nguyen took over.
Stuffed into a drawer? Sewn into the mattress? Alex had made her share of assumptions as the clown stripped, revealing nothing underneath the jumpsuit but his bare skin, but he was a surgeon, dammit. Or he had been.
"Oh fuck me."
Vihn didn’t appear to have the faintest clue or comprehension as Alex jammed the down button. “Don’t let him leave!” She ran for the stair well now. She took the stairs two at a time, three at a time, her heals sliding on the end, falling with such momentum that she never stopped. She burst into the lobby rounded her way to the entrance. Thank God the clown was still there, stuck in the check out line, being patted down, the would-be-TSA agent moving from his gut to his leg interior.
Neither of the men saw her coming. She darted forward like a cheetah about to ambush a mastodon. Mr. Red recognized the attack as it happened but he wasn’t famous for his speed. Alex leapt up and had the zipper in his grasp, gravity bringing them both down. She stripped him down to his ankles in one fell swoop, close enough now to recognize a pungent odor that slid off his body. He looked the same as before, barring the extra nudity, but she knew.
Oh did she know.
There was only way to get a child out of this hospital, one possible explanation that no one had considered because it was that sick.
“Get off of me!” Alex screamed. Two guards yanked her backwards. She flailed and twisted but their arms had curved around her chest now, containing her fully. Her feet flailed in the air impotently. The world was a blur of light and sound. She didn’t know who was saying what, but Mr. Red was zipping back up and receiving apologies.
“Make him take off that undershirt. It’s not sweaty, it’s bloody. It’s fucking bloody.”
Alex’s experience on the ambulance wasn’t life threatening carnage like she made it out to be when she had a crowd to entertain. She would come home to her parents after the long shifts with all sorts of stories that were more interesting or downright odd. Once, the senior medic in her van once played ice cream truck music as they drove from a call; the station brought a dog back and nursed it to health; babies were born in the back of the van. One particular baby she’d talked about every chance she got in nursing school:
The One-O-Three had picked up a large woman complaining of cramps. The symptoms seemed benign enough to the point that Alex had rolled her eyes that they had to ferry this woman to the hospital. Only the symptoms were a little too severe, a little too specific. Her senior had suggested Braxton Hicks, a sort of pseudo birthing contractions. Only the woman insisted she wasn’t pregnant.
But the thing was: She was. And it wasn’t Braxton Hicks, it was full on birthing contractions.
The crowd in the foyer wasn’t the normal crowd of familiar faces this time of year. They were federal agents, contractors, a state police officer. Alex was prepared for the worst but got to hold on with bated breath as they complied. Mr. Red resisted before moving into a dumbfounded quiet as they started at the bottom of that musty red shirt and pulled it up past his mits. And just there, at the top of the belly where the fat rolled in on itself, Alex saw something she recognized, something anyone with common sense would recognize: a couple of stitches.
They had let her go at this point, and she took that initiative. There could have been cleaner, neater, more sanitary ways of doing it, but no one stopped her. She marched up to the clown and plunged her fingers right in. The needlework ripped out of the skin and the fat unrolled showing more and more stitches. His stomach opened up across the top like a high Cesarian.
And Alex plunged her hands right in. His stomach cavity was warm, moist, constricting, but she found her way immediately, grasping the exact thing she felt for.
The clown screamed and someone was on her again, trying to stop her. But it was too late. Everyone could sit on their asses and watch the miracle of life in action. Alex put her back into it and heaved, and from the red goo of his innards and past the yellow flecks of fat that she pulled with her, a small girl emerged, headfirst into a bright and shining world.
Alex fell back with Polly who slept sedated, an oxygen mask attached to her face. As they lay there on the floor together, Alex howled with laughter.
The follow-up was as messy as the ordeal. Questions, interviews, a mandated seminar on the correct procedure for dealing with open wounds. None of it mattered. For the first time in her life, Alex hadn’t been a bystander to the horror and left as the cursed went on to spin its dark webs, she had broken it. Deep inside, she knew that it was more than symbolic: something had changed in her life. The sky was brighter, the nights less dim. Alex had never considered herself a scared person, but she could see that she had arrived out the other end of a tunnel, past a guillotine that had been over her head without realizing.
It wasn’t a journey of self-discovery for everyone. She wasn’t told the specifics, but Vihn had quit, right out the door without giving his two weeks’ notice.
Meanwhile, Alex got some time off and didn’t have to come back to the hospital until New Year’s Day where she was hailed as a hero. The clown hadn’t spoken, the searches hadn’t turned up any information about the previous missing children year after year, but that would come in time.
As she clocked out and went through the handoff, Alex got in the elevator, joining Doctor Nguyen. “Lobby is good.” It would be easy to get out today, all the security measures had finally been lifted. There’d be more than there was six years ago, no getting around that, but Alex wouldn’t need to be molested to get out of the building, so that was nice.
“Already headed there,” Nguyen said from her perch in front of the buttons.
The two women gave a stoic nod and went silent. At least at first.
“You’re quiet the talk of the town.”
Alex blushed and only nodded back. “You knew the clown right? Back when he was a surgeon?”
“Of course. Everyone in the hospital did. He was the talk of the town back then. Taught me a lot of what I know.” The sides of Nguyen’s mouth puckered into an invisible grin. “I was no slouch though; I’d like to think I taught him some things too.”
“Like?”
The question jolted Nguyen up right. “You’re an oddly perceptive woman. Not the kind you see in the world. Sure you aren’t in the wrong profession? There’s a few other cold cases in town that could use your eyes. Maybe you’ll be the one to find those other missing children? Wouldn’t that be something?”
Alex shrugged, the blush fading as there seemed to be something embedded in all the compliments she couldn’t quite place. “I’ve always preferred helping people, preventing their disasters. Hard to do that with a chalk outline.”
“A true bleeding heart.” Nguyen nodded.
The elevator pinged and Alex took a step forward as Nguyen moved aside to let her go first. But Alex stopped on the threshold; this was the basement. A prick caught her in the place between neck and clavicle and her mind swum in the dark seas.
Alex woke instantly without a hint of grogginess or after affect. She was lucid and aware, her brain transfixed on her body’s position. Straps hugged her torso tight, restraints clasping her hands and feet tight to the bed. Even her head was fixed in place, the feel of cool leather running across her forehead.
What she could see of the sterile room could only be accomplished by straining her eyes to the left or right to the point of pain.
“Good evening, Alexis,” Doctor Nguyen’s voice sounded through reverberating speakers. Alex could just see her in the next room, an observation post with push to talk capabilities.
“What’s? What’s going on?”
“Come now. You’re a promising young woman, more capable than any detective that has ever graced this town. You tell me.”
The terror sunk in now. She had been awake for thirty seconds, thirty seconds of compounding fact upon fact of just how screwed she was. She didn’t know the nexus of her terror yet, why Nguyen had done this, why anything—she just knew she was screwed.
“Why?” Her voice came out meak. In a whimper.
“That old clod got the children for me, of course. I don’t hold your discovery against you—denying me my hobbies, but I’ve paid close attention since then and you are a liability. I’m just as likely to be next for the electric chair if you stick around. Ironically, the missing children have been a smoke screen as I push the others out, dispose of them. People are so keen to contribute the stresses of the job when they find a man hanging.
“You?”
“Me? Yes, me. I became a surgeon because it’s what my mother wanted. She needed that money in the family to feel secure, but I realized within my first couple weeks of residency how soul crushing it all was. Too late to go back, even if I did want to pursue a degree in psychology. But then I realized, a degree is only the approval of others, and I had already surpassed my colleagues in every way. The one true barrier to psychological experimentation is the ethics you know.”
“Someone will find us. You can’t just keep me here.”
“Can’t I?” Alex couldn’t bear to look in that woman’s direction anymore, but the smugness in her tone was enough to chafe. “The first two years I had Doctor Talwar (I’m sure you’ve heard the clown’s name in the news by now) grab subjects, we used a back door in the crematorium. With security gone, thanks to you I might add, I could use that again. We aren’t in the hospital. No one is coming.”
Alex needed to keep talking. It was the only thing. Someone would come, she just needed to buy time. “The clown, Doctor Talwar? He had the same interests as you, psychologically speaking?”
“Not at all. It started with me nudging him out of his position. He was my first experiment, and while he has certainly paid dividends, the coulrophobia and fatalistic obesity were unfortunate divergencies, even if we found their uses.”
“And the kids? What have you done with them.”
Alex heard the clicking of a tongue as Nguyen shook her head. “You haven’t noticed yet?”
Alex had noticed, in some obscured subconscious part of her mind. The room was dim, her head constrained, but at the very tip of her vision, down below the gurney a guttural part of her had detected movement, movement and shadow.
“Did you know the record for an adult man staying awake without sleep is eleven days? I’ve managed twenty-two with the correct preparation and a young mind, Alex. The things they tell you, the things they see.”
Alex’s heart was ready to explode, her skin turned ice cold. The shadows on the edge of her reality stirred. A small, dark hand worked its way up the side of her bed and Alex looked away. She felt the rock of the gurney as they clawed their way up. Her eyes clenched shut, not wanting to see what they were. Their breath blew around her, it stank of rot and fettered meat and dampened the air with its presence. Tiny hands work their way up her body and she screamed as their sharp nails dug through her skin merely by grabbing at her scrubs. They came up and up, she felt their presences all around. A weight rested in her upper belly, expelling any air she held.
She opened her eyes to see the fruits of Nguyen’s work. The thing reached forward to her chest and dug into her skin.
“Bleeding heart indeed,” Nguyen said.
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