Chapter 12 - Shadows in the Hospital WardThat evening, exhausted from the corporate bloodbath, I returned to St. Jude’s Hospital. I hadn't resigned from my nursing position yet; walking the quiet halls where Thomas and I had reunited was the only place I felt close to him.
While checking patient charts in the West Wing, the overhead lights flickered and died. Emergency red backup strips hummed to life, casting a blood-red glow over the linoleum floors.
My spine tingled. Decades of emergency room instincts screamed a warning.
A shadow detached itself from the doorway of Room 412—the very room where Thomas had spent his final days. A tall figure in a black trench coat stepped into the dim hallway, holding a sleek, silenced pistol.
"You should have stayed in your apartment, old woman," a harsh, distorted voice hissed. "The Meridian Group doesn't leave loose ends, and certainly not billion-dollar widows who know too much."
I didn't run. I backed silently into the medication supply room, my hand groping blindly along the stainless-steel shelves until my fingers brushed against a heavy, pressurized oxygen tank.
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The intruder stepped through the supply room door, raising the weapon. With a surge of adrenaline, I shoved the heavy tank forward, crashing it violently against his shins. As he stumbled forward with a grunt of pain, I wrenched the main valve open, letting a massive hiss of high-pressure oxygen blast directly into his face.
Blinded and choking, the assassin swung wildly, but I sidestepped, swept his legs out from beneath him, and pinned his wrist to the floor until his weapon clattered away.
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