"Getting sleepy?" she said.
The boy's head rolled from side to side on the pillow.
A response. The first sign he had given that he understood. Holly kept her voice gentle. "I'll just sit here for a while, then. If you feel like talking, fine. If not, that's fine too."
The boy's eyes never left her. Holly thought she could see his body relax, just a little, under the hospital sheet and blanket. She picked up a magazine from the bedside table and pretended to read. She did not leave until she was sure the boy was asleep.
CHAPTER
THREE
During the next three days Holly spent many hours at the boy's bedside. She could not coax him to speak, but his face brightened when she came into the room, and she was cheered by the small sign of recognition. They watched television together and listened to music. Holly talked about whatever came into her mind, and read to the boy from the books and magazines in the hospital's library.
On the morning of the third day the administration chief of staff met her outside the boy's room. Dr. Dennis Qualen was a soft-faced man with steely gray hair. He was always careful about his diction, as though he was being recorded.
"So, Dr. Lang, how is it going?"
"We're making progress."
"Really?"
"That sounds like you have doubts."
"No, no. Perhaps our definitions of progress differ. I've read the reports and can find no indication that there is anything wrong with the boy."
"Nothing physical."
"Exactly. Which leaves us with mental illness."
"Let's say psychological trauma."
"Terminology aside, have you considered turning the boy's case over to someone better equipped than we to handle him?"
"Who did you have in mind?"
"The State Youth Authority, for instance."
"That's for juvenile criminals."
"I understand from Sheriff Ramsay that there is a very good chance this boy might fit into that category."
"There is no evidence of that."
"Perhaps not, but I must consider the best course for the hospital."
"And I have to consider the patient. Listen, Doctor, I've seen cases like this before - loss of the power of speech due to some psychic trauma. If you give me another week, I'm sure I can show you marked improvement."
"A week is out of the question."
"Doctor, believe me, I can help this boy if I'm just given the time."
Dr. Qualen fingered the medical school emblem on his tie clasp. "You may have two days."
"I could do much more in a week."
"Two days. After that the boy will be turned over to the Youth Authority. I cannot take a chance on him becoming violent."
Without waiting for further discussion, Dr. Qualen spun and marched away down the hallway. Holly suppressed an urge to give him the finger. She went into the boy's room.
He was sitting up waiting for her.
"Hi," she said. "Sleep well?" She looked over at the vertical window. It was cranked open three inches to the tough mesh screen outside. "Fresh air always helps me sleep. But then, I guess you've had all the fresh air you want for a while."
Holly pulled her chair over to the bed and sat down. "I want you to do something for me today. I want you to think about the time you spent out there. No, don't turn away from me. It's important now that you think about it. Then maybe we can talk."
Before she could go any further, Dr. Wayne Pastory sailed into the room. He wore his white jacket over a pale yellow Izod Lacoste shirt. He touched the glossy black hair he was so proud of, which he wore combed straight back in a style of the past.
"Well, well, well, so this is the wild boy I've been hearing about. How are we doing, fella?"
Holly glared at him. She did not like anything about Wayne Pastory. With his sharp features and bright little eyes and the quick way he moved, he reminded her of a weasel. She didn't like his reputation either. He had been kicked out of a genetic research project at Stanford for faking the results of an experiment. No charges had been made, but Pastory's name had gone on an informal medical blacklist.
He walked over to the bed and reached down. The boy shied away from his hand.
"What's the matter, son? I just want to check your pulse."
"His pulse is normal, Doctor," Holly said, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. "So are his temperature and blood pressure. It's all on the chart."
"Good. If you'll stand by, I'd like to look him over."
"I am not a nurse," Holly said, spacing her words carefully.
Pastory studied her, his mouth quirked in a private smile. "Sorry, Doctor. I meant that you and I would make the examination together, of course."
"The examination has been completed."
Pastory stroked the end of the gold cross pen that peeked out of his jacket pocket. "Aren't you being overprotective of this patient, Doctor?"
"I don't think so."
"Have you given any thought to what we have here?"
"What we have is a boy who's been through a terrifying experience. A boy who could use some rest and quiet."
"What we have," Pastory went on, ignoring her, "just might be the first survivor from Drago."
"There's no reason to assume he's from Drago," Holly said. But over Pastory's shoulder she saw the little muscles tighten around the boy's mouth.
"But the possibility does exist," Pastory said. "And think what this could mean to us if he is one of the Drago people. No one really knows what happened there. If we were to produce a flesh-and-blood survivor... the opportunities would be limitless."
"You're thinking of taking him on the Johnny Carson show?"
"Of course not. I'm speaking strictly of the importance to medical research."
"Doctor, this is just a lost, frightened boy."
"Maybe, but I read the report of the deputies who brought him in. They mentioned some facial peculiarities."
"Take a look at him," Holly said. "Do you see anything peculiar?"
They both looked down at the boy in the bed.
Holly felt a sudden chill. Did the hair grow a fraction lower on the boy's forehead than a moment ago? And his eyebrows... she did not remember them being so heavy. And was there a new hardening around his mouth? She looked away for an instant, then back at the boy. The impressions faded. She must not let Pastory plant suggestions in her mind.
Pastory leaned down over the bed. "I don't know," he said slowly. "There's... something."
"He's tired," Holly said. "I think you'd better leave us."
"Are you in charge here, Doctor?"
"Until I'm told differently."
For a moment the two faced each other. Pastory was the first to look away. "I'll be back," he said.
With a last searching look at the boy, he left the room.
Holly turned back to the bed. What was it she had found strange about his face a moment ago? He looked normal enough now. Just a poor confused boy.
The hopeful mood in which Holly had begun the day was dissipated by the encounters with Qualen and Pastory. The boy had withdrawn once again, and she was sitting at his bedside feeling discouraged when Gavin Ramsay stopped by.
"Got time to talk?"
Holly glanced at the boy, who had fallen into a light sleep. "Aren't you supposed to read me my rights or something?"
"Hey, I'm just trying to be sociable."
"Were you being sociable when you told Dennis Qualen we had a dangerous criminal here?"
"He's the chief of staff; he's entitled to know what I'm doing here. However, that's not quite the way I put it to him."