Page 21 of Peep
I tell Femi I’ve been sick and need to go home early. I must do a damn awful job at disguising my internal turmoil because she fires questions at me.
I gather my belongings and practically run out of Emeralds while Femi shouts something after me, barely hearing her over the buzzing in my ears. And then I run; run so fast my lungs ache and a stitch splinters my side until I’m a few streets away.
Coming to a stop on a street corner, I rest my hands on my knees and pant. I cough and heave as memories of those organs rolling around the bowl assault me, though nothing comes up. I manage to drag myself to a park across the way and slam onto a bench, wincing as my arse connects with the ice-cold metal.
I tighten my smart, knee-length coat around my torso and release jagged breaths, focusing on the fog billowing around me. I’m not sure how long I sit like that, but my fingers have turned red, and my teeth chatter.
I reach into the deep pockets of my coat, pull out my phone and turn it on. I have several missed calls and messages from Femi asking if I’m ok.
“Fuck,” I mumble.
She must think I’ve lost my fucking mind, sprinting out of work like I’d just seen a ghost. But I can’t worry about that right now; I’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow.
I log onto my security app. I need to know how Jahmar’s sick show ends. I need to know if he hurt the guy more or, even worse, killed him. Holding my breath, I click on the feed.
The room is back to its original state—not a thing out of place. It no longer gives off the appearance of a makeshift operating theatre. Jahmar’s victim is gone, and so is he.
Chapter 11
Anders
My clenched fist hovers beneath the metallic door plaque while I muster up the courage to knock.
Dr Chris Thompson
I always wondered why my brother never changed his last name to Erikson so he’d have the same name as Mum and me. Unlike my father, his dad was around for the first few years of his life, perhaps that’s why.
According to Mum, he was a bit of a bastard anyway, roughed her about when he was home from working on an oil rig for afew months a year. By the time Chris was three, his dad stopped coming around.
My father, on the other hand, is a bigger mystery. Mum claims she had a one-night stand with a Swedish guy, which is why my name is Anders. It’s not a typical British name, but it’s the only thing I got from my sperm donor. I made a weak attempt at trying to find him when I was a preteen. Mum got pissy when I started asking questions though, so I let it go. Between my mum and brother, I had all the parents I needed.
I finally cave, giving the door a gentle knock.
“Come in,” Chris calls through the thick mahogany door.
I ease it open, peeking my head in first. The curdling in my stomach settles when I lock eyes with my brother. I knew seeing him would ease the trepidation I’d been dealing with for the past forty-eight hours.
“Anders, I wasn’t expecting you today. This is a nice surprise.” He beams at me, closing his laptop and moving the sheets he was studying to the side, giving me his undivided attention, as always.
“I hope you don’t mind me popping by. I brought sushi.” I raise the carrier bag in my hand like it’s some prize, stepping in and letting the heavy door close behind me.
“Aw, you’re the best. Come sit.”
“You wanna eat in here? You’re not worried about your office smelling fishy?”
Chris chuckles with his whole chest. “Well, I’m certainly not going out there. The second I leave my office, five nurses and three patients will ask me for something.”
“Fair.” I shrug.
I flop onto the plastic chair on the other side of his desk and start removing containers from the paper bag.
“Bloody hell, Anders, you brought enough to feed the five hundred.”
“Yeah, sorry. I may have got a little carried away. I’ve not been up to eating much the last few days; I just got my appetite back.”
My brother’s eyebrows draw together in a harsh line.
“Why, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”
