by Stevie Barry
Meanwhile, there was winter to be gotten through. The first shipments of his building supplies ought to arrive in the next two days, and if he had to supervise construction, he would. The mercenaries were soldiers, not contractors, but Von Ratched knew what he was doing. He could work on his patients at night.
He went back to his apartment and poured himself some coffee, shaking the snow from his coat. Lorna was still very much asleep, so he checked the dressings on her shoulder and calf. The nurses had been changing them, and both wounds looked to be healing satisfactorily. The leg was eventually going to require some intense physical therapy, but that would be at least a month and a half away.
He left her to sleep, and fetched a sketchpad. He'd better start designing his new Institute.
----
Katje slept over eighteen hours before she settled down to write about the Institute. Julifer gave her a Dutch-English dictionary, and she filled the better part of a spiral notebook with her neat, loopy handwriting.
She didn’t just describe the building. All the experiments that she knew of went in there, too, as well as the riot and the first, failed escape attempt. It was weirdly cathartic, writing and chain-smoking and downing vanilla vodka like water. By the time she was through she had a hacking cough and was rather drunk, so she ate a sandwich and went to take a bubble bath. She had to sober up a little before she went out to deliver her notebook.
The bath was heavenly, though the hot water made her head spin a little. The bubbles were scented with lavender, sweet and soothing, but it reminded her too much of Lorna.
Katje didn't like the idea of Lorna still being alive, and she really didn't like the thought of what Von Ratched might do to her. Geezer said she was meant to escape eventually, but he'd neglected to mention whether or not she'd be in one piece, or have any sanity. Knowing Von Ratched, he might well amputate her feet to keep her from running away again.
Lorna just didn't know how to manipulate men. She didn't know how to manipulate anyone, and that was likely going to cost her. Katje would just seduce the bastard, but Lorna would probably hang herself at the mere thought, and why? Katje honestly didn't understand other people's reluctance to do things like that -- why Geezer had said she was being used, rather than the other way around. They said 'whore' like it was a bad thing.
She stretched, her joints cracking and head spinning a little more. She'd been told she had no self-respect, and she didn't understand that, either. Of course she respected herself -- it was why she made sure she was comfortable wherever she went. Why suffer, when such comforts were easy to obtain?
Nobody understood, and she didn't expect them to. She had to admit it was a little nice, not having to barter, but bartering could be a game in and of itself. At least she might be able to get Gerald to succumb to her charms, now that they were away from the Institute.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a pounding on the door, and with a groan she left her bubbles and grabbed a bathrobe, tripping a couple times along the way. "This had better be good," she snapped, but softened when she saw it was Gerald -- a distinctly panicked Gerald.
"Get dressed," he said. "Ratiri woke up."
Oh, hell. "Come in," she said. "Give me five minutes." An uneven race around her bedroom produced a towel and some clothes, and she hurried out while still trying to pull on one shoe.
"Bad, yes?" she asked, and Gerald nodded miserably. "I talk to him. He will not hurt me." No matter how maddened Ratiri was, he was still at heart a gentleman, and she was female. She was certainly in for a tirade, but it would be no worse than that.
When they reached the hospital, Katje faltered for half a second. She had to remind herself that this wasn't the Institute, that it was a place of healing, and let her determination carry her forward.
There was no need to ask where Ratiri was. His shouting could be heard two hallways away, and she broke into a slightly unsteady run, hoping he wouldn't kill anyone before she got there.
Her fears weren't unfounded. She skidded to a halt to find Ratiri gripping a doctor by the throat, utterly heedless of his wounded leg. His brown eyes burned with a light that was almost infernal, wild as an animal's. Two terrified orderlies hung back, uncertain, but Katje marched right in and slapped him. It wasn't a sissy slap, either, but a blow with the full strength of her arm behind it.
"You stop now," she ordered. "Put him down. You are not animal, Ratiri Duncan, so do not act like one."
He actually did as he was told, probably because he was too stunned to do otherwise. The doctor staggered back, wheezing as an orderly hurried him away, and Katje crossed her arms and glared at Ratiri like a disappointed parent. "You think this help?" she demanded. "You sit and talk like civilized person."
He didn't sit, but some of the madness left his eyes. "You left her," he said hoarsely.
"We thought she was dead," Katje said. "Geezer says she live, and we will get her, if she does not find us first. Do you really think Lorna stay there one minute more than she have to?"
Ratiri shut his eyes, and sat heavily on the bed. "You left her," he growled.
She pulled up a chair to face him. "We would have died, if we stay. We would be dead and Lorna would be alone, with no one to get her. Use your brain, yes? Von Ratched would have killed us all, and she would be alone."
"She's alone now," he said bitterly, a hint of a snarl in his voice.
"But not forever. We go back for her, Ratiri. Her and everyone. You know Von Ratched will not kill her, but she might kill him. This is Lorna we are talking about."
"What if he -- brainwashes her, or something?" Ratiri said, his eyes still molten.
Katje snorted. "Again, this is Lorna we talk about. You say he cannot get in her head, yes? And he knows what happens when he hurt her. Things go smash. She will wait for you, and you will do her no good if you stay like this. It is not who you are."
She could tell she was only half getting through to him, but half was better than nothing. She also knew she was being a hypocrite, telling him not to worry, but what else could she tell him? Sharing her own fears would do no good at all.
"Is there something he can hit?" she asked, turning to face the remaining orderly.
"We have a gym," he said, in a small voice. "But he needs to stay off that leg."
"Then get something he can break. He have to take his anger out on something."
The orderly scurried off, and Katje turned back to Ratiri. "You hold together," she ordered. "You must be you when we get Lorna. You think I hit hard -- she will slap you to next week if she find you like this."
That of all things seemed to calm him, and she glanced at Gerald. He looked relieved, but still wary. "She's right," he said. "Rest that leg, so you can go with us when we go back to the Institute. We're working on a plan now."
That was a massive overstatement, but it wasn't entirely a lie, either. If anyone could pull it off, it was that crazy Miranda woman.
"I want to give you a sedative, Ratiri," Gerald added. "Just a mild one. You have to rest, however hard it is -- you're a doctor, you know better than to push it."
Ratiri sighed. "Fine," he said. "Give me the damn sedative. I'll go barking without it."
Gerald left, and Katje reached out and took one of Ratiri's hands. "We will get her. We will get everyone. We are safe in this place, and they will be, too. You will see."
He didn't look like he believed her, and she couldn't blame him. She probably wouldn’t either, in his shoes.
Gerald returned with a needle, and he and Katje sat with Ratiri until he dozed off.
"We should go find Geezer," she said quietly. "I think he is with Miranda."
They left Ratiri to sleep in whatever peace he could find. "Call one of us when he wakes again," Gerald told a nurse. "You're going to need all the help you can get."
"No kidding," she said. "He's going to be a nightmare, isn't he?"
"Probably. None of us are too fond of hospitals right now. It would be best if he could be mo
ved into an apartment soon."
"I'll see what I can do. Was where you were really that terrible?"
"Worse," Katje said grimly. "You have no idea."
It was all she could do not to flee when they left, off to hunt down their other friend.
----
A week passed, and day by day Lorna managed to stay awake a little longer. Von Ratched made good on his promise to bring her books, but she spent a lot more time plotting than reading.
Through the window, she could see snow falling with depressing regularity. By the time her leg healed, escaping on foot really would be suicide. Even if she could snare a pilot, flying would be likewise impossible. She'd need something like a snowmobile, so when some of the so-called orderlies came to sit with her, she did a little telepathic rooting.
What with all the drugs, it wasn't easy, and even when it worked she gleaned mostly useless information. The quasi-military orderlies were separate from the mercenaries, and there was little communication between them. They knew the replacement hangar had gone up, and that on clear days supplies had been ferried in, but not much about what those supplies were.
Logically they were going to need some kind of snow equipment to move things around the base. Her task would be to get hold of one and get the hell out, which would be much easier said than done. Even if she killed Von Ratched, that left her with one hell of a lot of people to deal with. Of course she could just kill everybody, but she didn't want to. There were still a few places she just wouldn't go, not even to escape. That meant she had to practice, but God knew she didn't have anything else to do.
The living-room was big, but it was starting to feel intensely claustrophobic. No way was Lorna going to ask Von Ratched for a change of scenery, but that didn't mean she didn't want one.
On the fifth day, he offered one. "I would like to take you outside this evening," he said. "I believe you should observe what has become of your handiwork."
She eyed him warily. He had to have some ulterior motive, but her head was too fuzzy to puzzle out what it was. That might be perfect, though -- if she could get close to any mercenaries, that might tell her more about what she had to work with.
"Fine," she said, sitting up. That was much less painful now, though her shoulder still ached when the painkillers ebbed. "I could do with a trip out'v here."
"Good. I will fetch you a wheelchair."
Lorna sighed when he left. Of course she wouldn't be able to use crutches because of her shoulder, but she didn't like the idea of a wheelchair. It was another reminder that she was still a total invalid. Plus, it meant she would have to let him touch her.
But she could grit her teeth and bear it, and she did, trying not to wince at the pain in her leg. The last thing she needed was more drugs to cloud her mind. Well-bundled in heavy wool blankets, a scarf around her neck, she tried to sit patiently as Von Ratched wheeled her out into the hallway.
This late in the evening it was deserted, thankfully, the lights dimmed. How odd to see all the flat white again -- say what she might about Von Ratched's apartment, at least it wasn't as sterile as the rest of the Institute.
As soon as they made it outside, the cold slapped her in the face. Tiny flakes of snow were drifting on an almost imperceptible breeze, settling like down on her blankets. She could hear ice crunching under the chair's wheels, and knew her supposition was right: by the time she was anything like mobile, the land around the Institute would be impassable. Great.
Huge banks of floodlights had been erected around the tarmac, turning it into a weird moonscape. The bones of a new hangar stood beside the wreck of the old one, the roof complete but the walls still bare plywood.
"That was fast," she observed, feeling she should say something. She still wasn't sure why he'd brought her out here, what he expected her to see.
"You would be amazed at the speed money can buy," Von Ratched said dryly. The weird thing was that it didn't sound like he was boasting of his wealth -- it was more like he was disparaging the greedy. "Which is fortunate, or we might all have starved this winter. Did you intend to doom the rest of your fellow inmates to such a fate?"
Ah. Guilt-tripping. It was so petty Lorna found herself disappointed in him, but at least that pettiness proved he was human. "I intended to come back for them all," she said, matching his dryness. "With an army, whenever I could get one. I'm not stupid enough to leave someone like you loose to run about the world."
"I am hardly running anywhere," he pointed out, rolling her onward, and she shivered. Slight though the wind was, the cold worked its way through her blankets. She wasn't going to let on, though; she wouldn't cut this excursion short. Not until she'd found something useful.
"Aye, not yet," she said, an automatic retort as her mind scanned for others. Only two were close enough for her to spot, and then she was left with the task of searching them without letting Von Ratched know what she was doing. She wasn't good at multitasking at the best of times, and the lingering painkillers weren't helping matters at all.
"No one is running anywhere this winter," he said. "Including you. I will not have you commit suicide by wandering off into a storm."
She wasn't going to wander anywhere. A SnowCat and a straight line hardly counted as 'wandering'. "If I committed suicide, it'd be a lot flashier than that," she said absently.
The man nearest her was cold and cranky, pissed off by being stuck on the night shift --
"I have no doubt it would be. I do not intend to allow you the chance."
-- a shipment had come in this morning, and he was stuck dealing with inventory by himself --
"Von Ratched, if I really wanted to kill myself, you couldn't stop me."
-- eighteen drums of gasoline, forty crates of food supplies, two dozen palettes of medical shit he had to break down and sort out --
"Do not call me that."
-- another palette of mechanic's tools --
"What should I call you? You hate your first name. Mind you, I can't blame you -- it's pretty stupid. Say it wrong and it sounds like a pissed-off cat. Raouuuuuuuul."
-- wait, machine oil, spare treads -- yes! Bingo.
"Stop that. I really do need to stop drugging you so, don't I? Call me Von Ratched if you must, but at least make an effort not to make it sound like an epithet."
-- with treads like that, there had to be at least one SnowCat. Brilliant!
"I'm not making any promises. You're the one who says my name like I'm some kind'v pet."
All right, enough. Head hurting now. Bleh.
"You do not look well. I am taking you back inside."
"Don't feel so great," she said, fighting nausea. Even with the cold, the sheer effort of such delicate telepathy left her sweating. "Think I could sleep again." The warmth of that hospital bed actually sounded good, and Lorna could rest content for once -- she knew something now, something useful. And small a thing though it was, it made the idea of escape real. She had to look at everything from this point on as biding her time.
The heat of the indoors was a blessing, and she tried not to smile. If Von Ratched saw any sign of happiness in her he'd be incredibly suspicious, and she couldn't afford that.
"Did you enjoy your little excursion?" he asked.
"I did," she replied honestly. "I'd like to do it again sometime. I'm not the kind'v person who likes to stay cooped up for long." Something he would know already. Wanting to go back outside wouldn't be out of character at all.
When they reached her bedside, she swatted him away before he could try to move her. "Let me try this on my own, will you?" she said, giving him a warning look that wasn't quite a glare.
To her surprise, he stepped back, and after two false starts she managed to haul herself out of the chair and onto the bed. For such a small thing, it gave her a ridiculous level of triumph. It sent pain jolting through both leg and shoulder, but it was worth it. It was the first real movement she'd made on her own since she got shot.
Von Ratched looked a
t her with faint amusement, but there was no mockery in it. "As you are in such a good mood, you will not mind if I brush your hair."
"Don't push your luck," she said. "Can you not just let me have one decent evening, without your creepiness ruining it?"
His expression went very, very strange -- it was yet another one Lorna had never seen on him. "As you wish. I will give you another painkiller before you sleep."
He fetched a needle, and when he'd injected her arm and gone, she stared at the closed door in bewilderment. Had he really actually listened to what she said, for once? Strangely, the thought worried rather than pleased her.
Oh well. She had her valuable little nugget of information. That could keep her going while she healed, and meanwhile she could enjoy the combined warmth of blankets and morphine, watching the soft fall of snow until it lulled her to sleep.
----
In the kitchen, Von Ratched fixed himself a screwdriver. He was troubled in a way he had never before known.
Lorna had looked genuinely pleased by her trip outside. It was the first time he had ever seen her so, however much it had drained her. She'd snarked at him, something she hadn't done since before the mess with Duncan. He found he enjoyed it, and would have liked to hear her continue while he brushed her hair, but she'd recoiled from the idea far more visibly than she was likely aware of. And for the first time, he fully comprehended how very much she hated him touching her. And yes, that bothered him.
He retreated to his bedroom, and sat on the bed without bothering to turn on the lights. The TV he did turn on, but he kept it muted, the screen casting an anemic dance of light and shadow over the room. The drink was bitter -- too much vodka, not enough orange juice -- but it suited his mood.
Her detest of contact with him was troubling, and to his surprise, it wasn't merely because he found it inconvenient. For once in his life, his reaction wasn't entirely self-centered. Yes, her squeamishness was aggravating, but it disturbed him that he made her so uncomfortable. Concern over another person's comfort had not hitherto figured in Von Ratched's life, and now that it did, he didn’t know what to do about it.
