7
First Expedition
Nathan waited until the afternoon to make his move. He had tried stretching and leaning and testing his muscles. They ached and refused to move and were stubborn. But they weren’t completely useless. He had to try.
Robin had said goodbye, and went to hand over to the night shift. He knew from their routine that he would have peace for a while. They were slow even reacting to his nurse calls. He looked over at the various equipment attached to him. The drip was on a stand with wheels, so that was fine. But the rest of the probes were hooked up to machines that were fixed in place. He would have to remove them, and they could be noisy.
“I’ll have to take that chance. Maybe they won’t notice,” he thought to himself. He sat upright in the bed and slowly turned his body so that his legs went off the bed. He kept rotating, slowly, and lowered his legs to the ground. The floor was cold, the harshness of the feeling surprising him. He tried putting some weight on his right foot, and it seemed unsteady.
“Doesn’t bode well,” he whispered. He tested his other foot, with a similar result. He shrugged his shoulders, the pain and stiffness reminding him that it was a bad idea. But he persevered. He took note of how the probes were attached, and removed them carefully. The first set went without protest, the second set started an insistent beeping. He used the urgency from that noise to spur him on. He removed the third set of probes from his arms and only the drip remained. The pain of the cannula being inserted gave him pause, and he was careful when moving to avoid disrupting it. He slowly eased himself off the bed, leaning more and more on the stand holding the drip. He seemed to be in an equilibrium, and continued his controlled movement. Soon he was at the critical point.
He eased off the bed completely, holding his weight on his legs and throwing his arms onto the stand. It moved a little, but he steadied himself.
“So far so good,” Nathan said with effort, hunched over just above the bed. He tried to move forward slightly, leaning more into the metal stand. It moved, but didn’t run away from him. He was now away from the bed, if he fell it would be straight onto the floor. He gritted his teeth and moved once more. He felt his body complain, but ignored it. He had to do this. He took another small step, trying to maintain his balance. Suddenly his right leg gave way, and he crashed to the floor.
“Shit,” Nathan called out, the fall taking him by surprise. The floor had smacked him hard, and the ground felt as cold as a tomb. He turned to look up at the bed. It seemed too tall and out of reach. He could probably scramble back up, but it would take the rest of his energy. He looked over to the door. It was a few metres away, but if he could get there he could get a proper look at his surroundings. Maybe he could call out to a fellow patient.
“I’ve got to try,” Nathan thought. The months of frustration needed release. Despite the pain and awkwardness, he felt good using his body. He swallowed hard and then started crawling towards the door. He dragged himself forward, commando style, and then reached back to bring the drip with him. He had poor control over it, and he slammed into his leg.
“I can do this,” Nathan whispered. A little voice in his head started to question why he was so weak. But he ignored it, he only had time for his objective. He dragged himself forward again, this time a little further. The floor was smooth, but the friction on his chest still burned. He dragged himself again, willing himself to the door. Each increment was so small he wondered if he was actually getting anywhere. But it did get closer, and after minutes of effort he managed to touch the door. It was his first victory. He pushed against the door, testing it. The door didn’t budge.
“Is it locked?” Nathan thought in a panic. He hadn’t expected that. If it was, he was screwed. He looked up at the door, wondering if he had been foolish, or unobservant. The door had a cylindrical metal handle, but no obvious signs of a lock.
“I have to get up and try it,” he said. He looked around for something to help, and noticed a bench near the door. It was lower than the door handle height, which would help. He took a deep breath and prepared himself. Then he reached up, grasping desperately for the bench. He couldn’t reach it from his position on the ground. Nathan grunted then rested. He would need another step in-between.
So Nathan leaned on the door instead, and used his hands to slowly prop himself up into a seated position, hands back to the door. He was sweating profusely, but he managed. With his right hand he pulled the drip closer. Next he turned his attention back to the bench.
With his improved vantage point he was closer, but he could see that he would need an additional boost. Which seemed possible, but he’d only get one try. He didn’t trust his body. He calmed himself once more and started reeling his legs in. He bent his knees and got into the foetal position.
“This is it,” he whispered, then shot up. He put more pressure on his left leg, hoping it would compensate. It wobbled and strained but held and Nathan got his hands on the bench long enough to shift his stance and lean against it. He had achieved a delicate equilibrium, and was in a semi standing position. It had been harder than he realised, but he felt stronger from the attempt.
After giving himself a minute to recover, he wheeled the drip around with his free hand, then reached for the door handle. This was the key moment, which would potentially determine his fate. He grasped the handle firmly and started turning counter-clockwise. The handle moved slowly, not giving anything away. But it kept turning and with a bit of a pull from Nathan it opened.
The cold air outside his room chilled him. His room wasn’t particularly warm or cold, so the sensation surprised him. The next thing he noticed was the silence. He associated hospitals with hustle and bustle and activity. It felt like a tomb out there. Alarmed, he stumbled over to the doorway and leaned against it, to get a view of the corridor. It was well-lit but empty. There were no signs of life. He looked left and right, and all he could see was corridor.
There were what looked like rooms, but the doors were nondescript and looked unused. Looking closer they looked old and forgotten. He turned and looked at his door. It was the same as all the rest, but with one difference. There was a sign on the door.
“What’s that?” Nathan thought to himself. But the momentary confusion lead to dread. He was somewhere isolated and by himself. The sign on his door helped the staff find him, the one patient in what must be a deserted ward. The reporter would never see him, even if she talked to every one of Robin’s patients. The strength drained from his limbs, and he started to sway. But then a fierce determination flared up within him.
“They mustn’t know that I know,” he said with defiance. He staggered back to the bench and closed the door. Standing upright, the distance to his bed didn’t seem as far as it had on the ground. He made for the bed, the drip stand threatening to run away from him and his feet conspiring against him. But he stayed upright long enough to grab the metal bars on the side of the bed. From there he shimmied across carefully until he could sit on the bed. It was actually a relief climbing back into bed.
But he wasn’t finished. He had to reattach the probes, which was tough work and he was already exhausted. The beeping of the machines subsided, and he fell into a deep sleep.
He heard a noise nearby and opened his eyes. A nurse was next to him, pressing buttons on the machines and noting down numbers. Nathan acknowledged it and closed his eyes again. When he opened them again the room was full. There were six doctors crowding around him. One of the doctors, a tall man with white hair and glasses noticed that Nathan was awake and addressed him.
“Nathaniel how are you feeling?” he said. The rest of the doctors fell silent and waited for the response.
“Yeah alright, a bit tired. What’s going on here?”
“We noticed some inconsistencies in your vitals.”
“Ok. Seems like there’s an awful lot of doctors here.”
“Well yes, we were conferring on possible causes.”
“Oh well, I’m not sure if
it means anything, but I turned suddenly and some of my probes came off. It took me a while to put them back on,” Nathan explained. That set off a furore of discussion. The same doctor addressed Nathan again.
“If that’s the case, why didn’t you call the nurse?”
“Well they’re so slow responding most of the time, I thought I’d try and fix it myself.”
“I see. That would explain the readings,” the doctor said. His colleagues nodded along. They conferred amongst themselves and then left. Only the white haired doctor remained. He remained quiet while a nurse entered the room, checked and adjusted the probes attached to Nathan, and also left without saying a word.
“Please don’t adjust your probes in the future. We take your wellbeing very seriously Nathaniel,” the doctor said.
“Yeah I can see that. I’m hidden away,” Nathan thought to himself.
“Well I’m glad I have you looking after me doctor...” Nathan said with a pause, prompting the doctor for his name.
“Sterling. I must be off, take care,” he said and then promptly left the room. And like that Nathan was alone again. But it felt different now. He wasn’t sure if it was because the room had just been full, or because he knew that he was well and truly alone. Everything started to make sense in this new context. The way that Robin acted, the fact that nurses took so long to see him. He was special in some way, and was not just treated differently, he was placed out of sight.
His plan of finding another patient was now impossible. He needed a way to communicate without leaving his room. Nathan turned on his television and switched his brain off. A game show called Word Boggler came on and he quickly changed the channel. He had to not think for a while.
8
The Remaining Thirteen
Elizabeth worked until she had finished a good draft of the interview. She printed it double spaced, stapled the top left corner and left it on George’s desk.
“George will freak, I never turn in stories the same day,” she thought with a laugh. But it had been interesting work, and she needed a mental break from the hospital. Her brain just kept turning it over and over, and it frustrated her. The message had been clear, but she hadn’t managed to find the sender. Her gut said that she wouldn’t find the person in the ward she had been searching. But she didn’t want to admit that, because then she would have no leads. Either way, she had to eliminate the obvious. And that meant visiting the rest of the patients.
Elizabeth drove home and made herself a quick dinner of spaghetti Bolognese. She found an opened bottle of red wine, and poured herself a glass.
“Better not let it go to waste,” she said to herself. After dinner she stretched out on the couch and watched the television. The mental break was a relief, but she got bored quickly.
She was watching a show where people had to guess letters and attempt to solve a word puzzle. It was called Word Boggler. After all her writing and transcribing it was the last thing she wanted to watch. She had worked enough with words for one day. She changed the channel and let the clever wit and dialogue of an action movie wash over her. That was better.
The next morning when Elizabeth arrived at work she headed straight to George’s desk. She wanted to see the reaction on his face.
“Elizabeth, just the person I wanted to see,” George said without looking up.
“It always creeps me out how you can do that.”
“It’s a learned skill, gotta listen out for who is skulking around the newsroom. Every person has their own distinct walk, you just need to pay attention. Believe me it was a lot harder back when we had typewriters. Couldn’t hear a damn thing.”
“So I take it you read the story?”
“Yeah it’s good. We’ll make a celebrity reporter out of you yet.”
“You’re joking.”
“Yep, you got me. It’s a nice feature piece but too in-depth for anything else. Readers want more sex and scandal in their celebrity news.”
“But you’ll take it?”
“Yeah I’ll run it on the weekend, maybe the Sunday edition. I’ve got something else for you to look at,” George said, still not looking at Elizabeth. He pointed at a stack of papers on the end of his desk. Elizabeth walked over and picked them up, leafing through the pages.
“Careful, there’s two piles in there. One is reader submissions for story ideas. I figured you earned your pick after covering so well.”
“Thanks George. I’m sure there’s some amazing stories in there.”
“Yeah amazing is the right word. Or is it unbelievable? Anyway trawl away. Don’t forget to run it by me first. The other pile in there is stuff that needs editing. I’m swamped.”
“You want me to edit them? How and for what?”
“Just obvious errors, and write a summary for me. I don’t have time to go through everything in detail.”
“Yeah sure. I’ll tackle that today.”
“That’s what I want to hear. Thanks Elizabeth,” George said with a wave, his eyes still focused on another document. Elizabeth sighed and hauled the pile of paper over to her desk.
She decided to work through as much as she could in the morning, and then pop over to see Dean in the afternoon. She glanced at the first paper on the pile.
TERRORISTS TO BLOW UP COMMUTER TRAIN
“What the?” Elizabeth said to herself, and then took a closer look. Then she realised that it was a tip from a reader. She wondered if this pile was stuff that George had already discarded as useless.
“Oh well, there will be something good,” Elizabeth thought, putting the tantalising tip off to the side and moving the rest of the similar pages with it. She was left with a pile of double spaced printed pages, neatly stapled in the top left corner just as George liked it. Before starting she grabbed her water bottle, filled it and then sat down at her desk.
“Here we go,” Elizabeth said under her breath. She turned on her critical mind, the one she used to check her work before serving it up to George. She did two passes over the story, the first looking for spelling and grammar issues and the second reviewing it for factual errors and other potentially problematic parts. She marked up the errors and a dodgy passage, and left a comment at the bottom for George.
“One down, five million to go!” thought Elizabeth. She put the story aside and worked on the next one.
Many stories later, Elizabeth reached for her water bottle and it was empty. She looked at the clock and saw that it was already midday.
“Time flies when you’re not having fun right?” a voice said behind her with a chuckle. Elizabeth spun around to see who it was. She saw a tall black man with thin rimmed glasses looking at her with a knowing gaze.
“Was it that obvious Louis?” Elizabeth said.
“No, I just know the feeling. George had me doing that the other day. I think it was because you were covering for Mary.”
“Probably. You back on sports now?”
“Yeah it was only a day. You get in the zone so it’s not so bad, but it’s mind numbing work.”
“You’re not wrong. I don’t think I can finish this today.”
“You better not or you’ll get more for tomorrow I guarantee it!”
“Ha-ha I think you’re right,” Elizabeth said and smiled at Louis as he walked off. It was definitely time for a break. She decided to go lunch at the hospital, so she could use the same approach as the day before and check out more hospital rooms. Elizabeth eyed off the pile and considered handing the completed ones over to George. But Louis’ comment rung true.
“I better string these out, it will give me some flexibility,” Elizabeth thought. She left the pile undisturbed, grabbed her bag and left.
She ran over the numbers during the drive over to the hospital. There were thirteen more patients to visit. She needed a better approach, she didn’t want to spend a few more days carefully checking rooms. The lead might go cold.
Elizabeth mechanically chewed her sandwich as she continued to think over the pro
blem. She glanced at the clock and saw the time was already one o’clock.
“No time to stuff around. I’ll check a few patients on the way to see Dean and go from there,” Elizabeth thought. She threw away the rubbish from her lunch and headed through the maze of corridors that would lead her to the back entrance to Dean’s ward. She stepped through the doors, mentally checked off the rooms she had already visited and tried two more. Both had older women snoring soundly. Elizabeth shook her head and proceeded straight to Dean’s room.
“Good day to you,” Dean said as she entered.
“Hey Dean, how’s things?”
“I’m good. Looked for your interview in today’s paper but it wasn’t there.”
“Oh yeah my editor is going to run it on the weekend, probably Sunday.”
“That makes sense. Any luck on finding your mystery patient?”
“No, I still have eleven left.”
“I have an idea for you. But first I asked about that doctor yesterday.”
“Oh great. What did they say?”
“There’s nobody here called Dr Malburn. And they don’t know about any other special treatments.”
“Well I guess that’s plausible if only that doctor knows about it. What’s your gut feeling?”
“Heh you reporters and your gut feelings. I got a lot of gut feelings, but I don’t think you want to hear about ‘em. I do reckon there’s something the nurses and doctors aren’t telling me.”
“Well how about I look into the doctor for you?”
“Done, sounds like a plan. When can you report back?”
“Geez you’re starting to sound like my editor. When I get something, you’ll hear about it.”
The Secret Patient Page 6
