“No. Why would I? I’m not permitted, even if for some unexplained reason I wanted to.”
He shrugs and picks his chocolate bar back up. “Some people would never do my job, alone down here with the dead people.”
“You’re not alone.”
“Sometimes I am and that’s when I see them.” He chews thoughtfully on his bar. “I’m a bit psychic, see.”
“Really?” He just proved you have to be a lunatic to work in his job.
“Yeah, some people never leave. They don’t like dying in hospital.”
“I really don’t want to have this conversation with you.”
He leans toward me. “Their spirits don’t want to leave. Ghosts.”
I step back from him. “Yeah, I’m sure most hospitals are haunted.” By lunatics, like him.
“And there are people who work here.” He glances around and leans forward conspiratorially. “People who take them.”
“Take them. Right.” I consider whether he needed to pass some kind of mental competency test to be able to work here because if he did, he should have failed it.
The elevator doors open behind me and Tom sits back, eyes widening. “There’s one now.”
I turn expecting to see a ghost, but instead, spot a guy heading toward us. He looks like a doctor; his neatly cut brown hair matches his smart shirt and tie and he has a lanyard around his neck. The man approaches Tom with a curt nod to me. I seize my chance and leave.
***
Another lunch break, another search. I brought sandwiches to eat today, telling myself I’m taking advantage of the early spring sunshine and fresh air and not avoiding social contact. Or contact with Finn. I shiver at the memory of his touch on my arm and the icy pain in my chest. I must’ve imagined it, a side effect of the fog and dizziness. I read through the flat-share section of the newspaper, as if the perfect one will magically pop up the more times I read the column. The newspaper flaps in the breeze; I fold it over and lean my elbows on the paper. Nothing new listed. I sigh, sit back and finish my sandwich.
Lunch finished, I walk toward the quieter area of the hospital grounds. Finn sits on the wooden bench next to the memorial plaque; the one I wanted to sit on because it’s the most peaceful part of the hospital grounds. His long legs are outstretched as he scrolls through his mobile phone. He doesn’t notice me at first, and I take the time to study him. The sun picks out the gold in his blonde hair. I picture the man from the fog and half-close my eyes to see if Finn looks like him, as I imagined the time I fainted outside the hospital.
He looks over as if he senses my scrutiny. “Why are you looking at me like that? What’s wrong?”
My face heats. “Nothing. Sun was in my eyes.”
Finn opens his mouth to speak as I walk over to him, but I talk first. “Sorry about getting in the way the other day. With the patient, I mean. It was wrong of me; I should’ve left the ward as soon as I realised what was happening.”
He shrugs then tips his head to look at me. “Okay. It doesn’t matter, no harm done.”
The unspoken about what happened when he touched me hovers. Subconsciously, I rub my arm and he watches, chewing on his lip.
“Was the patient okay?” I ask.
Finn puts his phone in his pocket, focusing very hard on the action, and then deflects the question. “How are you?”
The woman died. I saw Finn in the room with the patient shortly before this happened and a doubt flickers. I chastise myself; what possible reason do I have to think Finn is harming people? The weirdness of the house is rubbing off on me. “I’m okay.”
He misreads my stiff reply. “Did I upset you? Sorry, I just had to get you to leave…”
“No, I’m just not feeling sociable.”
“That’s a shame; I was going to ask you out.”
“Oh.” I attempt to hide my shock. “Why?”
“Because I’m sick of being bored in the evenings. It doesn’t have to be a date if you don’t want us to be that.”
“Okay…”
Finn turns on a dazzling smile. “Cool. I don’t have your number yet, though.”
Stupefied, I hand my phone to him. He gingerly takes it from me as if I’m handing him something icky, then punches in his number. He drops it back into my palm and it’s obvious we both avoided physical contact.
“I guess picking you up at your house won’t be a good idea if Crazy Boy is around?”
“Probably.”
“Meet in town then? We can decide what to do once we get there?”
“Right.”
Finn stands, but doesn’t approach me. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” No, I wish I’d stop speaking in monosyllables.
Grabbing his bag, he turns his dimpled smile to me. “Meet me by the bus stop on High Street? Seven pm.”
I stare at his retreating figure. How did a trip to the morgue and a failed attempt at house-hunting end with arranging a date with a guy I’m not sure I like? Especially when I have a crazy notion he might have killed someone.
Chapter 9