Rosewood Hospital 2

They offered me a room closer to the morgue. I felt something odd about these people. They did not care about me and openly showed their disapproval.

The night was cold and windy, and the unfamiliar setting kept me awake most of the time. The sound of rattling trees and the distant howling of dogs made it harder for me to embrace sleep. I kept thinking about this place—the strange welcome, the peculiar driver, their seemingly friendly appearances, and the suspicious nature of the staff. It all made me sick to my stomach. The hospital was a real hell.

"Good morning, doctor," someone greeted me. I was amazed to receive such a civilized welcome from anyone here. It was a girl, and I guessed she might be in her late thirties.

Her name was Angela, one of the most energetic and hardworking individuals in the hospital. She had a confident walk, and no one could help but look twice.

Two weeks passed, and gradually, I felt as though I had been accepted into their community. However, some still resisted my presence at the hospital. They seemed afraid of losing their importance after my arrival. Despite this, certain individuals ignored their resentment and sought my company instead.

“How was the night, sir?” Angela asked one morning when I met her at the hospital's outpatient department. I was shocked to hear such a question from her since we did not share a close relationship. I didn’t say anything. Angela seemed to understand my hesitation and quickly muttered an apology.

“These nights are dangerous, sir. That’s what I wanted to say,” she added.

I was puzzled by her statement.

“What danger?” I asked.

“Nothing, sir. Just a slip of the tongue,” Angela replied.

But I noticed a sudden change in her expression. Her face turned pale, and there was something in her eyes. It wasn’t love or shyness—it was something else.

Fear.