The corridors of St. Gabriel's had never been so quiet. Clara moved swiftly, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor, her ID badge swinging rhythmically as she approached the surgical wing. It was past midnight, but the silence was not one of peace. It was suffocating, like the hush before a scream.
Inside Operating Room 3, the lights buzzed faintly overhead. The scent of sterilized metal, latex, and the chemical tang of disinfectants created a cocktail she had grown used to. But tonight, there was another scent — something faint but pungent. Ether.
Clara paused at the threshold. Her pulse quickened.
A surgical tray lay abandoned on the counter. Gauze, forceps, and a small scalpel glinted under the fluorescence. The scene was orderly, yet... off. Her eyes shifted to the lone figure at the center of the room. Dr. Malcolm.
He didn't hear her come in. His hands trembled over a medical file. The chart was opened wide, and the name on it made Clara's stomach twist: Patient 00314B – Hannah Nwosu.
Her mother.
She hadn't seen that name on any recent admissions. In fact, she'd been told her mother had died after the car accident ten years ago. But now... here it was. A fresh chart. Updated vitals. Notes scribbled in Malcolm's sharp, urgent handwriting.
Clara took a step forward. "You lied to me."
Malcolm turned. His face was pale, haunted. He looked less like the confident surgeon she once admired and more like a man being devoured by his own secrets.
"Clara, you weren't supposed to see this."
"She's alive, isn't she?" Clara's voice broke. "Why did you tell me she was dead?"
He moved closer, the chart still in his hand. "Because the truth would have destroyed everything. Your scholarship. Your career. The hospital's reputation."
"You mean your reputation."
His silence confirmed it.
Malcolm sighed and placed the chart gently on the tray. "She was in a coma for seven years. When she woke up, she couldn't speak. Couldn't move. But she remembered everything. Everything that happened before the crash."
Clara stared at him, breathless. "What happened before the crash?"
Malcolm swallowed. "She was about to expose the board. The illegal trials. The forged signatures. Your father's involvement. We tried to stop her from leaking it. But she... she ran."
Clara's legs gave way, and she reached out for the surgical bed to steady herself. "You mean you tried to silence her."
"It was never supposed to go that far."
The room spun around her. The voices under the floor. The secret room with patient files. Her father's letters. It all pointed to this moment.
"Where is she now?" Clara demanded.
Malcolm hesitated. "In isolation. Under observation."
She started toward the door. He grabbed her arm.
"Clara, if you go in there, it's over. Everything."
"Maybe it needs to be."
The isolation ward was on the second sublevel. A place patients were never supposed to see. Clara had only heard whispers about it during her nursing rounds. They called it Ward X. Where the broken minds were kept — or so the rumors said.
She swiped her card. Access denied.
She pulled out her father's ID — the one she had found inside the old prayer book in his locked drawer. Swiped again.
Access granted.
The doors slid open with a reluctant groan.
Inside, the hallway was dimly lit, quiet save for the slow hum of air conditioning. There were only four rooms. She stopped at the third.
A plaque read: 00314B.
She opened it.
Her mother was there. Fragile, thin, but conscious. Eyes that once radiated fire now blinked with effort. A feeding tube ran beneath her nose, and IV lines snaked into her wrist.
Clara approached slowly.
"Mom... it's me."
Her mother turned, eyes widening slowly. She tried to speak. Only a gasp escaped. But her fingers twitched. Clara took her hand.
"I know everything. Or... I'm starting to. You don't have to be quiet anymore. I'll fight for you now."
Her mother's hand squeezed.
Behind her, footsteps.
Clara turned, already expecting security.
But it was Dr. Eze.
"You shouldn't be here," he whispered.
"Then why are you?"
He handed her a file. "Because the truth has waited long enough. Your mother's voice may be trapped. But these... these are her words. Everything she wrote before the crash. And a confession she made when she first woke. The hospital's rot runs deeper than anyone imagined."
Clara looked down at the thick folder. Names, dates, signatures. Corruption. Trials. Coerced patients.
Eze looked at her, eyes burning. "You have a choice now, Clara. To run, or to expose. But whatever you choose, do it knowing someone else will bleed for it."
Her heart thudded. The smell of ether still lingered. But it wasn't masking the truth anymore.
It was revealing it.