Chapter 5 - Whispers in Ward 4
The private wing of St. Jude’s Hospital smelled of antiseptic and artificial flowers. Christian lay suspended in a web of monitors and IV lines, a sterile bandage taped across his stitched forehead. The steady beep of the telemetry machine provided the only cadence to his shallow breathing.
The door opened with a soft click. Christian’s eyes opened instantly, hyper-vigilant despite the heavy narcotics coursing through his veins.
It wasn't Evelyn. It wasn't the police.
Clara slipped inside, wearing a plain trench coat over civilian clothes, her hair tucked under a dark wool cap. She shut the door soundlessly behind her, keeping her back pressed against the wood.
""You shouldn't be here,"" Christian rasped, his throat raw from the oxygen tube they had removed hours earlier. ""If Julian’s men see you...""
""Julian was the one who pushed you,"" Clara whispered, stepping swiftly to the edge of the bed. She didn't hesitate. She reached into her pocket and placed the shattered rose-gold watch directly onto his white bedsheet.
Christian stared at the fractured face, his jaw tightening so hard a muscle twitched along his cheek. ""He tore it off during the scuffle. I thought it dropped into the fountain outside.""
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""I found it under the console,"" she said, leaning down, her voice trembling. ""Mr. Whitfield, they’re telling the police it was a drunken slip. Evelyn signed the witness statement. If you don't fight back, they're going to finish what they started.""
Christian reached up, his fingers wrapping firmly around Clara’s wrist. His grip was unexpectedly strong, fueled by cold fury. ""Help me get out of here tonight.""
