You are leaving Saint Jude Hospital with your medical license revoked and your career in ashes, my uncle declared before the ethics panel, standing beside his daughter with an arrogant smile.
The key felt heavy in my pocket, a promise of truth. I thanked Clara, my heart hammering with a desperate hope I hadn’t felt in days. The cab ride back to Saint Jude was a blur of planning, my mind racing through the hospital blueprints I knew by heart. The sub-basement archive. It was a labyrinth of old utility tunnels, rarely used, accessible only through a forgotten service elevator near the loading docks.
I entered the hospital through a side entrance, hoping to avoid any familiar faces. The air in the service corridor was cool and damp, smelling of concrete and stale ventilation. I found the old elevator, its metal doors scarred with decades of use.
As I pressed the “B2” button for the sub-basement, a voice barked from behind me.
“Dr. Montgomery! Halt!”
Two burly hospital security guards, their uniforms stiff and formal, blocked the narrow corridor. One of them, a man I recognized from the main lobby, held out a tablet.
“We have orders, Dr. Montgomery,” he said, his face impassive. “You are to surrender your belongings and accompany us immediately.”
My heart sank. Arthur. He moved fast.
“On what grounds?” I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady.
Suddenly, Arthur himself appeared at the end of the corridor, flanked by Evelyn, his expression a mask of grave concern. He wore his white lab coat, making him seem both professional and menacing.
“Iris,” he said, his voice laced with a false sympathy that made my skin crawl. “Thank heavens we found you.”
He approached slowly, carrying a folded document. “I’ve been gravely concerned about your increasingly erratic behavior. Your ‘whistleblower’ claims, your recent distress… it’s all deeply troubling.”
He unfolded the document. It was a temporary psychological hold order, signed by a Dr. Wallace, a psychiatrist I barely knew.
“Your presence on hospital grounds while under ethics review, attempting to access restricted areas, is proof you are a danger to yourself and, potentially, to our patients,” Arthur announced, his voice carrying just enough to be heard by any passing staff. “This order places you on mandatory medical leave, effective immediately. For your own good.”
My stomach churned. He was using my distress against me, twisting my pursuit of truth into evidence of mental instability. Gaslighting, perfected.
“This is a sham, Arthur!” I yelled, my voice cracking. “You know it! You’re trying to silence me before I can expose you!”
Evelyn stepped forward, her face a picture of feigned anguish. “Iris, please. You’re unwell. Let us help you.”
“Your notes,” the security guard said, gesturing to the small bag hanging from my shoulder. “We’ll need those.”
My bag contained my personal journal, my hastily scribbled notes from Sarah, and Arthur’s initial, un-altered post-op printout. Evidence.
I clutched the bag tighter. “You can’t do this!”
“You’re under a doctor’s order, Iris,” Arthur said, his voice firm. “Resist, and we will be forced to restrain you. We wouldn’t want to add ‘physical altercation’ to your already compromised record, now would we?”
He gave me a cold, triumphant smile. The security guards moved closer, their hands hovering near my arms. There was no point fighting them. Not here, not now. I glanced down at my bag, at the crucial notes inside. I knew I couldn’t let them have it.
I loosened my grip on the bag and let it slide from my shoulder, deliberately letting it fall to the grimy floor just as the guards reached me. A few loose papers fluttered out, unnoticed by the guards who were already guiding me towards the exit.
“You’ll regret this, Arthur,” I managed, even as they escorted me out of the building, into the blinding sunlight of the hospital parking lot. The key to the archive, thankfully, remained hidden deep in my pants pocket.
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