Chapter 3: The Safe Ride Home
1076 Words
Audrey slammed her locker shut, the metallic clang echoing too loudly in the empty room. She left the meat pie sitting on the bench, but against her better judgment, she shoved the white orchid and the terrifyingly precise note into her tote bag. She needed proof. She needed to show security later.
Her hands were still shaking as she pushed through the hospital’s main exit doors into the chilly morning air. The sun was up, but it offered no warmth, casting long, distorted shadows across the concrete parking lot.
"Audrey? Wait up!"
She gasped, her shoulders tightening as she spun around.
Walking toward her was Dr. Khalid. He had already changed out of his surgical scrubs into a sharp, tailored black coat that made him look effortlessly handsome. His dark hair was perfectly styled, despite the fact that he had likely been in the operating room for the last eight hours. He was the hospital's golden boy—brilliant, wealthy, and usually completely unapproachable.
"Dr. Khalid," Audrey breathed, forcing her voice into a professional calm. "Good morning. I didn't know you were on the night rotation."
"Emergency trauma case," Khalid said, offering a warm, easy smile that didn't quite reach his piercing eyes. He stopped just a foot away from her, his gaze dropping to her hands. "You're trembling, Audrey. And you look pale. Are you alright?"
"Just... a long shift. Exhausted," she lied, pulling her cardigan tighter around herself.
"You shouldn't be driving in this state. It's dangerous," Khalid said smoothly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a key fob. A sleek, black luxury SUV clicked open a few yards away. "Come on. Let me drive you home. I’m heading past your neighborhood anyway."
Audrey’s stomach did a slow, violent flip. How does he know what neighborhood I live in? I never told him.
"Oh, no, thank you, Doctor. I can take a cab—"
"I insist," Khalid interrupted gently, but there was a firm, unyielding edge to his voice. He stepped closer, opening the passenger door of his SUV for her. "It’s no trouble at all. Think of it as a thank you for taking such good care of my patients tonight."
The word tonight rang like an alarm bell in her ears. “You did a wonderful job with the patient in Room 304 tonight,” the stalker's note had said.
Trapped between making a scene in the parking lot and her own growing paranoia, Audrey swallowed her fear and climbed into the passenger seat. The leather interior smelled of expensive cologne, cedarwood, and... something else. Something terrifyingly familiar.
Khalid climbed into the driver's seat, starting the engine with a low purr. As he backed out of the space, he reached into the center console to grab his sunglasses.
As the console lid flipped open, Audrey’s eyes locked onto the items inside.
Tucked neatly next to his sunglasses was a silver hospital keycard—the kind that gave access to the restricted female staff locker rooms. And right beneath it was a small, elegant black fountain pen.
The exact same pen with the dark black ink used to write her note.
The silence inside the luxury SUV was suffocating. The smooth purr of the engine did nothing to calm the roaring in Audrey’s ears. She kept her eyes glued to the window, watching the familiar streets of the city blur past, though her peripheral vision was entirely locked on Dr. Khalid’s hands.
His long, surgical fingers gripped the leather steering wheel with practiced ease. He looked completely relaxed, navigating the morning traffic like a man with nothing to hide.
"You're very quiet, Audrey," Khalid said smoothly, breaking the silence without taking his eyes off the road. "Usually, the nursing staff loves to complain about the night shift administration during carpools."
"Just saving my breath," Audrey managed to say, forcing a tight, artificial laugh. "My brain is practically asleep."
"Is it?" Khalid turned his head slightly, glancing at her profile. His voice dropped to a lower, more intimate register. "Because you look like you're solving a high-stakes puzzle. Your jaw is completely clenched."
Before she could think of a calculated response, a sharp vibratory buzz cut through the tension.
Bzzz.
It wasn't a short notification ping. It was an incoming voice call.
Audrey nervously reached into her tote bag, her fingers brushing past the hidden white orchid to pull out her phone. The screen illuminated, displaying an unknown, private number.
Her heart did a violent stutter. She looked over at Khalid. Both of his hands were firmly on the wheel. He wasn't touching his phone. His dashboard screen was completely clear.
"Aren't you going to answer that?" Khalid asked, his eyes darting down to her flashing screen. "Might be the hospital calling about a patient."
"No... it's probably just a telemarketer," she whispered.
"At seven in the morning?" Khalid raised an eyebrow, a faint, amused smirk playing on his lips. "They're getting aggressive these days. Answer it. Put it on speaker if you're driving-conscious, though I'm the one behind the wheel."
The phone kept buzzing, feeling like a ticking bomb in her hand. Audrey’s thumb hovered over the screen. If she didn't answer, Khalid might get suspicious. If she did answer... what would the stalker say?
Spurred by a mix of terror and desperate curiosity, she swiped the green button and pressed the speaker icon.
"Hello?" Audrey said, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts.
For a second, there was only the hollow sound of static and heavy, rhythmic breathing on the other end of the line. Then, a voice spoke. It was digitally distorted—deep, metallic, and unnaturally smooth.
[UNKNOWN CALLER]: "I told you that carpools are dangerous, Audrey. Tell Dr. Khalid to keep his eyes on the road. And tell him that if he looks at you like that again... I’ll ensure his surgical hands never hold a scalpel again."
Click.
The line went dead.
The silence that followed was absolute. Audrey slowly turned her head to look at Khalid. The charming, relaxed smirk was entirely gone from the surgeon's face. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel, and his eyes were wide, staring dead ahead at the road.
- Writer
