The Stranger Got More problems Than She Imagined
Talia’s eyes fluttered open to the faint hum of the ward. Sophie lay just a few feet away, pale and still beneath the thin hospital blanket. Every shallow breath felt like a victory of her sacrifice and bravery , and every second Talia spent watching her was a battle against exhaustion. Her muscles ached, her wounds throbbed, but she hadn’t slept since the attack last night she can’t bare to .
Outside the clinic, a stretcher rolled in, covered by a white sheet. Two orderlies pushed it along, their faces masked, their steps deliberate.
“Transfer from St. Mary’s. Patient’s in critical condition. Needs immediate care,” one orderly said when the receptionist glanced up.
The receptionist nodded, barely looking up again, typing something into the computer, and the orderlies pushed the stretcher down the corridor, the wheels squeaking softly against the polished floor.
No one noticed when the second “orderly” slipped out, leaving the stretcher behind in a quiet, rarely-used corner of the ward.
For a moment, all was still. Then, slowly, the white sheet covering the stretcher shifted. A hand, gloved in black, pressed against the fabric.
The man under the sheet pushed himself upright. He jacked off the IV in his hand. The IV tubes dangling from the stretcher were fake, mere props to complete the illusion.
He rose fully to his feet, calm and silent as a shadow, and stepped away from the stretcher. He wasn’t a patient in the first place but the man sent to finish Sophie’s life.
His eyes scanned the corridor. Calm. Calculated. Then, he moved toward Room 218 Sophie’s ward. Each step measured, silent, deadly.
He paused at the door, listening. A faint sound of Talia’s shallow breathing drifted from within. He slid the door open just enough to peer inside.
He gently stepped in and pulled out his knife.
Talia, already exhausted, had dozed off in the chair beside Sophie’s bed. The intruder crept in quietly, moving closer to Sophie on the bed. A glittering knife appeared in his hand. He crept slowly and aimed the knife at Sophie’s chest.
Talia woke just in time. Instinct overrode exhaustion. She slammed her palm against the knife, using all her strength to stop it. Pain lanced through her hand, blood gushing, but she held onto the knife like her life depended on it. Her gaze locked on that of the intruder.
Just like that, another fight erupted.
Every move was more brutal than the previous ones. IV stands toppled, bed rails twisted into makeshift weapons.
He slammed Talia against the wall, his arm across her mouth, muffling her pain and screams, and gave her another cut in her shoulder. Blood trickled down her wounds, both old and new, soaking her sleeve, but she refused to give up.
Talia rolled over, using all her strength to push him to the ground. They crashed into stretchers, overturned chairs, and trolleys. Each impact shook the ward but never triggered an alarm. The intruder’s movements were smooth, calculated—no one could tell the violence unfolding just a few steps away.
Talia’s strength wavered. Exhaustion and injury slowed her. The intruder had the upper hand, every strike precise, every movement calculated. Sophie’s unconscious body remained inches away, and Talia’s resolve burned hotter than her fatigue. She would not let him touch her.
From the corridor came the faint shuffle of footsteps. The ward doctor and a couple of nurses appeared for their morning check. The intruder froze. His cover was at risk.
With a final glare at Talia, he retreated silently. Shadowed by the hospital’s walls, he vanished as efficiently as he had appeared.
Talia sank back into the chair, her body trembling, blood dripping onto the floor as she held tightly onto her hand, and her breathing ragged. She hadn’t slept all night, hadn’t rested, hadn’t given herself a moment to heal. Since last night, when she had saved Sophie, it had been war upon war blood upon blood and wound upon wound but she had made sure Sophie was safe, untouched beneath the blanket.
Her hand throbbed. Her wounds ached. Every muscle felt ready to collapse. But for the first time in hours, she allowed herself a single exhale.
At least she had managed to keep her alive.