Chapter 39 THE NURSE
\[ETHAN POV\]
She goes by Rebecca Cole.
Thirty-five years old. Raising a kid alone. Pulls night shifts at County General - works the pediatric ICU floor.
She’s got a little girl - nine years old - who stays with Rebecca’s mom on weekdays thanks to her late-night work schedule.
I’ve kept an eye on her over the past fortnight.
She leaves her car in that one spot each evening. Spot 14, row C. Close to the stairs - elevator’s always slow.
She hits up the vending machine upstairs each evening - no exceptions. Picks out a can of Diet Coke along with some peanut butter snacks. Night after night, same routine.
Routine turns folks into creatures of habit. When they’re habitual, life gets simpler.
I’m sitting a few lanes away. While she heads from her ride toward the front doors.
She’s worn out. You notice it in how she moves - slumped shoulders, shuffling steps.
She begins work at eleven. Then finishes by seven in the morning.
It's 10:53 now.
I wait.
Not now - maybe later. Right here, right now? Just observing. Keep an eye out, see if things are different.
She slips behind the sliding doors.
I grab my phone. Then I tap the Notes app.
Rebecca Cole works nights - 11 at night till 7 in the morning. She’s posted up at Parks row C. You’ll find her near the vending spot on level two. No partner around, just her by herself.
I toss in another line.
Thursday night. So she slips out by the east door instead - never uses the front way.
That’s exactly what I was looking for.
The east exit is camera-free. Happened after the budget slashes last year. Half the security got pulled out - no updates since then.
Thursday night - that’s the time. I’ve picked it. Not earlier, not later.
Two days away.
I fire up the engine. Then I head back to my place.
Aria’s yet up when I arrive.
She’s sitting on the couch - laptop flipped open, pages scattered across the low table.
"You're up late," I say.
"Working."
"On what?"
"The case."
I take a seat on the chair opposite her. Just far enough.
"Find anything?"
"Maybe."
She ignores me while tapping on the keys.
"Aria."
"What?"
"Are you mad at me?"
She pauses her typing - gazes upward.
"Mad at you? No, Ethan. I'm not mad. I'm terrified."
"Of what?"
"Of you. Of your father. Of the fact that I don't know who I married anymore."
"You married me. That hasn't changed."
"Hasn't it?"
She shuts the laptop, then sinks into the chair.
"I went to see Marcus today. Told him everything."
My gut sinks. Yet I keep my face straight.
"And?"
"And he wants to bring you in for questioning."
"When?"
"Tomorrow. Ten a.m."
I nod slowly.
"Okay."
"Okay? That's all you have to say?"
"What do you want me to say? That I'm scared? That I'm worried? I'm not. Because I didn't do anything wrong."
"Then why does it feel like you're lying?"
"Because you want me to be guilty. Because it's easier to believe I'm the monster than to accept that someone's setting me up."
She gets up - takes her laptop.
"I'm going to bed."
"Aria—"
"Don't. Just don't."
She walks upstairs.
I sit here, just looking at the papers she forgot on the table.
One’s cracked wide - shows a snapshot from where things went wrong.
Victim number One. A teacher from the local high school. She was discovered inside her classroom.
I recall her - how she pleaded, yet sobbed at the same time; each sound shaky, though full of weight.
The moment she stopped talking.
I shut the folder. Then line them up tidily.
After that, I head up the stairs.
Aria lies on the mattress, turned so her back towards me.
I climb in from my end. Keep my hands to myself even though I want to cuddle her from behind but I couldn't because she's not in a good mood.
"I love you," I say.
She doesn't respond.
I shut my lids.
Then again, what about Thursday?
THURSDAY NIGHT. IT’S 11:47 PM.
Rebecca’s shift began nearly an hour ago.
I’m sitting by the east exit - engine quiet, lights out.
Waiting.
The hospital’s calm over here. With just generator noise in the background. Sometimes an ambulance far off can be heard.
I check my bag - nothing’s missing. The syringe? Packed. Tape? Got it. A knife’s tucked in. There’s rope too. Plus some origami paper folded inside.
A fresh pick. Also, a Polaroid camera.
I really need to keep this in mind.
Right at 11:52 pm, the eastern entrance swings open.
Rebecca walks outside. By herself.
She’s staring at her screen, messaging a friend - totally zoned out. Her focus? Gone, sucked into that little device she can’t put down.
Perfect.
I step from the car - silent. She’s unaware, focused elsewhere.
I move quick - shut the gap.
She glances up - spots me.
She opens her mouth, lets out a scream.
I take hold of her - palm clamped on her lips. A syringe goes into her throat. No sound comes out.
She fights it. Yet keeps trying.
Yet it acts quickly.
She collapses like a puppet with cut strings.
I grab her. Then I pull her toward the car.
Nobody notices. Ever - nobody catches on.
I shoved her into the back. Then shut the passenger door.
I'm in full control now so I step into the car and drive.
She opens her eyes, slumped in the seat.
Takes her a moment to figure out the place. Then what’s going on?
After that, she begins to shout.
The tape across her lips keeps the sound low. Yet she pushes through regardless.
I allowed it. So she could tire herself out.
Once she’s done, I head her way.
"Rebecca Cole. Thirty-five. Pediatric ICU nurse. You have a daughter named Maya. Nine years old. She likes butterflies and wants to be a veterinarian."
She stares, mouth slightly open.
"Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt her. Just you."
She starts crying.
"Do you want to know why?"
She moves her head from side to side.
"I'll tell you anyway. You're here because I need you to be. Because every time I do this, I feel something. Just for a moment. And then it's gone. And I have to do it again."
I tear the strip from her lips.
She grabs for breath like it's slipping away.
"Please. Please don't do this. I have a daughter. She needs me."
"I know."
"Then let me go. Please. I'll do anything."
"You keep saying that. Like there's something you can offer that would change my mind."
"There has to be something. Money? I don't have much but—"
"I don't need money."
"Then what? What do you want?"
I ponder it now - maybe later.
"I want to feel something. Anything. And the only time I do is when I'm doing this."
"That's insane."
"Probably."
I grab the scalpel.
She begins yelling once more.
"Please! Please! My daughter—"
"Will grow up without you. I know. That's the point."
I push the knife to her skin - light, barely there. A hint of pressure, nothing more.
She screams louder.
And I start.
This round lasts a bit longer.
Four hours.
She pushes herself more than most, yet stays conscious longer.
I need to take the smelling salts on three separate occasions.
Eventually, she stops yelling - now it’s only quiet cries.
"Please," she whispers. "Please just let me see my daughter one more time."
"No."
"Please."
"No."
I grab the blade.
And finish it.
She freezes. Her muscles lock up. Then everything just stops.
I stay put. Just hoping a feeling shows up.
Nothing.
Just empty.
Always empty.
I tidy things up - snap some pics then letf i dont want attention so I didn't fold a red paper bird or anything.
I checked everywhere, to be sure there is no traces of me anywhere my fingerprint or anything after I was done I checked the time and It's already 4:23 in the morning.
I gotta hurry up.
I toss her into the backseat. Then head for the place I chose days ago.
A narrow path at the back of a rundown playhouse. Not a single lens around. Hardly anyone walks here.
I leave her right there, slumped by the wall - bird still gripped in her palm.
She’ll be found by dawn.
I hop back into the vehicle clean everywhere and traces make sure there isn't nothing that belongs to her in my car and then I drive home.
Aria’s up the moment I step inside.
She sits by the kitchen table, coffee cup gripped tight. Her eyes - bloodshot, tired. Not sleeping much lately, maybe.
"Where were you?" she asks.
"Couldn't sleep. Went for a drive."
"Again?"
"Yeah."
She looks right at me.
"Your interview with Marcus is in five hours."
"I know."
"Are you ready?"
"I didn't do anything wrong. So yes."
She gets up, then moves toward me.
Moves in near. Way too near.
Look at me straight in the eye.
"Tell me the truth, Ethan. Right now. Are you the killer?"
I don't blink.
"No."
She scans my face, eyes hunting for a false word. Not trusting what I just said.
She’ll never spot it. Because I’ve got this down.
At last, she pulls away.
"Okay."
"You believe me?"
"I don't know what I believe anymore."
She strolls by without a word - then snatches her coat off the chair.
"I'm going to the precinct. I'll see you there at ten."
She leaves.
I stand there.
Pull out my phone.
Check the news.
Still nothing. Because they haven’t located Rebecca.
But they will maybe sooner or later.
I grab my coffee. Then I plop down at the table.
And wait.
The phone rings at 6:47 in the morning.
Marcus.
I don't answer.
He calls again.
I just left it ringing.
That’s when my phone vibrates - a message from Aria.
Another body turned up. So, where’ve you been?
I text back.
Home. Why?
Three dots. Then:
We gotta chat. Right away.
I smile.
Here we go.
I’m pulling on my jeans when suddenly the front door creaks open.
Running sounds. Quick ones. More than one person is moving.
I head up to the landing.
Aria shows up. Behind her? That’s Marcus. With two cops standing by.
"Ethan Cross," Marcus says. "We need you to come with us."
"Am I under arrest?"
"Not yet. But we need to ask you some questions. Downtown."
Aria’s avoiding my eyes.
"Aria," I say.
She lifts her eyes at last.
"Just go with them. Answer their questions. If you didn't do anything wrong, you have nothing to worry about."
"And if I did?"
She turns ghostly white.
"Did you?"
I smile.
"I guess we'll find out."
Marcus steps forward.
"Let's go."
I stroll downstairs - hands tucked away. While moving, I keep them hidden.
They haven’t tied my hands. Not this time.
We step out the door - two police cruisers sit in the driveway, parked crooked. One’s engine is still ticking, like it just stopped.
The neighbors are keeping an eye out - that student across the road is peeking from a window. One watches from left, another from right, both curious without saying a word.
People enjoy watching something on stage.
I hop into the rear seat of Marcus’s vehicle.
Aria slides into the front seat beside the driver.
We ride without talking.
I glance outside. As the urban blur slides past.
I wonder what happened to Rebecca - then my mind drifts to Michael. Or maybe it's someone else this time. It could be any of those folks.
About how near I get to wrapping this up.
Just three more.
Next up, the big ending kicked in.
Later on, she’ll get it - once things click.
We arrive at the station.
Marcus pulls into a spot. He steps out.
Opens my door.
"Let's go."
I step out.
That’s the moment he comes into view.
Over on the other side of the road.
Watching.
James Reynolds.
He’s dressed in dark clothes. The hood’s pulled over his head. His hands stay tucked inside coat pockets.
He’s looking straight at me.
Our eyes meet.
He stays still, yet keeps staring straight ahead.
Just stares.
Like he knows.
As if he saw everything from the start.
Marcus takes hold of my arm.
"Move."
I glance over at James.
He's gone.