He left us alone in the basement.
“What was that stuff about making sure your dad knows and it’s taken care of?” I asked.
“Part of the custodial network,” Spoon explained in a whisper. “But I’m sworn to secrecy.”
Whatever. Spoon timed the five minutes on his watch. Then he led us out of the basement. When we got to the first floor, Ema asked, “Now what?”
Spoon considered this. “We need to find a computer terminal.”
This wasn’t easy. The first floor was mostly administrative offices, but they were all either occupied or with someone nearby. It wasn’t as though we could walk in and start using one.
“Maybe we should go to the fifth floor of the pediatric wing,” Spoon suggested.
Sounded like a plan. Not much of one, but I wasn’t sure what else we could do here. We took the elevator up, made a left, then a right, and entered the pediatric wing. The contrast was somewhat startling. The main part of the hospital was decorated in drab beiges and grays, which fit the mood. The pediatric wing was in bright colors, like one of those kiddie party places or a particularly cheery preschool classroom.
I understood the goal, but something about it came across as fake-as a lie even. This was a hospital. The kids in here were sick. You couldn’t mask that with bright colors.
You also couldn’t mask the smell. Sure, they had some heavy cherry air freshener, but underneath that, you could still smell, well, hospital. I hated that smell.
We started down the corridor. Most of the doors to the patient rooms were closed. When a door was opened, we tried to peek in, but you really couldn’t see enough to tell who was inside.
“This is pointless,” Ema said.
I agreed.
“We need to get hold of a computer,” Spoon said.
But I could see that it wasn’t going to happen. All the terminals were in plain view with strict security on them. There were all kinds of password and ID features too, trying to protect patient privacy.
This wasn’t going to be easy.
We kept walking. One of the nurses eyed us. We must have made some sight. I was dressed normally enough, I guess, with blue jeans and a sweatshirt. Ema was all in black, pasty makeup, silver jewelry, a plethora of tattoos. Dr. Spoon was, well, you know.
“What are we looking for?” Ema whispered to me.
I didn’t have a clue, so we kept walking.
There was a big art project, I guessed, going on. Every door had a different little-kid drawing on it. Some doors had five or six. There were drawings of elephants and tigers and assorted animals. There were drawings of castles and mountains and trees. The ones that moved me were the drawings of a house-always rectangular with a triangle roof-complete with a stick-figure family on the green lawn. There was always a bright sun in the corner with a smiley face.
Whoever drew those, I surmised, missed their homes and families.
I was looking at the drawings, my eyes skipping from door to door, when I saw something that made me freeze.
Ema looked at my face and said, “What’s wrong?”
For a moment, I just stared at the door. Ema slowly turned and followed my gaze. A gasp escaped her lips.
This door had only one drawing on it. There was only one subject. There was no background, no trees or high mountains, no stick-figure family or smiling sun in the corner.
There was only a butterfly.
“What the…?” Ema turned back to me.
There was no question about it. It was the same butterfly as I’d seen at Bat Lady’s, at my father’s grave, in one of Ema’s tattoos. The Tisiphone Abeona. Except, for some reason, the eyes were purple.
I suddenly felt a deep chill.
“Mickey?”
I didn’t know what to say.
“I don’t get it,” Ema said.
“Neither do I, but we have to find a way into that room.”
The door was right by the nurses’ station in the Intensive Care Unit. It was, in short, under constant watch. I looked around and figured, what the heck. I might as well try the direct route.
“You two wait out of sight,” I said.
“What’s your plan?” Ema asked.
“I’m going to just walk in the door.”
Ema made a face.
“It’s worth a shot,” I said.
Ema and Spoon moved to the end of the corridor where no one could see them. I walked casually toward the butterfly door. I was Mr. Relaxed, Mr. Cool. I almost started whistling, that’s how nonchalant I was about the whole thing.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
The nurse stared at me, her arms crossed. She frowned like that librarian who doesn’t believe your story about why you’re returning the book late.
“Oh, hi,” I said, pointing at the door. “I’m visiting my friend.”
“Not in that room you’re not. Who are you?”
“Wait,” I said, dramatically snapping my fingers and then hitting myself on the side of the head. “Is this the fifth floor? I’m supposed to be on six. Sorry.”
Before the nurse could say another word, I hurried away. I met up with Ema and Spoon down the corridor.
Ema said, “Wow, you’re smooth.”
“Do we need sarcasm right now?”
“Need? No. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy a little.”
“Maybe,” Spoon said, “I can go in, what with my clever disguise and all. I can just pretend I’m a doctor.”
Ema said, “Spoon, that’s a great idea.”
I looked at her, confused.
“Well, it’s a great idea,” Ema said. “But let’s make a few adjustments.”
CHAPTER 11
The nurses’ station was in the middle of two corridors. There were rooms on both sides of the station. Three minutes after my attempt to enter the butterfly room, Spoon sprinted up the opposite corner to the nurse who had stopped me from entering.
“Nurse! I need a crash cart, stat!”
“Huh?”
“Stat,” Spoon said. “It means quickly.”
“I know what it means but-”
“Nurse, do you know the origin of the term? Stat is actually short for statim, which is the Latin term for ‘immediately.’”
The nurse squinted at him. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
Another frown.
“Okay, I’m fourteen. But I’m one of those genius kids you read about.”
“Uh-huh. And how come your scrubs have ‘Dr. Feelgood’ embroidered on the pocket?”
“That’s my name! Do you have a problem with it?” He arched an eyebrow. “By the way, you’re very attractive.”
“Excuse me?”
“We doctors always hit on the nurses, didn’t you know that? I bet you’re very flattered right now.” Spoon flexed an arm with about as much thickness and tone as washed-up seaweed. “Do you want to feel my muscle?”
Two more nurses stepped over. “Is this kid giving you trouble?” one asked.
“That’s Dr. Kid to you, Nurse.” Again he arched an eyebrow. “By the way, you’re very attractive.”
I was right near the butterfly door now. All eyes were trained on Spoon. I was just about to reach for the door when one of the nurses, maybe sensing something, started turning back toward me.
Oh, this wasn’t good.
I was going to duck… but what good would that do? I was right out in the open. The nurse’s eyes were almost on me when Ema shouted, “Kevin! Where are you? Kevin!”
The nurse swiveled her head back toward the voice as Ema hurried over to Spoon.
Time to move.
I opened the door with the butterfly on it and stepped into the dark. As the door closed behind me, I heard Ema going on, “Kevin, you were supposed to stay in the psych ward. I’m so sorry, this is my brother and he wandered off. I’ll take it from here…”
Her voice-all voices-fell away as the door closed behind me.
I was turning toward the bed when I heard someone say, “Mickey? How did you get in here?”
There, sitting up in the bed, was Rachel.