Dead Girl Walking (10 page)

Chadwick Rockingham, Jr. wore that puzzled look again, but now it was mixed with a cocky grin that spread into adorable dimples when I asked him to drive. I bet Leah never let him drive. He suggested we go to our “usual place,” but I could guess what usually happened in their “usual place,” so I shook my head.

“That’s not a good idea. I’m … um … still kind of weak.”

“Where do you want to go?” He slipped into the driver’s seat and started up the engine. “If you’re hungry, we could get something at the Club.”

The Club? As in the Courtyard Country Club. Only elite and wealthy people were members. I’d imagined lunching there with my clients some day.

I shook my head regretfully. “I’m not hungry.”

“So where do you want to hang? We can’t go to my house ’cause my brother has his geek friends over making some dumb school project, and I know they annoy you.”

I shrugged, afraid of saying something wrong. But with my real body lying in a coma, I had to take a risk. “Let’s go to the hospital.”

“Huh? You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m serious. I need to go to the hospital.”

“But you just got out.”

“Not that hospital.”

His rubbed his chin, clearly puzzled. “Babe, you’re confusing me. What’s up?”

“I need to see someone at Community Central.”

“Who?”

“A family friend,” I invented. “It’s really important I see her … before it’s too late.”

“Intenseness.” He slowed the car at a yield sign, glancing over at me. “She must be really sick.”

“You have no idea.” I sank against the leather seat, exhausted and scared. My entire life (and Leah’s) hinged on getting to the hospital.

He shrugged. “Hey, whatever you want works for me. On to the hospital.”

“Oh, thanks!”

“You’ll be thanking me all right,” he added with a wink. “But that’ll be afterwards when we go to our place.”

“Um … okay,” I agreed. Not my problem. By then I’d be myself again and Leah could take care of Chad in their “usual” way.

I leaned back into my seat, falling into fatigue and closing my eyes as Chad talked. It was easy to listen to him, as he had a way of talking that made even boring topics like golf sound exciting. His idol was Tiger Woods, and he was being groomed by a professional coach and already competing in golf tournaments.

“This tournament will be my first televised one, and first place is fifty big ones. Just wait, babe, I’m turning pro.”

“Cool.” We turned on Mercy Avenue, a few blocks from Community Central. I tensed, clawing the leather seat. Getting closer. One more turn and we’d enter the hospital parking lot. But what would I find there?

Best scenario:
I rush into a hospital room where my family and friends are gathered around my body. “I’m back!” I shout. Even though I look different, they recognize me. A magical switcheroo happens and I leave Leah’s body and wake up instantly in my body. Leah returns, too, and she’s be so grateful that she offers eternal friendship and promises of music-industry connections.

Worst scenario:
I rush into a room where my family and friends huddle together, crying over my lifeless body. The doctors have pulled the plug, and Amber Borden was pronounced dead.

Not gonna happen
, I assured myself. I’d think positive, just like all my books advised, and have my happy ending.

As we pulled into the parking lot, my stomach knotted. I glanced down, startled again to see Leah’s pale slender fingers clenched in my lap. We held each other’s hands, unified in this soul-reversing mission.

“You okay?” Chad asked when he killed the engine.

“I’m working on it.”

“Hospitals suck,” he said, frowning. “You sure you want to go in there?”

“It’s something I have to do.” I unfastened my seatbelt.

“Then go for it. I’ll wait here.”

My courage faltered a little. “Won’t you come with me?”

“Sorry, Babe, but hospitals smell so … I don’t know … antiseptic. When my Uncle Sid was dying, all I could think of was how the room smelled. Uncle Sid was not a sweet-smelling guy, always cracking jokes about his farts or blowing smoke rings. But being in that hospital room was weird … too clean smelling … like he was already dead.”

“I understand how you feel. This isn’t easy for me,” I admitted.

“So don’t go.”

“Or you could go with me.”

“What’s the point? I don’t even know your friend.”

“But you … I mean, she might know you.”

“Lots of people know me cause of school and stuff. Doesn’t mean I know them or want to.”

“You might be surprised. You could wait in the lobby.”

“Or not. I’ll be here when you’re done.” He reached into his pocket and flipped open his cell phone. “I got some calls to make.”

Thanks for nothing,
I thought angrily.

Grabbing Leah’s purse, I slammed out of the car. Being angry made it easier to put aside my fears. I didn’t know whether I’d find my body alive or dead, or if my own family would know me. But at least I knew the layout of this hospital. My sisters had been born here and were so small they had to stay two more months. Funny, how I’d resented their interrupting my life, then.

Now I’d give anything to see them again, hold their warm chubby bodies and tickle their little feet until they giggled. Did they realize I was gone and miss me? Or had they forgotten I existed?

Despite still being weak, I hurried up the steps and through the automatic doors. The main desk was obscured behind a long line of people waiting their turn. Everyone looked anxious and frustrated, except a security guard dozing against the wall by the bank of elevators.

Now what? I wondered. If I went in line, it would take an hour or more to reach the front desk. So how was I going to find my room?

Glancing down at Leah’s purse, I had an idea. Sure enough, inside the purse was a pretty pink monogrammed wallet with ninety-eight dollars in cash plus a generous selection of credit cards. Fanning out the credit cards, I picked a shiny gold MasterCard. Then I went into the gift shop and ordered their biggest, most extravagant floral basket for Amber Borden. How ironic that my first gift of flowers was coming from myself.

“Please deliver them right away,” I added as I forged Leah’s name on the credit slip.

Then I pretended to leave, but ducked around a pillar. I hid my face behind a magazine as I waited in a hard plastic lobby chair.

I was beginning to think the gift shop would never deliver the flowers when I saw a girl my age, wearing a candy striper uniform, carrying my basket toward the elevators.

The security guard, a skinny guy wearing an oversized uniform, roused from his half-slumber. He eyed the pretty candy striper, a flirty smile brightening his face as his pale hand snaked out to punch the elevator button.

My magazine slapped to the floor as I jumped up and dashed toward them. The elevator dinged its arrival, and I dove inside a second before the doors slid shut.

There were only two of us in the elevator, but Ms. Candy Striper didn’t notice me since her face was blocked by the enormous bouquet. I followed the flowers and Ms. Candy Striper off at the third floor. At the Intensive Care Unit, she slipped through a glass door marked “Restricted Area. Immediate Family Only.”

Well, family definitely included me. So I pushed through the glass doors.

The world hushed to soft voices and a low buzz of machines. The smell of flowers was replaced with antiseptic odors and something darker: an aura of despair, hopes dying.

I passed a waiting room with two couches, several orange plastic chairs, a TV with a darkened screen, and blinds shut over two windows. Fears and prayers weighed heavily in the air and breaths were held, hoping. I held in my breath, too, anxiously looking for Mom, Dad, Dustin or Alyce. But I knew no one.

Hurrying down the corridor, I caught sight of the flowers as they turned a corner. My attitude was casual, like I belonged here, and no one noticed me. When the girl stopped at a desk, I ducked behind a corner wall, eavesdropping.

“Delivery for Borden in Room 311.”

“You can’t go in that room,” a thirty-something guy wearing scrubs said as he came up beside her. He reached for the flowers. “But I can take them for you.”

“Will you?” She dimpled. “That’s so sweet.”

“Smells nice. Too bad the patient can’t enjoy them.”

“That’s too bad.” The candy striper lit up as she checked the guy out. Even in loose scrubs, you could tell he had a mega-hard body. Instantly Ms. Candy Striper lost her boredom. “Are you a doctor?”

“An intern.”

“Cool. So what’s wrong with—” She checked the paper. “—Amber Borden?”

“Car accident, severe head trauma.” His mouth frowned, but his eyes shone with interest as he checked Ms. Candy Striper out. Apparently he liked what he saw, because he didn’t rush away. “Poor kid was only seventeen.”

Was?
I thought, rigid with fear.
As in past tense?

“So terribly young,” the girl replied in a tone clearly meant to let him know she was old enough for anything he had in mind.

“She’s been in a coma since Saturday.”

“Will she wake up?”

He shook his head gravely. “It’s just a matter of time.”

“That’s horrible!” Miss Candy Striper’s hand fluttered to her ample chest. The intern’s gaze followed and lingered. “Her family must be devastated.”

“Yes, they just left. Her parents and friends have been here every day.” He leaned in for a closer look at her cleavage. “Nice of you to be concerned for a stranger.”

“I can’t help but care about people, even if I don’t know them.” Her tone implied an intimate hope to know him better. “My ex-boyfriend hated my volunteering here. But it was the best way I could think of to help other people. He’d complained that I should spend all my time waiting on him.”

“What a jerk.”

“Yeah. That’s why I dumped him.”

“Good for you. You’re better off without him.”

“Yeah, he was all into himself. I can’t imagine not caring about unfortunate people like that poor girl in there.”

I followed her gaze into the room, but I couldn’t see anything except part of a white curtain around a bed and the electric glow of machines. I wished they’d stop talking and leave so I could sneak inside the room. It was hell to be so close, yet unable to even see my own body.

“It’s tragic,” the intern went on. “She’d just won a scholarship and had her whole life ahead of her. After I finish my rounds, I can tell you more if you’re interested.”

“Oh. I am.”

He glanced at his watch. “My break’s in a half an hour. Want to meet in the cafeteria?”

“Would I! But my break isn’t for an hour.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

Ms. Candy Striper moved toward the elevators and I bent my knees, ready to make a run for Room 311. But she only took a few steps and then stopped, turning back, her expression curious. “I was just wondering … ?”

“Yeah?” he asked.

“You said it was just a matter of time for that girl.” She pointed to my room. “How much time?”

“Until the heart transplant recipient is ready.” He frowned. “Two days.”