“I’m nobody,” Mark said, letting go of her arm and shrugging his narrow shoulders. “Just a friend of the family.”
Ali knew that was true. He was a longtime friend of James’s family, and now a very new friend of Hal Cooper’s family, too. But he was a long damned way from being a nobody.
As Mark stepped away from Serenity and returned to his seat, Serenity caught sight of the bright red sign. “What’s this?” she demanded.
A second nurse hurried to the door to join the one who was already there. “It’s a DNR,” she said. “It means no heroic measures.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Serenity retorted. “What it really means is you’re going to let him kill her.”
Where’s Hal? Why isn’t he here? And where’s the nun? Or a nurse? Or a doctor? I need them. I need someone to punch the button. I need it. Please.
“I’m here,” Hal was saying overhead. “I’m sorry. I had to go get someone. I was afraid to push it again so soon. I was afraid I’d give you too much.”
There’s no such thing as too much, she thought. No such thing.
His face looks funny. Like he’s going to cry. He doesn’t know what to do, and that’s the thing. Hal always knows what to do. The right thing to do.
Please. I want to go away. I want to go into the fog. The fog doesn’t hurt like this. The fog doesn’t hurt.
Hal is crying. Why? Oh wait, that’s right-I know. It’s because he’s afraid he’s going to lose me. Doesn’t want to lose me, and I don’t want to lose him, either. But he knows, and I know he knows. This time when I go into the cottony cloud, I may not be coming back. I’ll fall into the dream and the dream will have me. Even now, it’s starting. I can feel it.
But then, for only a few brief moments before the morphine took hold, she had one last glimpse of clarity, and that was when she remembered some of what had happened. She couldn’t quite grasp all of it, but somehow she knew who had done this. In knowing who, she also knew why. What didn’t make sense to her was that she had forgotten. How was that possible?
She knew she needed to tell someone, but in order to do that, they would have to ask her. They would have to ask the right questions, ones she could answer with a yes or a no, with one blink or two. But not right now. She was going. The fog was coming again, and she needed it. She really needed it.
Maybe later she could tell Hal what she remembered. If she still remembered.
Before the door to Mimi Cooper’s hospital room closed completely, Ali had her phone in hand. She sent a text message to Sister Anselm:
Where are you? Hal Cooper is looking for you. Things are bad here. I think we’re losing Mimi.
Once Ali pressed Send, she sat with her phone open in her hand, waiting for a response, but none came. Sister Anselm had told them she was leaving for the hotel. If she had never arrived at the hotel, where was she? An uneasy feeling washed over Ali. Something was wrong. Sister Anselm was a woman of her word. If she said she was going there, that’s what she would do, and she most especially would not go missing in action when a dying patient needed her.
When there was no response to her text message, Ali tried calling Sister Anselm’s cell. The call went straight to voice mail. With everyone listening in, she didn’t leave a message, but the fact that Sister Anselm hadn’t answered either the text message or the voice call was even more worrisome.
Seeing Mark observing her, Ali closed her phone. “I’m going back to the hotel to see if I can locate Sister Anselm,” she said. “In case she turns up here while I’m gone, please ask her to give Cecelia a call.”
Mark nodded. “Sure thing,” he said.
Ali’s computer was still open and still plugged in. Knowing that carrying that and the heavy briefcase would slow her down, she turned to Mark again. “I’ll only be gone a few minutes. Do you mind watching this?”
“Not at all.”
Making her way through the hospital lobby, Ali was relieved to see that it was empty of media folks. The reporters and cameras had evidently moved on to the next hot story. That would change, however, once Mimi Cooper did succumb to her injuries. Then the reporters would all come surging back.
Outside on the sidewalk the early afternoon heat was appalling. Earlier in the morning, the waiting room’s droning television set had carried a local weather report. Ali seemed to remember that a smiling weatherman had reported that afternoon temperatures in the Phoenix area were expected to cross the 110-degree mark. As she hiked along the sidewalk on Camelback returning to the Ritz, Ali suspected that had already happened, and she regretted her early-morning decision to leave her Cayenne in the hotel parking lot. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Sister Anselm can walk back and forth as much as she likes, Ali told herself. When I go back this time, I’m bringing the car.
By the time Ali reached the hotel entrance, rivers of sweat were dribbling into her eyes and her head felt like it was about to explode. The wig seemed to attract and hold the heat like fake grass. Ali was tempted to peel it off and leave it in her room, but she couldn’t do that, either. She’d be going back to the burn unit eventually, and she couldn’t afford to ditch her disguise prematurely.
Once inside the hotel, she realized that afternoon tea at the Ritz was well under way. Ali paused and looked around hopefully, thinking that perhaps Sister Anselm had simply stopped off for a bit of refreshment. There was no sign of her anywhere.
Turning on her heel, Ali approached the concierge’s desk. “I’m looking for Sister Anselm,” she announced.
Frowning, the concierge gave Ali an appraising look. “Who might I say is asking?”
The mat of red hair might be hot as blue blazes, but it worked-too well at times. This very same concierge had addressed her by name yesterday as her blond self. Today, as a redhead, she was a stranger and suspect.
“I’m Ali Reynolds,” she said quickly, fumbling her hotel key out of her pocket. “Room three oh one. Sister Anselm is a friend of mine.”
“Oh, yes, Ms. Reynolds,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you, but yes, now I remember. You and Sister Anselm joined us for tea yesterday afternoon. I’m afraid she’s not here at the moment.” He glanced at his watch. “I haven’t seen her since yesterday, when she left for the hospital. Have you tried calling her room?”
“She left the hospital a while ago and said she was coming back here.”
“On foot?” the concierge asked.
Ali nodded. The concierge smiled and added, “Of course, she always walks, summer or winter. She doesn’t seem to mind. Perhaps she walked past me while I was busy with someone else. I can try calling her room, if you like.”
“Please,” Ali said.
The concierge smiled. “It’s my pleasure.”
When he dialed the room number, however, there was no answer. Ali turned from him and went to check with the front desk. No one there had seen Sister Anselm, either.
The worry that had been niggling at the edge of Ali’s consciousness blossomed into full-blown fear. Something bad had happened to Sister Anselm on her mile-long walk from the hospital back to the hotel.
Ali turned back to the concierge. “I’ll need my car right away,” she said. “I don’t have the ticket with me.”
“It’s the blue Cayenne, correct?” the concierge asked.
“Yes.”
“I’ll have them bring it around immediately.”
Ali hurried back outside to where the parking attendants waited in the shade with a cooling mist blowing down from the ceiling of the porte cochere. She turned to the uniformed attendant who seemed to be in charge. “Did you see Sister Anselm come or go a little while ago?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I did. She was just coming in the back way when a car stopped beside her. The passenger window rolled down. She spoke to someone inside the vehicle. Then she climbed inside, and they drove away.”