After Hours Read Online Free Page B

at
     the S3 cafeteria counter. I grabbed two cheese slices and a root beer, and tailed
     Jenny to one of several large, round tables. I caught sight of Kelly not far away,
     eating with a group of residents, a circle of gray. He’d taken a seat with a view
     of the entire room, and I bet it wasn’t an accident.
    “Has everyone met our new LPN, Erin?” Jenny asked brightly, glancing around our table.
    There were three patients, and I tested myself on their names and conditions. Lonnie
     and Carl, both schizophrenic, and Les, a deceptively cheerful sociopathic type who’d
     served three separate prison sentences for arson. I remembered him easiest, as I’d
     employed the thoroughly un-PC mnemonic device of “
Les
be sure to not give that one any matches!” while quizzing myself earlier.
    The three men murmured greetings, and Jenny nodded to a seat between Lonnie and Les,
     taking her tray to the other side of the table.
    Conversations resumed, which meant Lonnie and Carl went back to arguing. Paranoid
     schizophrenics can be prone to that, and both of the men were clearly feeling a touch
     self-righteous. As best I could gather, Lonnie was insisting that the military had
     planted him here on the ward, and that they’d be coming any day to collect his findings.
     Jenny had told me he was what the Starling staff called a
popper
, meaning his illness was particularly potent and frequently “popped through” the
     bubble of civility created by his meds. Carl seemed simultaneously unnerved by the
     notion of a government operative in his midst and annoyed by Lonnie’s self-importance.
     He’d been distractedly cutting his pizza slice with a plastic knife for some time,
     so long he now seemed to be trying to saw through the tray. I stole a glance in Kelly’s
     direction, suddenly wishing he were at my table.
    Jenny attempted to shift the topic. “I wonder what movie they’ll show in the rec room
     tonight.”
    Carl dropped his knife, shooting her a patronizing look. “It’s Monday. On Mondays
     we watch the singing show. We
always
watch the singing show on Mondays.”
    Lonnie wasn’t listening. He was studying me as I stripped the wrapper from my straw,
     hazel eyes squinting magnified skepticism through his thick lenses at my hands and
     face and the shiny new picture-ID badge clipped to my scrubs.
    “Do you like the singing show?” Carl asked me earnestly.
    “I don’t think I’ve seen it. Maybe I’ll check it out, later.” There was a TV in my
     apartment. I could watch whatever program it was, and have something to talk to him
     about tomorrow.
    “I know what she likes,” Lonnie said, in a slow, snide, creepy murmur, loud enough
     for most of the table to hear.
    I took a bite of my pizza, ignoring his attempt to affect me. He was only testing
     the new girl.
Don’t take the bait
. “Do you like the singing show, too?” I asked him politely.
    Lonnie stood, fast enough to topple his chair. He grabbed a pizza crust, and jabbed
     it toward my face and shouted, “You’ll like this when I jam it up your cunt!”
    The room went flat, panic reducing everything to soundless slow motion. Like being
     underwater. I lunged to the side, a second’s scrambling that felt like an hour’s swim.
     Smooth, cold tile found my palms, and legs rustled past from above—orderlies rushing
     to restrain Lonnie.
    Sound returned. Someone was helping me to my feet. Lonnie was on the ground, face
     pressed in my direction, wild eyes locked on mine. One orderly held his ankles while
     Kelly Robak knelt straddling his waist, pinning his arms.
    “She’s an agent!” Lonnie was shouting. “Don’t trust her!”
    Jenny must have dashed for the nearest nurses’ station and prepped a syringe. She
     reappeared, offering Lonnie a seeming eternity to settle before deciding to give him
     a jab in the deltoid. “That’ll calm you down, Lon.”
    “Agent!” he shrieked, eyes blazing hatred up at me through his skewed glasses.