Zahra looks at the bag, then at me, the last bit of amusement giving way to worry. “Yeah… Go.” With a pointed look, she adds, “Be careful. And actuallytake careof that.”
I nod and slip away before she can say more. Disappearing down the hallway, I step into the rear stairwell. It is covered in dust and carries the faint smell of mildew. My footsteps echo a little too loudly as I take the steps two at a time, moving quickly before I can be seen. The air is stale as I climb to the third floor, because it is untouched by the steady churn of patients downstairs.
This section of the hospital was closed a few months before I arrived due to budget constraints and minor structural issues. Officially, it’s off-limits. Unofficially, it has been forgotten and is empty.
A gurney blocks the door of the first room past the stairwell, exactly where I left it. Unlatching the brake, I move it aside and pull the keys to the old physicians’ lounge from my pocket. The click of the lock is loud as it echoes down the otherwise-silent hallway. I push the door open and am met with a beaming smile. “Dr. Hart.”
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Blake?” I playfully huff, even though I know Maryam isn’t going to understand me.
She sits on the tattered couch as I walk inside and shut the door behind me. Her eyes are tired but warm and bright. She has Aliyah, round-cheeked, with her tiny fists waving in the air, nuzzled against her chest.
After crossing the room, I set my bag on the floor and take a seat beside the two of them. “Hello, my beautiful girl,” I croon, reaching into the bag and pulling out the rattle I bought at the market. It’s brightly colored, and the noise itmakes is soft instead of jarring when I give it a gentle little shake. “Auntie Blake brought you something.” Her tiny fingers instinctually wrap around the handle when I brush it against her palm, and it rattles softly as she flails it in the air.
I pull my phone from my pocket and swipe to open the translation app I was grateful to find. “Look at you.” My voice is high and light as I give Aliyah a quick yet thorough assessment. Her cheeks are fuller than the last time I saw her, and she is gaining weight well for how small she was at birth. Turning my attention to Maryam, I share with the app translating for me, “She’s doing well.”
“She eats much. She is so hungry,” Maryam answers through the app, her voice translated into clipped, mechanical English.
“That is a very good sign,” I assure her with a smile. “And how about you? How are you feeling?”
Maryam carefully lays Aliyah in the crevice of the couch behind us, wincing slightly at the movement. “Better. Stomach less sore.” She lifts her dress without hesitation, showing me the angry red line of her C-section scar. It’s healing well, clean with no signs of infection.
“You are recovering beautifully.” I gently take the dress from her and pull it down to her thighs to cover her as she nods her understanding.
After lifting the bag from the floor, I carry it to the break room kitchenette and begin unloading the rest of the contents while we talk quietly. I restock the refrigerator with water bottles, fruits and vegetables, and enough prepared meals to last her a few days. Diapers and wipes areadded to the quickly dwindling pile on the service cart, currently being used as a makeshift changing table. Then I place a couple of neatly folded changes of clothes for both of them on the table. I do this dance every few days to ensure the two of them have everything they need.
This hiding spot is less than ideal.Borderline reckless if I’m being honest with myself.Every time I climb those stairs and unlock this door, I know exactly how thin the line is betweenhelpingandlosing my license. If anyone ever bothered to wander up here at the wrong time, this fragile sanctuary would unravel in seconds. Hiding a woman and her newborn at the hospital I work at isn’t clever.It’s fucking stupid.It’s a gamble I replay in my head no less than a hundred times a day, cataloging all the ways this could go so devastatingly wrong.
But the day I saved the life of Maryam and her beautiful little girl, I put a target on all our backs. When she was finally lucid, terror was etched so deeply into her face, it overrode every bit of logic I had. She was so afraid of her husband—with no money or place to hide where he wouldn’t find her—that I didn’t hesitate to help her. This place, forgotten and abandoned, became the only option where we could keep them safe. It isn’t homey or welcoming, but it has running water, a bathroom, and a kitchenette that I keep stocked for her. No one comes up here. For now, it’s a place she can sleep without fear while she heals. A place where danger can’t quite reach her.
“I’m working to find you a way out of here,” I tell her gently. “Trying to find a place where you and Aliyah can go and be safe.”
Maryam nods slowly. “We stay. It is safe here.”
I stay with them a little longer than I should, letting Aliyah wrap her fingers around mine, listening to Maryam talk quietly through the app about sleep, food, and the challenges of caring for a newborn. When I finally stand to leave, it’s with reluctance. “I will be back,” I promise. “Two days.” I lock the door behind me and slide the gurney into place, my tiny attempt to thwart anyone from trying to get into this room if they happen to wander upstairs.
After making my way back downstairs, I head toward the nurses’ station to discreetly give Zahra an update. “There’s a man waiting for you in the room at the end of the hall,” Dr. Durand calls as I pass.
“Thanks,” I reply automatically.
“And, Dr. Hart,” he adds. “This is a hospital. Not a social lounge.”
I glance at my watch and notice that it’s already nearly midnight.Jagger. A ridiculous smile spreads across my face before I can stop it. Walking down the hall—with a lightness that feels unfamiliar and dangerously undeserved—I smooth imaginary wrinkles from my scrubs and straighten my ponytail.
When I push open the door, my smile dies instantly. It’s not Jagger. I might not know his name, but I recognize him instantly. His face is burned into my memory, carved there by fear. I even remember the way his breath smelled—like cigars and coffee—when he pressed a knife to my throat during his last visit.
He grabs my wrist, his fingers biting painfully into the bone, before I have time to react. Yanking roughly, he drags me into the room and quickly shuts the door. It closes hard,but not loudly enough that it would draw suspicion from anyone in the hallway. Using his hold, he shoves me face-first against it with a thud that rattles my teeth.
“That big boyfriend of yours might have saved you from my friends at the market,” he snarls in my ear, his hot, foul breath blowing against my skin, “but he isn’t here now.”
Terror floods my system, pulsing through my veins as my heart races dangerously. He twists my arm behind my back and tightens his grip until the pressure is relentless. Pain flares white-hot through my wrist and shoulder, forcing me to cry out in pain. “I don’t know where she is,” I lie on a sob.
“You will. We can help jog your memory.” He presses his body against mine, deliberately grinding his manhood against me. I gag, choking on the panic clawing its way up my throat. His voice is almost conversational as he continues, “You should know, I have permission to dowhateveris necessary to get you to finally fucking talk.”
With his lips pressed to the back of my ear, he calmly whispers, “You will. Eventually.” His free hand drags down my exposed cheek with a tenderness so wrong it makes my skin crawl and my stomach churn. “My friends and I can take turns visiting you every day until you do.” He presses his hardening length more firmly against me to drive home his already less-than-subtle threat.
Frozen with fear, I don’t move as he presses a chaste kiss to my temple. He releases his hold and gingerly turns me toward him. After taking a tiny step backward, he takes a moment to straighten my scrubs like a gentleman before pulling open the door.
“See you tomorrow, Dr. Hart.”
