Unspeakable (50 page)

Actually, that wasn't entirely true. Last week, a couple of teenagers had snuck past the nursing staff and the guard to steal a peek at him. Security was getting lax now that he wasn't on the news so much anymore. Besides, the police knew he couldn't exactly get up and walk out of there. Andy guessed the two boys who had snuck into his room were about the same age he and Wade had been when they'd killed all those people. These two brats had barely gotten a foot past the doorway. “Oh, shit, gag me,” one of them had whispered.

He hadn't seen himself in a mirror since the fire. He'd been curious about the severity of his burns and the swelling, but not after that. Seeing the horrified looks on the faces of those two boys had been enough for Andy. He'd tried to yell, “Get the hell out of here!” But it had just come out as loud garbled gibberish. The two little bastards had laughed and scurried down the hospital corridor.

“You have a visitor,” the skinny, young Latino nurse announced, strolling into the room. She wore purple scrubs—along with her mask, bonnet, and gloves. She was one of the few staff-members who didn't glare at him all the time. He wondered if she was pretty.

Andy tried to ask if the visitor was his grandson, but as usual, the words didn't come out right.

“It's your sister-in-law, Grace Freeman,” she said, fluffing his pillow a bit.

Dee's older sister hadn't visited in over two weeks. He grumbled an affirmative. The nurse put a straw to his mouth so he could have some water. She fussed with his bedsheets, and then she hurried out of the room.

A few moments later, he heard her going through the drill with Grace: “Please do not touch the patient—even with your gloves. Keep your mask on at all times. If you feel like you have to sneeze or cough, please leave the room. . . .”

“Yes, I know all about it,” he heard her reply. But it didn't sound like Grace.

His visitor stepped into the room. Even with the mask and bonnet obscuring her face and hair, Andy could clearly see the thin, older woman wasn't his sister-in-law. “Hello again, Andy,” she said.

The nurse disappeared down the hall.

Andy tried to ask “Who are you?” But it came out all muddled.

“I can tell you're in a lot of pain,” she said. “I know you are. I know exactly how you feel.” She stepped up to his bedside. From her eyes, he could tell she was older than him. With her gloved hand, she reached down and moved the cord that held the call button. She pulled it over to the far side of the nightstand, where he couldn't reach it. Andy let out a moan of protest.

“You don't know who I am, do you?” she asked. She tugged at her mask and lowered it under her chin.

Andy still didn't recognize her. He tried to shake his head, but it hurt too much. He moaned even louder. He didn't want her breathing on him—what with the risk of infection.

She stared down at him. “I'm Irene Pollack,” she said steadily. “And this is for my family, you son of a bitch.”

She spit in his face.

Stunned, Andy didn't make a sound. As the spittle slid down his swollen, red-blistered cheeks, he watched her turn away.

He figured she'd waited fifty years to do that.

Mrs. Pollack glanced back at him for a second. She didn't say another word. She just took a deep breath and headed out the door.