CHAPTER ONE
He was coming to his own domain. Where he felt most comfortable, especially at night. For a short time, he could be alone in a place that felt uniquely his.
The lift door opened, and he pushed the trolley out into the corridor. The trolley was heavy and should have been handled by two members of staff. Staffing shortages meant he generally ended up manoeuvring it by himself. He was happy with that. He was strong enough to cope, and it gave him more time by himself. When he came down here, especially at night, he preferred to be alone.
No one would miss him for another half hour or so. His colleagues all did the rounds as slowly as possible, especially at night. It was a way of filling the time, alleviating the boredom. Of scoring a few more small points against those in charge.
He had no idea what the rest of them did with the time. Sneaked out of the building somewhere for a clandestine smoke or even something more. He didn't care. His own preference was innocuous enough. Just to spend time down here by himself, enjoying the solitude. The sense of power.
More than anyone realised, he was in control here. The one who decided whether they lived or died. Others might claim that power, and some saw themselves as more qualified for the role. But they rarely exercised their power, constrained as they were by some notion of ethics, of decency, he would never begin to understand. Power became power only when used.
He pushed the trolley along the bleak white-painted corridor. Away from the patient-facing parts of the hospital, the decor was less well maintained. The walls were stained, the paint peeling in places. The lights were motion-activated, illuminating only as he walked towards the darkness. As a result, it was dimmer down here, shadows clustered more thickly in the corners. Exactly as he liked it.
He turned at the end of the corridor and pushed the trolley along the next corridor to the loading bay. The hospital laundry was handled off site by a commercial provider, and his job was to unload the laundry bags ready for collection early in the morning. There'd be a reciprocal run to collect the fresh laundry for delivery to the wards. The process had been explained to him at length during his induction training, but he'd taken in only as much as he'd thought would be useful.
He unloaded the large bags from the trolley and left them stacked in the allocated place, then pushed the trolley back along the corridor towards the central service lifts. As always, his objective was to complete his duties as quickly as possible, to allow him maximum time by himself. Before he reached the lifts, he turned into a side corridor and left the trolley out of sight. The chances of anyone else coming down here in the small hours were remote, but he preferred to be cautious.
Having deposited the trolley in its hiding place, he continued along the corridor past the lifts. He'd familiarised himself with every inch of the basement area. It was used mainly for storage—everything from cleaning products to clinical equipment to pharmaceuticals. From time to time, he and a colleague came down here to collect supplies for distribution to the wards and departments. Predictably, he'd never been allowed to carry out those duties by himself. Pilferage and petty theft were recurrent problems, and management were understandably concerned to ensure employees were not led into temptation.
He didn't much care. When he wanted to help himself, he did. The half-hearted security was a minor inconvenience, a small hurdle to overcome. And that, repeatedly, was what he had done.
At the far end of the basement area, below the main hospital entrance, he passed through a set of double doors. The decor and surroundings immediately improved. There were outpatient departments here accessed from the main public lifts, and, tucked discreetly away at the end of the corridor, the hospital mortuary. By day, these areas would be busy with patients, but now the corridors were silent and empty.
He always made a point of coming along here, even though his time was limited. This was the heart of his kingdom. He never went inside, even though one of his several duplicate keys would have allowed him access. There were times when he'd been tempted. Just to go in and stand looking at the rows of storage units, hearing the silent voices calling to him. But the risk was too great. If he were found wandering about in the corridors at this time he'd have no difficulty coming up with an excuse. But his presence in the mortuary would be much harder to explain.
He was happy to do no more than pause briefly outside its doors, sensing the power within, knowing how easily he could commune with its inhabitants if he chose. He drew something from that, an energy he knew would help sustain him.
Having paid his usual obeisance, he headed back through the double-doors into the restricted areas. He'd organised himself a private room, tucked away at the rear of the basement, an unused storage area where he could remain concealed from any unexpected visitors. He'd furnished the room with an abandoned office chair he'd discovered elsewhere in the basement and various other pieces of furniture. He generally whiled away ten or fifteen minutes there. This was when he thought and planned.
The intensity of his thought down here was different. He was at the centre of his kingdom, everything in reach. He could see how it fitted together. He could discern the patterns. He could work out exactly what he needed to do, and the order he ought to do it. Everything came together.
He had to limit his time here—he had no desire for his absence to be noted—but that intensified the experience. He could almost see them all up there, the staff and the patients. He could see what they were doing, those who were working and those who were not, those who were waking and those who were asleep. Those worthy of his attention, and those who were not.
Those who deserved to live. And those who did not.
He sat for ten minutes or so, his mind probing the spaces above. Finally, as if awaking from sleep, his eyes snapped into focus. He had one more task to complete before he returned upstairs.
He walked back along the corridor and stopped in front of one of the many closed doors. He'd had less difficulty obtaining the duplicate key than he had expected. But they were as careless here as everywhere else. He shouldn't have been surprised, but he still had a tendency to over-estimate them. Perhaps that was just as well. It prevented him becoming complacent.
He opened the door and stepped into the storeroom. Closing the door quietly behind him, he relocked it from the inside, and only then turned on the lights.
He was gradually learning more about the products down here and their various uses. None of the really serious items were stored here, of course. Even those fools were smart enough to realise that the Class A drugs and similar items needed to be stored more securely. But there was plenty down here for his purposes.
As always, he selected a small number of items and slipped them into his pockets. He made a point of not taking too much of any one item. He presumed that some kind of periodic inventory was carried out, but he imagined the checks were not precise. As long as he avoided raising any immediate suspicion, he should be able to continue for as long as he needed.
Satisfied, he turned out the lights, unlocked the door and stood for a moment listening. Then he stepped outside into the corridor. Finally, he relocked the door and slipped the key back into his pocket.
He returned to where he had left the trolley and pushed it back towards the service lift. Another satisfactory night. Another step towards his objective. Slowly, the plan was coming together, the pattern forming in the way he wanted. It wasn't yet fully in focus, but it was within his reach.
And only he could see it. Only he could read the connections, see the links, identify how the parts fitted together.
Only he could see which deaths were needed before the pattern was complete.