He went down the corridor and through the door into the main patient area with its wider hallway and its expansive suites. People had heard the activity and were coming out. As Linda was moved past, they watched in a silence that was quite unlike what would have happened, say, at Manhattan Central. Frankly, these people were much more contained than he would have expected, and he wondered if perhaps Caroline was secretly waking up the class. He hoped so.
“All right,” he said to the largely calm and silent group, “Linda had a minor cardiac event. Please return to your rooms now.”
William Moore, one of the genuine patients, gave him the most menacing look, lips a set line, body language suggesting that he’d like to pounce. Then he grinned from ear to ear.
“You’re a bureaucrat,” he said.
“I’m your doctor.”
“The bureaucracy of medicine is the machinery of death.”
David stopped himself from automatically moving into a therapeutic stance with this patient and said simply, “We can talk tomorrow.”
“With you? You’re a waste of space.”
“All right, then, with Dr. Hunt or one of the psychologists, as you prefer.”
Leaving the patients to the nurses, he went into the infirmary.
Linda Fairbrother was lying quietly as Marian Hunt applied leads to her chest from the EKG machine.
“They’re coming for me,” Linda said.
“Who is?”
She snapped her jaw shut.
He would once have thought that this was yet another patient struggling with inappropriate thoughts, but as she was a member of the class, he wasn’t sure what was meant. He wanted to ask her more. He remembered those two glyphs on her record. There was something special about her.
“Linda, tell me what’s troubling you? Who’s coming for you?”
“I got a message.” Her fist closed on his shirtfront and she pulled him face-to-face. “I don’t think Tom can go.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Never tell anybody this, but he has this blackness on his back and side, and it’s growing.”
David’s mind went to the notion of judgment. Could those who had done evil be actually, physically marked? It seemed impossible, but all the rules were changing now. Perhaps bodies were becoming mirrors of souls, our flesh no longer concealing our truth. But what had Tom Dryden ever done, that innocuous little man? All he could think was that people tend to keep their evil acts secret.
Marian came up to him with the EKG tape.
“This is normal,” she said.
“Can we e-mail it to a cardiologist?”
“If the Net comes back. But we’ll get a normal report, no question.”
David looked at the tape. He had been assuming that this was an episode of sudden arrhythmia death syndrome that had been interrupted by timely action.
“No Bruguda sign,” he muttered, “no fibrillation.”
“No arrhythmias at all, in fact.”
“I think we need a deeper study on this woman. Hearts don’t just stop. And we want her under close observation until we can get her into a cardiac unit.”
“David, I’ve been exploring unexplained cardiac arrests. Bangungut and familial long QT syndrome are possibilities.”
“And Bangungut is?”
“A type of nightmare so intense that it can cause death. Common in parts of Asia.”
This staff was out of its depth. No specialist would even bother to think about something so irrelevant.
“And familial long QT syndrome? Any symptoms?”
“There’s no heart abnormality or defect. A little crud in the arteries, nothing to get excited about.”
“And how do we know this? Do we have documentation?”
She paused for a moment, then said more quietly, “She’s presented this way before.”
“So was there follow-up?”
“Of course there was follow-up! We could get out of here then. She was worked up at Raleigh County. The heart muscle was healthy.”
“So she can stop her heart at will?” He looked down at her. “Can you do that, Linda?”
“I’m afraid you won’t let me go home. I have nightmares about it.” Her eyes bored into his. “I’m not like the rest of you. It’s time for me to go home.”
“Linda, normally you’d be free to leave. It’s just that current conditions make that difficult. Nobody’s holding you against your will.”
“Doctor, when the time comes, I will have only a couple of minutes. And all these doors in this place—oh, God, how I hate the Acton Clinic!”
A voice came from the doorway. “We’ll take care of you,” Caroline Light said. She addressed David. “When she wants to go outside, let her.”
“So now the patients are the doctors. Fine.”
“Will you wake up, David!”
“I’m awake.”
Linda said, “Caroline, let him be.”
“He’s an idiot! He won’t wake up!” She strode in, got right in his face. “Wake up,” she shouted.
He looked past her to Katie. “Nurse, get this patient under control.”
Caroline slapped him so hard that he saw stars.
For an instant, there was rage and he grabbed for her wrist. But then he stopped. His mind had gone silent. Clarity came.
“What was that supposed to be,” he muttered, “a Zen slap?”
“That’s exactly what it was.” She turned and stalked out of the room.
“Confine her again tonight,” he said.
“Oh, shut up,” Marian replied.
“What?”
“Will you people stop!” Linda said.
He was appalled at himself, realizing that he was doing this in the hearing of this patient. It was grotesquely unprofessional. Katie was right, the world was falling apart, and not just the outside world. He drew an unwilling Marian Hunt out of the room.
“Hold your tongue in front of the patients, Marian.”
“Then show some competence.”
He paused, struggling not to explode in her face. “Keep her under observation for the night.”
“They’re all under observation all the time,” she muttered as she headed off the floor. “Want her really locked up now? Maybe cuffed to her bed?”
“She doesn’t like you,” Katie said after she left.
“Who does?”
Katie’s expression said every silent thing that her lips did not, and suddenly the crisp, worried professional was replaced by a warm, compelling woman.
She turned to go back to their side of the building, and he followed more slowly as she strode on ahead.
He was hardly disappointed to find her in his sitting room. She had just dropped into one of the big wing chairs that stood before the fireplace, once again tuning the radio.
“Pick up anything?”
“News from WBAL. It’s huge, what’s going on. Satellites are not coming back, power systems are down all across the world, the Internet backbone is fried. We won’t see the Internet again for years.”
As suddenly as suppressed fears will do, all the terror that he had been containing inside himself boiled to the surface and he uttered a single racking sob, then immediately stifled it, but not before she started in the chair, and looked up at him, her face registering surprise.
“Katie, I’m sorry. I’m on edge.”
“Well, yeah.” She rose out of the chair and stood before him, her eyes cast down.
They were in each other’s arms so suddenly and so naturally that David hardly registered what was happening. It was just right. But when she lifted her neat heart of a face and he saw her lips open slightly, he did think about it. What he thought was that fraternization like this never led anywhere good, and then that he was tired of being the person who had thoughts like that. Caroline Light had accomplished a true Zen slap. He recognized the need for change.
She was looking up at him, waiting, and he did not do what he had been about to do, which was to turn away. Instead, he kissed her
, and as he did he felt the hunger for her change from something he could control to something he could not control, and he had never felt such a flood of gratitude and desire, not in all the kisses of his life.
“Oh, God,” she said, breaking away.
“I’m sorry.”
She shook her head, then threw her arms around him. Her throbbing life pulsed close to him. When his body responded, she laughed a little, her eyes shimmering, and pressed closer. He found himself wondering again if she had been Dr. Ullman’s lover—and threw the thought out like the rubbish that it was. What if she had, what did it matter?
Life was not about things like that. Life was about this moment, here, now.
This sensitive woman broke away. She returned to her place by the fire. “What’s that called?” she said. “Absence of affect? We see it in patients.”
“Katie, no.”
“You’re just sort of a cold fish by nature, then?”
“I was hardly feeling cold.” He went to her, reached down and took her hands. He drew her up to him. She came, but leaned against him as a child might, expressing affection without yearning.
What had been broken here, and so suddenly? And by him, or by her? He put his arm around her waist. Tentatively, he moved toward the bedroom. She came without the protest he expected, but when she sat on the edge of the bed, he saw in her face for just a moment a haggard expression. She was exhausted, but she was here.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You were suddenly just so distant. What do you think about when you do that?”
“Do I do it often?”
“People around here say you have no emotions. That you’re—well, that you’re heartless, David.” She took his hand in hers, and for a moment they sat side by side, two awkward kids.
He went to her top button.
“I’m scared, Katie.”
“Not of me.”
He unbuttoned it.
“Of taking on a job I can’t handle. And from a murdered man in a place where murders happen.”
She opened her blouse, then reached around and unsnapped her bra. Her breasts tumbled out in a pale perfection of curves. Then she put a hand on his belt and glanced up at him. He found the shyness flickering in her eyes profoundly erotic.
She drew down his zipper. Laughing a little in her throat, she said, “You’re going to tear these pants,” and she drew him out into the coolness of the air and the warmth of her hands.
Her nakedness was exquisite. Certainly, she was among the most beautiful women he had ever touched. She was as pure and smooth as cream, and when they lay back together, he sensed that he was forgiven, as if whatever had almost driven them apart had with kindness and grace been put aside. The only flaw she possessed was a brown shadow along the back of her neck, and as he slid his hand along its smooth coolness, then kissed it, it tasted faintly of ash, perhaps a faded suntan. And yet, it was odd, not really a color at all. He’d never seen anything quite like it, as a matter of fact, a color that wasn’t a color, that seemed more like a shadow being cast from within. Maybe it was something bizarre to do with exposure to the sun.
“Have you been outside?”
“When?”
“Recently? Say, the past three days?”
She sat up. “Why do you ask?”
“Just don’t go. There’s a lot of radiation in the atmosphere.”
She kissed his nose. “I’ve wanted to do that.”
“Kiss my nose?”
She hugged him, and they fell together and he tried to love her with skill and care, to be for her what he believed women wanted, drawing from his not very wide experience, which was of mostly equally unsure nurses. Many a hospital was full of exhausted, brilliant kids exploring not only the challenges of medicine, but also those of the heart.
When he reached up and turned off the bedside lamp, the room filled with greenish-purple flickering so intense that he had to close his eyes against it. This had been a long, hard day, and one that seemed to have become night very quickly. But the hour was eight by the clock.
She reached up and turned the lamp back on, pushing away the demented flashes. “Let’s not let it spoil it,” she whispered.
The lamp was another treasure, graceful girls sleeping, satyrs with erections leaping. Perhaps the only piece of pornographic glass ever produced by Louis Comfort Tiffany.
Coming together seemed so completely right and so completely innocent, and as his body filled with the pleasure that she had for him, the burdens that he bore slipped away like soldiers into a morning mist.
He knew that he would be too quick with her, and tried to slow his pace, but the energy of it burst through, and as his body was swept by the familiar tingling waves, he looked down into her face, into the happiness there, and could only think that, glowing in the soft light of the bedside lamp, it was the most beautiful of faces.
Then his body swept all thought away and his loins shuddered and his blood hummed, and the glorious, dying explosion came, and she smiled and was excited, too, at least that’s how she appeared, and he came to rest on her and in her.
They shared a silence that was marred only by the twisting of the wind as it worried the eaves of the old building.
“Have you noticed the scene on that lampshade?” she asked, her voice full of warmth . . . and, he thought, a certain triumph. He had thought himself the seducer, but this Katie was a clever woman.
“This is the room where he took his mistresses. He had dozens of them, you know.”
She came up onto her elbow, then kissed him on the cheek, a tentative sort of a peck. “David, you have got to be about the cutest guy who ever came here.”
“I thought you really did not like me.”
She kissed him again, this time on the edge of his mouth.
“Please just melt a little, okay, David?”
Then she kissed him full on the lips, pressing him down into the thick and giving pillows. He opened his mouth, letting the kiss penetrate, enjoying her sudden aggression.
They swam together across the gulf of the night. He let himself be intoxicated by her, and, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, he made love to her again. Toward dawn, he slept deeply.
It was then that the dreams came, his mind flowing so seamlessly into its own reality that he had essentially no idea that he was, in fact, dreaming.
The first one involved the opening of the bedroom door. Although, later, he understood that he must have been asleep, he seemed to hear a click, and to sit up and look toward the door. However, nobody came in. Instead, a shadow appeared a few feet in front of it, a human shadow. Or no, it wasn’t a shadow, it was more solid than that. He watched it move forward, and thought that it was something that was coated in a darkness deeper than any normal darkness, and felt emanating from it what he could only describe as a wave of hate. His first impulse was to push away from it, and then next thing he knew, Katie was shaking him.
He looked up into her face, dark with night shadows, alive with light from the flickering sky.
“You were having a nightmare,” she said. “You were really going strong.”
“I saw somebody in here.”
“What? Paranoid about a place like this? What could be the matter with my beautiful man?”
They laughed together, but he felt little conviction. That had not been a nightmare, it had been a whole level more intense than that. It had been a classic pavor nocturnus, a parasomnia disorder. Classically, also, he had felt as if he was still awake, when actually he had been deep in slow wave sleep.
“God, what if I’m hypoglycemic? That’s all I need.”
“You want a test? I can look for one in supply.”
“Nah, it’s not that. It’s just stress.”
“You’re the doctor.” She slid close to him, and they kissed, and he felt that she could not only inspire him sexually, she could be warm and comfortable in the night, and he began to drift off again.
He did not drift off, th
ough. Instead, when he heard her breath change to a sleep rhythm, he found himself growing uneasy. He was lying with his back to the room, and he began to get the impression that this was a mistake, because the figure—or was the word “phantom”?—was still there.
Finally, he turned over and looked out into the room. The door was securely locked and chained, and there was no other way to get in here. Or was there? In an old place like this, especially a room where mistresses had been entertained, there might be hidden access.
Then, without seeing anything specific, he knew that the presence was approaching the bed. Despite the fact that his scientific mind could not for an instant believe such a thing—knew it to be impossible—it appeared that a vividly alive but invisible presence was now standing right beside the bed.
He knew that this was a return of the pavor nocturnus, an effect that was common with this type of sleep disturbance, but that did not change what he was feeling, and now he noticed a very strange sensation, a vibrating coldness that moved across the skin of his chest. He looked down at his nakedness, and saw a flurry of goose bumps rise where it was touching him.
There was somebody there, he knew it. But he couldn’t see them.
Why not?
This was some sort of schizophrenic hallucination, it had to be. But he didn’t possess any genes for schizophrenia, and none of the single nucleotide polymorphism associated with delusions.
So, was there somebody actually in here?
He raised himself up on his elbow. Beside him, Katie moaned softly.
He fumbled for the lamp, finally turning it on—and thought he saw the door slip closed, and jumped up and ran to it and threw it open.
The hallway was empty.
A vivid dream, then.
The next thing he knew, he was standing at the window, the one that looked out over the parking area and the trees. Overhead, an enormous object, brilliant with lights, moved majestically past. It was no plane, this thing, and it was absolutely massive. Gigantic. And behind it was another, and above them two more, and then he raised his eyes and an awe of surpassing power captured him, for he saw hundreds and thousands of these gigantic things, stretching off into the sky until the sky itself was swallowed in auroral discharges.
The Omega Point Page 13
