by Diane Hoh
Duffy could only hope that if Kit had called the house to see how she was, her mother hadn’t accused him of making her sick. He would have felt so guilty.
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Realizing it was because she was being so obvious about her feelings, Duffy made an effort to put the bad news aside for the moment. “He’ll call me when he’s settled in California,” she said, blinking back tears. “Cynthia’s right. Meanwhile,” taking a deep breath, “I’ve got to get out of this bed. I’m going for a walk the minute the halls are empty tonight. I’m sick of being sick.” Then she added in a low voice, “If I hadn’t been sick, Kit would have told me good-bye and I could have wished him luck.”
As Duffy had expected, both Cynthia and Amy argued with her. She wasn’t well enough to leave her room, they said. She’d send her fever soaring, Cynthia pointed out, and Amy said quietly that it wasn’t smart to disobey the doctor’s orders.
Duffy ignored them. She was getting out of her horrible little room and nothing anyone said would change her mind.
Cynthia and Amy eventually gave up and left. But Jane, anxious to have her friend back at her side, said, “I think it’s a great idea. Just don’t overdo it.”
Although she could tell that Dylan and Smith both disapproved of her plan, they knew better than to argue with her, and shaking their heads, they left with Jane.
When Duffy first sat up and swung her legs over the edge of her bed, the room turned bright pink and swayed around her. That passed. When her vision had cleared, she slipped her feet into white terrycloth slippers and wrapped herself in a matching robe. Then she stood up.
Red waves of heat slapped at her, blurring her vision again. One step…if she could just take one step without falling…tentatively, she put a foot forward, gripping her IV pole for support.
She was still standing. Another step, then another, and soon she was at the door.
Peering out, she found with satisfaction that the hallway was deserted. Silent and empty. No nurses, no visitors, no orderlies, no patients. She had the hall all to herself.
It was great being out of bed, although she felt like a toddler taking its first steps. Her legs threatened to cave in at any moment. But she was too eager to be free of her prison, and moved slowly and carefully out into the long, narrow hall.
“You don’t like being cooped up, do you?” Smith Lewis asked her softly as he appeared out of nowhere.
She jumped, startled, and slammed into the wall. Her plastic IV bag slapped against the metal pole. “Don’t do that!” she hissed, furious.
“I don’t blame you,” he said, ignoring her anger. “Being cooped up would make me crazy, too.”
Crazy? Sensitive to the word because of her confusion about last night’s strange sounds, she snapped, “I’m not crazy! Being cooped up isn’t making me crazy, and neither is my fever.”
Smith raised his hands in front of him in mock defense. “Whoa! Easy, girl. Chill out.” And shaking his head, he moved forward to take her elbow. “I just wanted to make sure you could handle this little hike. You look pretty shaky to me. Your legs going to hold up?”
Duffy was ashamed of herself for biting his head off. Being so unsure about what had really happened the night before was making her crazy. But she didn’t want Smith to know that.
“I’ve changed my mind,” she said suddenly. “The nurse was right. I’m not up to this. Would you help me back to my room, please?” If she was going to take her little “hike,” she was going to take it alone. She didn’t want Smith Lewis hanging on her, as if she were some feeble old lady. She’d get rid of him first, then she’d get her exercise.
But before she left her room a second time, she’d make absolutely sure no one was around. Especially Smith.
“This Kit person,” he said as he accompanied her back to her room, “someone special to you?”
She didn’t think she could talk about Kit without crying, and she had no intention of crying in front of Smith Lewis. “A friend,” she said, her voice strained.
“Just a friend?”
“Just” a friend? No, much more than a friend…but she didn’t want to talk about Kit with Smith. “A good friend,” was all she would say.
“Oh. Great.”
He left her at the door to her room and disappeared down the hallway.
After checking her pocket to make sure she had money for a magazine and shampoo, Duffy peered into the hall again. A nurse came out of the shower room with a patient. Duffy ducked back behind her door. A shower—how wonderful! Maybe, if the exercise regulated her temperature the way she hoped it would, she could talk someone into letting her take a shower the next day so she could wash her oil-slicked hair and look like a human being.
When the hall was finally deserted again, the overhead fluorescent lights dimmed for the night. The nurses’ station was empty. Murmuring voices from other rooms told her the staff was busy readying patients for the night. Now was the time to make her dash for freedom.
She scuttled down the hall quickly and quietly, sliding the IV pole along behind her like a puppy on a leash.
One of the elevators wore an OUT OF ORDER sign. Duffy remembered Jane’s heavy breathing that afternoon. Poor Jane.
Duffy pushed the button for the working elevator and waited impatiently for the silver arrow over the door to point to the number four. As the arrow began to move upward, Duffy stepped closer to the wide metal doors, prepared to enter as soon as they slid open.
The arrow moved, turtle-slow, around its half circle.
Gripping her IV stand, Duffy took another step forward.
The elevator finally reached her floor, and the doors, groaning with the effort, began to slide open.
“Duffy!” a voice off to her right shouted. “Stop!”
As her right foot lifted to step onto the elevator floor, Duffy turned her head to see who had shouted at her. She had no intention of letting anyone stop her little journey, and continued to aim her foot into the elevator.
But before it could land, a blur of white flew through the air and collided with her, knocking her off-balance and sending her flying backward. Too startled to cry out, she landed on her back on the tile floor, half-smothered by the white projectile now sprawled across her. Trying to catch her breath, Duffy realized in stunned shock that the bulk pinning her down had hair…arms…legs…
Smith Lewis.
Smith Lewis had just tackled her bodily in the hospital hallway and sent her flying across the tile.
“You’re insane!” she gasped, struggling to sit upright. “You maniac! What are you doing?”
He pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Look!” he breathed, pointing a shaky finger toward the elevator. “Look!”
Duffy’s eyes followed the pointing finger.
The elevator’s doors were open all the way.
But there was no elevator cage inside.
There was only a black, yawning void.
Chapter 6
DUFFY SLUMPED AGAINST THE wall, her shoulders shaking as Smith stood up and bent to retrieve her overturned IV pole.
“There…isn’t anything there,” she said dully, her eyes on the wide black mouth waiting to swallow her up. “I…I would have stepped into…air. Nothing but air!”
“And fallen five floors to the basement,” Smith agreed grimly. His voice was full of anger and contempt as he added, “This is Rourke’s fault. I told him it was the second elevator that wasn’t working, not the first. He put the sign on the wrong one!” Shaking the thick thatch of dark, curly hair, he said, “Someone could have been killed.” He moved his gaze from the black gaping hole to Duffy. “You could have been killed,” he said emphatically.
As he moved to set her IV pole upright and then help her to her feet, he muttered, “Wait’ll I get my hands on that Dylan! I’ll have his head on a platter. His supervisor’s going to hear about this, too.”
Duffy couldn’t tear her eyes away from the empty elevator shaft. Empty.
No cage there to carry her safely down to the first floor. Nothing there but a deep, hungry emptiness. For one horrible second, she could actually feel herself falling…falling…into the shadowy nothingness. A sickening, terrifying sense of helpless horror overwhelmed her.
Duffy stood up. If it hadn’t been for Smith’s firm grip on her elbow, her knees would have buckled and sent her to the floor in a slow, buttery slide.
A nasty little voice in her mind chimed repeatedly, You almost died…you almost died…you almost died.…
“What on earth is going on here?” a voice demanded. The night nurse bustled down the hall toward them, indignation written all over her middle-aged face. “What are you two doing out here? Lewis, you’re not on the schedule tonight. And Quinn, what are you doing out of bed?”
Shock and fear had stolen Duffy’s voice from her. She was unable to speak.
Smith quickly explained what had happened as briefly as possible. “I came back to get my paycheck,” he added. “It wasn’t ready when I left earlier. And I saw Duffy about to step into the elevator, the one I knew was out of commission.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” the nurse said in an exasperated voice, “that elevator was supposed to be fixed by now.” She took Duffy’s arm. “You take care of that sign,” she ordered Smith briskly. “I’ll see that Quinn gets back to her room.”
Duffy found her voice. “Smith,” she said quietly as he moved away, ‘thanks. Thanks for—?
“Forget it,” he interrupted. “No big deal. Go back to bed. And,” he added harshly, “maybe you’d be better off staying there. Safer that way.”
Nodding, Duffy allowed herself to be led back to her room.
“You’ve got no business being out of bed,” the nurse scolded as Duffy crawled into bed. “You look flushed. I’m going to take your temperature right now. Then you’ll have your sleeping pill so you can forget all about this nasty business.”
Duffy didn’t see how that was possible. How could she forget that she had almost plunged five floors to her death?
I came to this horrible place to get well, she thought as the thermometer was thrust under her tongue, and instead, I almost died.
How could Dylan have made such a terrible mistake?
She lay curled up in bed, trembling violently, until the sleeping pill began to take effect. Her body relaxed, involuntarily. Her arms and legs turned to warm water. But her mind continued to shudder with fear, until that, too, fell under the spell of the drug.
She was drifting off into a pleasant cotton-candy fuzziness when Smith came quietly into the darkened room and stood beside her bed.
Leaning down, he asked softly, “You okay?”
“If you get caught in here,” she said drowsily, “Attila the Nurse will have you shot. She just left, but she could pop back in at any time, probably with a whip in her hand or a set of thumbscrews.”
Smith didn’t smile. “They gave you a shot? Or a pill? Must have. I expected to find you in hysterics. Medication is a wonderful thing.” He awkwardly patted her head, said, “Sleep well,” and turned to leave.
But there was something Duffy needed to ask him, if she could only grab the thought dancing around crazily in her mind and turn it into coherent words. The question she needed to ask Smith was…was…No, the sleeping pill was getting in her way, making it impossible to form the question into words and send it on its way to Smith.
It would have to wait until tomorrow. She hoped it wasn’t important.
But she had a strong, uneasy feeling that it was.
In spite of the uneasiness, she was asleep before Smith reached the door.
When she awoke Sunday morning, having slept soundly through the night, the question had crystallized in her mind. It was so clear and so urgent, she asked the nurse who brought her breakfast tray if Smith was on duty.
The nurse, a young, pretty student, grinned. “You, too? All the other female patients are ga-ga over Lewis. I don’t see him as your type, but—?
“It’s not like that,” Duffy protested, annoyed. “I just need to ask him something.”
“Right. Like what he’s doing next Saturday night, just in case you’re sprung by then?”
Duffy glared daggers at the girl. “Will you just call him for me, please? Tell him I need to see him, right away.”
Although the student nurse was grinning when she left the room, she must have passed on the message, because five minutes later, Smith hurried into the room.
“Well, you look better. Your eyes are still sort of glazed with terror, though. What’s up?”
“Smith,” Duffy said earnestly, “when exactly did you tell Dylan to put the out-of-order sign on the elevator?”
Smith thought for a minute. “About four o’clock. Right after that friend of yours, Jane, had to struggle up four flights of stairs. I was afraid someone would have a heart attack before maintenance got the cage fixed. Why?”
“Well, think about it,” Duffy said impatiently. “This place was full of visitors all afternoon and all evening. People were going up and down like yoyos. If Dylan’s sign was hanging on the wrong elevator all that time, how come no one but me came so close to taking a dive into an empty elevator shaft?” She shuddered just thinking about it.
Smith moved closer and sat on the edge of her bed. “You’re right,” he said slowly. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Unless…” Duffy began, “unless Dylan did put the sign on the right elevator and somebody moved it just before I got there.”
Smith looked skeptical. “Why would someone move it?”
“How should I know? But they must have.”
He thought for a minute and then said, “I just thought of something. Day before yesterday, the other elevator was screwed up. It was fixed right away. I guess it’s possible that someone who came in late today wouldn’t have expected the repairs to be made so fast. And they wouldn’t have known the second one had broken down. So, when they came in today and saw that sign, they would have thought it was a mistake. And they would have moved the sign…back to the elevator they thought was still broken.”
“Someone who had the day off wouldn’t have known the broken-down elevator had been repaired?” Duffy echoed. “Don’t you people tell each other things?”
“I’m talking about when the guy came in, first thing, before he’d talked to anyone. Some of the crew comes on at nine P.M. I know Elmer Dougherty came in at eight last night, just before you left your room. He could have switched the sign, thinking someone had put it on the wrong cage.”
“I guess that makes sense. Can you find out for sure?”
Smith nodded. “I can find out who, besides Elmer, had Thursday off. I’ll ask around, see who else came in late yesterday, find out if they switched the sign.” He grimaced. “I’m glad I didn’t read the riot act to Rourke. I don’t think I want him mad at me. He works out regularly. My idea of exercise is draping myself over the wheel of a sportscar.” He stood up. “Take it easy today, okay? You still look a little shaky to me.”
Glad that the mystery had been solved, Duffy watched him go. He was thinner than Dylan. But he was taller, and she liked the way he moved, so easy and careless, as if he wasn’t afraid of anything.
But then, he hadn’t almost fallen into a deep, black hole last night, she thought with some resentment. He could afford to walk as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Kit had walked the same way. He wasn’t afraid of anything.
She, on the other hand, would probably start shaking violently from now on every time she went near an elevator.
Shuddering, Duffy closed her eyes.
Chapter 7
DR. MORGAN HAD ALREADY heard about Duffy’s brush with death by elevator but seemed concerned only with how the near-accident had affected her illness. “I didn’t give you permission to get out of bed,” he reprimanded her sternly. “If you’re not going to follow my orders, how do you expect me to help you?”
By fixing the eleva
tors when they break, Duffy wanted to say, but she didn’t. She was feeling totally crummy, hot, and sick. The IV needle pinched her hand unmercifully.
Noticing the stiff way she held the limb, Dr. Morgan said in a softer voice. “Maybe we can get rid of that for you soon. Would that help?”
It would definitely help.
But the IV was still in when the doctor and the nurse who had accompanied him into the room and taken Duffy’s temperature left.
Amy and Cynthia were horrified when they heard what had happened to Duffy, and came rushing to her room the minute they had a break in their duties. Jane, taking advantage of Sunday morning’s visiting hours, arrived at almost the same time. She paled visibly when she heard what had happened.
“Oh, Duffy,” she said, her flawless skin as white as Duffy’s sheet, “you could have… you could have been…killed.” Her violet eyes filled with tears at the thought of losing her best friend. “What if someone hadn’t been there to save you? What if Smith hadn’t been around?” Weakened by the thought, she sank into the wooden, straight-backed bedside chair.
“She’s right, Duffy,” Amy agreed. “You owe Smith. If it hadn’t been for him…”
Duffy didn’t like the idea of “owing” Smith Lewis, but she knew Amy was right. She shuddered. “I keep seeing that black hole…” Taking a deep breath, she changed the subject. “I am,” she announced in a relatively steady voice, “going to take a shower this afternoon if it’s the last thing I do. It’s the only thing that will make me feel better. I deserve it, after what happened, right?”
“Didn’t you learn anything last night about disobeying doctor’s orders?” Cynthia asked brusquely. “Honestly, Duffy, you are the worst patient in the world!”
And Amy added hesitantly, “Duffy, you can’t take a shower with that IV in your arm.”
“They’re going to take it out. Dr. Morgan said so.”
Cynthia shrugged. “Well, do as you please, Duffy. You will, anyway. But don’t blame me if someone catches you in the act and yells at you.”
