"Yeah," Hannah said bitterly. "That's why someone tried to kill me last night."
David leaned over the bed, his well-tailored bulk throwing a shadow over her. He shook his head. "No one tried to kill you, dear," he said softly. "Not this time. Believe me, if someone had actually wanted you dead, you would be dead."
Something in his tone made her stomach churn. "What are you saying, David?"
"I'm saying that if I had my pick of weapons and wanted to take someone out, a.38 handgun wouldn't have been my choice. And even as few times as I've fired a gun, I'll bet I could hit something more than your shoulder at the kind of range you were hit."
"You're telling me this was some kind of accident? A driveby shooting by someone out for thrills? ust another psychotic, right?"
"I'm saying that it might have been a warning, Hannah." He was a silhouette against the room's overhead light, but she could see his eyes, gleaming down at her. She chose her reply carefully.
"If it was a warning, David, then someone has something to hide. If it was a warning, then my fantasy plot exists. You can't have it both Ways." It came to her then. She wondered how she missed it until now. "Are you part of this, David? Is that why you're here tonight, to make sure the message is delivered and I understand?"
David gave an exhalation of disgust and moved away. "You are getting paranoid," he said. "I meant a warning from God or fate or whatever. A warning that fooling around in Jokertown is stupid. Just listen to yourself, Hannah. You've gone totally around the bend on this. All I'm doing is trying to find some way to convince you, one way or the other, that it's over. Drop it, Hannah. Please. For your own safety and sanity, drop it."
"No." The quickness and vehemence of the decision surprised even Hannah. "I can't."
David was shaking his head, as if he were confronting a rebellious teenager. Then he waved his hands in disgust. "Then I give up. Have it your way, Hannah. I've tried to help you, but you won't let me." He put on his overcoat and started for the door.
"David?"
He turned.
"Take your fucking flowers with you. Give them to the Governor for me. Better yet, stick them up your ass."
"That's cute, Hannah. Very cute. Almost a great exit line, but I have a better one for you."
David smiled at her. "Goodbye, Hannah," he said, and left.
The nurse came in about an hour later. Hannah was drifting off to sleep; Quasiman was again at his post in the corner of the room, his eyes staring unfocused at some inward vision. "How are you feeling?" the nurse asked.
"About as well as I could expect, I guess. When can I get out of here?"
The nurse smiled. "Tired of the food already, eh? The doctor will be in tomorrow morning. We'll see what he says then." She went to the IV stand and checked the bag of saline. She adjusted the drip, then reached into her pocket for a large syringe. She opened one of the feed lines to the IV and inserted the needle.
"No," Quasiinan said. He'd stirred and moved silently next to the nurse. His massive hand was around her, preventing the woman from pressing down on the plunger.
"Hey!" the nurse said. "Get off me!"
"No," Quasiman repeated. "Hannah …"
"What is that?" Hannah asked the nurse.
"It's just a sedative, to help you sleep." She struggled; Quasiman kept his grip and at the same time pulled the syringe from the IV. "Tell him to let go or I'm going to have to call security."
"It's a lie, Hannah. I saw it," Quasiman said stolidly. His other hand pried her fingers from the syringe; with a cry of pain, the nurse let go. Quasiman glared at the woman, then turned to the bed. "Hannah, we can't stay here any longer."
"Go! Now!" Quasiman yelling at Croyd, the explosion just behind them … "All right," Hannah said. She threw the covers aside. Grimacing, she ripped off the tape holding the IV and slid the needle out of the vein. "You can't do that — " the nurse said in alarm as Hannah stuffed a tissue in the crook of her elbow to stop the bleeding and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
The nurse was very nearly right. The room did a lumbering waltz around Hannah and the stitches in her left shoulder screamed. Hannah gasped, then forced herself to stand. She nearly fell.
The nurse had gone to the wall and slapped a button. A red light flashed above the door and an alarm sounded distantly. Hannah started for the door and realized she wasn't going to make it.
"Hannah — " Quasiman was talking to her, one hand still holding the syringe. His arms were open wide, as if he wanted to embrace her. "Come here."
"No …" Hannah took another step toward the door. The nurse was yelling, and she heard running footsteps from outside.
"Hannah!"
She looked at him. She was sobbing now, in hurt and panic and fright. "I never let you get near me," she said.
He simply held his arms wide. Someone appeared at the door and Hannah threw herself toward Quasiman. His arms closed around her. He smelled like anyone else, his skin felt like anyone's skin, and his embrace was strong yet gentle, like a lover's.
"Now, Hannah," he said. Hannah hugged the joker tightly, one-armed.
And they were gone.
***
Dr. Finn came into the bedroom of Father Squid's apartment. The centaur looked as if he'd had a hard night at the clinic. "Insulin," he said Without preamble. "A nice heavy dose of it."
"What would have happened?" Hannah asked him.
"You'd have drifted into insulin shock. Considering that you've been shot, the resident's best bet probably would have been that the shock was due to some continuing internal blood loss they'd missed. Because of the shock and supposed loss of blood, the book response would have been to give you fluids — so the first thing they'd've done is crank your IV wide open, giving you even more insulin."
"And?"
"Convulsions. Then death." Dr. Finn sniffed. "In a busy hospital, they might never have figured it out, unless someone knew what to look for."
Hannah took a deep breath. She looked at Quasiman, sitting next to the bed. She found his hand, squeezed it. "Thank you again," she said.
"I should report this." Dr. Finns tail lashed. "It makes me sick."
Hannah shook her head. "You can't," she told him. "We don't have any evidence. None. Anyone in the hospital could put the insulin in a syringe. For all we know, the nurse may have been entirely innocent — someone else could have prepared the syringe and told her to give it to me …"
"Then what can we do?"
"Let me work. Let me figure this out. And …"
"Yes?"
"Could you leave us alone for a minute?"
Dr. Finn glanced at Quasiman. Shrugged. "Sure." With a graceful turn of his palomino body, Dr. Finn left the room. Hannah looked at Quasiman. "What's my name?" she asked.
"Hannah. I remember."
"I haven't been very nice to you. Do you remember that, too?"
"That wasn't important. I didn't write those parts down, and I never told Father."
"Quasi — " She stopped, her voice breaking. "Come here a second. Yes, that's it. Now, bend down …"
She grasped his head with her good arm. Kissed him. His lips were warm and soft, and they yielded slowly. "Why?" Quasiman asked when she released him. He remained stooped over her bed, close to her.
"I don't really know," she answered truthfully. "Just tell me that you'll remember it, okay?" She smiled at him, stroked his cheek. "I don't care if you forget the rest."
"I'll try," he said earnestly. "I'll try very hard."
***
Brandon van Renssaeler … In fact, Brandon's responsible for inviting me….