by JJ Pike
The woman lowered the shotgun. “Deirdre. Sorry about the gun. My ex has been stalking me. It’d be just like him to create a disturbance that would snag everyone’s attention, so he could sneak in here and take me out. I have a restraining order, but with no guard on the door and no police answering my calls, he has direct access to me. I told him, ‘If you ever come here again, I’m going to blow your head off and no one will fault me for it.’”
Barb had a fantastic imagination. She was willing to countenance the idea that the government was hiding direct, incontrovertible evidence of alien incursions; that there were chemtrails that were poisoning them; and that there was a secret group within the Bilderberg Group who essentially ruled the world. But she did not believe that Deirdre’s ex-husband had orchestrated the worst accident in recent American history in order to kill her. Even her imagination didn’t stretch that far. “Things are wild out there.”
“Tell me about it,” said Deirdre. “I haven’t been able to get FreshDirect to deliver all week.” She wandered into the kitchen, flicking switches and tutting. “Power’s still off. They’re not even trying.”
Barb was used to people treating her like she was a few bricks short of a load. She was determined not to treat Deirdre that way, but it was going to be an uphill battle. “Deirdre, do you have a backpack I might borrow?”
“What do you mean ‘borrow?’”
“Good point. Do you have a backpack I can use to help Suze out?”
“Who’s Suze?”
“Come with me. She’s your neighbor.” If Deirdre saw Suze she’d get it. How could you refuse to help someone who was helpless?
Deirdre followed Barb, gun lowered but head swiveling like a Bobblehead doll as she surveyed the length and breadth of the corridor.
“I believe she must have had a stroke or a series of strokes. She needs to take her medication with her, but she can’t carry a bag. I have the baby and the stroller, Neal runs on blades not legs, and Mr. Peterson isn’t all there, if you know what I mean.”
Neal had moved Suze to her wheelchair by himself. Her muscle tone was so weak she couldn’t keep herself upright. He had to buckle her in from the waist up to her neck rest. How in the name of all that is good were they going to get her out? Barb reached out for God, because there was no other way it was going to happen.
“Oh!” Deirdre stopped in the door to Suze’s bedroom. “Suzanne! Oh, no!”
“You know her?” Barb rocked Charlotte. It was time to feed her again, but she’d left the bottles downstairs.
“She and I were in a book club together. I didn’t even know she lived in this building. When she stopped coming we all assumed she’d moved on. It’s New York, people come and go.” She stroked Suze’s hair. “What a beautiful soul. Just one of the kindest, most thoughtful people you could ever hope to meet. She was my neighbor? All this time? And I didn’t know she was here. That’s city life for you. You meet someone you click with, but you have no clue when their life has fallen apart. You need a backpack, you say? I’ll be back.”
“Did you coax Mr. Peterson out of his lair?” said Neal.
Dang. Barb hadn’t done a single thing Neal had asked her to do. Neither had she done what she’d promised Alice. She was failing, big time. Weird how it didn’t feel that way. She was a mother; life was close-to perfect. Charlotte cried. Even that sound was a blessing that made her heart swell and tears gather at the corners of her eyes. The mewling was so quiet as to be almost silent, but Barb was on high alert to every micro-breath the baby made. “I need to feed Charlotte first, then put her in the baby bouncer, then go into Mr. Peterson’s apartment to get him. Cool?” She didn’t mention the part about collecting Alice and Bill and Pete. That would have to come later. These people had their own set of worries to contend with.
“You need Mr. Peterson to come out?” said Deirdre. “Nothing could be easier. Here’s your backpack. I’ll go get him.”
Barb ran to Suze’s bathroom, emptied the supplies from the duffel bag into the backpack and ran back to the front room.
As promised, Deirdre had Mr. Peterson by the hand.
“How did you do that?”
“I promised him a cigarette.” Deirdre laughed. “His wife made him give up in the '80s. He sits on my balcony at least once a week and has a naughty one with me, don’t you Mr. P?” She was shouting, but the octogenarian was laughing and nodding, one hand shuffling in her purse, the other linked through her arm.
“We get these two outside and come back for the hard extraction,” said Neal.
“Harder than a senior with dementia and a quadriplegic?”
“Harder,” said Neal. “He lives in the penthouse. Do you know who lives up there?”
Barb shook her head.
Deirdre curled her lip and sucked her teeth. She might as well have spat on the floor for the disgust she was radiating. “Charles Sullivan III. Heir to the Sullivan Services fortune. Mad as a box of hares. Good luck with that one.”
CHAPTER NINE
Petra followed the guard through the echoing hospital corridors towards the parking lot. Was he going to give her a lecture over a pillowcase? This whole situation was one fry short of a Happy Meal. She knew what Paul would want her to do: “Stay calm, don’t let them see that you’re Coco Puffs, answer all their questions, tell only the truth, and call me as soon as possible.”
She’d been caught shoplifting a couple of times when she was younger. Nothing serious. A plush Pokémon doll and a spangly phone case, which was the dumbest thing she’d ever done because they weren’t allowed phones back then. She’d been made to see a counselor, who claimed she was “acting out” which was also moronic, because it wasn’t her who was being put in all the time-outs, it was Aggie. But she’d done as Paul had asked then and she was going to do it again now. Play along, get out of there as soon as you can.
The security guard was chatting to a colleague on his walkie-talkie. Petra frowned. He was talking about her, but there was no mention of the pillowcase. The dread gathered in the pit of her stomach. She should have stayed on the ward. She was “invisible” if she was the concerned sister. The minute she’d stepped out she’d made herself fully visible again. If they identified her as one of the people who’d robbed the pharmacy she’d be in real trouble. As in, police-level trouble. There was no one to bail her out; no Paul, no Dad, not even a once-in-a-blue-moon Mom.
“Take a seat.” The security guard closed the door to his cubby-sized room, just off the main parking lot. It was a dismal little place; nothing more than a desk, two folding chairs, and a wall of car keys. “Someone will be with us shortly.”
“My sister is in surgery.”
The guard nodded.
“It’s brain surgery. I should be with her.”
“This won’t take long.”
The clock on the wall didn’t tick, but it marked time with an arm that jumped one space for each second, so it might has well have been a clanging bell, ringing out her doom. What was she supposed to do? She wasn’t going to do what Paul would do. She couldn’t. Paul would tell the truth and face the consequences. But Paul wasn’t here. It was just her.
The door opened. Another security guard, almost identical to the first one—blue uniform, buzzcut hair-don’t, chunky around the middle—filled the frame. “I need you to come with me.” He gestured back towards the hospital, but didn’t wait for her answer. The first guard flicked the lock on his “office” and followed behind Petra.
Petra marched between the guards with one eye on the lookout for escape routes. That way lay madness. They might both be chubby, but they could probably outrun her. If they had sticks or Tasers, she could get hurt.
“What’s this about?” She’d seen enough police dramas to know that the innocent didn’t just go along with the cops without protesting their innocence, though these weren’t cops. She had to do her best to appear like a regular non-criminal for as long as she could.
“There was a break in a few days
ago. We thought you might be able to identify some of the thieves.”
Petra shrugged. “I don’t think so. I mean, I’ll do what I can to help, but I doubt I can identify anyone.” Paul was hissing at her, telling her to shut up. Give them a little, but not too much. If you keep talking, you’re going to say too much. Be polite, nothing more.
“Your car was seen leaving the parking lot at around the same time as the thieves’ car.”
That was good, they were talking about cars, not faces. The lump in her stomach shifted a little, though it didn’t go away. “My boyfriend was injured,” she said. “I was here to take him home.” She knew it was best to stay as close to the truth as possible.
“We know, Miss Everlee.”
Not good. They had her name. Did they have it because of that visit or this one? She didn’t remember signing in when they’d brought Sean to the ER, but she’d been borderline hysterical so she might have done so and wiped it from her memory. “We were evacuated when the fire alarms went off.”
The senior guard ushered her into a suite. There were TV consoles across one wall. The worst was about to happen. They were going to show Aggie’s face or Jo’s face as they filled the car with stolen medications. She was implicated. How could she explain it? She couldn’t. They were robbers, thieves, criminals.
The guard pulled up some footage. “This is the main entrance to the hospital.” He spooled through the record, then paused. “Is this your car?”
“It is not.” That much was true. They’d come in Jo’s car. It was Jo’s car she was looking at, but he hadn’t asked that question and she was still, technically, telling the truth. She did her best not to smile.
“Do you know the driver of the vehicle?”
Petra peered at the grainy footage. Better and better. She could have been looking at Amelia Earhart or Emily Dickinson or any middle-aged white female from any era. “No clue who that is,” she said.
“You were seen entering this vehicle.”
Did that mean he didn’t have proof? That would be the most stunning piece of luck. She shrugged. Better to say nothing than be caught in a lie. He could be setting a trap.
“Do you deny that you were in this vehicle?”
“I have no idea who’s driving or who’s in that car. I was in the hospital, as I already told you. We left when the fire alarms went off. Other than that, I don’t think I can be of assistance. I’m sorry.”
The guard folded his hands over his stomach as he leaned back in his chair. “You think you can come in here and do as you please.”
There was no question, so she didn’t have to answer. She was doing really well. Paul would be so proud.
The guard turned to his colleague. “This is what happens when they cut the budget to the bone.” They nodded at each other, grumbling.
She’d ruined their day. They’d been so sure she was going to tell them who the thieves were, but they had nothing.
“You can go, but don’t think I’m not watching you.”
Petra wanted to skip down the corridor, she was so happy. She hadn’t been caught. There wasn’t any footage. Whoever had seen her couldn’t have made a good enough ID for them to hold her. She was free, free, free. For a nanosecond she forgot what an awful mess they were in. She ducked out of the hospital and went straight for the first guard’s office. He’d locked the door, but left the sliding window wide open. She reached in and helped herself to as many sets of car keys as she could, stuffing them in her pockets. If they were going to leave with Midge, they’d need a larger car. She’d have her pick.
The lobby was busier than when she’d taken her stash of candy out to the car. A nurse ran right by her, almost knocking her into the wall. She didn’t stop and she didn’t apologize. She’d always thought nurses and nuns didn’t run at work. Brisk walking and bionic ankles, yes, but not running. She watched. There was a commotion out in the ambulance bay. She inched closer to the door. She wanted to be upstairs, waiting for Midge, but she had to know what was going on.
Three gurneys rushed the doors in quick succession. The patients who were being admitted were covered in raw burn wounds, thrashing and screaming. The EMTs had to shout to be heard, but what they were saying made no sense. “Don’t touch them. No skin on skin contact. Triple up your gloves. Wear aprons, goggles, masks, and boots at all times.” She only caught snippets of what they were saying, but with three patients coming past, she cobbled together a story. The burn victims had been in contact with something that had not yet run its course. The nurses were in danger of being burned themselves if they came into direct contact with the agent. Petra couldn’t imagine what it might be. Was there an acid that ate the skin but remained so potent it could harm the caregivers? She backed up towards the elevators.
The nurse she’d seen run out to the ambulance bay walked back in through the doors. She held her right hand by the wrist and stared at her palm. The trickle of blood that ran from her hand down towards her elbow told its own tale. She’d been injured. But with that much blood it wasn’t a burn, it was more like a gash or a cut.
Petra hit the elevator button. If there was an agent that could slice open your skin on contact, she had to get Midge out immediately.
Betsy’s ward was as busy as the lobby had been, but the lawyers were nowhere to be seen. Betsy was back in bed, this time bolt upright. Jim was scanning the corridor. He grabbed her and squeezed her when she got to Betsy’s room. “Thank goodness. We were worried about you. You okay?”
Petra nodded. “What are they saying? Did they tell you what’s happening?”
“They are locking down the ER,” said Jim. “That’s all we know.”
Petra told them what she’d heard. Betsy made her repeat it three times, including all the details she could remember about the wounds themselves.
“Sounds like a chemical spill.” She tapped her knee, impatient and overwrought. “What’s wrong with this picture? You don’t advise triple protection unless you believe there’s a transmittable organism in play. Petra, did they say booties or boots?”
Petra shook her head. “I thought they said booties, but it could have been boots. Does it matter?”
“I’m trying to get a handle on how serious they think this is. Were they recommending standard precautions for an infectious agent—and if so, what kind of agent could produce wounds like the ones you’ve described?—or are these transmission-based precautions, which would indicate there’s an infectious disease in play, possibly something that is either air or blood-borne. Booties and surgical gowns would be called on for the former, polyvinyl boots and latex aprons for the latter.”
“They said ‘aprons’ not gowns. Does that help?”
Betsy pushed off her covers and grabbed her bag from the stand. She handed the sloshing bag of post-operative meds to Jim. “You’re carrying this.” Jim didn’t argue. “We’re leaving.”
“Not without Midge,” said Petra. “If there’s something awful loose in the hospital, we can’t leave her here with it.”
“Wouldn’t think of it,” said Betsy.
“Where are we going?” said Jim.
“To the ambulance bay, to investigate,” said Betsy. “That was where the patients came in, that’s where we’re going to find the most clues. With that much panic, they’re going to have left the ambulances chock full of information.”
Jim found a wheelchair and installed Betsy. The two of them might have been ancient and injured, but they were booking like they were in their twenties, thirties at worst. Petra was impressed.
No one challenged them on their way out of the hospital doors. Betsy was right, all attention was turned inwards, rather than outwards. The ambulances stood, empty of their cargo, but packed with bloodied gauze and discarded saline bags.
Gloop dripped off the back of an ambulance and onto the road.
“Step back,” said Betsy. “We have no data. Let’s assume the worst. Treat everything you see as the worst disease you can think of.”
Betsy shook her head. “Nope.” She leaned forward, but didn’t leave her wheelchair. “Can you take me around the side of the spill, Jimbo? I want to get a good look inside.” She had her mouth in the crook of her elbow, as if she was about to sneeze.
Petra had seen other nurses do the same. It was a simple way to stop the droplets from spraying out from one cold carrier to everyone around them. Or, as in this case, keep the droplets from entering their mouths. She copied Betsy, nestling her nose and mouth in her left elbow. She grabbed her phone and took a video of the damage, swinging the camera from side to side to get as much footage as she could. Her memory wasn’t perfect. It might be useful later, when Betsy interrogated her again.
