Indefinite Renewal Page 12

  “I don’t like this.”

  “Everything’s fine.”

  “Maybe. He’s sharp—too sharp.”

  “Nonsense! We’ve handled far better before. He’s just a boy!”

  “That ‘boy’ has a lot of his father in him. Maybe too much.”

  “You worry too much, you know that? It’s under control.”

  “So you said, but I don’t believe it. I have a bad feeling about this one.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  When he got home that night Nick went straight to the recycling bin and dug out a copy of today’s Chicago Tribune. Then he started flipping through the newspaper, looking for an article he remembered glancing past this morning. He found what he wanted in the People section: “Motivational Expert Still in Coma.” Folding the paper open to that page, he went to the fridge, pulled out a soda, and took it back to the couch to drink while he read.

  “Murray R. Williams, famed expert on motivation, is still in a coma three months after his collision with another car on the Beltway. Williams, 36, is the author of the bestseller How to Reach Your Full Potential, and the host of the nationally syndicated show You CAN Do It. He has been in stable condition since the accident, with only a fractured rib and a sprained wrist, but remains comatose and nonresponsive, with zero brainwave activity. Doctors at Chicago General, where he is being treated, are currently conferring with William’s wife and their lawyer on the advisability of turning off the life-support machines. The doctors have already warned that they cannot predict what could happen or how long Mr. Williams could survive without life support.”

  Nick let the page drop onto his lap and took a swig of soda. Perfect—he had caught You CAN Do It once or twice, and Williams was just what he needed to test his theory. Better yet, the man was in a coma, a complete vegetable, and they were thinking of turning off his life-support; he wouldn’t have to feel guilty about absorbing the guy, who didn’t have a life left anyway.

  Nick checked his watch. It was already eight-fifteen—far too late to go by the hospital now. He’d take care of it tomorrow. Figuring out how he would get in and what he would need, Nick polished off the last of his soda and headed for his room. There were still those last two articles to reread for his paper, and then he’d hit the sack—he had a feeling he’d need to be wide awake tomorrow.

  The next morning Nick woke up bright and early, showered, threw on a T-shirt and jeans, and headed out. He stopped by a bookstore down the street and picked up a copy of William’s book to read on the L—as he read it he made sure that he broke the spine, wrinkled the pages, made marks around lines at random, and scraped some of the glossy finish off the cover so it looked old and well-worn, like a favorite book. When he got to his stop he stood up, shoved the book into his back pocket, and headed out.

  It was a nice day out, warm but not yet hot, and he took the three blocks to the hospital slowly, enjoying being out from behind a desk for once. He felt a little nervous at what he was about to try, but pushed any fears from his mind. He was determined to simply get it done and leave, then go back to his office and his real life and try to convince himself that he hadn’t done anything wrong.

  The nurse at the information desk was about Nick’s age and pretty; her short blond hair went well with the nurse’s white, and her bright blue eyes focused on him as he stepped up. Her smile was friendly and yet still professional.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so,” Nick replied, smiling back. “I’d like to know what room Murray Williams is in, please.”

  “Are you a relative?” She asked, her gaze dropping to some papers she was putting in order.

  “No, just a fan,” he replied, pulling the book from his pocket and placing it on the desk for her to see. She noticed it and nodded.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Willliams is in a private ward,” she explained, and she did seem sympathetic. “No one is allowed to see him unless they’re a family member or have express permission from his wife and Dr. Schultz.”

  “Oh.” For a moment he considered trying to talk to Mrs. Williams, but realized that would be dumb—why should she let some unknown fan see her husband? Hm. He was stumped.

  “Could you just let me know what room he’s in?” He pleaded. “I just want to go by, even if I can’t go in.”

  “I can’t,” the nurse told him. “The entire seventh floor is restricted to medical staff and family members; you wouldn’t be able to get out of the elevator. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh.” Nick turned away, depressed at his failure, when his brain kicked in and he turned back, thinking fast. A quick scan of the desk revealed a row of monitors that showed the front door and each of the eight floors’ elevator banks, a stack of papers, a computer terminal, a phone, and a small row of cubbyholes. He waited until the nurse looked up again—she seemed a little surprised to find him still there, but not particularly upset.

  “Do you think maybe I could write his wife a note?” He asked, noticing again how cute she was. Her brow wrinkled as she thought about that one, then she shrugged and smiled at him.

  “I don’t see why not.” She handed him a pad and a pen and he quickly scribbled a note, aware that she was watching him the whole time. When he had finished he tore off the page, folded it, and handed it to her.

  “Here you go—thanks.” She nodded, and took it—Nick watched as she checked the terminal, typed something in, then wrote a three-digit number on the back of the paper and stuck it in one of the cubbyholes. Strain as he might, he couldn’t read the numbers from there. That was fine, though. He turned away and took three paces, then stopped short.

  “Crap!” He exclaimed and turned back to the desk. She saw him coming this time and waited patiently, still smiling, to see what was wrong.

  “I was so flustered about what to write, I didn’t sign it,” Nick explained, hoping she bought it. “Do you think I could have it back for a second?”

  She laughed at his eagerness—she had a nice laugh. “Sure.” She handed him the paper and a pen, and he signed his real first name, Nicholas, and then folded it back up. The front read 741 in bold letters. He smiled at her as he returned the note.

  “Thanks—I appreciate your help.”

  “No problem,” she replied, her smile even broader, and for a moment he was tempted to ask her out. But that wasn’t why he was here. Besides, he still had Amy’s thoughts in his head, and the idea of dating one girl while channeling another creeped him out. And then there was the whole “physical contact” issue—he wasn’t sure he was ready to handle worrying about possible intimacy and whether he’d drain the life out of a girl when he kissed her or held her hand or . . . anything else. Ugh. Instead he nodded at the nurse and walked away. Nick didn’t look back but stopped in the main hall, just before the door, and looked around. There were signs posted along the hall, each with arrows indicating the appropriate direction. On the wall directly in front of him, over the central hallway, was a large sign with several different destinations. One of them was Elevators.

  Glancing around again, Nick was relieved to see that the cute nurse was busy dealing with an elderly woman with a cane; he headed quickly past her and down the hall, trying not to run. Once he was out of sight he slowed still more, resuming a normal pace and nodding to the people he passed. Well, he knew the room number, and he was in the hospital proper. Now what?

  He couldn’t just walk in, obviously. The nurse had said the whole floor was restricted, and she had a monitor tuned to the elevators on each floor—she’d see him if he went up, and she was sure to recognize him. She had seemed serious about her job, so if she caught him she’d probably call security. Then he’d get thrown out and he’d have a hard time just getting past the front door again.

  So how was he going to get in? He’d never been all that good at sneaking around.

  But he knew someone who had been, Nick realized—he knew someone very well, indeed. He found a window and perched on the small ledge, gazing out at the street.
Then he let his mind drift, and searched for the burglar in his head.

  Contact! There was an odd feeling to it, as if he were viewing a television screen or a computer through a fog—Nick found that with effort he could visualize the other man’s thoughts and memories in index form. He scanned the mental list quickly, getting halfway down before he found what he was looking for—Breaking and Entering. Suppressing a chuckle at the idea of his little mental reading room, Nick accessed the memories, nodding as he absorbed them. Then he shook his head to clear it, stretched, and hopped off the ledge. He headed down the hall toward the elevators again, sure now of what he had to do.

  At the elevators he paused, examining the other people there quietly as he waited with them for the next car. There was a couple in regular clothes, the man with a cloth patch over one eye and the woman holding his hand, and a young girl holding an eyeglass case. Then there were two doctors, both women, discussing a file one of them was holding, and two others, a man and a woman, in shorter white coats—the woman had a file under her arm but the man was empty-handed. Orderlies. Nick allowed himself a small smile. Perfect.

  When the elevator arrived he hurried on and stepped to the back, then realized that it could open on either side and slid over to one of the side walls. The door closed and several people pushed buttons, but Nick just waited and watched—no one noticed that he hadn’t pressed a floor, and no one looked at him. So far so good.

  They went up, stopping at two to let the girl off and at three to release the couple. Both doctors got out at the sixth floor, and the female orderly stopped on the seventh, making Nick breathe a sigh of relief. Now it was just him and the male orderly left. Neither of them spoke.

  They stopped on the eighth floor, and the man got out. Nick didn’t move. Before the doors could close two more people stepped in, also orderlies—they were both young men, and they started chatting as one of them pushed B and the doors slid shut. Neither glanced at Nick, pressed against the opposite wall.

  “Man, I thought that shift would never end!” one of them exclaimed, and his friend nodded agreement.

  “Tell me about it! I was sure old Suskind was going to fall asleep halfway through that biopsy, and I wouldn’t have blamed him. He grinned. “I don’t think his patient would have appreciated it, though. I didn’t think it could take that long to run a liver scan!”

  “No kidding!” the first orderly replied. Nick glanced at the lights and saw that they were on five now. “And then that damn endoscopy! I mean, I like Dr. Wexler and all, but when he starts lecturing, look out!”

  “Seriously!” They stopped talking as the elevator ground to a halt on the third floor, and stepped aside to allow a tiny woman in a long white coat to enter, nodding to her as she hit the L button. Then they were moving again, and the two men resumed their conversation, though Nick noticed with amusement that they weren’t griping about doctors anymore. It was the same all over—complain all you want when you’re alone, then shut up and act nice whenever there’s someone else around. They must have felt it was all right to complain in front of a visitor, since his presence hadn’t stopped them—now, with a doctor sharing the elevator, they confined their talk to less dangerous areas.

  “You heading home?”

  “Yeah, how about you?”

  “Nah, Greg and Julie and I are going to get some lunch down at Chino’s. Want to come?”

  “I’d love to, man, but I can’t—Peg’s taking the day off and we’re going to look for a new couch, then I’ve got to read over that Cardiology report for tomorrow. Thanks, though.”

  The elevator halted at the lobby and the doctor got out—the orderlies waited until the door was shut before they started making faces at her. Nick shook his head and tried not to laugh. He’d always thought med students were completely serious all the time, but obviously that was just a myth. Students were students, no matter what the field. Then the car stopped again, the door opened, and the two men got out, still joking at the doctor’s expense. Nick waited for a second, until the doors started slowly sliding shut again, then stepped out and looked around.

  He was in the basement—that much was evident from the concrete walls, the low ceilings, and the bare fluorescent fixtures that hung overhead. Down here there was no need to pretty things up for patients, so the walls were bare and dingy and gray—there was a dull roar coming from underneath, probably the generators, and the air was hot and a little damp. The hallway split a few yards ahead of him, and the two sides were marked with universal gender signs. Nick breathed a silent “thank you” to any deity that might be watching over him and turned left, following the men’s voices.

  The hallway ended in a wide locker room, and Nick quickly dove for an aisle, stepping behind the lockers before anyone saw him and asked what he was doing down here. Fortunately there weren’t many people here at this hour, and the aisle he’d chosen was empty. Good. After waiting a second to make sure no one was coming, he turned his attention to the lockers in front of him.

  They were all tall and thin and green, almost exactly like the ones he remembered from high school gym class, and most of them had locks on them. Nick tried one of the unlocked ones first, gritting his teeth as the hinges creaked, and pulled it open. Empty.

  He sighed. Right—it couldn’t be that easy. He examined the others, calling on Charlie’s expertise again. That one was a Masterlock—too much trouble, unless he had a stethoscope handy. That was a Craftsman—they were easy to pick, but he didn’t have any picks. He made a mental note to fashion some later—they might come in handy sometime. Aha! An Emerson lock—perfect!

  Nick admired the shiny lock for a second, holding it and feeling its weight in his hand. A good, solid lock, no-nonsense, with just a basic key. And—he suddenly twisted it to the left and down, and nodded as the mechanism groaned and then gave out—an extremely weak hinge mechanism. Pulling the now-open lock loose, he set it down quietly on the bench behind him and opened the locker door. Inside hung a clean shirt, a pair of jeans, a tie . . . and two clean pairs of scrubs with a nice white orderly jacket.

  As luck would have it, the owner of the unfortunate Emerson lock was about Nick’s height but a good deal wider; the scrubs fit over Nick’s own but the pants had room for at least one more person in them, maybe more. Still, scrubs were adjustable and he was able to tie them tightly enough that they wouldn’t fall off. The jacket simply hung loose—its nametag said Walsh but Nick removed that and placed it on the locker’s top shelf. Better not to chance running into someone who knew this Walsh and started asking questions Nick couldn’t answer. Taking a deep breath, he shut the locker, reattaching the lock and clicking it shut, and muttered a quiet “thank you” to the absent Walsh for buying such a pathetic lock. Then Nick turned and headed back toward the elevator.

  The two young men he’d seen before must have left before him because he didn’t see or hear anyone as he hit the elevator button, and there was no one inside when the doors opened. He stepped inside and smiled as they slid shut behind him, then pushed the seventh floor. Now all he had to do was find the right door and step inside. He had seen the female orderly get off on that floor, so orderlies were allowed up there, and as long as no one questioned him he was fine. He was so lost in self-congratulation he didn’t even pay attention to the feel of the elevator stopping, or to the hiss of the doors opening again.

  “Hey! Where are you going?”

  Startled, Nick glanced up—the lights above the door read L, and a man was standing just outside the open portal, staring at him expectantly. He wore the short coat of an orderly too, but his stance suggested authority, as did the sharp, no-nonsense tone of his question. Nick gulped.

  “Seventh floor,” he managed, figuring the truth was his best bet.

  The other man nodded. “Good. Give me a hand with this guy.” He motioned to his left, and Nick saw a man lying on a table next to the door, strapped down across arms, waist and legs. He was unconscious, and an IV ran from the attached stan
d down to his right arm.

  “Come on, hurry up!” the newcomer exclaimed impatiently, and his hand flicked into the elevator to tap the STOP button. The doors froze in the act of sliding shut, and Nick nodded and stepped out, moving behind the cart to wheel it in. Better play along for now—if he was caught he could get arrested, Charlie’s thoughts warned him.

  The other man wheeled the IV in, being careful to keep it close to the patient’s arm, and then switched the elevator back on. The doors closed, they started moving, and he turned his attention to Nick.

  “You new here?” Nick nodded. “First day?” He nodded again. “Where’s your nametag”

  “I sent it back,” he blurted, then thought furiously as he saw the other man’s eyebrow quirk up in surprise. “They misspelled my name,” he explained, and managed a small smile. “The name’s Nickles, but some bonehead slipped up and put Knuckles instead. So I sent it back.”

  That brought a chuckle from the other guy. “Knuckles, huh? Well, I’m Klein, Jerry Klein.” He extended a thick, square-fingered hand, and Nick took it. “I’m in charge of the orderlies here, and usually I’ll be assigning you your shifts and other tasks.” He gestured at the man on the table. “Right now we’re taking Mr. Adams back to his room—he’s just had a cat scan and he freaked a little, so we had to knock him out. He’ll wake up back in bed, none the worse for wear.” Nick nodded and started to ask what was wrong with the man, but the chime cut him off. The lights blinked seven, and he breathed a little more easily. He was on the right floor—getting closer. Now he just had to get away from Klein and find Williams’ room.

  As soon as the door opened fully, Klein hit the STOP button and they wheeled the slumbering Mr. Adams out into the hall—Nick ducked his head, and hoped the nurse downstairs wasn’t watching too closely just then. The elevator led into a small lobby, with chairs, couches, end tables, a wall-mounted TV, and a small nurse’s station opposite that—the hall then split into two wings, each barred by a fire door.