Identity (Eyes Wide Open) Read Online Free PDF Page A

behind a row of large steel drums. Fresh air flooded the small space.
    She blinked. She’d broken through!
    Scooting feet first, she placed her heels on one of the drums and shoved it into the room beyond, then slid around and crawled out the same way she’d first entered—like a crab, this time scuttling for her very life, hardly aware of the tearing sound of her blouse as it caught a sharp edge and tore right down the back.
    The moment she cleared the door, she clambered to her feet, panting. The door dropped shut behind her.
    Free.
    Christy spun and saw the plywood door that had resisted her kicking for so long. The screws that had anchored a sliding lock on either end had popped out of the concrete. Each of the large metal drums was stenciled with red letters: ST. MATTHEW’S.
    She didn’t care what it all was for, only that she had escaped with just a few scrapes and bruises.
    She turned and took in what appeared to be an old boiler room, judging by the large hot-water tanks and labyrinth of pipes along the unpainted concrete walls. It was old but still in use by the looks of it. She must be in the basement of the hospital. The door from the boiler room was closed to her right.
    Her course now was plain. She would cover her tracks here, exit through the hospital, return to the storage room for her locket, and put the whole incident behind her as if it had never happened.
    She quickly shoved the drums back into place to cover the door and its broken latches.
    Christy quickly crossed to the door, found it unlocked, and pushed her way through. She was halfway to a door topped by a sign that read STAIRS before any thought of her appearance entered her mind. She glanced down.
    Sweat mixed with dust stained every inch of her shirt, not to mention the large tear in back. Walking down a hospital corridor looking like she’d crawled through a sewer wouldn’t go unnoticed. Her face must also be a mess. Maybe she could clean herself up in a bathroom.
    She hurried to the first of two doors on her right and peered through a small glass window. Inside, stacks of linens and a sink. A laundry? She pushed the door open and stepped in.
    Five stacked washers and dryers hugged one wall; the other ran with racks of neatly folded uniforms, towels, and linens. Several bulging cloth laundry bins beside the washers awaited processing.
    It took her less than a minute to strip out of her filthy, torn blouse, discard it in a waste can, and shrug into a light blue smock from one of the bins. Her blue jeans had fared better than her shirt, and a damp washcloth made quick work of the dirt on her knees.
    She cleaned her hands and arms in one of the two sinks, then her face. Did her best to fix her hair. A bruise darkened her forehead—bangs hid the worst of it. What a mess.
    She stepped back and looked at herself in the mirror above the sink. For a few seconds her mind, however relieved at having escaped such a harrowing ordeal, took time to notice her imperfections.
    A red pimple on her right cheek had tenaciously resisted the acne medication she’d applied over the past three days. Her neck was fat and her nose too stubby. She’d left her flat without a trace of makeup.
    Austin had once said that her obsession with body image was patently absurd. How could anyone have fingers that were too short? They worked, didn’t they? And long nails only got in the way. Better to chew them off.
    What did a left-brained male who’d yet to open the cover of Cosmopolitan know about body image anyway? She was too fat, plain and simple. Ten pounds might as well be the weight of the world. He could never understand that.
    Christy turned from the mirror feeling disgusted. And foolish for feeling disgusted. Maybe Austin was right; maybe she really was a basket case.
    At least she wouldn’t stand out like a street urchin now.
    She entered the stairwell and took the steps at a run, mind on her locket.
    The stairs emptied into a short, vacant hallway. The