Crosstalk Page 7

  I wouldn’t do that if I were you. It’s three o’clock in the morning, which means she’s not going to be happy that you’re awake, and she’s going to be really unhappy when you tell her you’re hearing voices. In the second place, she’ll call Dr. Whatzisname, and he’ll—

  “What? Come in here and throw you out? Good,” Briddey said, and pushed the call button. “I’d like to see that.”

  So would I, C.B. said, especially since I’m all the way across town.

  “Well, if that’s true, which I don’t believe for one second, then he’ll realize something’s gone wrong, and he’ll go back in and fix it.”

  Maybe. Or maybe he’ll have you moved to the psych ward. And either way, he’ll tell Trent.

  Oh, my God, Trent. She hadn’t thought how this would sound to him. She fumbled for the call button to see if she could turn it back off, but she was too late. The nurse was already there, and she did look annoyed. And was going to look even more put out if Briddey told her she didn’t want anything, so she said, “I’m sorry I buzzed you. I had a nightmare. There was a man in my room. With a knife. In the bathroom,” and thought, What am I going to do if she doesn’t go look?

  But she did, opening the bathroom door wide and switching on the light so Briddey could see inside, and then doing the same thing to the closet, which held only the hospital robe Briddey’d worn to the bathroom earlier. “See? Nobody there.”

  The nurse came back over to the bed. “Just a bad dream.” She picked up Briddey’s chart and began entering something. “Confusion’s common after surgery. It’s the anesthetic. It frequently causes strange dreams. Or you may have seen a nurse’s aide or an orderly coming in. Do you need me to help you to the bathroom?”

  Not now that I know he’s not in there, Briddey thought, wondering if there was something she could drop so the nurse would have to look under the bed, but there was nothing within reach. “No, I’m fine,” she said.

  “Try to get some sleep,” the nurse said, and switched off the light.

  “Would you mind leaving that on?” Briddey asked, putting a quiver in her voice. “Or—could you check the rest of the room before you leave? Please? I know it was just a dream, but I’d sleep so much better if you would.”

  And if I’m asleep, I won’t be pushing my call button and bothering you, she added silently, and the nurse must have come to the same conclusion because she turned the light back on and checked under both beds and in the far corner.

  “See?” she said, coming back over to Briddey’s bed. “Nothing there. Good night.” She switched off the light again and went out, pulling the door almost all the way shut behind her.

  “Thank you,” Briddey called after her and then lay there, trying to make sense of what had happened. C.B. wasn’t in her room. Was the nurse right? Had his voice been part of an anesthetic-induced dream?

  That must be it, she thought, because C.B. hadn’t spoken to her since the moment the nurse came into the room.

  Nice theory, but no, C.B. said, and his voice was as clear and close as ever. And what kind of nurse tells you to go to sleep when there could be a serial killer on the loose in the hospital? I wouldn’t trust anything she says.

  How is he doing this? Briddey wondered, despairing.

  He bugged my room, she thought. He had a mike and speakers hidden in here somewhere.

  Bugged your room? C.B. said. Are you crazy?

  No. It made perfect sense. That was why he hadn’t said anything while the nurse was in the room, because the nurse would have heard him. And with a bug, he could hear if she was alone or not. Briddey sat up, switched the light on again, and began looking around the room for a concealed bug.

  Briddey, I did not bug your room.

  “Liar.” It explained everything. How he’d known what the nurse was saying and—

  I didn’t hear what she was saying, he interrupted. I heard you thinking about what she was saying. When you have a conversation, you not only think about what you’re saying but what you’re hearing. And when am I supposed to have done all this? I didn’t even know you were having the surgery till a few minutes ago.

  “I don’t know,” she said, “but you did.” He could have hidden the bug and the mike anywhere, on the lining of the curtains, on the windowsill, in the roses Trent had sent. She squinted at them, searching for telltale wires.

  But there wouldn’t necessarily be wires. C.B. could have rigged up some sort of wireless thing. He was a computer genius—

  Thanks. I didn’t think you’d noticed, he said dryly, and his voice wasn’t coming from over by the window. It was right in her ear.

  It’s in my pillow, she thought, sitting up to feel for an unnatural lump. Nothing. She pulled off the pillowcase, shook it, and then felt down behind the head of the mattress.

  It wasn’t there. But it could be anywhere—and tiny. It could be on the wall panel above her bed. Or attached to the water jug or the chart or the Kleenex box, or—

  I didn’t bug your throw-up pan, C.B. said. I—

  He abruptly stopped talking. So I can’t use his voice to find the bug, Briddey thought, picking up the throw-up basin.

  It wasn’t there or on the water jug. And if it was on the wall panel, she’d never find it; it was covered with buttons and switches and inputs, any one of which could be a mike. The only way to prove he was bugging the room was to get out of it and go somewhere the mike didn’t reach. She wished she’d asked the nurse which room they’d taken Trent to after recovery. She could go tell him what had happened, and he could find the mike. And have C.B. fired.

  But she didn’t know which room Trent was in, and buzzing the nurse again was a bad idea. So she’d have to settle for going down the hall far enough that she was out of range. She sat up, put her legs over the side, and sat there a moment to see whether the room was going to veer sideways again. When it didn’t, she got carefully out of bed, using the IV-stand to steady herself.

  Oh, no, what was she going to do about her IV? The stand had wheels. She could take it with her, but if that was where C.B. had concealed the mike, leaving her room wouldn’t accomplish anything.

  She’d have to pull out her IV. But what if the monitor beeped when she did and alerted the nurses? I’ll wait till after I get my robe and slippers on, she thought, and walked over to the closet, pulling the IV-stand with her.

  The thin cotton robe was there but not the slippers. They must be under the bed, she thought, checking the robe’s neckband and ties for a bug and then struggling into it. She managed to get one arm through and the robe up over her shoulders, but the other arm would have to wait till she’d pulled out the IV. She worked her way back to the bed, trailing the robe awkwardly behind her, and bent over to try to see her slippers.

  If she hadn’t been hanging on to the IV-stand for support, she’d have passed out. As it was, the room banked sharply and then wavered, and she had to cling to the IV-pole till the wobbling stopped and then grope for the edge of the bed.

  She sat down and took a steadying breath. There was no point in trying for her slippers again, because even if she did find them, she’d never be able to bend over for long enough to get them on. But she only had to go far enough down the hall to be out of reach of C.B.’s speakers.

  I can do without slippers for that far, she thought, and tackled the problem of the IV-stand. She couldn’t see an on/off switch, but there was a button near the top. She hit it gingerly, braced for the machine to begin beeping.

  It didn’t. The motor stopped, and the green light went off. Good, she thought, and ripped the surgical tape off the back of her hand to look at the place where the IV needle had been pushed under the skin.

  This is crazy, some rational part of her brain told her. You just had surgery. Yanking out your IV and wandering off could be dangerous.

  But that’s exactly what C.B.’s counting on, she thought, that I’m stuck where his sound system is, and pulled the needle out.

  It stung less than she’d
expected, but it bled copiously. She pressed the surgical tape back in place to stop it, put her arm into the robe’s sleeve, switched the light off so a nurse wouldn’t come in to see why she was awake, and felt her way cautiously over to the door, hoping she wouldn’t crash into something.

  She didn’t, but it took her forever to reach the door, and when she opened it, the sudden light from the hall dazzled her. She put her hand up to shield her eyes from the glare and looked cautiously out into the hall. No nurses or orderlies were in sight, and most of the doors were shut or nearly so, with no light showing from inside. She’d been right about it being the middle of the night.

  She listened a moment and then started down the corridor, grateful for the railing along the wall. The corridor made a turn just after the next room. If she could just get past that…

  She wished she had her slippers. The tile floor was freezing. And the back of her head, where they must have gone in for the surgery, felt strange. Not painful. Not yet, Briddey thought, and tried to go faster.

  “Nurse Rossi,” a voice said out of nowhere, and Briddey looked wildly around before realizing the voice had come from the intercom. “Please report to the nurses’ station.”

  Briddey stopped, listening for responding footsteps, but she didn’t hear any. Nurse Rossi must be in some other corridor. Briddey started along the hallway again. She hadn’t expected walking just a few steps could take so much energy. And take so long. By the time she reached the turn, she felt as though she’d run a marathon.

  It’s okay, she thought, looking carefully around it. You only have to go a little bit farther. Just past the next room on the right was a waiting room with chairs and a sofa. If she could make it there, she could sit down.

  But that meant crossing the hall. She wished she’d brought the IV-stand along to hang on to. She tottered across, grabbing onto the wall for support, and saw to her horror that the back of her hand was completely covered in blood.

  The bandage hadn’t held. She dabbed at the blood with the tail of her robe and then gave up. You can stop the bleeding when you get to the waiting room, she told herself. Right now you’ve got to—

  Get to the waiting room? C.B.’s voice cut in. Where are you? Why are you out of bed?

  Oh, God, she thought, looking up at the ceiling tiles. He’d bugged the corridor, too.

  What are you doing in the corridor? he demanded, and his voice was just as loud and clear as it had been in the room. You just had surgery—

  Go away! she said, looking desperately around. If he’d bugged the corridor, he’d have bugged the waiting room, too. I’ll have to go down to the lobby, she thought.

  Lobby? C.B. was shouting at her. What the hell do you think you’re doing?

  Going somewhere you haven’t managed to bug, she said, stumbling past the waiting room door toward the rooms beyond it.

  I told you, I didn’t bug anything. Briddey, listen to me. You need to go back to your room—

  And your bugs and speakers and microphones? No, thank you. There had to be an elevator around here somewhere that she could take down to the lobby.

  Briddey, you’ve got no business running around the hospital in your condition. Jesus, if I’d known you’d react like this, I’d never have…You need to tell me where you are!

  Why? So you can come bug that, too? she said, walking faster, determined to get out of range. But that made her dizzier, and the feeling at the back of her head went from tightness to pain.

  A light blinked on above the door just ahead. That meant the patient inside had pressed the call button, and a nurse would be coming to answer it. She had to get out of here. But to where? She still couldn’t see any sign of an elevator.

  “Nurse!” a woman’s voice called from the room, and Briddey heard footsteps coming from the direction she was headed.

  I have to hide, she thought desperately, and hurried past the room the patient had called from toward the next one, trying to ignore the dizziness and C.B.’s voice in her ear, saying insistently, Tell me where you are. Please.

  If she could just reach that next room, she could hide inside it till the nurse passed.

  “Nurse!” the woman called again, and the intercom barked, “Dr. Black, please report to the nurses’ station.” The approaching footsteps speeded up to a run, and Briddey lurched over to the room’s door.

  It wasn’t a patient room. A sign on the door read AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY, which meant it was probably a nurses’ lounge. Or a storage closet. But she had to take that chance. She opened the door.

  It was a stairway, leading down. Briddey slipped inside, pulled the heavy door almost closed, and then stood there keeping it from closing all the way, afraid the noise of its shutting would attract the approaching nurse’s attention.

  The nurse shot past the door and along the hall until she was out of sight. Briddey stood there a minute longer to make sure the nurse was out of earshot, listening to the voice on the intercom repeat, “Paging Dr. Black,” and then let go of the door.

  It closed, cutting off the sound of the intercom in mid-word, and she was glad she’d waited because the door made a loud clank as it shut. Good, Briddey thought. That means I’ll be able to hear anyone coming in. And I can take these stairs down to the lobby.

  She started down the stairs. It was even chillier in the stairwell than it had been in the corridor, and the cement steps were like ice to her bare feet. She had to grip the freezing-cold metal railing to keep from falling, and she was getting dizzier by the moment. There was no way she could make it all the way down to the lobby.

  But you don’t have to, she thought. Since the sound of the intercom had cut off as the door closed, the speakers C.B. had hidden in the hallway wouldn’t reach down here. She tottered down the last few steps to the landing, and eased herself to sitting on the second step above it.

  Mistake. Her thin hospital robe provided her no insulation from the cold of the cement, and she instantly began to shiver. This had better work, she thought.

  She opened her mouth to call to him and then closed it firmly and shut her eyes. C.B.? she thought at him. Can you hear me?

  No answer.

  I knew it, she thought. You are going to be so sorry you did this. I’m going to tell Trent, and he’s going to—

  Briddey? C.B. said in her ear. Thank God! Where are you? Are you all right?

  No, she thought. No!

  I’m on my way to the hospital, he said. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

  “Well, if I called the wrong number, why did you answer the phone?”

  —JAMES THURBER, The Thurber Carnival

  Where are you? C.B. asked, his voice impossibly clear, impossibly close. Are you still in the hall?

  Briddey pressed her fingers hard against her ears to shut him out, knowing with a sick certainty that it wouldn’t work.

  Tell me, he begged. Did you go down to the lobby?

  She buried her head in her hands and sat there in the icy stairwell thinking, It’s true. C.B.’s really inside my head. But how can he be? There’s no such thing as—

  We’ll worry about that later, C.B. said. Right now you need to tell me where you are so I can get you back to your room.

  And she must have thought, I can’t make it back, because he said, That’s okay. Don’t cry. Just stay there. I’ll take care of it.

  “I’m not crying,” she said indignantly, but that was a lie. Tears were running down her cheeks. She swiped at them with the back of her hand.

  Everything’ll be okay, C.B. said. I promise.

  How can it be? she thought. I’m connected to C.B. Schwartz, and started crying all over again.

  The door above her banged open, and an orderly shouted, “Yes, she’s here!” followed by a horde of medical personnel shouting orders and saying, “How the hell did she get all the way down here? Don’t you people ever check on your patients?” and “My God, we’ll be toast if Verrick finds out!”

  Dr. Verrick! Oh, no, if he told Trent
—

  They bombarded her with questions—“Did you fall?” “Are you sure?” “Did you hit your head?”—and knelt beside her to check the back of her head and her bandages.

  “You’re positive you didn’t stumble and hit your head?” one of the interns asked her, touching her cheek. His fingers came away smeared with blood.

  That’s from my wiping away the tears, she thought, and looked down at her hospital gown. It was bloody, too. “I didn’t fall,” she said. “That blood’s from where I pulled out my IV.” She showed them the back of her hand.

  The intern took hold of it. “And why did you do that?”

  “I don’t know. I…,” she said, trying to think of a plausible reason, but he didn’t really seem to expect one. He was already listening to her heart and ordering the nurse to start a new IV.

  She did, swabbing the blood off the back of Briddey’s hand, which only made it look worse. The skin was badly bruised. By the time the nurse had examined it, decided she needed to put the IV in the other hand, and gotten it started, Briddey was completely frozen, and her teeth were chattering.

  “Go get her a blanket,” the intern told a very young-looking nurse’s aide. “And something for her feet.” He turned back to Briddey. “Look right here,” he said, pointing at a spot in the center of his forehead, and shone a light in each of her eyes in turn. “Do you know where you are?”

  “Yes,” she said. “In a stairway in the hospital.”

  “Do you remember how you got here?”

  Yes, she thought, I was trying to get away from the bug C.B. put in my room, and waited for C.B. to protest.

  But he didn’t. And he hadn’t come racing down the stairs, in spite of his saying he was on his way. He hadn’t found her; the orderly had, and that could have been because her nurse had come in to check her IV and seen she was missing. In which case C.B.’s talking to her in the stairwell could still have been part of an anesthetic-induced dream.