Chapter 29

He stood in the dark, wedged between parked vehicles, still as stone. The night tasted of damp concrete and diesel. Stray lights bled across the asphalt in shallow puddles, broken by the sweep of red and blue as ambulances nosed in and out of the bay. Paramedics wheeled stretchers, relatives shuffled with arms locked around themselves. Every figure was caught for an instant in the flashing light, then disappeared back into shadow.

A metallic click. The van door rattled on its track as he slid it open. The interior breathed cold air that smelled of rust and stale rubber. It was dark inside, too dark. And yet somehow he could see tools and uniforms in grainy shades of grey, like a photograph still trapped in the chemical bath.

He dragged a pair of rubber boots from under a coil of hose. Too small. His toes jammed against the ends, the rubber bruising his nails. The pain throbbed up his shins but he ignored it. It wouldn’t be for long. The second boot fought him harder; he won by brute force.

A hard hat followed, dropped onto his head with a hollow knock that echoed in his ears. A rag was tugged free from beneath a box of screws. Dust puffed from it, bitter as old plaster.

His hands sifted through tins of paint, the clink of metal sharp in the quiet. One tin arrested him. He muttered the label under his breath, popped the lid. The solvent stung his nose, a chemical tang that burned the back of his throat. The rag sank into the thick liquid, soaking until it dripped. He wrung it once, heavy and wet, then stuffed it into his pocket.

A step ladder was hooked to an interior wall. Its aluminium was cold against his palm. He tucked it under one arm.

He turned and walked away from the van, the side door left open.

Behind him, the van’s interior light flickered on. It shouldn’t have. Whatever was inside wasn’t anymore.

He didn’t check. He headed for the hospital.

The main entrance waited ahead, guarded by a man with a gun.

Not worth it.

To the side, a doctor appeared, coat flapping, shoes squeaking on the wet tarmac. He fobbed his car shut, lights flashing once, horn giving a muted chirp. A leather satchel swung from his shoulder.

Boots scraped against the pavement as the man followed. The sound made the doctor glance back. A silhouette: hard hat low, ladder hugged close. The doctor slowed, registered, then quickened his pace toward the side entrance.

At the door, the key card swiped. The lock clicked. The doctor held the door without thinking, because you always held it open for a tradesman with a ladder, a courier with a parcel, an old man with a stick. The automatic reflex of civility that undid security protocols.

Inside, the air hummed stale, dry with disinfectant. A ceiling light popped overhead, showering glass dust. Another further along stuttered, throwing shadows like faulty film reels.

The doctor glanced back again, eyes flicking from the ladder to the mud-streaked uniform. “Long evening?” he said, tone warm but measured.

The man said nothing.

“That bad,” he murmured, studying the boots, the posture, the silence. He gestured lightly toward the ceiling. “If you’re already carrying the ladder, you may as well give these a glance. This hospital has a flair for dramatic lighting. Very theatrical. Completely impractical.” He was already walking away, shoes squeaking until the corridor ate the sound.

The ladder clattered lightly as it was set against the wall, its aluminium legs scraping on the floor. His gaze found a narrow window in a set of hospital doors nearby.

Beyond was the Accident and Emergency lobby. Reception choked with bodies. A man bleeding through a shirt, a drunk lolling with one eye closed, a woman holding ice to a split lip. Crying, coughing, whispered prayers.

He scanned the room, slow, deliberate, until his eyes hooked on a sign above a side door. Intensive Care Unit.

The rag came out of his pocket. It glistened in the weak light, still wet, still red. Paint red. He wound it tight around his hand, fingers vanishing beneath the cloth.

He gripped the handle, pushed the door. The hinges breathed.

And he walked inside.