Chapter Text
The automatic hospital doors slid open with a tired hiss.
Jenn stepped out into the cold mountain air and immediately regretted leaving.
Rain hadn’t started yet, but the sky overhead was dark gray with the kind of storm that made the trees sway before the first drop even fell. Thunder rumbled low somewhere in the distance.
Jenn pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up and adjusted the strap of her duffel bag higher on her shoulder. Her body felt like lead after twelve hours on her feet.
Actually—
Closer to fourteen.
Respiratory had been short staffed all week.
She still swore she could smell antiseptic trapped in her skin despite the shower.
Mucus. Neb treatments. Condensation from vent tubing. One patient coughing directly into her face shield despite being told three separate times not to move.
Occupational hazard.
Still disgusting.
Thank God the hospital housing had a gym and shower rooms because there was no way in hell she was driving another hour down the mountain in contaminated scrubs.
Jenn dug into her pocket for her keys just as the charge RT pushed through the hospital doors behind her.
“Hey.”
Jenn looked up.
Marisol stood there holding a coffee cup in both hands, eyebrows raised.
“You’re still leaving?”
Jenn groaned softly.
“Don’t start.”
“I’m serious.” Marisol nodded toward the sky. “Storm’s getting bad. They already issued warnings for the mountain roads.”
Jenn looked toward the parking lot where her old sedan sat under flickering lights.
The thing looked exhausted.
“I already booked the hotel for two months,” Jenn said. “And the hospital bedrooms feel like prison cells.”
Marisol snorted.
“Yeah, prison cells with electricity and no risk of driving off a cliff.”
Jenn pointed at her.
“See? That attitude right there is why nobody likes charge therapists.”
“That attitude is why I’m alive.”
Thunder cracked louder this time.
Jenn winced.
For a second, she reconsidered it.
Warm hospital room. Dry blankets. No winding mountain roads in the middle of the night.
Then she pictured another sleepless night listening to overhead pages and ventilator alarms through thin walls.
Absolutely not.
“I’ll be fine,” she said.
Marisol gave her a look that clearly translated to famous last words.
“Text me when you get there.”
Jenn waved dismissively as she headed toward her car.
“Yeah, yeah.”
The second she shut the driver’s side door behind her, silence settled around her like pressure underwater.
No overhead pages.
No alarms.
No coughing.
Just the distant growl of thunder.
Jenn leaned back against the seat for a moment and closed her eyes.
Her whole body ached.
The old sedan started with a reluctant sputter.
“C’mon, baby,” she muttered, patting the dashboard once. “One more trip.”
The heater wheezed weakly to life.
Good enough.
....
Twenty minutes later, she was white-knuckling the steering wheel.
Rain slammed against the windshield so hard the wipers could barely keep up.
Jenn hated driving in storms.
Hated driving downhill even more.
Every curve felt slick beneath the tires.
Every passing semi truck made her little car shake.
And of course—
because the universe enjoyed suffering—
her radio had died ten minutes ago.
So now all she had was:
Rain, thunder, and the ugly sound her engine definitely was not supposed to be making.
Jenn frowned.
The car jerked slightly beneath her.
“No…”
Another strange sputter.
Then—
DING
A warning light flashed on the dashboard.
Her stomach dropped.
CHECK ENGINE.
Jenn stared at it in disbelief.
“Oh, you dirty bitch.”
The engine gave another horrible choking sound.
Her grip tightened instantly.
“No, no, no, no—please don’t do this right now.”
There was nowhere to pull over.
Just guardrails.
Trees.
Darkness.
Rain.
The GPS signal disappeared from her phone screen.
Perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
Lightning cracked overhead.
The engine lurched hard enough this time to make her heart jump into her throat.
Jenn cursed under her breath, trying to keep the car steady as panic slowly started crawling into her chest.
“Okay. Okay. Think.”
Then—
Through the sheets of rain—
A flickering neon sign appeared around the next bend in the road.
Half the letters were burnt out.
But she could still make out the words:
DEVIL MAY CRY MOTORCYCLE