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“It's alright. A nice young man helped me earlier.”
“Young man? Ben, there are only three nurses on the night shift, and Josh is 45 years old and he's not working until tomorrow. If you're about to spew nonsense again, we'd better go now just to be sure.”
“No need. The young man I'm talking about helped me when I asked for help.”
“Blond?”
“Yes, with those striking gray eyes.”
My eyes widen, and even though part of me wants to bolt out of the room, I lack the same vigor as before the attack.
He's here!
Manasseh is here!
If he is, then where is he?
I frantically search for him everywhere, through all the corridors, in every room, but nothing.
I never thought he would stay here after visiting Bebeto, but now I realize I was mistaken. He knows my connections in this place, the people I interact with the most, which means he's been following me for a while.
“Owen, are you daydreaming?!” I snap at the security guard standing by the main entrance. “I've had two coffees, I'm wide awake. Just took a quick smoke break.”
“Then how on earth could a stranger sneak into the clinic without anyone noticing?”
“A stranger? What are you talking about? I've been on high alert, and after Dr. Ford left, no one came in or went out,” he flicks his cigarette and we head towards the security control room, where the clinic's private security team has round-the-clock access.
“I believe someone entered the clinic this morning and has been hiding here ever since!” "Highly unlikely,” he gestures dismissively and begins to review the surveillance footage. “What the hell!” the man exclaims, jumping up from his chair as the emergency alarm blares. “Go ahead, I'll join you shortly,” I assure him and continue scrolling through today's recorded footage.
Suddenly, I see a man dressed in a suit, with slicked-back hair and a folder in hand, coming from the fire exit corridor. He wears a black mask, a precaution due to the ongoing pandemic. I can't quite recognize him. It's been over four long years since I last saw Manasseh.
The urgency of the alarm prompts me to pause the footage and show it to the security guard. I swiftly rise from my chair and rush outside to investigate the chaos.
“What's going on?” I notice one of the nurses hurrying out of a patient's room, clearly flustered.
“Someone has tampered with the patient's treatment plans, and it's a Level III emergency.”
It feels like the sky is crashing down on me. Manasseh's presence here is no coincidence.
It's only now that I realize that folder in his hands was the actual treatment plan that he replaced.
He is planning to frame me.
We only manage to calm down at dawn. Patients, each with their own health issues, had endured terrifying moments after receiving the wrong treatment. Some felt worse, others less so, but the fact remains that I am accountable for what happened. In the meantime, that footage of Manasseh has vanished from the records.
“This is the most severe crisis we've faced, and we can't afford for it to happen again,” the clinic's director glares at me through her glasses, clearly irritated.
“I’m really sorry, but...”
“And you're going to bring up that absurdity about the man entering here again?”
“Beto, Ben, even Owen can confirm it,” I wave my hands anxiously, searching for understanding in her stern gaze.
“Do you think I would trust two senile old men and a security guard who's ready to jump into the lion's den just because you're cute?”
“Okay, then,” I pinch the bridge of my nose, applying pressure with my fingertips, attempting to alleviate the pounding headache that's overwhelming me. “I take full responsibility. What do we do now?”
“I'm glad you asked,” Director Ford's forehead relaxes slightly. “Hand over your ID badge and access card to the medication room. You're fired.”
