The corridor turned out longer than it had looked from the office. Every bend, another long strip of light. The exit was drawing nearer, the green sign beckoning like a promise of freedom. Anna was almost at the corner when two figures burst from the other end to cut her off. Their matching green scrubs gave them away as nurses: one stocky, close-cropped; the other taller, with little creases at the corners of his eyes. She tried to slip between them, but firm hands clamped round her shoulders.
“Let me go!” Anna screamed, fighting to break free.
A hand came down on her shoulder, too rough. Anna didn’t even have time to think; she just sank her teeth into one nurse’s hand.
“Aaagh!” he howled.
She clenched her jaw harder, tasting blood on her tongue.
“What the fuck?! Get off!”
He tried to yank his hand away, but Anna held fast like a starving dog. The other nurse grabbed her round the waist, trying to drag her back. The first finally tore free and swung. The blow was far too practised to be “accidental”. His palm smashed into her face, catching her brow. White pinpricks burst across her vision; the corridor flipped for a second. Anna was flung sideways. Heat throbbed in her forehead; something ran into her eye.
“Rabid bitch,” the nurse hissed, staring at the bitten hand. Clear teeth marks stood out on his skin.
The other took advantage of Anna freezing and grabbed her again, wrenching her arms up. At that moment a familiar voice came from down the corridor:
“What do you think you’re doing?”
They jolted and turned. Vincent was there, shoulder braced to the wall. The first nurse tried to force a smile.
“I can explain. I know how this looks—”
Vincent moved in on him, footsteps thudding along the corridor. He stopped beside them and looked at the nurse holding Anna.
“You. Let her go.”
He raised his hands, as if to show he wasn’t doing a thing. Anna darted behind Vincent at once, pressing into his jacket like a child hiding behind a grown-up. It was almost funny, given she couldn’t remember who he was, but instinct had kicked in.
The doctor came into the corridor, breathing hard. The moment he saw Vincent he arranged his face into “everything’s under control”.
“Sorry about the mess. I hope you understand that while she’s here the hospital is responsible for her. And if anything happens to her… it’ll cost us dearly.”
Anna looked at him, ready to repeat the biting trick.
Vincent shifted his gaze from the doctor to Anna. Blood was slipping down her brow; a bruise was starting under her eye. She looked up at him with a pleading but stubborn set to her face, her eyes saying: go on then, decide who’s in the right.
“In that case, the responsibility’s on me now. I’m taking her with me. Let’s not waste your time. And pray you don’t get sued.”
He gave the nurses and the doctor a slight nod in parting.
The doctor watched them go, lips pressed. The two nurses glanced at each other.
“You shouldn’t have smacked her.”
“What was I meant to do, eh?!”
“I told you not to go far!”
“And how would that have changed anything?” the bitten nurse shot back. “Who knew he’d turn up that fast? You’re the one who cocked it up.”
The doctor ran a hand over his forehead, as if he could wipe the day off it.
“That’s enough. You’ve only made it worse. Clear off. I’ve got a call to make. And don’t forget to return your uniforms.”
***
The light was on in the car parked outside A&E. Vincent sat beside Anna, leaning in, and carefully dabbed antiseptic on her brow from his first-aid kit. She winced, but bore it.
“Those nurses look like they’re used to hitting patients,” he muttered, examining the cut. “Pretty precise blow.”
Vincent pressed a pale plaster to the split brow and stood, gathering the kit. She carried on without stopping:
“That doctor was all over my wrists, looking for some sort of mark.”
She dropped her eyes to her hands. Vincent froze with the kit in his grip and slowly turned towards her.
“His face went properly cold when he saw there wasn’t one. Here, look,” she said suddenly, thrusting out her wrists. “What mark was he after?”
He looked at her hands and, for a moment, forgot how to breathe. Vincent turned away and took a few steps from the car, frowning down at the tarmac.
“I saw it with my own eyes.”
Anna came closer, tipping her chin up to meet his gaze. He turned back to her. Somewhere nearby sirens rose and fell; an ambulance was pulling up outside A&E. Voices, a door thumped, a trolley rolled down.
“Anna, here’s the thing. You were found dead in a motel room. There was a Faceless mark carved into your wrist. The Faceless is a serial killer. He’s still at large.”
The ambulance halted behind him. The medics wheeled a stretcher out. Anna’s head turned of its own accord and she looked past Vincent. A man lay on the trolley, covered with a grey sheet to the chest. A gaunt face, blue lips, skin the colour of clay. His eyes were fixed on some point in the ceiling, and Anna knew him at once. The grey beard, the bruised eye. The homeless man with the pizza.
“We’re still not sure,” Vincent went on, not noticing where she was looking, “whether he… killed you.”
He grimaced.
The medics pushed the trolley past. One of them said something to the other, but the words dissolved. Anna watched the body vanish through the glass doors. He said he’d help me, she remembered. Was Vincent the help he meant?
Now the old man lay still. An empty shell.
“Can we go now? I’m knackered, freezing, starving, and I can’t think straight.”
He looked at her for a long, steady moment and set his hands on his hips.
“Sorry. Rough night.”
Anna glanced back to where the ambulance had pulled in and they’d hauled the old man out on the trolley.
“Get in,” Vincent said, pointing to the car.
Anna got in, and the car pulled away.
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