Boar Island (41 page)

“Where is the infant care observation room?” Denise asked.

“Second floor, between the nurses’ station and the stairs. Why? Denise, tell me what you’re going to do.” Paulette was demanding. That was new. Though she’d wanted her sister to show a little spunk, Denise didn’t like it.

“Nothing scary,” Denise said. “Tying off a few loose ends.”

“Do I have to do anything?” Paulette asked. “I wouldn’t like to do anything that would be against doctors’ orders or hospital policy.”

Denise stifled a sigh of exasperation. This part would soon be over. From then on it would be smooth sailing. “Not a thing,” she assured her sister. “All you have to do is stay near the nurses’ station where you will be on camera for an hour or so.”

“I can’t just hang around. People will wonder. I have work to do,” Paulette whined.

Whined.

Denise couldn’t believe it. They were on the cusp of their new life, with all the things they’d always wanted, and her twin—her twin, for Christ’s sake—was whining about what people might think.

“Just stay there, or go to the ER, or find an excuse to go to the main entrance foyer. All that matters is that you stay on camera so you can prove where you were.”

“What are you going to do?” Paulette asked again. Tears welled up in her eyes, green and glowing in the light of the dashboard, lending them the sinister effect of eyeballs floating in a poison soup.

“I’m going to save a life,” Denise said. “Don’t forget to wedge open the door.” She handed Paulette an old flip-flop she’d purloined from Paulette’s closet. Planning was everything. Rushing was an invitation to disaster. Too bad one seldom got a choice.

She waited until Paulette was back inside the building, then waited five more minutes to give her time to reach the nurses’ station. Having squirmed into the sterile yellow paper jacket, Denise used the lighted mirror on the back of the sun visor to tuck all of her hair beneath the hairnet—a white paper cap—then put the face mask on, securing the straps firmly behind her ears and pulling the cap down until not so much as a lobe showed.

She’d overthought this portion of the plan. Cameras wouldn’t matter. The fact that she was identical to Candy Striper Paulette Duffy wouldn’t matter. The sterile gear hid her identity far better than the Lone Ranger’s mask hid his. Surgical gloves finished her preparations. She let herself out of the Volvo, beeped it locked, and walked toward the back door of the hospital.

Denise retrieved the flip-flop Paulette had used to keep the door from closing, tossed it into the Dumpster, and slipped inside. The fire escape stairs were as expected: metal treads, pipe hand-railing, concrete floor and walls and ceiling, no windows, dim lighting, and devoid of human life. Like most people, nurses avoided physical effort in even its most modest guises. Moving quietly, she climbed to the second floor. Opening the heavy metal door an inch, Denise peeked out.

Nothing but a long hallway with doors to either side. Some were open, the light from televisions and reading lamps spilling out along with the desultory murmur of TV shows. A nurse carrying a tray with half a dozen miniature paper cups, the kind hospitals put meds in, walked past the semicircular desk where two other nurses sat, eyes on computer monitors. As far as Denise could see, Paulette had been telling the truth. There were no cameras at either end of the hallway, just a single round black eye pointing at the space in front of the desk. Halfway between the fire stairs and the nurses’ station, just as Paulette had said, was a large window beside a glass door.

The observation room.

For no apparent reason, Denise’s foot shot out, smacking into the door with a hollow thud. The nurse with the tray of pills stopped. She looked back over her shoulder as if she’d heard. Holding her breath, Denise waited, afraid to move the door even the half inch it would take to close it. Finally the woman shrugged and went about her business.

No worry, no worry, Denise chanted silently. Hospitals had to be full of things that went bump in the night. Bedpans falling, patients banging on their bed rails, doctors dropping wads of cash on the polished floors, interns fornicating in broom closets. Maybe that was only on television; still, hospitals had to have noises.

No worry.

Denise stood stock-still until her breathing slowed, then silently closed the door and began to ascend the steps. Between the second and the third floors was a smell of cigarette smoke. Midstride, she halted. A nurse or doctor too lazy to walk down to the parking lot might have stepped into the fire stairs for a quick puff. Denise waited for the sound of an inhalation, a butt hitting the floor, a door opening or closing. Nothing.

The smoke smelled stale. Maybe it was from earlier, even a day or more earlier. Cat piss had nothing on cigarette smoke when it came to the staying power of the odor. That was a habit Paulette was going to have to break.

Denise did a quick peek around the bend in the stair. No smoking gun. She crept up to the third floor and opened the door a crack for surveillance.

The door closest to the fire escape, from where Denise watched, had a square metal plate with the number 311 on it in black numerals. If the numbers followed the rule of even on one side and odd on the other, 307 would be four doors down and to the right.

The hallway was empty. Denise’s fingers scampered over her face and head, reassuring her that the mask and hairnet were in place. They were. Forcing herself not to walk too fast or too slow, Denise went down the hall, noting the numbers on the doors. Room 307 was where it was supposed to be. No light showed from the little rectangular window in the door. Peeking in, Denise could see it was a private room. This was good. Retirement was making her stupid; she hadn’t thought what she’d do if it was a double. It wasn’t. This was a sign this was meant to happen.

In the single bed was a woman-sized lump limned by the pink of a nightlight. Between the woman and the door was a low crib bed. In it was an infant lying on its belly, a hand no bigger than a quarter spread like a starfish on its cheek. Denise took a deep breath, stepped briskly in, gathered up the infant, turned, and stepped briskly out.

“Point of no return,” she whispered as she carried the baby toward the stairs.

The new mom hadn’t woken. The child didn’t scream.

All good. All signs this was meant to happen.

FORTY-SEVEN

Heath’s burns had been dressed, and, as Anna had surmised, they weren’t severe. There was bruising of her lower limbs, and a hairline fracture of her left shin. Both her palms were skinned and one finger broken. Given the night’s events, all of them had gotten off lightly.

Anna should have taken her leave after the reassuring results of Heath’s exam were delivered, but she’d stayed on, feeling a sense of comfort in the company of Heath, Elizabeth, and Gwen. When she’d been younger—like last week—she’d craved solitude and silence, the peace of wide open spaces and infinite sky. Now the small room, crowded with people she cared about, all alive, all warm, fed, and sheltered, wrapped comfortingly around her like a soft blanket.

A loud click announcing the opening of the door startled Anna’s eyes open. She had dozed off in the chair beside Heath’s bed. A nurse in pale green scrubs stuck her head in. Maybe a hospital shift change; Anna hadn’t seen this woman before. She was in her fifties with small, brown, very bright eyes in a narrow lined face. Frowning, she glanced around the room.

“What is it?” Gwen asked.

“Nothing, not a thing,” the nurse said. “Sorry to bother you.” She pulled her head back and closed the door softly.

“Odd,” Gwen said.

“She probably can’t remember where she left her last patient,” Elizabeth said. “That or visiting hours are over.”

“Visiting hours have been over for a while,” Heath said.

“Then why—” E began. Heath raised her eyebrows and tilted her head toward Gwen. “Right,” E said. “It’s who you know.

“I’ve been thinking, it’s going to be weird seeing Tiff,” E said after a moment. “After us getting her mom arrested and what not, I don’t think we can really be friends anymore. I mean, how would that work?”

“It probably wouldn’t,” Anna said. “Too much blood under the bridge.”

“Too bad,” Heath said. “Tiffany is a nice girl. None of this is her fault or,” she said, looking pointedly at her daughter, “yours.”

“I know,” E said. “Even though I know it, it feels like I could have done
something
.”

No one argued with her. Anna felt as if there must have been something she could have done or seen or sensed that would have kept things from going as far as they had. Only the fact that Elizabeth wasn’t in ICU, blinded with severe acid burns to her face, kept her from dwelling on what might have been.

“What will happen to Mrs. Edleson?” Elizabeth asked Anna.

“She’ll be charged with assault—not just attempted; the acid got on Heath. That’s a charge she’ll have to face here in Maine, I expect. It was Maine law she broke. As for the cyberbullying, I’m not sure if there are statutes in place for that in Colorado or Maine state law. It’s my guess she’ll get a slap on the wrist. Community service. I doubt she’ll do any jail time. If she does, I expect it will only be sixty days or so. If she gets a halfway decent lawyer, he will plead her out with time served and probation. Maybe an order not to go within
X
number of feet of you or your home.”

“Not fair!” E cried.

“Life is not fair,” Heath said. “Who knew?”

Gwen laughed.

Again the door to the room was opened. In hospitals no one knocks. This time it was a security guard, easily over sixty and overweight. Anna hadn’t seen any security around the building or the ER when she’d arrived. Maybe he came on for the night shift.

“’Scuse me, ladies,” he said, smiling an apology for the interruption. “I hate busting in on you like this. I just need to take a look in your bathroom.”

“Sure,” Heath said. In silence they watched him waddle to the bathroom, open the door, and look in. He did the same with the tiny closet.

“What’s going on?” Gwen asked.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” he said. “Good night.” And he was gone.

Gwen got up and smoothed down the front of her blouse. “I’m going to find out what the fuss is about. Anybody want me to bring them back anything? Coffee? Coke?”

Nobody wanted any more caffeine.

“It is getting late,” Heath said to Anna. “I think you’ve saved the world enough times today. Why don’t you go home? You look worse than I feel.”

“I’m good,” Anna said automatically.

“I’m staying,” Elizabeth said.

Anna managed a smile. Elizabeth had been attacked by the neighbor lady, shamed before her entire high school, and probably lost her best friend in the bargain, but she was happy. Her joy showed through the layers of concern she had for her mother and for Anna. By E’s lights, Walter was the handsome prince on the white horse who had slain her personal dragon. Never mind that Walter had mowed down an innocent man, and managed to lure Artie away from his post, or that her mother had taken a splash of acid meant for Elizabeth, or that Anna had smashed her shoulder and elbow all to hell taking down Terry Edleson.

The cybercreep was out of Elizabeth’s life, and a beautiful boy was in it. God was in his heaven and all was right with her world.

Anna wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Gwen popped back into the room. “Nothing to be alarmed about,” she said. “A baby has been misplaced. It will turn up. They always do.” Stifling a yawn, the older woman sank down on the foot of Heath’s bed.

“None of you need to stay any longer,” Heath said firmly. “We’re all worn out. You were snoring, Anna.”

“I don’t snore,” Anna said.

“Hah!” E snorted.

Heath rolled her eyes. “You have taught my child to snort,” she accused Anna.

“I taught myself to snort! Anyway, I don’t snort,” E insisted.

“I’m staying,” Gwen said. “Hospitals aren’t much about caring for patients anymore. They are about following doctors’ orders and medical protocols. Without an advocate, a patient gets about as much TLC as you might expect if we abandoned you under an overpass.”

“I’m staying, too,” E said.

Anna rubbed her eyes with her fists, smearing more mascara around. Nothing remained for her to do but sleep. “Okay, I’m for bed. If you need me, I’ll be at Peter and Lily’s.”

As she tried to shove herself up from the plastic chair, the shoulder of the arm that had taken a bullet during the Fox River misadventure, the one she’d used to slam Terry Edleson to the ground, locked up. Squeaking, she held herself halfway out of the chair, unable to get up, unable to lower herself back down. “Damn,” she said as Elizabeth and Gwen leapt up to help her.

Standing, she shook out her arms. “Good as new,” she said, balling her hand into a fist to prove everything was working.

“Get that shoulder X-rayed,” Gwen said.

“It’s not broken,” Anna insisted. “Just banged up.”

She had no intention of spending the rest of the night being alternately pestered and ignored by a bunch of people in scrubs. Straightening her back, she walked to the door without limping, wincing, or whimpering. Success beyond her wildest expectations. Fortunately they were on the first floor and not far from the main doors. Anna picked up her keys at the registration desk, then made it to the parking lot without scaring any children with her likeness to a zombie, or attracting unwanted attention from medical personnel.

Having unlocked the Crown Vic, she crawled into the darkness of the rear seat and closed the door. In the privacy of the cramped chamber she managed to escape from the long-tailed shirt. The Velcro straps of her borrowed Kevlar vest—E had worn hers—released with a satisfying ripping sound. Sighing, she let the thing fall to the seat beside her. Beneath the vest, her tank top was soaked with sweat.

For several minutes she sat reveling in freedom from the Kevlar and the grating fluorescent lights of the hospital. Fluorescent lights made Anna feel brittle and tired. Someday scientists would undoubtedly discover the light penetrated flesh and corroded bone matter. Rubbing the ache in her shoulder, she tried to remember whether or not she’d seen a bathtub at Peter and Lily’s. A long hot bath would be a passable stand-in for the sauna, the massage, and the husband.