out. He put his hands to his throat. The place where his wife stabbed him. He began pushing over the machines and equipment to wake up the floor.
There was no time to lose. Christopher ran to the supply closet at the end of the hall. He quickly shut the door behind him just as the people in the hallways spilled into the ICU. He turned around and looked at the room, expecting to find it empty. But there was a big black shape in the middle of the floor. It took him a moment to realize what it was.
A body bag.
It inflated and deflated like a bag of popcorn in the microwave. Someone was inside it. Breathing. Christopher was trapped. He couldn’t leave the room. The hallway was swimming with people.
“He’s around here somewhere, Doctor,” Nurse Tammy said.
Christopher needed to hide. He knew they would check the closet. There was only one place left. He walked over to the body bag. He moved his hand over the plastic and slowly opened the zipper. Heat rose from the figure inside. Christopher saw small pools of blood on the hospital gown and a five-day beard.
The sheriff.
He looked pale. Dead asleep. Barely breathing. Christopher touched his hand. The itch fluttered on his skin.
“Wake up,” Christopher whispered.
The sheriff did not stir.
“What’s in this room?” Nurse Tammy asked.
The footsteps came closer. They were right outside the door. There was nowhere to go but in. Christopher opened the bag and climbed inside next to the sheriff, zipping it up behind him. He could feel the sheriff’s heartbeat. His shallow breathing.
“Please wake up, Sheriff,” he whispered.
The door opened. Someone walked into the room.
“Is he in here?” a voice said.
“No, Doctor,” Nurse Tammy said.
“Okay. Let’s keep looking.”
The footsteps walked out of the room and closed the door. Christopher was about to open up the bag when he realized he could still hear breathing.
They were still in the room.
After a long moment of silence, a man groaned through a sliced throat.
“You’re right, Mr. Henderson. That body bag is moving,” Nurse Tammy said.
The footsteps got closer.
“Hi, Christopher. Are you in there?”
Christopher did not breathe. He felt the body bag being lifted.
“That’s heavy. The sheriff must have put on fifty pounds in the last hour.”
Christopher felt the bag laid down on a hard table. The table began to move. They were on a gurney. Being wheeled to God knows where.
Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.
“Come on, everyone. Let’s bring Christopher to the rest of them,” Nurse Tammy said.
Christopher heard someone hit the button on the ICU wall. The security door opened. A murmur ran through the hallway. Christopher grabbed the sheriff’s hand and focused his mind. The fever broke out on his forehead. He let the heat from his own body move to the sheriff. Healing the wounds. Giving color to pale skin.
Wake up, Sheriff.
The gurney went into the elevator.
“Could you hit the button for the basement, please, Mr. Henderson?”
Mr. Henderson groaned through his sliced vocal cords. The elevator beeped and started moving down.
Please! They’re going to kill us!
The gurney stopped with a squeak.
“We’re here, everyone,” Nurse Tammy announced.
A hand reached down and unzipped the body bag. The cool air hit Christopher’s lungs. He saw instruments. Metal tables. And drawers so big the wall looked like a massive filing cabinet.
He was in the morgue.
Chapter 107
Christopher’s mother stood in her son’s bedroom. She stared at David Olson’s bookshelf and the little boy’s terrified scrawl.
DO NOT KILL
THE HISSING LADY
SHE IS THE ONLY THING KEEPING
THE DEVIL IN HELL
She felt a prickle on her neck. An electricity running through the house. The hair on her arms stood up as if someone rubbed a balloon against an invisible sweater.
hI, kate. Remember him?
She turned to the photograph of her late husband. Lifeless in the silver frame. Her husband stared back at her. That same smile. The same pose. Frozen in time.
But something had changed.
His flannel shirt was getting wet.
His wrists were turning red.
He began to walk toward her.
I have your husband, Kate.
Her husband’s smile never left his face. He moved toward the glass of the frame. Getting bigger inside the picture. Reaching his arms out. Banging on the glass. Desperate. Let me out! Let me out!
I have your son, too.
Christopher’s mother ran out of the room. Down the stairs. She had to fight the voice. She had to get to Christopher. She passed the photographs on the stairs.
You let all of your men die.
In every photograph, her husband was walking right at her. Bringing his hand up to the glass