Matt was struck dumb.
Quinn and Tim...was it possible? He'd seen them both back in August before they'd left. Tim was being Tim and Quinn seemed to be barely tolerating him. Ms. No-nonsense and the goofmeister. A lot could happen in a couple of months, but this was too much. Definitely too much.
"Not."
Tim's laugh rattled over the line. "Had you going there for a second, didn't I."
"Not for a nanosecond."
Matt was surprised at his sudden surge of relief and asked himself, How come?
Tim went on, telling him that Quinn had just left, so they talked—compared courses, teachers, test difficulty, reminisced about the Good Old Days at Dartmouth—and as they spoke, an aching void expanded slowly in Matt's chest.
When he finally hung up, after asking that Quinn give him a call when she had a moment, Matt felt more alone than ever.
He felt as if he were being left out of something. Something good.
*
Quinn hurried over to Science. She was tempted to use the side door but decided to save that for when she was running late.
Charlene was at the security desk again. Quinn flashed her badge as she approached and Charlene waved her by.
Up on fifth, Quinn tried not to look into Ward C as she passed the window but couldn't resist a glance.
The curtain was drawn shut.
Quinn intended to keep moving, but the sight of that blank beige surface brought her to an abrupt halt before the glass. She stepped closer and tried to peek around the curtain's edges but found no openings.
Frustrated, she proceeded around the corner to the nurses station. Maybe Marguerite would be there. All Quinn wanted was for someone to tell her everything was all right in Ward C. Not that she could do anything if it wasn't, but she felt linked to those seven helpless patients, in some odd way partially responsible for them.
The nurses station was deserted. Where was everybody? Wasn't anyone watching Ward C?
Behind the counter and to the left Quinn spotted a glass-windowed door. It had to open into Ward C. Why else the red and white warning sign under the glass?
AUTHORIZED STAFF ONLY
She glanced up and down the hall. Still no one in sight to ask. Shrugging, she stepped behind the nurses station to take a peek through the glass.
What could it hurt?
Yes, it was Ward C, but it looked different this time. Brighter. Instead of back-lit by daylight from the windows, the room was bathed in the fluorescent glow of the ceiling lights. Everything seemed to have a sharper edge. Otherwise, nothing had changed. The patients still numbered seven—at least no one had died—they still lay on their beds, immobile mounds of white with—
No. Not all were immobile. One patient lying on his side on a bed in the central area was moving slightly, twisting, shifting his weight, sliding his red-bandaged leg toward the edge of the bed. The red bandage on the thigh gripped Quinn's attention. Something about the way it glistened...
She gasped and pressed her face hard against the glass. That wasn't a bandage. That was blood. A patch of raw flesh, oozing red.
And then Quinn noticed that the safety rail was down on the side where the leg was moving toward the edge. The patient was trying to get out of bed. If nobody stopped him, he was going to land in a heap on the floor.
Quinn stepped back for another look up and down the hall. Still empty. She called Marguerite's name twice but no one answered. She thought of running down the hall for Dr. Emerson but that would take too long. And what could he do then that she couldn't do now?
She returned to the door. The patient's bloody leg had moved farther along—the knee was jutting over the edge of the mattress. Another thirty seconds and he'd start sliding toward the floor.
Quinn realized she couldn't wait. Setting her jaw, she pushed through the door and hurried to the bed. She caught the lower leg by the calf just as the foot fell off the edge.
"Whoops!" she said softly, smiling and putting all the reassurance she had into her expression. "You're going to fall if you're not careful."
Gently she guided the leg back onto the mattress. She averted her eyes from the bloody patch of flesh and looked into the eyes. They were blue, yes, the same eyes she had seen here over Christmas.
Quinn jumped as a loud, angry voice rang out behind her.
"What the hell do you think you're DOING?"
She whirled and found Marguerite standing not two feet away, her dark eyes wide and angry above her surgical mask.
"He—he was falling," Quinn said.
"You're not allowed in here!" the nurse cried, her shout muffled by the mask. "Can't you read?"
"Just get her out of here, Marguerite," said a sharp voice from the far side of the room behind Marguerite. "Before she does any more damage."
Quinn knew that voice: Dr. Alston's. She looked past Marguerite's shoulder and saw him standing—masked, capped, gowned, gloved—in an alcove to the left of the door Quinn had entered. He was holding something over a tray, something that looked like a pink, wet paper towel.
Quinn felt as if she'd been slapped in the face. "But I—"
"Get her out!" Dr. Alston shouted. "We'll deal with her later!"
"You heard him," Marguerite said. "Out."
Unable to speak, her cheeks afire, Quinn brushed past her and hurried for the door. What did she do that was so terrible? She'd only been trying to help.
*
Arthur Alston's face was livid as he pointed a shaking finger at Quinn Cleary.
"It will be days before we know the fall-out from your irresponsible misadventure, young lady."
Walter Emerson watched Quinn closely, curious as to how she was going to respond. She had come to him with her story nearly an hour ago, visibly upset. He had listened, calmed her down, but had given no opinion, saying only that he would be with her when she faced Arthur.
That time came soon enough. Arthur stormed into Walter's lab with that insufferable attitude of his, demanding that "the ignoramus who invaded Ward C" be brought before him. Walter had sent Alice on an early coffee break and summoned Quinn. Now he was settled back in his chair, waiting to see how she handled herself. If she had half the gumption he thought she had, she'd stand her ground.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Alston," she said. "I know I entered a restricted area, but I saw no other choice at the time."
"The sign says 'Authorized Staff Only'," Arthur said. "Can it be stated any more clearly than that?"
"No, but—"
"There are no 'buts' here, Miss Cleary. If you are to remain a lab assistant here—in fact, if you are to remain a student at this institution—you will follow the rules, or you will be out of here faster than you can blink your baby blue eyes."
Walter watched Quinn's cheeks redden. He was tempted to step in here before Arthur got out of hand, but no. He wanted to hear Quinn's response.
"I saw one of your patients in danger, Dr. Alston," she said through tight lips. "I saw his bed's safety rail down and saw him slipping over the edge of the mattress. What was I supposed to do?"
"You shouldn't have been at the door in the first place!"
"What was I supposed to do, sir?"
Very good, Walter thought. Stay polite, respectful, but keep the ball in his court.
"You should have called for a nurse," Arthur said.
"I did, sir. More than once. No one answered. What was I to do then, sir? Stand there and watch your patient hit the floor?"
"You should not have ignored the sign on the door, Miss Cleary. The health of those patients is extremely fragile. Their graft sites are highly prone to infection. We allow no one to enter Ward C unless they are wearing a surgical cap, a surgical mask, and sterile gloves. You were wearing none of those. God knows what you brought with you into that room."