by Stephen King
"I will."
Holly watches him cross to his car, noting the way his left hand goes to his side after he turns up his collar. Seeing that makes her want to cry. Or maybe howl with outrage. Life can be very unfair. She's known that ever since high school, when she was the butt of everyone's joke, but it still surprises her. It shouldn't, but it does.
20
Hodges drives back across town, fiddling with the radio, looking for some good hard rock and roll. He finds The Knack on BAM-100, singing "My Sharona," and cranks the volume. When the song ends, the deejay comes on, talking about a big storm moving east out of the Rockies.
Hodges pays no attention. He's thinking about Brady, and about the first time he saw one of those Zappit game consoles. Library Al handed them out. What was Al's last name? He can't remember. If he ever knew it at all, that is.
When he arrives at the watering hole with the amusing name, he finds Norma Wilmer seated at a table in back, far from the madding crowd of businessmen at the bar, who are bellowing and backslapping as they jockey for drinks. Norma has ditched her nurse's uniform in favor of a dark green pantsuit and low heels. There's already a drink in front of her.
"I was supposed to buy that," Hodges says, sitting down across from her.
"Don't worry," she says. "I'm running a tab, which you will pay."
"Indeed I will."
"Babineau couldn't get me fired or even transferred if someone saw me talking to you here and reported back to him, but he could make my life difficult. Of course, I could make his a bit difficult, too."
"Really?"
"Really. I think he's been experimenting on your old friend Brady Hartsfield. Feeding him pills that contain God knows what. Giving him shots, as well. Vitamins, he says."
Hodges stares at her in surprise. "How long has this been going on?"
"Years. It's one of the reasons Becky Helmington transferred. She didn't want to be the whitecap on ground zero if Babineau gave him the wrong vitamin and killed him."
The waitress comes. Hodges orders a Coke with a cherry in it.
Norma snorts. "A Coke? Really? Put on your big boy pants, why don't you?"
"When it comes to booze, I spilled more than you'll ever drink, honeypie," Hodges says. "What the hell is Babineau up to?"
She shrugs. "No idea. But he wouldn't be the first doc to experiment on someone the world doesn't give shit one about. Ever hear of the Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment? The US government used four hundred black men like lab rats. It went on for forty years, and so far as I know, not a single one of them ran a car into a bunch of defenseless people." She gives Hodges a crooked smile. "Investigate Babineau. Get him in trouble. I dare you."
"It's Hartsfield I'm interested in, but based on what you're saying, I wouldn't be surprised if Babineau turned out to be collateral damage."
"Then hooray for collateral damage." It comes out clatteral dammish, and Hodges deduces she's not on her first drink. He is, after all, a trained investigator.
When the waitress brings his Coke, Norma drains her glass and holds it up. "I'll have another, and since the gentleman's paying, you might as well make it a double." The waitress takes her glass and leaves. Norma turns her attention back to Hodges. "You said you have questions. Go ahead and ask while I can still answer. My mouth is a trifle numb, and will soon be number."
"Who is on Brady Hartsfield's visitors list?"
Norma frowns at him. "Visitors list? Are you kidding? Who told you he had a visitors list?"
"The late Ruth Scapelli. This was just after she replaced Becky as head nurse. I offered her fifty bucks for any rumors she heard about him--which was the going rate with Becky--and she acted like I'd just pissed on her shoes. Then she said, 'You're not even on his visitors list.'"
"Huh."
"Then, just today, Babineau said--"
"Some bullshit about the DA's office. I heard it, Bill, I was there."
The waitress sets Norma's new drink in front of her, and Hodges knows he'd better finish up fast, before Norma starts to bend his ear about everything from being underappreciated at work to her sad and loveless love life. When nurses drink, they have a tendency to go all in. They're like cops that way.
"You've been working the Bucket for as long as I've been coming there--"
"A lot longer. Twelve years." Yearsh. She raises her glass in a toast and swallows half of her drink. "And now I have been promoted to head nurse, at least temporarily. Twice the responsibility at the same old salary, no doubt."
"Seen anybody from the DA's office lately?"
"Nope. There was a whole briefcase brigade at first, along with pet doctors just itching to declare the son of a bitch competent, but they went away discouraged once they saw him drooling and trying to pick up a spoon. Came back a few times just to double-check, fewer briefcase boys every time, but nothing lately. 'S'far's they're concerned, he's a total gork. Badda-boop, badda-bang, over and out."
"So they don't care." And why would they? Except for the occasional retrospective on slow news days, interest in Brady Hartsfield has died down. There's always fresh roadkill to pick over.
"You know they don't." A lock of hair has fallen in her eyes. She blows it back. "Did anyone try to stop you, all the times you were in to visit him?"
No, Hodges thinks, but it's been a year and a half since I dropped by. "If there is a visitors list--"
"It'd be Babineau's, not the DA's. When it comes to the Mercedes Killer, DA is like honeybadger, Bill. He don't give a shit."
"Huh?"
"Never mind."
"Could you check and see if there is such a list? Now that you've been promoted to head nurse?"
She considers, then says, "It wouldn't be on the computer, that would be too easy to check, but Scapelli kept a couple of file folders in a locked drawer at the duty desk. She was a great one for keeping track of who's naughty and who's nice. If I found something, would it be worth twenty to you?"
"Fifty, if you could call me tomorrow." Hodges isn't sure she'll even remember this conversation tomorrow. "Time is of the essence."
"If such a list exists, it's probably just power-tripping bullshit, you know. Babineau likes to keep Hartsfield to his little old self."
"But you'll check?"
"Yeah, why not? I know where she hides the key to her locked drawer. Shit, most of the nurses on the floor know. Hard to get used to the idea old Nurse Ratched's dead."
Hodges nods.
"He can move things, you know. Without touching them." Norma's not looking at him; she's making rings on the table with the bottom of her glass. It looks like she's trying to replicate the Olympic logo.
"Hartsfield?"
"Who are we talking about? Yeah. He does it to freak out the nurses." She raises her head. "I'm drunk, so I'll tell you something I'd never say sober. I wish Babineau would kill him. Just give him a hot shot of something really toxic and boot him out the door. Because he scares me." She pauses, then adds, "He scares all of us."
21
Holly reaches Todd Schneider's personal assistant just as he's getting ready to shut up shop and leave for the day. The PA says Mr. Schneider should be available between eight thirty and nine tomorrow. After that he has meetings all day.
Holly hangs up, washes her face in the tiny lavatory, reapplies deodorant, locks the office, and gets rolling toward Kiner Memorial just in time to catch the worst of the evening rush hour. It's six o'clock and full dark by the time she arrives. The woman at the information desk checks her computer and tells her that Barbara Robinson is in Room 528 of Wing B.
"Is that Intensive Care?" Holly asks.
"No, ma'am."
"Good," Holly says, and sets sail, sensible low heels clacking.
The elevator doors open on the fifth floor and there, waiting to get on, are Barbara's parents. Tanya has her cell phone in her hand, and looks at Holly as if at an apparition. Jim Robinson says he'll be damned.
Holly shrinks a little. "What? Why are you looking at m
e that way? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Tanya says. "It's just that I was going to call you--"
The elevator doors start to close. Jim sticks out an arm and they bounce back. Holly gets out.
"--as soon as we got down to the lobby," Tanya resumes, and points to a sign on the wall. It shows a cell phone with a red line drawn through it.
"Me? Why? I thought it was just a broken leg. I mean, I know a broken leg is serious, of course it is, but--"
"She's awake and she's fine," Jim says, but he and Tanya exchange a glance which suggests that isn't precisely true. "It's a pretty clean break, actually, but they found a nasty bump on the back of her head and decided to keep her overnight just to be on the safe side. The doc who fixed her leg said he's ninety-nine percent sure she'll be good to go in the morning."
"They did a tox screen," Tanya said. "No drugs in her system. I wasn't surprised, but it was still a relief."
"Then what's wrong?"
"Everything," Tanya says simply. She looks ten years older than when Holly saw her last. "Hilda Carver's mom drove Barb and Hilda to school, it's her week, and she said Barbara was fine in the car--a little quieter than usual, but otherwise fine. Barbara told Hilda she had to go to the bathroom, and that was the last Hilda saw of her. She said Barb must have left by one of the side doors in the gym. The kids actually call those the skip doors."
"What does Barbara say?"
"She won't tell us anything." Her voice shakes, and Jim puts an arm around her. "But she says she'll tell you. That's why I was going to call you. She says you're the only one who might understand."
22
Holly walks slowly down the corridor to Room 528, which is all the way at the end. Her head is down, and she's thinking hard, so she almost bumps into the man wheeling the cart of well-thumbed paperback books and Kindles with PROPERTY OF KINER HOSP taped below the screens.
"Sorry," Holly tells him. "I wasn't looking where I was going."
"That's all right," Library Al says, and goes on his way. She doesn't see him pause and look back at her; she is summoning all her courage for the conversation to come. It's apt to be emotional, and emotional scenes have always terrified her. It helps that she loves Barbara.
Also, she's curious.
She taps on the door, which is ajar, and peeps around it when there's no answer. "Barbara? It's Holly. Can I come in?"
Barbara offers a wan smile and puts down the battered copy of Mockingjay she's been reading. Probably got it from the man with the cart, Holly thinks. She's cranked up in the bed, wearing pink pajamas instead of a hospital johnny. Holly guesses her mother must have packed the PJs, along with the ThinkPad she sees on Barb's night table. The pink top lends Barbara a bit of vivacity, but she still looks dazed. There's no bandage on her head, so the bump mustn't have been all that bad. Holly wonders if they are keeping Barbara overnight for some other reason. She can only think of one, and she'd like to believe it's ridiculous, but she can't quite get there.
"Holly! How did you get here so fast?"
"I was coming to see you." Holly enters and closes the door behind her. "When somebody's in the hospital, you go to see them if it's a friend, and we're friends. I met your parents at the elevator. They said you wanted to talk to me."
"Yes."
"How can I help, Barbara?"
"Well . . . can I ask you something? It's pretty personal."
"Okay." Holly sits down in the chair next to the bed. Gingerly, as if the seat might be wired for electricity.
"I know you had some bad times. You know, when you were younger. Before you worked for Bill."
"Yes," Holly says. The overhead light isn't on, just the lamp on the night table. Its glow encloses them and gives them their own little place to be. "Some very bad ones."
"Did you ever try to kill yourself?" Barbara gives a small, nervous laugh. "I told you it was personal."
"Twice." Holly says it without hesitation. She feels surprisingly calm. "The first time, I was just about your age. Because kids at school were mean to me, and called me mean names. I couldn't cope. But I didn't try very hard. I just took a handful of aspirin and decongestant tablets."
"Did you try harder the second time?"
It's a tough question, and Holly thinks it over carefully. "Yes and no. It was after I had some trouble with my boss, what they call sexual harassment now. Back then they didn't call it much of anything. I was in my twenties. I took stronger pills, but still not enough to do the job and part of me knew that. I was very unstable back then, but I wasn't stupid, and the part that wasn't stupid wanted to live. Partly because I knew Martin Scorsese would make some more movies, and I wanted to see them. Martin Scorsese is the best director alive. He makes long movies like novels. Most movies are only like short stories."
"Did your boss, like, attack you?"
"I don't want to talk about it, and it doesn't matter." Holly doesn't want to look up, either, but reminds herself that this is Barbara and forces herself to. Because Barbara has been her friend in spite of all of Holly's ticks and tocks, all of Holly's bells and whistles. And is now in trouble herself. "The reasons never matter, because suicide goes against every human instinct, and that makes it insane."
Except maybe in certain cases, she thinks. Certain terminal cases. But Bill isn't terminal.
I won't let him be terminal.
"I know what you mean," Barbara says. She turns her head from side to side on her pillow. In the lamplight, tear-tracks gleam on her cheeks. "I know."
"Is that why you were in Lowtown? To kill yourself?"
Barbara closes her eyes, but tears squeeze through the lashes. "I don't think so. At least not at first. I went there because the voice told me to. My friend." She pauses, thinks. "But he wasn't my friend, after all. A friend wouldn't want me to kill myself, would he?"
Holly takes Barbara's hand. Touching is ordinarily hard for her, but not tonight. Maybe it's because she feels they are enclosed in their own secret place. Maybe it's because this is Barbara. Maybe both. "What friend is this?"
Barbara says, "The one with the fish. The one inside the game."
23
It's Al Brooks who wheels the library cart through the hospital's main lobby (passing Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, who are waiting for Holly), and it's Al who takes another elevator up to the skyway that connects the main hospital to the Traumatic Brain Injury Clinic. It's Al who says hello to Nurse Rainier at the duty desk, a longtimer who hellos him back without looking up from her computer screen. It's still Al rolling his cart down the corridor, but when he leaves it in the hall and steps into Room 217, Al Brooks disappears and Z-Boy takes his place.
Brady is in his chair with his Zappit in his lap. He doesn't look up from the screen. Z-Boy takes his own Zappit from the left pocket of his loose gray tunic and turns it on. He taps the Fishin' Hole icon and on the starter screen the fish begin to swim: red ones, yellow ones, gold ones, every now and then a fast-moving pink one. The tune tinkles. And every now and then the console gives off a bright flash that paints his cheeks and turns his eyes into blue blanks.
They remain that way for almost five minutes, one sitting and one standing, both staring at the swimming fish and listening to the tinkling melody. The blinds over Brady's window rattle restlessly. The coverlet on his bed snaps down, then back up again. Once or twice Z-Boy nods his understanding. Then Brady's hands loosen and let go of the game console. It slides down his wasted legs, then between them, and clatters to the floor. His mouth falls open. His eyelids drop to half-mast. The rise and fall of his chest inside his checked shirt becomes imperceptible.
Z-Boy's shoulders straighten. He gives himself a little shake, clicks off his Zappit, and drops it back into the pocket from which it came. From his right pocket he takes an iPhone. A person with considerable computer skills has modified it with several state-of-the-art security devices, and the built-in GPS has been turned off. There are no names in the Contacts folder, only a few initials. Z-Boy taps FL.
&
nbsp; The phone rings twice and FL answers in a fake Russian accent. "Ziss iss Agent Zippity-Doo-Dah, comrade. I avait your commands."
"You haven't been paid to make bad jokes."
Silence. Then: "All right. No jokes."
"We're moving ahead."
"We'll move ahead when I get the rest of my money."
"You'll have it tonight, and you'll go to work immediately."
"Roger-dodger," FL says. "Give me something hard next time."
There's not going to be a next time, Z-Boy thinks.
"Don't screw this up."
"I won't. But I don't work until I see the green."
"You'll see it."
Z-Boy breaks the connection, drops the phone into his pocket, and leaves Brady's room. He heads back past the duty desk and Nurse Rainier, who is still absorbed in her computer. He leaves the cart in the snack alcove and crosses the skyway. He walks with a spring in his step, like a much younger man.
In an hour or two, Rainier or one of the other nurses will find Brady Hartsfield either slumped in his chair or sprawled on the floor on top of his Zappit. There won't be much concern; he has slipped into total unconsciousness many times before, and always comes out of it.
Dr. Babineau says it's part of the re-booting process, that each time Hartsfield returns, he's slightly improved. Our boy is getting well, Babineau says. You might not believe it to look at him, but our boy is really getting well.
You don't know the half of it, thinks the mind now occupying Library Al's body. You don't know the fucking half of it. But you're starting to, Dr. B. Aren't you?
Better late than never.
24
"That man who yelled at me on the street was wrong," Barbara says. "I believed him because the voice told me to believe him, but he was wrong."
Holly wants to know about the voice from the game, but Barbara may not be ready to talk about that yet. So she asks who the man was, and what he yelled.
"He called me blackish, like on that TV show. The show is funny, but on the street it's a put-down. It's--"
"I know the show, and I know how some people use it."
"But I'm not blackish. Nobody with a dark skin is, not really. Not even if they live in a nice house on a nice street like Teaberry Lane. We're all black, all the time. Don't you think I know how I get looked at and talked about at school?"
