'He's asking for you again.'
"Tell him my shift ended. Tell him I went home."
'He's refusing to take his medication.'
The entire way from her office to the first-class wards, her hideous lime-green uniform robes swished and grazed against the heels of her black leather boots as they clicked a staccato rhythm on the stark, clean floors of mostly vacated hallways. The entire way from her office to the first-class wards, Healer Villiers fantasised of all the methods she might employ to dispose of a living, breathing human being.
Poison, naturally, although that might be a touch dull.
Strangling, though it required too much physical effort.
Perhaps she might drug him, and then strangle him. His own bedsheets would be a good start, though she would feel sorry for the matrons who were in charge of laundering the linens. Death by asphyxiation was a much messier affair than most might think.
Tamsin unceremoniously pushed open the door to what was the most expensive ward that was ever built on this floor of the hospital, trying her damn hardest to restrain a scowl as she strode into the room. An entire sea of flowers and fruit baskets accompanied by a wall of cloying scent greeted her, as did the male perched comfortably in the patient's bed that she halted before.
She folded her arms at the athlete who had been her patient only a day ago.
"What do you want?"