The Devil Among Us, Ramsay Sinclair [black books to read .txt] 📗

or they can ring again tomorrow if they’re desperate.” It was Sod’s law. I’d struggle to stay awake on the drive to the hospital at this rate, let alone having to talk to Flynn yet. “C’mon.”

We caught up on the general office gossip whilst traipsing through some empty parts of the station, apart from places where twenty-four-hour round shifts were common. The canteen, for example, was one of the areas that was never empty.

A bitter wind pinched at our cheekbones when we finally emerged outside, breathing in fresh air after hours of being cooped away. John held my free hand to warm it up, gently placing his other on the small of my back. Many cars were covered in grit, dirt and specks of mud covered the paintwork of mine.

“Those bloody decorators with all their dirty tyres,” I complained. Their backsplash had covered all the once-sparkling windows. “It’ll need a clean now.”

“They’ll be finished soon. I can come around to yours this weekend to clean the car if you’d like? I’m a dab hand with a sponge and hose,” John offered. An image of John covered in suds and water came flashing into my mind.

“Would it sound desperate if I said yes please?” To see him with a hose would be a dream come true.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking.” We shared a chuckle. “Sounds like a plan then. I guess I’ll leave you to work.” He motioned towards my car and held open the door.

“Not so fast,” I grabbed his neck for a kiss. When we had finished, we were both left a bit breathless. “See you tomorrow.” I smirked at the adorable reaction that greeted me and clambered into the vehicle. The door soon shut after me, and John waited to wave me off.

Sliding the abundance of files onto the passenger side, my engine spluttered into action. Headlights would be helpful in the thick layer of fog starting to roll in from the waterfront, a telltale salty taste hanging in the air. The fishermen out there wouldn’t have much luck tonight.

As I accelerated gently to merge into the local road adjoined to the station car park, he waggled his fingers in a farewell motion. That man always left a coy grin on my lips, one which lasted all the way to the hospital. My radio played smooth jazz, a genre that wasn’t my fondest. It was the only semi-decent thing being broadcast across here. My car skimmed beneath bridges and traffic lights alike, and just then my phone vibrated and buzzed.

Taking my eyes off the road for a split second, I saw the screen was flashing with Finlay’s name. It had to ignore it, due to driving. Finlay barely ever rang because of anything important, anyway. He mainly phoned up to moan about CID or things that annoyed him.

The scenery of various trees and houses slowly changed, and fairly soon, the hospital bordered the horizon. It teamed with life and lights from the wards creating a visually impressive scene from the outside. Ambulances screamed and raced past, en route to pick up casualties or bring them here. Even though the public was starting to sleep, this place never rested or stopped.

Sick and injured individuals rushed in and out of reception, parents with their children or partners. Some husbands and family members helped pregnant women to the maternity ward, where they breathed haphazardly through the agony.

I didn’t envy them, that’s for sure. Children were adorable, but the whole process to get them into our world wasn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows. It was torture, to put it mildly. Whatever everyone was here for, they were all equally important. This place saw it all, from birth to death and that was quite an astonishing feat.

At last, I stepped foot onto Flynn Jones’s ward. Nurses flapped busily, checking on all their patients in order. Their rubber-soled shoes squeaked ominously backwards and forwards, like those out of a horror movie. Hospitals gave me the heebie-jeebies sometimes, but that’s because I would stay up late and secretly watch those movies as a kid.

When I peered into the room the second time over for today, Flynn had worsened in less than twenty-four hours. He was sick with worry, a horrible grey pallor overcoming his entire being. Even Flynn’s lips were of a washed-out pale white as if he’d been swapped for a spirit instead.

I reached out to touch the silver handle, and the police guard stopped me. It was the same one we had earlier, bulky muscles practically ripping his uniform. Anyone would believe he spent most weeks living at a gym.

“Visiting hours are over.”

“Oh, I was here earlier,” I reminded the guard. “You talked to us this morning.”

“That I did, miss, but I still can’t let you in. As I said a minute ago, visiting hours are over. The man in there is a part of an investigation and letting people in this late won't look very professional on my part.” The guard wouldn’t budge, taking his duties seriously. Folding his arms as if to challenge me, the guard waited to hear a response.

“I know. It’s our investigation.” I found the CID badge floating around in the coat pockets. “DS McCall, CID, if you need reminding. I’d like to talk to him now.”

“I am sorry, Miss, but--”

“Ma’am,” I snapped.

“Ma’am, but I can’t let you in,” the burly guard continued. “Especially not after visiting hours. My sergeant would kill me, not to mention DCI Reid.” The guard shrugged, planting both boots firmly on the immaculately cleaned tiles. Germs and all that.

Thinking on our feet was a CID speciality. “Funny you should mention DCI Reid. You’ve met him, I presume?”

“Only briefly in passing, ma’am. This morning, for example. But rumours go around the station. They warned us to stick to his instructions, or expect to be cleaning the bathrooms with the cleaners,” he shared all too easily.

“So you’ve heard of his punishments then,” I pretended to gnaw on my lip nervously. Acting was one of my