The Day I Walked Into the Wrong Room
Chapter 10: Fear doesn’t make sense
My internal conflict snapped, I pushed Sally away and rushed through the room, pushed through the, now, unlocked door, and ran into a security guard. Twice my size, blue suit, black hands, with a soft voice, “What? Hey, what are you doing down here?”
“Class,” I muttered under my breath, while the image of the half-naked mothers floated behind my closed eyes. I could barely catch my breath, could scarcely get oxygen to my brain, as my stomach turned with too much milk and mother memories.
“What are you doing in the hospital?” I think he asked, but he may have asked about my presence in this dark, unused hallway.
“My mother, she’s upstairs, in palliative care,” I said, a short breath after each word. He held me at arm’s length, his big hands on my shoulders, and stared down at me. Short hair, he had a chisled jaw, and wore a big, yellow, happy-faced button on his collar.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, and he did sound sad. He put a strong arm on my shoulders and guided me toward an exit sign.
“We get a lot of ghost hunters this time of year,” he said. He smelled of cotton candy and had a pocket filled with multi-colored candy.