The Murder of Janessa Hennley by Victor Methos

around on the bed. He put his bare feet on the cold linoleum and pushed his feet into slippers one at a time. He walked to the window and looked outside at the hospital parking lot. The nearest hospital to his home back in DC was crowded every time he’d been there, with a minimum two and a half-hour wait in the emergency room. Viewing the empty lot, he wondered why he hadn’t chosen to live in a small town sooner in his career. Why did he always choose crowded places? Perhaps he knew the reason: he was lonely. And in the midst of strangers that loneliness was alleviated, at least a little.
    The noise again , from out in the hall. He walked to the door. The hospital was quiet; he didn’t even hear any of the staff. He looked down both directions of the brightly lit corridor before seeing the sign for the bathroom at the west end.
    Another noise . Coming from behind the desk. It sounded almost like paper hitting a fan, or something sliding around on the floor.
    Mickey glanced around one more time . How many people were actually needed to staff an emergency room? No one was here, and it didn’t seem to be a big deal. Then he heard a familiar sound, though distant and barely audible: laughter. The staff in another room at the far end of the floor.
    The noise again. He made his way around the desk and looked down.
    An orderly lay on the ground. Blood pooled around him and soaked his scrubs a dark black. His throat had been slit, and he was trying to inhale, the incision in his neck making a wet sucking sound.
    Mickey instinctively reached for the sidearm he always kept with him but grabbed nothing but cloth.
    As he turned to get help , hot breath burned on the back of his neck.
    The man wore a mask. Mickey tried to go for his eyes, but he was quicker. The man ducked and pulled out a blade. He rose again just as Mickey jumped back, avoiding the blade by inches.
    Mickey kicked him in the groin, and then connected with a left to the jaw. Mickey ran toward the laughter down the hall. As he ran, a slash seared across his back, but he didn’t turn around.
    He pushed through the double doors and fell onto the linoleum in front of several people. Unsure exactly what they were seeing, they didn’t move at first, until one of the nurses ran to him.
     

21
     
     
     
     
     
     
    T he sheriff shut the door behind her. She sat down on a stool next to the hospital bed and waited a beat before speaking.
    “I’m having one of my officers posted outside this room at all time s.”
    “I’d feel better if they hadn’t taken my sidearm.”
    “A man on painkillers with a gun probably isn’t a good combination.”
    “Did the orderly survive?”
    She played with a ring on one of her fingers. “He’s in critical condition. He lost a lot of blood.”
    “Tell me they have cameras here.”
    “No cameras except at the front entrance. I looked ’em over. We caught a man in a mask and hoodie walking into the hospital and then walking out about twenty minutes later. Did you see his face?”
    “No, he kept the mask on the entire time.”
    “Well, he’s clearly targeted you for some reason.”
    “At the funeral, after he’d hit me, h e said he can see me.”
    She paused. “It’s him. It’s freaking him.” She took the ring off and rubbed it a few times before putting it back on. “What do you think that means?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe it mean s we’re his targets. Or maybe it’s nonsense. Someone this reckless has to be suffering from mental illness.”
    “Oh my gosh, don’t tell me you buy into all this garbage about people being what they are because of how they were raised? We have responsibility for our own lives. He knows what he’s doing.”
    “The brain is a machine. Like any machine , it can malfunction. If your car malfunctions and you crash, we don’t blame you. It was inevitable.”
    “Don’t buy it. Sorry. Some people are good and some people are evil , and that’s all there is to it.” She hesitated a