Night 62: Medical Wing Hall

[complicatedliar]

[From here]

Loki strode into the hallway, heading for toward the operating rooms. He wasn't certain what rooms the drugs Rita had spoken of might be stored in, but he was fairly certain it wasn't those. He pointed toward the two rooms. "Through here and through the operating theaters, there are supply rooms. Such items as suturing kits and other more surgical implements are there for the taking. I think those might be quite useful for what you want."

As for his own search, he would need to be methodical, and even then there were no guarantees.

Comments

[ham_fisted]

[from here]

More than once, he turned his head to look at Ms. Skye. Maybe because he was scared he wouldn't notice right away if she vanished or something, in the state he was in.

"We'll get there by following this hallway till the end. Then we turn right, into another hallway. ...Oh, from there, the storage room will be the last room, on the left."

His steps faltered when the speakers turned on again, and he sighed a little in frustration. Zeroes and ones were still ringing in his ears from before. Thankfully, the broadcast didn't last anywhere near as long the second time.

[fourstonewalls]

Lana kept turning to check on the Detective, too -- he was looking paler and paler, and he almost stumbled when the intercom came on.

She barely heard the sing-song voice, though, because as soon as it started, blood bloomed across his chest, just like it had when Chief Gant had been stabbed. But there was nothing in the hallway except the two of them. She looked down at her hands.

Blood covered them, too, but none of it was her own. It was drying quickly, almost tacky now. It had splashed up her arms, just like it had that night, as she'd tried to stop the bleeding.

That was what she saw. What anyone else would see was Lana Skye, standing stock-still in the hallway, flashlight tucked idly under her chin, looking down at hands that were clean at the beginning of the broadcast. By the end of it, however, a small circle of red had appeared on her left hand, perfectly framed by the beam of the flashlight.

[ham_fisted]

"Hopefully that'll be the last broadcast we hear," Gumshoe muttered loud enough for Ms. Skye to hear. "Before Dr. Landel's, I mean."

He walked ahead of her by a few steps. He thought she may have paused to look into a room, but when the sound of her footsteps didn't start up again, he shuffled to a halt and looked back to check she was still there. She had her flashlight tucked under her chin and was staring down at her hands for some reason.

The detective sucked in a nervous breath and made himself stand up straight as he went back to her. Something was wrong. He didn't have to look at her for very long to know that. "What is it, Ms. Skye?" he asked hesitantly. He stopped in front of her and tilted his head to the side a bit, then peeked down at her hands. Her flashlight was pointed at a red mark on her left hand. "Hmm?" His eyes flicked up to her face again. She was looking pale alright. "Is that a rash?" Did she have allergies?

[fourstonewalls]

A rash? It was blood, flaking and drying, and there was no mistaking it for anything else. The smell alone was overpowering.

It hadn't occurred to her to wonder how Detective Gumshoe was still walking around, or why she was letting him. It was his blood, she knew it was, and nothing she'd done could stop it. It was all her fault.

No. She was not playing anyone's Lady Macbeth in a disused hospital, no matter who died, no matter that the blood was on her hands and wasn't coming off, so she tucked candlestick and flashlight between her thighs, wiped her hands firmly down her jacket once, and took them up again.

"It's nothing. The sooner we get moving, the better." She took a few, short steps down the hall. The radio in her pocket hissed a bit. "I'm afraid your optimism was premature," she added, her voice clear over the static. She tapped her pocket, and it cleared up a little, a few words coming through.