Working 5 til 9, clocking on. Diary of an occult resolution assistant.

Monday  Wednesday  04:32

We got to the hospital as the radiating rays of the sun broke the horizon.  I was advised to stay in the Jag for a couple of reasons.  First, the human mind is a fragile thing and Xanthic did not know how I would cope if I saw myself walking around while sat in my sick bed.  Second, the nurses will get confused if they saw a patient out of bed and looking better and third (and probably the main reason) the Jag was abandoned in the ambulance bay and a traffic warden was sniffing around.  Xanthic collected the small pile of books from the back of the car, his present of reading materials for me and left instructions not to move either myself or the car from this spot under penalty of sarcasm (Much worse the death as Demons can be sarcastic in this world and the next) but also left the keys just in case.

Using the time productively to scribble down notes in my diary and to brush the increasing number of knots from my tangled mess of hair.  I kept one eye on the traffic warden and I knew he had spotted the Jag as he kept looking in my direction, his eagerness to approach and ticket was held at bay by the long line of nurses cars which were parked on the grass just off the road due to the criminally crippled parking space allocation for staff and their desire to arrive on the wards in time to start their life saving shifts.  I waved at the man as he eye balled the Jag, almost willing the car to fly out of its current position, and I could tell he wasn't impressed at my attempt at friendliness.  I kept waving anyway, annoying parking wardens (especially hospital carpark ones) should be a National requirement.  I considered blowing him a kiss but someone else caught my eye.

Behind a bus shelter, one of those plasti-glass tunnels, where new sick people not ill enough for an ambulance arrival, had disembarked with an assortment of people of all sizes, most looking ill and coughing (most were in nursing uniforms) but a figure on the outskirts of the group and moving in the shadows from the hospital via a side door and out through the carpark and service buildings was a very familiar figure.  Her hands over her face and hunched over as if in a personal agony was the crying lady.

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