The Taint (3 page)

SIX

The hospital was settled for the night, the lights in the hallways were dimmed and the patient call board was silent. Joyce Callan walked through the building, listening.

There were only seven in-patients tonight, all in the east wing, and she passed their open doors, shining the flashlight cautiously into the rooms. All was still.

Had it been a cry that she heard?

She switched off the flashlight and turned back to the nursing station. She was jumpy, as usual. Even after four years she was unable to get used to being the only night nurse on duty, to being the only one who heard.

Pulling her dark blue sweater around her, she decided to go through the west wing. Check the empty rooms and the locked office doors along the hall. To reassure herself.

She leaned over the counter, first, and switched the call board to audio. If any of the patients needed her, she would be able to hear the bell anywhere in the hospital.

It was even darker in the deserted hall which led to the west wing. The chapel was on this hall but it was locked, the massive wood doors keeping comfort inside. She hurried along.

As she neared the corner leading to the vacant wing she heard a loud click, like a door catching. From which direction? She hesitated, then began to run toward the southwest corner, to the morgue.

There was nothing there. She stopped, reaching for the door handle, her breath caught absurdly in her throat. The metal was cool to the touch. The door was locked.

It was getting to her. She shook her head and turned away. All of the long nights, the endless dark and quiet nights.

Walking past the solarium along the south corridor, she saw something move in the enclosed courtyard, and chiding herself for her timidity, she moved carefully toward the entrance.

It was Nora.

“Nora,” Joyce whispered, coming up beside the older woman. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”

Nora Mae Samuels clutched the robe around her thin body. “Just enjoying the peace and quiet. And breathing the fresh air, if there’s no rule against it.”

Joyce smiled. It was a familiar argument. “No, but it’s cold out here, you’ll catch your death.”

“It’ll have to catch me.” Her piercing black eyes examined Joyce. “Someone died tonight.” It was not a question.

“Now, Nora . . .”

“I can feel it.” Her voice rasped, urgent. “I can smell it.”

It was true that Nora always seemed to know when someone had died, but how much was psychic, like she claimed, and how much was acute hearing, no one could tell. Joyce put an arm along the woman’s shoulders and began to guide her to the door.

“Come inside, now,” she said gently, not wanting to upset her.

Nora allowed herself to be walked back into the building, her head tilted in concentration, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

It took some doing to get her settled back in her room; all of the bedcovers had been thrown on the floor, and Joyce went to the linen room to get fresh sheets. Nora sat in a chair, looking out the window at the courtyard, not speaking as Joyce worked.

After finishing the bed, Joyce got a fresh pitcher of water and placed it on the bedside table, and brought a tiny white pill in a paper cup. She watched as Nora took the pill, and the ripple in the old woman’s throat as she swallowed.

“Good night, now,” she said, and walked to the door.

“Someone,” Nora began, and lowered her voice, “is out there.”

SEVEN

Natalie Stuart woke with a start. Something was outside the trailer; she could hear it moving. She nudged Ralph, hoping to wake him but he slept on, snoring lightly.

It rustled the leaves outside, the noise getting fainter as it moved toward the front of the trailer.

An animal? She didn’t know much about wild animals, only what she had seen on TV, and little of that was reassuring. Beasts lying in wait, preying on each other, the survival of the fittest. Vivid images of torn carcasses flooded her mind.

She swallowed hard. What if it were a bear? Those horrible stories of people being attacked, mutilated and killed. Could a bear get in? Hadn’t she heard something about a camper being demolished by a starving bear?

She nudged Ralph again, harder this time, but he just turned onto his stomach, trapping her against the wall. He wasn’t snoring now and she could hear again, clearly, the sound of it moving outside.

Melanie and Jason were asleep in the front of the trailer, in the smaller bed across from the door, tired from a full day of camping, mainly consisting of eating. Had Jason washed his hands after eating those ripe peaches? Could the bear smell him through the door?

She groaned, not meaning to, and was startled by the sound. Outside the rustling stopped.

She closed her eyes, waiting for the sound of ripping metal and the snarls of a frenzied beast. Instead, the sounds came back to where she lay. Something brushed along the side of the trailer, rocking it just slightly. Ralph slept on.

It was right outside the window at the rear of the room. She forced her eyes open, twisting carefully to get a look at the shape that menaced her. Barely perceptible, a shadow crossed from right to left.

And then, a cough. A human cough.

It was worse than she’d thought. A different type of beast, with cold steel honed to a fine edge, and the sick, perverted urges of the insane.

Miles down the mountain there was an asylum.

This was no time to panic. She could try to slip out of the bed and find the small handgun that Ralph had brought along. If nothing else, she would wake the kids and hide them in the bathroom.

She began to slip the covers down, and tried to maneuver into a sitting position. Ralph quickly spread out to take up the space she had vacated.

Outside, he passed the window once more and started to the door.

Her legs free of the blanket, she climbed over the motionless form of her husband and stepped on the cool bare floor. She prayed that the floor wouldn’t creak and tip-toed over to the built-in dresser. The top drawer always stuck, but she knew the trick to it, and lifted up while pulling out. It glided open without a sound.

She froze suddenly, trying to recall whether or not someone had locked the trailer door. She hadn’t, but one of them had, surely. If not . . .

The drawer and the gun, she reminded herself. But the solid lethal weight of the gun was not at her fingertips, no matter how hard she willed it to be.

There was no other choice, now, she realized. She had to go to the door. If it was unlocked, and he reached it before she did, there was little chance that she could escape.

She was still in the narrow hall when she heard the unmistakable sound of a footstep on the metal stairs outside the door. She could see the door at an angle from where she stood, and the interior handle with the lock beneath it.

She heard the screen door being pulled back and used the sound to cover her movements into the room. She was still two paces from the door when she saw the handle move.

She lunged forward, sliding the locking mechanism into place, falling on her knees. She could see the man’s silhouette through the frosted glass window in the door. Then he was gone.

The kids were sleeping, and Ralph was snoring. After a minute she got off the floor and went back to bed.

Friday

EIGHT

Rachel woke to the smell of coffee brewing. Nathan was up, then, and her plan to make breakfast was probably foiled. She’d heard him leave during the night so she knew he’d had less sleep than she, but here he was, up and at ’em.

She ran barefooted down the stairs and almost collided with him at the bottom. He had a tray fixed; breakfast in bed.

“Nathan!”

“I didn’t hear you moving around. I wanted to surprise you before I left for the hospital.” He motioned with the tray. “Back up those stairs and into bed.”

“You’re going to spoil me,” she protested, going back to her room.

“Only for this morning.” He waited until she was settled then placed the tray across her legs, lifting the silver covers off the dishes. Eggs over easy, bacon, wheat toast and orange juice.

“What, no coffee?”

“I want you to go back to sleep,” he said. “The coffee will keep.” He walked over to the window and pulled the shade down. His eyes rested on the unopened letters but he didn’t comment.

“What about the hospital?”

“It’ll keep as well.” He leaned over to kiss her. “I’ll be back around one and then I’ll take you on the grand tour.” With a wave he was gone.

After she finished eating she took the dishes downstairs to clean up but Nathan had anticipated her again; the kitchen was immaculate, the cooking utensils were washed and drying in the dish drainer. She washed her plate and silverware and refilled the glass with juice.

Sunlight flooded into the house and she luxuriated in its warmth, sitting in the window seat and gazing out at the morning. Nathan was right; the hospital could wait.

She fell asleep, curled up in the window seat.

When she woke again, someone was pulling into the driveway. She straightened and looked toward the grandfather clock to check the time. A little after ten. When she looked back out the window again she could see a dark blue Bronco with the golden emblem of the sheriff’s office on the door.

It was Jon.

She hurried up the stairs to throw on some clothes, her heart quickening.

“Come on,” she said to herself as she dressed, “you’re a big girl now.”

It took a great deal of self-restraint to keep from running down the stairs when the knock sounded. She did not want to be out of breath.

He was facing the other direction when she opened the door, and he turned slowly toward her, a shy smile on his face. He held his hat in one hand, a single wild rose in the other.

“Jon.” Her hand went to her mouth to hide the tremble and then she stepped toward him, feeling with great relief his arms as they went around her. When he made no move to kiss her she leaned back and pulled his head down, trying to act very matter-of-fact, but feeling thirteen again.

She was only mildly surprised when he pulled away after gently brushing her lips with his. It was very like him.

“It’s been a long time,” she said then, and moved back, taking his arm and leading him into the house.

“You look great.” He offered her the rose.

“Thank you.” She took the rose and turned. So do you, she thought. “Come in the kitchen, I’ll get a vase.”

He followed her and accepted a cup of coffee, watching with amused eyes as she searched the cupboards in vain for the vase. Finally she put it in one of her mother’s parfait glasses and sat opposite him at the table.

“So.” He smiled. “Yet another Doctor Adams in town.”

“I’m still not used to calling myself doctor,” she admitted.

“Doctor Rachel Elizabeth Adams.” He considered. “Has a nice sound to it.”

She smiled, pleased that he remembered her middle name. She sipped coffee and examined him over the rim of the cup. His black hair was beginning to gray at the temples but it suited him.

The silence between them was a comfortable one.

Later she walked him out to his truck. She wished briefly that she were a child again, so that she could touch him without having her feelings show. Instead she ran a hand along the shiny surface of the Bronco.

“This is sure a step up from that old Dodge truck you used to drive.” She turned and motioned at her own car. “I guess I’d better look for something a bit more sturdy.”

Jon tossed his hat on the truck seat and looked at her. “Don’t sell it before I have a chance to drive it . . . I’ve always wanted a Porsche.”

“Anytime.” She stuck her hands in the back pockets of her pants, her head tilted to meet his eyes.

He got into the Bronco and pulled away.

NINE

Nathan walked to the east wing nurse’s station, Wendall Tyler’s chart in his hand. Tyler had deteriorated since his admission, but there was nothing in his work-up to indicate why. Blood count and chemistry were within normal limits, the chest x-ray and skull series were both negative.

Yet the patient’s physical condition was poor; his eyes were sunken, his reflexes sluggish and his color was ashen. He was still mute. There was no way to obtain a history unless they reached the next of kin, and they’d had no luck so far.

He sat at the desk in the station and opened the chart to the nursing notes. The history and physical assessment form, filled out by Joyce on admission, was largely blank, since a large percentage of the evaluation depended on the patient’s ability to cooperate. The items that could be answered from observation duplicated the results of his own examination.

The neurological assessment was brief: the patient was able to move his extremities, his pupils were equal and reactive, and speech was absent.

He turned to the shift notes. As per his orders, Joyce had established an IV to prevent dehydration, using a twenty gauge intracath, and running a solution of five percent dextrose and water.

Vital signs were stable, taken every four hours since admission. The patient was receiving no medication.

Emma Sutter had come into the station and was digging around in a drawer, tossing forms and pads on the counter. He watched her idly, his mind still computing Tyler’s case, and then realized she was speaking to him.

“I’m sorry, Emma, what did you say?”

She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “I said, today is the big day.”

“Hm. Oh yes, you’re right. Rachel will be coming back with me after lunch.” He closed the chart and pushed it away.

“Well, none too soon, if you ask me. Maybe you’ll take a day off once in a while.” Hands on her hips, she glared at him. “You look like hell. How much sleep did you get last night?”

“Enough.”

“I doubt that.” She sat facing him, her eyes concerned. “There were times I didn’t think you’d make it until she got back.”

“But I did,” he said mildly. “I appreciate your worrying about me, but I am all right.”

Emma leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Nathan, don’t forget—I’ve known you for better than thirty years. I’ve seen the way you work yourself into the ground. You’re a doctor, you of all people should know how important it is to take care of yourself.”

He reached and patted her hand. “If you weren’t married . . .”

“And three times a grandmother . . .”

“I’d marry you.” He stood to leave, glancing at his watch.

“Ha! The day you marry!” She shook her head, smiling nonetheless.

As he passed Tyler’s room on the way out he caught a glimpse of the man. It had been barely half an hour since he had examined him, yet the degeneration was astounding. His pallor had increased and the vacant look in his eyes, even from a distance, was chilling.

Something had happened to him, something he was unable to deal with. But what? The accident report indicated that Earl Wagner had happened upon the scene just minutes after it had occurred, and had found Tyler wandering aimlessly along the road. It was doubtful that the man had seen his wife, dead in the tree. Was he searching for her along the road?

There were many questions, and so few answers.