The Fever (7 page)

Dylan had saved her life. He'd risked being pulled into the water right along with her and the runaway chair. He had saved her. If only she could stop shaking and crying long enough to thank him.

"Thanks," she whispered, her tear-streaked face crumpling as the realization that she was safe began to sink in. 'Thanks, Dylan." Then she hid her face in her hands, her body trembling from head to toe.

The group of onlookers, uneasy with their inability to comfort her, murmured among themselves. One said in a low voice, "She needs a doctor," and turned to run up the hill.

Smith Lewis, followed closely by Amy Severn,

came running down the hill. 'What's going on?" Smith asked angrily as they arrived at the foot of the hill. "I thought I told you to stay where I put you," he began to accuse Duffy, and then realized the state she was in. 'What happened?" he asked Dylan. 'What's wrong with her? How did she get down here?"

"Take it easy, Lewis," Dylan warned, putting his hands protectively on the back of the wheelchair. "Duffy's had a really bad time. Did you check the brake on this chair before you left her?"

Smith flushed angrily. "Of course I did, Rourke. I checked it twice." His voice rose. "What happened!"

Then everyone began talking at once, a jumble of excited voices. None of it made any sense. Smith looked more confused than ever.

Duffy, her eyes glazed with shock, said numbly, "The chair ran away. It just... took off. If it hadn't been for Dylan, I'd ..." Fresh tears began to flow. "If it hadn't been for Dylan, I'd be in the lake right now." Her voice broke, "Oh, Gk)d, I came so close ..."

Smith looked stupified. "Ran away?"

"Yeah," Dylan said. "Took off. Escaped. Straight down the hill. With Duffy still in it."

"Dylan saved my life," Duffy said softly. "Can I go back to my room now, please?"

Smith's flush changed to pallor as he lifted his head to survey the steep distance the chair had covered so quickly. "You . . . you came down that hill in a wheelchair?"

"Yes, she did," Dylan answered emphatically, "and I think she should have her doctor check her out. Everyone move out of the way, please, so I can take her back inside."

"Yes," Duffy said, trying in vain to tear her gaze away from the sun-glistening lake. "Yes. I want to go back inside."

"Duffy," Smith said quietly, looking down at her with guilt-filled eyes, "I was sure I checked that brake. I'm sorry."

A fellow orderly standing by offered loyally, "Wasn't your fault, Lewis. Those brakes aren't much good. The chairs are ancient. Old Man Latham donated them years ago when he first came on the hospital board."

But Smith looked unconsoled.

Duffy wanted to tell him to forget it. But how could she, when she knew she never would. Never . . . never. That race down the hill . . . feeling so helpless, so terrified . . . she knew she would feel the harsh wind slapping against her face in nightmares for a long time to come.

I'm not dead, she thought with a sense of morbid wonder. I'm not dead . . . but I almost was. Again. For the second time in two days, I almost died.

How was that possible in a place where she had come to get well?

Duffy's doctor found no sign of physical damage, but the look on the nurse's face when she removed the thermometer from Duffy's mouth signified bad news.

**Your temperature's shot back up," she said briskly, shaking the glass tube back down to normal before replacing it in its antiseptic holder. "Small wonder, after what you've been through. The whole hospital's abuzz. Here," extending one of the tiny paper cups with pills in it, **take these and try to get some rest. Ill look in on you in a little bit."

Amy and Cynthia stayed with Dufiy until her parents and Jane arrived.

Amy's eyes were wide with shock. "Oh, Duffy," she whispered in awe when the nurse had gone, **you must have been terrified! I can't believe how lucky you were!"

Cynthia, sitting at the foot of the bed, nodded in agreement.

Duffy settled more deeply beneath the covers, hoping to still her trembling limbs. She stared at Amy. "Lucky?" she whispered. "Lucky?" She closed her eyes, trying to blot out the sight of that lake rushing closer and closer to her.

Amy turned a deep pink. 'Well, I know it was terrible, what happened to you," she stammered. **What I meant was, you didn't go into the lake. Dylan stopped you, just like Smith stopped you from stepping into the empty elevator shaft. That's what I meant by lucky."

"Amy," DufEy said, her voice quivering, **this place isn't safe for me. I have to go home, right now, before something else terrible happens to me. Ask my doctor, okay? Tell him . . . tell him it's absolutely crucial that I not spend another night in

this horrible place." Tears of fear and despair filled her eyes. "Please, Amy?"

Matching drops of saltwater trembled on Amy's own pale lashes. She couldn't speak.

"Duffy," Cynthia said, folding and refolding an edge of Duffy's yellowed blanket. "I know you've been through some really awful stuff. But it isn't the hospital's fault. The hospital isn't out to get you. You've just had a couple of accidents, that's all. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have happened to anyone."

"But it didn't." A sudden wave of nausea washed over Duffy, and her head began to ache. "It happened to me. And . . . and I just remembered . . . there was this weird noise . . . right behind me . . . just before the chair took off down the hill. I'd forgotten . . . but I remember now. This sound ..."

Amy leaned forward. "Noise? What kind of noise?"

Duffy needed to sleep. She could barely keep her eyes open. She struggled to remember what kind of noise it had been. "I'm not sure .. . like someone was tiptoeing up behind me . . . you know, the way people walk when they don't want to be heard? And then ... a little creaking noise . . . the sound those old chairs make when the brake is put on ... or . . . off." Duffy's eyes flew open. "Amy! That is the sound I heard . . . the brake being released on my chair!"

Amy and Cynthia exchanged glances.

"Duffy," Cynthia said patiently, "that's silly. I know you're upset, but you're really beginning to sound paranoid. Anyone fooling around with your chair would have been seen by the other people outside."

Duffy fought rising nausea. "Maybe not. I was at the top of the hill. Alone. Everyone else was on the slope. Why would they be watching me? Someone could have run up behind me, released the brake, and then run away."

"Duffy!" Amy exclaimed in horror. "That's crazy! Why would anyone do such a horrible thing?"

'That's ridiculous," Cynthia agreed. "It's just your fever talking. The nurse said it was up again. You have to stop this, Duffy: hating the hospital, not letting yourself feel safe here. It's keeping you from getting well. You have to relax."

Duffy made a rude sound. "Relax? Are you crazy? How can I relax?"

"Maybe what happened," Cynthia proposed calmly, "is, a student nurse came along and intended to take you inside. She released the brake, and then something caught her attention . . . another patient needing something... and she forgot she'd released the brake. I'U ask around, okay? Will that make you feel better?"

Duffy felt tears of finistration threatening again. And she realized then what felt so wrong about the way people were reacting: They were all so sure the chair's race down the hill had been an accident. How could they be so sure? How could they?

She wasn't.

Frustrated and feeling extremely ill, she muttered, "You won*t get any answers from anyone, Cynthia. Smith didn't when he asked about the sign on the elevator door. No one will admit to releasing that brake. Forget it."

Her parents arrived then. She could tell by the look on her mother's face that they had already heard about the runaway chair. Maybe now they'd take her home.

Amy gestured to Cynthia that they should leave. "We'll come back later," she told Duffy. "You'll be feeling better then."

That was Amy. Always looking on the bright side.

Was there a bright side?

The only bright side, it seemed to her, was that her parents might take her home now, agreeing that she wasn't safe here.

That idea was quickly squelched. While her parents were upset about the downhill race, they were not only convinced that it had been an '^unfortunate accident," but their total faith in Twelvetrees Community Hospital and Dr. Jonas Morgan remained unshaken. If they had a concern, it seemed to be that their very imaginative daughter might be overreacting.

"Honey, you have to calm down," her mother said. "Although," she added, "I do think someone could have stayed with you out on that slope. It's so steep."

And her father said, "Duffy, of course it was an accident. What else could it be? You wouldn't be

reacting this way if you weren't so sick."

When they had gone and DuSy was waiting for Jane to arrive, she tried to tell herself her parents were right. It had simply been an accident.

Because she couldn't think of a single thing she had ever done to anyone that would make them deliberately send her flying down a steep hill, trapped in a wheelchair. So if there was no reason, there was no plot to kill her. It had been an accident, period.

But . . . she felt the wind again ripping at her face, felt the horror of being trapped in the speeding chair, saw the icy waters of the lake approaching . . . and heard again, as clearly as if she were once again out on the top of that hill, the sound of stealthy footsteps approaching behind her, the creak of the brake being released.

Accident?

How could she be sure?

She wasn't sure of anything anymore.

Chapter 9

Duffy missed Kit fiercely. Images of the two of them exploring the woods, Kit with his ever-present camera, she with a stick in hand, played across the dingy white walls of her room. Being with Kit had always been so easy. He never demanded brilliant conversation or her complete attention, didn't get his feelings hurt if she sat down on a log and became engrossed in a book while he wandered around taking pictures, and he always seemed to understand when she was in what her mother called "one of your moods, Duffy."

Where was he now? He couldn't have reached the coast yet. She tried to picture a map of the United States in her mind. Where would Kit be by now? Didn't you have to go across the desert to reach California? What if that old rattletrap of his broke down?

A flash of anger at Kit darted through her consciousness. He should be here now. She needed him. He'd always been there before. Couldn't he have

put up with that awful uncle of his for just one more week?

Ashamed of her selfishness, a wave of nausea flooded over her.

But even when the shame eased, the nausea didn't. And her head had begun to ache, a new symptom. Was the flu finally attacking her full force?

As she struggled to pull herself to a sitting position, she noticed something odd about the ceiling light. It seemed surrounded by a frothy halo, something she had never noticed before. Were all fluorescent lights like that, or had the flu suddenly attacked her eyesight as well as her stomach and her head?

She felt much worse than she had when she had first arrived at Twelvetrees Community Hospital.

*This is not the place to come when you want to get well," she told the aide who brought her dinner. "I didn't feel this rotten when I first came in here."

**You're just having a bad day," the aide said matter-of-factly. "If I were you, I'd consider myself lucky to be alive. Smith Lewis said he couldn't believe you survived that race down the hill. And you without a scratch! It's a miracle."

That sentiment was echoed a while later by the nurse who came in to take Duffy's temperature again and dispense more pills. "You should count your blessings," she said. "Surviving such an escapade — it's incredible. You're a very lucky girl, Dorothy."

"Yeah, right," Duffy said harshly. Then she added slyly, "Since you admit I'm having a bad day, how about making it better by letting me take a shower before visiting hours? Please? Just one tiny little shower?" A shower would definitely calm her down and ease the queasiness in her stomach.

"Absolutely not!"

Duffy groaned.

"Someone would have to go with you and no one has time. And didn't you just say your stomach was upset? Why on earth would you want to get out of bed and walk all the way down the hall when you're feeling so crummy?"

"Because maybe if I had a shower, I wouldn't feel so crummy," Duffy retorted. "God, I hate this place!"

Amy and Cynthia stopped in briefly when they were collecting the dinner trays.

Duffy thought Cynthia looked beat, and said so.

**Yeah, I guess I am," Cynthia admitted. "I keep falling asleep at night when I should be studying. But no school tomorrow . . . teachers' conference, so I figured I could afford to work today. They're awfully busy here."

"I know," Duffy said grimly. 'They won't let me take a shower because they think I need a keeper and everyone's too busy to go with me. I think maybe I'll just take one, anyway."

Amy gave her a warning glance. "Duffy, honestly, why can't you just obey the rules for a change?" Sighing, she turned her attention to Cyn-

thia. "You work too hard," she said softly. **What you need is a man in your life. Someone to take you to a funny movie or out dancing, help you unwind a little."

"I don't have time to date," Cynthia said.

*Well, / do," Amy said, her mouth curving downward. "For all the good it does me." For a brief moment, her round face filled with sadness. "I thought that Dylan and I..." Then, just as quickly, her face cleared and her usual cheerful expression returned. "Oh, well, that's life, right. Duff?"

"Right." But Duffy was surprised by the momentary bleakness in Amy's face. Dylan had told everyone that his split with Amy was **mutual," meaning, Duffy thought, that they'd both decided it was time to split up. But it certainly didn't seem as if Amy was happy about the decision.

After Amy and Cynthia had taken her tray and left, Duffy began to wonder. Had Dylan been lying about his breakup with Amy? Maybe to protect her from embarrassment? That was the kind of thing Dylan would do. He didn't like hurting people. But Amy seemed hurt, anyway.