Instead he cringed. She also noticed that, side-lit from the hallway, his normally youthful skin looked puffy in the shadows.
He must really have had a hard day, she thought, after they'd said good night.
She next awoke to the sound of running feet and the wobble of fast-turning wheels that she immediately recognized, and dreaded.
Another one unprepared to die.
As much as she wanted to see Donny again, she'd signed the DNR form when the nurses first presented it to her. Otherwise, when her time came, they might resuscitate her, and she'd have to meet death twice or more. Once would be enough, thank you very much.
She lay there, listening to the whump of the paddles as they delivered their shocks of electricity and the hushed, clipped voices of the team as they called it, then the telltale quiet.
Rarely they'd rush back out of the ward, pushing the bed, pumping breath into a ghastly-faced man or woman who would then linger on tubes, IVs, and a respirator in what must be a living purgatory. More commonly, the team quietly returned downstairs with their cart, and it would be the sobs of the family, if there were any present, that broke the stillness. Afterward the staff would lead them away, green-shrouded figures escorting the family members slowly in a ghostly procession. Finally, the sheeted form would be wheeled out.
The thought of herself eventually ending up in a refrigerated morgue with a lot of other corpses gave Sadie the creeps, and she tried not to think about it.
Outside her window a rind of gray light had eaten into the night sky along the eastern horizon. She turned to her bed table and did what she always did when the resuscitation team came calling: marked a tiny cross on her calendar and said a prayer for the victim, however the body left the floor.
Chapter 7
Monday, July 7, 12:35 p.m.
The roof garden, St. Paul's Hospital
I leaned back on the chair and pretended to enjoy the heat of the noonday sun on my face. But fear had become my cancer. Always present, it ate away at me day and night.
There were moments when I forgot. Awakening from sleep, I could still surface to the promise of a new day with a peace of mind that belonged to the time before I'd killed. Then the memories would sweep through me, and I would sink beneath the weight of my secret, knowing I could never escape its chains, never redeem myself. But as soon as I started to play my part, I would be okay.
Until I thought of Earl Garnet being on my trail.
Like all good physicians, he had an obsessive nature when it came to solving clinical problems. But if he sensed something wrong- lab mistakes, errors in judgment, incompetent technique- watch out. It was almost as if he took screw-ups like that personally. He was forever lecturing about how they caused avoidable injuries that the culprits could have prevented, and just about everyone at St. Paul's knew he would consider such failures a betrayal of those who had entrusted their lives to his domain in ER. I don't think he consciously aggrandized himself with that way of thinking. It was more an attitude that he'd be damned if anything would go wrong on his watch. None of that bothered me as long as he'd confined himself and his scrutiny to his own department. But now that he'd expanded his territory…
Panic at the thought of capture spread through me like rot. And for the millionth time I silently railed at having been fool enough to think I could get away with it, that I'd be so clever and outsmart them all.
But I'd had this plan, this technique, my ability to wall off what I didn't want to be or feel, I would remind myself. I'd perfected it trying to separate me from her pain, her scars. Except back then I'd learned it too late- I hadn't gotten the barricades up in time to keep her anger from becoming mine. But now, with the trick down pat, I had a cloak to wrap around myself between murders and make me invisible, an entity able to move about like a ghost. Or to paraphrase the philosopher, I don't think, therefore I am not. If Garnet or anyone else ever did realize that a killer had been at work, they'd be after someone who'd vanished, ceased to exist. At least that was what I told myself until I lapsed and thought about what I'd done, like now.
A slow, cold chill shuddered through me despite the heat and extra clothing, and I broke into a clammy sweat.
Shit! If only I'd never started. Or quit at the first death. No one would have known. But instead I pushed on, certain that Algreave had been a fluke, that I could still pull the rest through their sessions. Now I'd no choice but to continue, just to stay clear of the living death of being buried in a prison cell forever or, worse, awaiting execution.
Through half-closed eyes I watched Garnet lounging in a seat nearby, and a surge of resentment grabbed me by the throat. Leave it to old Goody Two-shoes Earl, making this into a roof garden for staff and patients. Rumor had it that he'd arranged for the greenery to be on permanent loan, or at least until the snow flew in the fall. What a fucking god he'd become around here!
My bitterness toward him and his good works surprised me. But why should it? After all, I'd condemned myself to seeing him across a moral divide, the man's inherent decency a luxury I would never again enjoy. Little wonder I envied and hated him for it.
The warmth of my mask and gown grew sweltering, my skin hot and sticky. Nevertheless, I stayed put, glancing around the rest of the area.
A gaunt-eyed woman whose few remaining wisps of hair floated on the breeze like gossamer sat nearby in a wheelchair parked under one of the potted trees. Perfect place for her, I thought.
From a distance of ten yards I could make out the telltale red stripe on her wristband that Palliative Care attached to signal a DNR case. She also had the necessary IV, probably because chemo or radiotherapy had left her unable to drink and eat adequately. Yet she didn't seem gorked. Now and then a nurse or orderly paused to say hello and chat for a while.
That's the kind I would have to select from now on. People who still had their marbles, but for whom there'd be no code when the nurses found them after I'd finished the session. I could no longer allow my subjects to survive and spread tales of near-death experiences. They might recall one detail too many and give me away. At least DNRs meant there'd be no resuscitation team to raise suspicious questions about too many people dying before their time. I doubted their doctors would raise questions either. That would entail an admission their prognoses had been wrong. Or maybe they'd be so grateful for the empty beds they wouldn't entertain many second thoughts about how they had become available.
I continued to study her.
At one point I overheard a snatch of a person's greeting.
"Hello, Sadie…"
I'd need at least a dozen more subjects. Out of them I might get a couple of usable tapes- so many had turned out garbled. But added to the few other good ones I'd managed to record, that could finally be enough to convince everyone. Just the same, the added risks of being discovered scared me shitless. I still had no idea whom I'd seen prowling around Friday night or why the person had been there. No telling when that one might show up again. And since Garnet had decided to stick his nose into the business of that ward, he posed the biggest obstacle of all to my pulling off more undetected sessions.
So how would I get around him?
Until now Palliative Care had been a place where no one thought twice when a person died. Doctors hardly ever ordered autopsies, and family, in their heart of hearts, were secretly relieved at their loved one's passing. In other words, my perfect hunting ground.