Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
I never understood why they bothered to call these places spas. The fountain in the lobby that was surrounded by fake plants hardly changed the fact this was an outpatient surgical center. Charging six figures for a cosmetic operation that you could get almost anywhere else for a fraction of the price with the same level of talent did not make it a spa, or a healing center, or whatever bullshit they used to market this crap. Maybe the word “spa” made it feel less medical? Saying you went to the spa to look ten years younger sounded less damning than saying you had a surgeon give you a new face. That was what this entire sector of society was about. It wasn’t the truth that mattered, it was the perception.
It was toxic, and I was going to get my angel out of this hell before it tainted her, too.
The nurses stood when they saw me, each of them wearing sky-blue scrubs, as if they were trying to give a calming presence with the color. Or maybe they just wanted people to think of nature and water and healing and whatever.
“Father Manwarring?” one of them asked.
“Yes, am I late?” I asked, offering a reassuring smile. These women all looked terrified, and for good reason.
“No, Father,” the nurse on the end said as she folded her hands behind her back and stared at the floor. “The others are with the doctor in his office discussing… the arrangements. The patient is in surgical suite three. She’s ready for... she’s ready for her procedure.”
She lifted her arm to point the way, and I couldn’t help but notice the way her entire body trembled. For her, and the rest of them, this was no doubt a very scary situation.
“Rest assured, my child, you and the others bear no blame, no guilt for what is going to happen today. There is no sin burdening any of your souls.”
Three of the four nurses instantly relaxed, breathing a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Father,” one of them said, looking up at me with light brown eyes.
As if being ordained by God gave me the power to absolve them. I guessed it did, though they weren’t guilty to begin with. The sins that were about to be committed were on the heads of no one other than the already damned. The fourth didn’t really look that bothered to begin with. She either had bigger sins to contend with, or she didn’t see it as a sin. Good for her.
I nodded and headed to surgical suite three. It was the one at the far end of the hall. There were six suites in this facility. Ridiculous or not, clearly the surgeon was doing very well, having been able to rent out an entire floor of this Manhattan high-rise. It made me roll my eyes at how he got into this mess.
Never mind, his sins were his own to bear, not mine.
I walked into the suite and saw Mary Quinn lying prone on a surgical table, in a hospital gown that looked like it was designed by Prada.
It probably was. Knowing Mary Quinn, she’d had it specially made for all of her cosmetic appointments.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Astrid,” I said as I strolled into the sterile environment. I didn’t even bother to wash my hands. It was like using an alcohol wipe to sterilize the site of a lethal injection. There was really no point.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she said, and then her face contorted as she tried to sit up.
“I’m here to have a quick conversation, to give you the opportunity to confess your sins. Though I admit I don’t have that much time, so you might have to narrow it down to the most egregious.”
“Get out!” she demanded, still struggling to move. “Help!”
“You can call out all you like. No one’s going to help you.” The sliding door behind me opened and the heavy steps of combat boots told me it was Declan and a few of his henchmen.
One quick glance confirmed my suspicions. Declan stood there with three other men. Two clearly worked for him, dressed in cheap clothing, tattoos poking out of their collars and sleeves. The third was a man in surgical gloves, glancing around nervously.
“I demand you leave immediately,” she said, baring her teeth like some type of wild animal.
“You are no longer in a position to make demands,” Declan informed her.
I leaned down and whispered to her like I was filling her in on some juicy gossip.
“Your surgeon has a very unchristian habit. Despite making a truly ridiculous amount of money cutting off fat and reshaping decrepit body parts, he has a bit of a gambling problem.”
“What?” Her face paled, and it looked like she was beginning to understand the severity of her problems.