Better in the Dark (18 page)

“I know.” She thought of Mark and Peter Justin and was suddenly very angry. “This bright idea they had. I hope they’re the ones who get the cancer and the diphtheria and the cholera and the tetanus and the polio. I want them to know what they’ve done. Not intellectually, but feel what disease does to the body, watch themselves die...” She stopped, feeling the horror, horror for herself.

“Nat,” Lisa said softly after a moment, “I don’t mean this the way it sounds, but maybe you better talk to Radick.” She hurried on. “I don’t mean it that way, Nat. But it’s too hard to carry all that alone.”

Slowly Natalie cooled her anger. She said to Lisa, “I know what you mean. And you’re right.”

Harry watched the patient, puzzled. The child couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve, a slight boy with delicate features. He shivered as Harry touched him. “Are you cold?” Harry asked.

“Some,” the boy said.

Harry touched the boy again, and felt the skin hot and dry under his fingers. He could tell that the boy had a low-grade fever, but why? What was giving it to him? “How are you feeling generally?” Harry asked.

“Rotten. They’s why I came here. I wouldn’t$rsquo;ve come here otherwise.”

“Do you have an appetite?” Harry felt those familiar prickings that told him the boy was seriously ill. But the disease must be an elusive one, because he could not find a lead on it.

“Not much.”

“How long have you felt badly?” Harry checked the pulse, which was a little fast, but not seriously so.

“Couple of days.”

While he shook down a thermometer, Harry said, “You said you felt rotten: what do you mean? Is it because of your loss of appetite?”

“My gut’s fine,” the boy snapped, his sullen eyes on Harry’s thermometer. “I get dizzy sometimes, and I have a headache.” Harry put the thermometer in the boy’s mouth, saying, “I’m glad you told me.” He did not know what he had been told, but the persistent air of distrust worried him, and he wanted to break through the boy’s hostility, and perhaps discover what was wrong with him. As he studied the boy covertly he toyed with the idea of having Ernest look him over. In the last few days Harry’s respect for the chiropractor had grown. Headaches, dizziness, might respond to Ernest’s expertise.

“Well?” the boy said when Harry took the thermometer from his mouth.

Harry finished recording it before he said, “Moderate. One hundred and three-fifths.” Harry had been surprised. He had thought that the fever would be lower. He frowned. “Can we keep you here overnight?” he asked.

“No,” the boy said, too quickly. “I got to get home, man.”

“It would be better if we had some time to observe you. I don’t like the thought of you walking around with a fever.” Harry tapped the boy’s shoulder. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“None of your business. You fix me up. That’s all I want from you.” He pulled the examination gown around himself protectively. “I don’t have to tell you nothing.”

Harry nodded. “All right. Will you tell me where you live, so that one of the doctors can check on you tomorrow?” He saw the hostility in the boy’s young eyes, and went on, “I know you don’t like doctors, but I think you should let us see you again. What you have might be catching, and before you expose your friends to whatever you’ve got, I’d like the chance to try to cure you, or at least find out what’s wrong.”

The boy’s gaze wavered. “Catching? What makes you think this is catching.”

“Most diseases are. And we are in the middle of an epidemic.”

“That’s a bunch of bull!” The boy spat.

Harry stopped. “What is?”

“That epidemic. There ain’t an epidemic. They’re killing kids, that’s what’s going on. So don’t talk epidemic to me, you bastard.” The boy had flushed darkly, and when his outburst was over, he retreated into surliness.

“Who told you that, about killing kids?” Harry asked, deeply concerned.

“I heard it.”

Harry tried again, leaning toward the boy, his face intent. “Can you tell me who? Look, I admit that kids are dying from diseases they shouldn’t die from. We’ve seen too many of them to doubt that. But it doesn’t mean that you’re the only targets, or that you aren’t really sick. Do you understand that? You have some kind of disease. If you don’t let us treat you, you may get much worse, and you may give it to your friends. I don’t think you want to do that. So please, tell me who thinks kids are being killed.”

The boy gave him a poisonous look.

“It’s very important,” Harry said persuasively. “Don’t you see, we can work together. And perhaps we can stop the worst of the outbreak before it happens.”

“You doctors are all alike,” the boy said, very worldly and tired. “You always think you can sling the bull and we’ll go along with it because we’re scared to die. Holy, holy, holy. I know what asses you are. I’m not gonna help you wipe us out.” He swung off the examination table. “Can I get dressed now?”

Harry felt very helpless. “Certainly.” He made one last try. “Will you at least promise me that you’ll let us take blood and urine samples so that if there is anything seriously wrong with you, we’ll have a chance to find out what? We need to know what you have if we’re going to make this easier for you. And if you don’t care about yourself, think about the others. Please.” He did not know if he had made any headway with the boy. He waited, feeling fear.

The boy shrugged. “Can’t hurt to leave you a little piss. You can put it on the flowers.” He giggled. “You can take some blood out of my finger, but you aren’t putting needles in me. That’s how you’re killing us. Tris...” He stopped. “We know about that way.”

“Thank you.” Harry schooled his face to show no surprise. Tris. He and Jim had been talking about Tristam. Was there really such a person? Was he the one they had to deal with? “Stop at the table at the end of the hall, and the nurse will tell you what to do.”

The boy looked at him. “What if I
am
sick? What then?”

“We’ll try to make you well, if you give us a chance. If you don’t feel any better, come back in five days, okay? You’ll know by then if you’re going to get well on your own.”

The boy gave him a measured stare. “Okay. Five days.” He went behind the screen to dress.

“Well, what is it?” Harry asked Natalie as she bent over a microscope. It was very late, but the Van Dreyter house was still full of light, and the line of patients had not diminished.

Natalie shook her head and concentrated on the slide. “I don’t know.” She leaned back and passed one hand over her eyes. “Maybe I’m just too tired. I should be able to figure it out.”

“Well, what does it look like, then?” Harry demanded, feeling anxious, and hating to admit he was frightened.

“A little like polio, but it isn’t quite the same. I wish we had a real lab. Then we could find out very fast.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m not thinking very clearly, Harry. You might want to get one of the others to look at this. Or do it yourself.” She stood back from the table and let Harry peer into the microscope.

“I see what you mean,” he said in a few minutes. “Maybe he’s got a mild case because he’s partially immune.” He didn’t believe that, but he could not find a better explanation.

“I don’t know, Harry.” She moved away from the table, and as she did, she noticed her hands were shaking. “I’ve got a bad feeling about that, Harry. Don’t ask me what it is, or to explain it, because I can’t. But I have that feeling. I wish I didn’t.”

Harry was too familiar with hunches to doubt hers. “Any idea what?”

“No.” She breathed deeply.“I’m going to have to knock off, Harry. I’ve been doing lab work for the last ten hours, and I’m too tired. I’m not thinking clearly. I’d better quit now.” She shook her head slowly as she studied the walls. “You know, I never thought that much about the color of walls, but I think I’d go crazy if I had to work in a red room all the time. It’s too much.”

Harry glanced at the walls, with their fine Chinese red finish. “I see what you mean. Are you going up to bed, then?”

“Yeah. I have to be on the floor by seven in the morning. And there’s all that information to give Dave before he goes on house calls. I’m not sure he should do rounds by himself, Harry. What time is it?”

Harry glanced at his watch. “Eleven thirty-five, more or less. Make sure you take a hot bath; it’ll get rid of the sore muscles.”

She nodded. “I never used to think about this kind of work. All we had to do was plug in a support unit or run a test through a computer, and it was all done. But here, it’s all our own doing. I miss that computer, Harry.” She pulled her smock off. “When will you be up?”

“Not for quite a while. I’m on night call until Roger relieves me at three.” He looked across the room at her. “You’re doing fine, Natalie.”

“Sure.” She managed a wan smile. “Thanks.”

Dave Lillijanthal was dressed at his most jaunty as he prepared to leave on morning house calls. He patted Natalie’s shoulder, oblivious to the annoyed glare she gave him. “Don’t worry, Nat. I’ll do all the things I’m supposed to. I’ll dispense pills and country wisdom and bedside charm like no one you ever saw.”

“Dave, stop joking. We’ve got people out there dying and they need your help. This isn’t like Westbank. You don’t have the computers to back you up, or take over when you want your lunch. Show a little compassion, will you?”

He chortled. “Whatever you say, Nat. Anything your heart desires.” He reached across the table and filled his cup a second time. “I’m really glad Carol brought along her coffee. It beats hell out of the substitutes.”

Natalie opened her last folder. “Now, this woman...” She stopped, then went on in another tone. “Dave, are you listening?”

“Sure.”

“This woman has a history of gastric ulcers, and if she shows any symptoms, any symptoms at all, you must call Peter Justin and get him to take her in. She’s not in any condition to risk staying out of the hospital, no matter how many diseases are taking up beds. She’s the sort who’ll try not to upset you, so you’ll have to be careful. Make sure she isn’t in pain, and make sure she tells you the truth. Bring her back here if you have to.”

“Worry, worry, worry.” Dave made an airy gesture as she stood up. “You don’t have to bother that pretty red head of yours over me,” he said as he touched her hair. “Look, you know they aren’t going to keep this disease thing up much longer. They can’t. It’s crazy. So we’ll do our job marking time, and in form.” He drank the last of the coffee.

“Another couple of weeks and we’ll be out of here, and we’ll be home free. I’ve been thinking about teaching. I’d like to teach. It’s not as much of a hassle.”

Natalie frowned. “Dave, I wish you wouldn’t talk that way.” She handed him the folders and watched him tuck them under his arm. “We’re in very serious trouble. We’re dealing with too many dead people.”

He laughed. “Right. But trouble never bothers me, Natalie, especially when it’s someone else’s.” He strode over to the door. “See? I’m getting out of here before seven. I’ll be back by teatime. Around four.” He blew her a kiss and closed the door.

T
HE GRANDFATHER CLOCK IN THE FOYER
had struck quarter after seven when the police arrived. Amanda opened the door for them, worried that perhaps their tenure at the Van Dreyter house was at an end. “Yes, gentlemen?” she said, none of her fear in her voice or her manner. “What is it?”