Read Online Icarus; The Kindred (A Paranormal Romance) by J. S. Chancellor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. S. Chancellor
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would be necessary, and only one of them has anything to do with labs and comes with a plethora of humans on which to test their theories. The hospital.
Breaking the Habit
I assume this won't be as easy as going to the information desk and asking for his whereabouts. There are several major hospitals in the D.C. area, but I don't have any reason to believe he would be at one as opposed to another, aside from some financials received from Belladonna years ago from one establishment in particular. I decide to take my chances on that being the place.
Yet some things are going in my favor. Trinity can't locate me by disc. If I use cash and don't go anywhere I would typically go, he won't even know where to begin. This, of course, assumes I can keep my thoughts to myself. And I have a feeling he is going to return soon.
I have on loose boot-cut jeans, a sea green button-down oxford and my hair is swept back in a ponytail. Pretty average attire for hospital visitation. After I walk into the main entrance, I look around and wish I'd paid more attention to this point in all those stupid movies where the hero (or heroine) sneaks onto whatever floor. I seriously doubt that he is above-ground, what with his arrival consisting of a coroner's company and all.
A young raven-haired woman, slightly overweight and wearing ridiculously hot pink Hello Kitty scrubs, is manning the window at admittance.
"Hi." I wipe at my eyes a little, wishing I could conjure up tears at will. "My brother was brought here, to the morgue. Could you—"
She shakes her head and abruptly says, "He wouldn't have been brought here unless he was a patient. The city morgue is more likely."
I don't have time for this and I didn't think about the city morgue as even being an option. The labs make more sense here. "He was brought in initially as a patient. Just, please, if you could direct me to the morgue so I can take care of some things."
She doesn't appear to buy my story. "What is his name?"
I blink, amazed that she is unmoved by what I thought sounded at least plausible. All right, I didn't want theatrics, but here goes nothing. I pull out the rubber band holding my hair as though my head hurts and launch into my best hysterical impression of a grieving sibling. My lower lips quivers and I choke on my words. It's quite a scene. "Was. What
was
his name. He's dead and you don't even have the decency to direct me to where his
dead
body is!"
She is staring at me with huge eyes, her pen no longer tapping the notepad that sits open on her desk. I expect her to reach for the radio any second and call for security.
"The elevator is down the hall. The morgue is in the basement. You'll need this to get past the doors," she says as she reaches into a drawer and pulls out a guest pass.
All that effort and watch him be in a totally different hospital. Or if I'm really lucky, the city morgue. "Thank you." I smile as sweetly as I can and take the pass.
I pause to compose myself, tousling out the tangles in my hair and smoothing the wrinkles from where I'd twisted my shirt into one of my fists for effect. It's frightening how good I'm beginning to be at this lying thing.
The elevator is old and squeals as it descends, and I have a picture in my head of Death standing beside me with scythe in hand, looking down at his watch impatiently—as though my escapades are holding him up for dinner.
The doors open and though I don't genuinely expect a flickering light (don't all morgues have flickering lights?), I am a little sad when I don't see one. Nonetheless, the hall still isn't too well lit and a cold wave rushes through me as I step out of the elevator. I've never been afraid of death or dark places, so I'm not sure where this dread is coming from. Until I hear his voice again.
Feeling weak yet? You will. You've been without my blood for twenty-four hours. Another few and you'll be so cold you can't speak. After that, well … I guess we'll have to see.
I'm calling
Breaking the Habit
I assume this won't be as easy as going to the information desk and asking for his whereabouts. There are several major hospitals in the D.C. area, but I don't have any reason to believe he would be at one as opposed to another, aside from some financials received from Belladonna years ago from one establishment in particular. I decide to take my chances on that being the place.
Yet some things are going in my favor. Trinity can't locate me by disc. If I use cash and don't go anywhere I would typically go, he won't even know where to begin. This, of course, assumes I can keep my thoughts to myself. And I have a feeling he is going to return soon.
I have on loose boot-cut jeans, a sea green button-down oxford and my hair is swept back in a ponytail. Pretty average attire for hospital visitation. After I walk into the main entrance, I look around and wish I'd paid more attention to this point in all those stupid movies where the hero (or heroine) sneaks onto whatever floor. I seriously doubt that he is above-ground, what with his arrival consisting of a coroner's company and all.
A young raven-haired woman, slightly overweight and wearing ridiculously hot pink Hello Kitty scrubs, is manning the window at admittance.
"Hi." I wipe at my eyes a little, wishing I could conjure up tears at will. "My brother was brought here, to the morgue. Could you—"
She shakes her head and abruptly says, "He wouldn't have been brought here unless he was a patient. The city morgue is more likely."
I don't have time for this and I didn't think about the city morgue as even being an option. The labs make more sense here. "He was brought in initially as a patient. Just, please, if you could direct me to the morgue so I can take care of some things."
She doesn't appear to buy my story. "What is his name?"
I blink, amazed that she is unmoved by what I thought sounded at least plausible. All right, I didn't want theatrics, but here goes nothing. I pull out the rubber band holding my hair as though my head hurts and launch into my best hysterical impression of a grieving sibling. My lower lips quivers and I choke on my words. It's quite a scene. "Was. What
was
his name. He's dead and you don't even have the decency to direct me to where his
dead
body is!"
She is staring at me with huge eyes, her pen no longer tapping the notepad that sits open on her desk. I expect her to reach for the radio any second and call for security.
"The elevator is down the hall. The morgue is in the basement. You'll need this to get past the doors," she says as she reaches into a drawer and pulls out a guest pass.
All that effort and watch him be in a totally different hospital. Or if I'm really lucky, the city morgue. "Thank you." I smile as sweetly as I can and take the pass.
I pause to compose myself, tousling out the tangles in my hair and smoothing the wrinkles from where I'd twisted my shirt into one of my fists for effect. It's frightening how good I'm beginning to be at this lying thing.
The elevator is old and squeals as it descends, and I have a picture in my head of Death standing beside me with scythe in hand, looking down at his watch impatiently—as though my escapades are holding him up for dinner.
The doors open and though I don't genuinely expect a flickering light (don't all morgues have flickering lights?), I am a little sad when I don't see one. Nonetheless, the hall still isn't too well lit and a cold wave rushes through me as I step out of the elevator. I've never been afraid of death or dark places, so I'm not sure where this dread is coming from. Until I hear his voice again.
Feeling weak yet? You will. You've been without my blood for twenty-four hours. Another few and you'll be so cold you can't speak. After that, well … I guess we'll have to see.
I'm calling
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