Before I Wake (17 page)

RN Pauline Welsh woke up with a sudden jolt, almost tumbling to the floor, her heart pounding the way it did whenever she had a falling dream. She wiped the drool from her face with the back of her hand. On TV, someone was selling a new diet supplement. She looked at the luminous dial of her wristwatch.

She’d missed her four a.m. patient check.

No big deal, she thought as she pushed herself from her stuffed, vinyl-covered chair. Unless he’d peed in the tank. Then she’d have to drain it and start over.

That was the one good thing about working nights. Nobody around to squeal on you when you made a mistake.

Pauline never got in a hurry. Hurrying didn’t help when you were a nurse. Hurrying got you into trouble.

She wasn’t crazy about the night shift. Some people loved it, but they were introverts. Took a special kind of person to work nights.

Pauline opened the heavy tank room door, and flipped on the overhead lights.

Her feet hurt. Her back hurt. At her age, a body couldn’t recharge when it worked nights and slept days. People weren’t meant to be awake at night.

She reached for the locks.

They weren’t latched.
Did I forget…?

That’s when she noticed the IV drip—shut off, the needle on the floor.

Water. Pooled around her feet. Squishing under the soles of her shoes.

Her heart began to hammer, and the heartburn and indigestion that had been dogging her for the last several hours intensified.

She lifted the tank lid.

Empty.

He was gone.

Pauline had never lost a patient. Well, she’d had patients
die
, but she’d never
lost
one.

She looked frantically around the room, and checked the adjoining bathroom. Then she hurried up the hall.

He couldn’t have gone far. He had to be nearby. Had to be in the building. If not, she was in deep poop, as her dead honey used to say.

Dr. Phillip Harris’s phone rang, waking him from a restless sleep.

It was one of his assistants, his voice frantic. “Harley Larson is gone.”

Harris pushed himself up in bed. “What do you mean, gone?” Beside him, his wife stirred and turned on the bedside lamp, her face sleepy and concerned.

“The night nurse went to check on him, and he wasn’t in the tank.”

Harris’s first thought was to call the police to report Larson missing, but how did you report someone missing who wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place?

He could figure this out. He always figured it out.

“It doesn’t look as if he got loose by himself,” the assistant said. “The service door was broken into.”

Harris had heard that MO before, and he had a good idea who was behind the break-in and Larson’s disappearance.

“I want you to check on Arden Davis,” Harris said. “Also the student test subjects. Report back to me as soon as you know anything.”

He hung up.

Breaking and entering. Possible kidnapping. That would work, but did he want to involve the police?

“What is it, honey?” his wife asked.

“Just some inept people making stupid mistakes.”

“Are you sure he’s really asleep?” Eli asked over his shoulder. “Are you sure he’s not dead? I mean, the guy hasn’t moved.”

They were heading north, with no immediate plan other than to put distance between themselves and the Hill.

Arden reached over the seat to the back of the station wagon, where Harley was curled up in Eli’s sleeping bag. She put a hand close to his nose and mouth. “He’s breathing.”

There was a weird feeling in the car. A tension full of questions that couldn’t be answered. Since leaving the Hill, no one had offered any theories. They hadn’t talked about what had possibly been going on with Harley, and what had happened to Noah. They focused on the road. But now that the sun was up, marking the start of a new day, the mood inside the car was becoming restless.

“We’re going to have to get gas,” Eli said.

Arden looked over the seat. “You have plenty.”

“Gauge doesn’t work.” He tapped the glass. “It always says half a tank.”

“I need a bathroom,” Franny said. “And a map. We need a map.”

They stopped in the next town—a sleepy little burg with three gas stations clustered on the perimeter, competing for business.

Harley slept through the gassing up.

They took turns staying with him while the bathroom was hit, a key attached to a hubcap passed among them. Eli squeegeed the front window; Franny purchased water and a few snacks. Arden paid at the counter.

Heading out of town, they spotted a farm store with a high percentage of trucks in the parking lot. Which meant that even though it was early morning, the place was open for business.

Everyone waited in the car while Arden hurried inside to buy clothes for Harley.

Jeans. Underwear. Long-sleeved T-shirt. Sneakers. Sweatshirt.

She paid in cash, the purchase seriously depleting what little money she had.

Back in the car, Harley stirred. His eyes were still closed, but he was letting out deep sighs and struggling to turn over in a space that wasn’t big enough. Suddenly, he sat up, head and shoulders hunched in the cramped space. He unzipped the sleeping bag, kicking and worming his way free. “I gotta piss.”

Eli drove behind the store to an area littered with fence panels and farm equipment like bale feeders. He pulled to a stop, jumped out, and opened the back door, which was hinged on the top, affording easy access.

Harley staggered out and without pause began peeing on a metal calf feeder. While he was occupied, Arden opened the packet of boxer shorts and removed the labels from the jeans.

“Put these on,” she told him when he swung around to get back in the car.

He dropped his hospital pants.

Franny let out a choked laugh and covered her mouth.

Harley was still unsteady on his feet. With Eli’s help, he got into the boxer shorts and jeans. That was followed by the long-sleeved T-shirt, then the sweatshirt.

She’d forgotten socks.

The shoes were a little snug, but he managed to stuff his bare feet into them.

“I’m starving,” he announced once the change of clothing was complete. “Anybody else hungry?”

Eli, Arden, and Franny looked at each other in relief. He was speaking in complete sentences. He was making sense.

“I have some granola bars.” Franny held up three different packages, fanning them out like cards. “And water.”

“I want real food. Bacon. Eggs. Coffee.” Harley rubbed his hands together. “Doesn’t that sound good? Man, that sounds good.”

They decided to wait until the next town before stopping. Just in case anyone had witnessed Harley’s public urination and striptease.

There were times when the anonymity of a chain restaurant—a chain anything—was best. People came. People went. Nobody noticed as employees and customers moved through the drudgery of a sameness that never changed.

Harley was too hungry to hold out for that kind of place.

They stopped at a little restaurant a few miles off Highway
77
north, in the middle of nowhere. Ten miles to the nearest town in every direction. The building was square, and constructed of cement block. The way it sat right on the two-lane gave you the impression it had once been a gas station.

“Let’s try to keep a low profile,” Arden said.

A bell above the door jingled, announcing their arrival.

They didn’t need a bell. All eyes were on them before the bell ever made a sound. Everybody had watched from the window as they’d gotten out of the car. As they’d made their way across the gravel parking lot, past the semis loaded with cattle, and the flatbeds with hay.

The coffee shop was hardly bigger than a large living room, with windows on three sides, kitchen in the back, tables shoved close together.

As soon as they stepped in, Arden knew it was a mistake. She opened her mouth to say something about this not being a gas station and they’d better leave, when Harley plopped into the first empty seat he came to.

The rest of them followed with less enthusiasm.

The place had an uncomfortable vibe. Not threatening. The people now trying
not
to stare were curious about strangers because they saw so few. Stepping into the breakfast grill was similar to walking into a stranger’s kitchen and sitting down.

What are you doing here? You don’t belong here.

A
waitress brought them plastic-covered menus and water in scratched and chipped plastic cups. Harley downed his glass of water.

The waitress was young, probably in high school, wearing a lot of makeup, tight pants, bare abdomen, and a tiny shirt. She was nervous. She seemed afraid of them and resentful of their presence.

No school today? Arden wondered. Was it Saturday? Sunday? She had no idea. No idea at all.

Harley looked rough. His hair was tangled and clumped, his beard dusted with salt residue.

Eli and Franny would have come across better, except their eyes were bloodshot, their hair unkempt, their clothes wrinkled from spending time on the Hill in backpacks and duffel bags. Arden was sure she looked just as bad.

She felt like a fugitive. But they hadn’t done anything wrong. They weren’t doing anything wrong.

Conversation had stopped when they’d stepped through the door. Now it gradually picked up, with talk of livestock and corn prices drifting their way.

They ordered.

After the waitress retrieved the menus, Harley stared across the table at Arden. He had a weird expression on his face. Kind of a bemused pride.

She gave him an encouraging smile.

He was getting stronger by the second. She didn’t want to push him, but she had a lot of questions to ask.

“I knew you’d come,” Harley said. His voice was deep and sounded like sandpaper. He probably hadn’t spoken in days.

Maybe longer.

The meal arrived and he dove in. He practically inhaled the eggs, bacon, and toast. Guzzled the orange juice.

“Would you like a pancake?” Franny offered. “I can’t eat all of these.”

He forked a pancake off her plate, then drowned it in maple syrup. By the time he was finished, he had egg yolk and syrup stuck to his beard.

Arden dipped her napkin into the water glass, squeezed out the excess, and offered the napkin to Harley.

Everyone was watching them again.

Now that he’d been fed, Harley could feel their eyes on him. “What are they looking at?”

Arden ignored his question, hoping to redirect his attention with the wet napkin she was still offering.

Harley looked at Eli, who shrugged. He looked at Franny, who quickly lowered her gaze. He looked at the group of men seated at a nearby table. “What?” he demanded, half rising from his seat.