Finola stood outside the busy main entrance to the hospital, the nerves jiving inexhaustibly in her stomach.
The sun cooked the newly clean nurses royal-blue tunic that stuck to her back. She looked down at the front. Not so long before it was dark red and stinky with the blood of the last incarnation of the Grim and now, after a few mumbled foreign sounding words from Merlin, the blood was gone. She had joked about him doing her washing, he had bowed regally and then disappeared to who knows where.
She had scurried back to the hospital repeatedly telling herself that she was doing the right thing.
She wasn’t a monster killer after all. She was a nurse.
A staff nurse in a busy general hospital, working for the crumbling NHS.
She couldn’t deny that she was seeing the world differently. Although it could be down to the unusually hot summer they were having.
A blast of nicotine smoke pinged her back to reality.
She yearned for a cigarette like she hadn’t in over a year of her quitting.
She turned to where the smoke had billowed from. It surprised her that the frail skeleton in a cotton dressing-gown could even draw on the superking that hung limply from ravaged fingers.
She felt she, as a member of the health team, should say something, but, by the look of the smoker, he had long since passed the danger point of smoking.
She entered the hectic reception area and rushed up the stairs to her ward.
Could Merlin really have altered the minds in there? she wondered nervously. What if they remembered everything?
She had no idea how she was going to explain the past events.
She tapped the four number code into the security door of the ward’s entrance, took a deep, shaky breath and pulled at the heavy, spring-hinged door and stepped anxiously inside.