Chapter two
1815 Words
The room was empty.
I stopped at the doorway.
For a few seconds, I simply stood there, staring at the neatly made bed.
No patient.
No visitor.
No doctor.
Nothing.
I checked the room number again.
214.
“This is room 214,” I muttered.
I looked down at the file in my hand.
Ethan Miller.
Male.
Thirty-two years old.
Admitted earlier that morning.
No serious medical history.
I frowned.
If he wasn't here, where was he?
“Hello?”
Nothing.
I stepped inside.
The curtains were drawn halfway, allowing a thin line of afternoon sunlight into the room. The television was on, but the volume was muted.
I walked toward the bed.
Empty.
My eyes moved around the room.
Bathroom.
Empty.
Visitor's chair.
Empty.
I picked up the telephone beside the bed and pressed the call button.
“Hello?”
A nurse answered from the other end.
“Hi, this is Annabelle from 214. Do you know where the patient is?”
There was a pause.
“Which patient?”
I frowned.
“Ethan Miller.”
Another pause.
“Annabelle, we don't have an Ethan Miller in 214.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“I said we don't have an Ethan Miller.”
I looked at the file in my hand.
“Yes, you do. I'm literally holding his file.”
“Where did you get that?”
“Dr. Williams gave it to me.”
Silence.
Then the nurse lowered her voice.
“Annabelle... Dr. Williams isn't working today.”
I slowly put the phone down.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
I walked out of the room.
Mia was standing at the nurses' station, scrolling through her phone.
She looked up when she saw me.
“You're back already?”
“Where's Dr. Williams?”
She glanced at the clock.
“Probably in surgery.”
“No. He's not.”
“What?”
I walked toward her.
“Who gave me this?”
I held up the file.
Mia took it.
Her eyes scanned the front.
Then she looked at me.
“Ethan Miller?”
“Yes.”
“Who's that?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why do you have his file?”
“That's what I'm trying to figure out.”
She opened the file.
Her expression changed.
“Wait.”
“What?”
She flipped through the pages.
“There's no hospital stamp.”
I took the file from her.
She was right.
The pages looked real.
The handwriting looked real.
The patient information looked real.
But there was no official hospital stamp anywhere.
My heartbeat picked up.
“Mia.”
“Yeah?”
“Who gave this to me?”
She shrugged.
“I don't know. You said Dr. Williams.”
“I thought it was Dr. Williams.”
“Annabelle, you need to stop doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Panicking.”
“I'm not panicking.”
“You're literally holding the file like it's about to explode.”
I looked down.
I was.
I loosened my grip.
“Okay.”
Mia took the file from me again.
“Let's ask reception if anyone checked in an Ethan Miller.”
We walked toward the front desk.
The receptionist looked up.
“Hi.”
Mia smiled.
“Hey, did a patient named Ethan Miller check in today?”
The receptionist typed something into the computer.
“Ethan Miller…”
She frowned.
“No.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
I exchanged a look with Mia.
“Could you check again?”
She did.
Nothing.
“No Ethan Miller.”
I swallowed.
“Okay. Thank you.”
We walked away.
Mia grabbed my arm.
“Okay, this is officially creepy.”
I gave her a look.
“Don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Make jokes.”
“I wasn't going to.”
“You were.”
“I was going to say maybe the hospital has a ghost.”
“Mia.”
“Fine.”
She raised both hands.
“No ghost jokes.”
I sighed.
I needed air.
I turned toward the staff exit.
“Where are you going?”
“Outside.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm starting to feel like I'm losing my mind.”
Mia followed me.
“You're not losing your mind.”
“I received a message from an unknown number telling me not to enter that room.”
She stopped walking.
“What?”
I stopped too.
I hadn't meant to say it.
Mia stared at me.
“What message?”
I pulled out my phone.
The message was still there.
She read it.
Her face slowly lost its humor.
“Annabelle…”
“I know.”
“Who sent this?”
“I don't know.”
“You said you've been receiving messages like this before?”
I nodded.
“For years.”
She stared at me.
“And you've never told me?”
“What was I supposed to say?”
“Maybe, ‘Hey Mia, someone has been stalking me for years.’”
I looked away.
“I didn't want you involved.”
She became quiet.
Then she said softly,
“I'm already involved. I'm your best friend.”
I didn't answer.
Because that was exactly what scared me.
Anyone who became too close to me eventually became part of the story.
And the story never ended well.
My phone vibrated.
Both of us jumped.
Another message.
I looked down.
“You didn't listen.”
My heart sank.
Mia read it over my shoulder.
A second message appeared.
“Now I have to fix it.”
“Annabelle,” Mia whispered.
I couldn't breathe.
The phone vibrated again.
This time, there was a picture.
I opened it.
My entire body went cold.
It was a photograph of me.
Standing in the hospital hallway.
Taken less than five minutes ago.
I looked at Mia.
She looked at me.
“Someone is here,” she whispered.
I nodded.
“Yeah.”
She looked around.
“Then we need to find them.”
“No.”
“What?”
“We need to leave.”
“But—”
“Now.”
We rushed back inside.
I grabbed my bag from the nurses' station.
Mia followed.
“Should we call security?”
“Yes.”
“Police?”
I hesitated.
Police.
The word alone made my stomach twist.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because they'll ask questions.”
“And?”
“And I don't want to answer them.”
“Annabelle, someone is stalking you.”
“I know.”
“This isn't a joke.”
“I know.”
“Then why aren't you calling the police?”
I stopped.
Because there was something I hadn't told her.
Something I had never told anyone.
The first time I reported the messages, I was fifteen.
The police had investigated.
They found nothing.
No number.
No identity.
No evidence.
Then the first person close to me died.
After that, the messages stopped.
Until years later.
When they started again.
And every time they did, someone around me died.
I looked at Mia.
“I've handled it before.”
She shook her head.
“No, you haven't.”
Before I could respond, someone called my name.
“Annabelle.”
I turned.
A man in a dark jacket stood several feet away.
He looked like he belonged in the hospital, but I had never seen him before.
He was watching me.
Not Mia.
Me.
His expression was calm.
Too calm.
He walked toward us.
Mia whispered,
“Do you know him?”
“No.”
The man stopped in front of me.
“Annabelle Carter?”
“Yes?”
He reached inside his jacket.
Mia immediately stepped in front of me.
“Who are you?”
The man pulled out an identification card.
“Detective Daniel Hayes.”
My eyes narrowed.
Detective?
He showed the badge for only a second before putting it away.
“We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Ethan Miller.”
My blood ran cold.
Mia looked at me.
“How do you know about him?”
Daniel's eyes remained fixed on me.
“Because Ethan Miller is dead.”
The hallway suddenly seemed quieter.
“What?”
“He was found this morning.”
I stared at him.
“But he was admitted here.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“He was never admitted here.”
My mouth went dry.
“Then why did I receive his file?”
“That,” Daniel said, “is exactly what I'm trying to find out.”
I looked at him carefully.
There was something strange about the way he spoke.
He wasn't looking at me like the other detectives usually did.
They looked at me with suspicion.
Fear.
Sometimes pity.
Daniel looked at me like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
“What does this have to do with me?”
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph.
He handed it to me.
I looked down.
My fingers went numb.
It was Ethan Miller.
Dead.
My eyes snapped back to Daniel.
“Where did you get this?”
“From the crime scene.”
“I don't know him.”
“I believe you.”
I froze.
“What?”
Daniel's expression didn't change.
“I said I believe you.”
For the first time in years, someone investigating a death connected to me had looked me directly in the eyes and said they believed me.
I didn't know what to do with that.
Daniel stepped closer.
“But believing you doesn't mean you're innocent.”
My guard immediately went back up.
“What does that mean?”
“It means someone is deliberately connecting you to these murders.”
Mia looked between us.
“Why?”
Daniel's eyes shifted toward her.
“That's what I intend to find out.”
He looked back at me.
“How long have you been receiving messages from an unknown number?”
My heart stopped.
“How did you know about that?”
He didn't answer.
He simply watched me.
And suddenly, I understood.
He hadn't come here because of Ethan Miller.
He had come because of me.
Before I could ask another question, a scream came from the other end of the hallway.
Everyone turned.
A nurse came running toward us.
“Someone call security!”
Daniel immediately moved.
“What happened?”
“There's a man in the parking lot!”
“What man?”
“He's—”
She stopped.
Her face had gone pale.
“He's dead.”
Daniel looked at me.
I didn't know why.
But I already knew.
Another person was dead.
And somehow...
it had something to do with me.
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