He hoisted up his pants and made a perfunctory effort to clean up after himself, using the box of wipes he kept in his backpack. That done, he slunk out of the booth, out the backdoor, and onto the late afternoon streets, feeling both ashamed and sated.
It was a release he’d needed after hearing the news and rumours floating around the hospital. Some said there was a contagious disease going around that led to a gruesome, painful death; others speculated that some organization had paid a healthy bribe to experiment on patients without their consent, ala the LSD trials in the sixties. The more pious individuals believed that there was a demon roaming the halls and that it would continue killing indiscriminately until they found a way to exorcise it.
Stanley thought the third group had it
