Indefinite Renewal Read online

  Klein turned to the left with his burden, and Nick followed him, noticing as he did that there was a guest bathroom out here for waiting family members. Nice. They pushed their way through the doors, sliding the cart between them, and he glanced at the room numbers as they worked their way down. 751, 753, 755, . . . and on the other side, 750, 752, and so on.

  Damn! It was the other wing, then—how was he going to get away from this guy so he could head down there? He struggled for an answer as they slowed outside 783, and Klein turned the handle and pushed. At least there didn’t seem to be any locks on the doors—there wasn’t even a keyhole. As they maneuvered their charge through the doorway Nick saw there was a bolt on the inside, but that shouldn’t be a problem—most coma patients didn’t lock their doors at night.

  Once inside Klein directed him to set the cart over by the bed, then took down the rail on that side—between the two of them they managed to transfer the oblivious Mr. Adams back to his bed, and arranged the IV next to it.

  “All right,” Klein announced, rubbing his hands together briskly. “Now we hook him back up to the monitors, and we can get out of here.” He started to say more, but Nick cut him off.

  “Look, I need to go,” he explained, hopping from foot to foot in mock-urgency. “You know, to the bathroom. I really need to go.” He hopped some more.

  “Oh, sure.” Klein nodded, then grinned and pointed to a door in the corner. “Go ahead and use this one—Mr. Adams certainly won’t mind.”

  Damn, a private bathroom! Nick racked his brain again. “Uh, are you sure that’s a good idea?” He didn’t have to fake the concern that creased his face. “What if one of the doctors comes in or something? I’d hate to get in trouble on my first day.”

  Klein frowned, then nodded. “All right, it’s your bladder—you can use the one in the hall if it’ll make you feel better. I’ll start hooking him up—hurry back.” And he turned back to his patient, busy with the electrodes and leads that would link him to the monitors around the bed. Nick nodded and backed out of the door. Once it slid shut he made sure the coast was clear and then sprinted down the hall. He slowed as he reached the wing door, and passed through it back into the hall at what he hoped was a normal pace, nodding to the nurse. She barely spared him a glance as he ducked through the door into the right wing, and didn’t see him sprint down that hall, skidding to a stop outside room 741.

  Jackpot! Nick straightened up, took a deep breath, and knocked lightly on the door. If the wife was in there, he’d just say he was looking for the doctor and excuse himself. But no one answered, and after a second he slid the door open and stepped inside.

  The only occupant was strapped into the bed, and didn’t look like he’d be going anywhere soon. Nick stepped closer and studied the man’s slack face, then pulled the paperback from his back pocket and compared the author photo to the form in front of him. They were a match.

  “Hello, Mr. Williams,” Nick whispered, settling himself lightly on the edge of the bed. “I hope you’re not in any pain. I’ve come to help you, in a way.” He steeled himself and reached out to rest his hand on Williams’ forehead. “You see, you’ll probably die soon regardless, and then all of your knowledge and experience will be wasted, all of your skills gone for good. But I can use them, and a part of you will live on in me.”

  The man’s skin felt cool and damp against his palm, and Nick closed his eyes, trying to call up the feeling he had experienced when he’d absorbed Charlie and Amy. For a moment nothing happened. Then he felt the air grow thick, as in a fog, the molecules moving around him at half their normal speed—

  —Williams jerked but still didn’t open his eyes—

  —Nick felt the energy course into him, pumping him full of life and vitality—

  —Williams shriveled into a pale husk, a withered shell of his former self, dry and lifeless—

  —Nick heard the electricity crackle from Williams to him, and could almost see the arc that formed between them, transferring its precious charge from one body to the other—

  —and time resumed its normal course, the air returned to normal, and Nick remembered where he was and what he was doing. He almost pulled his hand off the body before him, and then remembered what Daniel had said and concentrated. He focused on the arc, calling it up again, and sent it back, giving William back a small portion of his own life-energy and spreading it across his outer body. Nick could almost see the pale glow surrounding the other man, and through that glowing haze he watched the comatose motivator’s skin swell and ripple, wrinkles fading and hollows vanishing, until he looked the same as he had when Nick had walked in.

  Finally Nick let his hand drop, and the contact was broken—the haze vanished, and he stood up, lurching a bit at the sudden excess energy inside him. Dimly he heard an alarm sounding, and glancing back he saw there was a blue light blinking rapidly on one of the consoles by the bed.

  Shit, I’ve got to get out of here, he realized, and fled the room, wobbling as he headed down the hall toward the main doors. He took a deep breath and was just about to step out when he saw several figures running toward him. He pulled open the door to let them pass.

  “ . . . don’t know, his heartbeat just suddenly slowed and stopped! Get me some hydrocortisone . . .” one of them was saying.

  “. . . doesn’t make any sense—his brainwaves actually went off-line from one second to the next, without any prior deterioration . . .” another claimed.

  “Find Shultz and get him up here stat! And someone call Williams’ wife . . .” a third directed.

  Nick watched them hurry down the hall toward the room he had just left, then turned and walked back toward the elevators. He felt a twinge of worry when he saw Klein waiting for him with the empty cart.

  “Where the hell did you disappear to?” The senior orderly demanded. “I finished in there and you were nowhere in sight!”

  “I was coming back when I heard all the commotion,” Nick explained, gesturing to where another nurse was running through the door with a cart in front of her, “so I thought I’d see if they needed any help.” He knew that probably sounded a little lame, but he pushed on. “They were pretty busy, though, and I didn’t want to get in the way, so I left them there and was going to look for you.”

  Klein didn’t answer for a moment—his eyes were on the people running in and out of the right wing. “What room are they in?”

  “Seven forty-one,” Nick answered immediately, and was surprised to hear Klein curse.

  “Shit, that’s Mr. Williams!” He thrust the cart at Nick and was already turning away as he spoke. “Get this downstairs to the main lobby, and wait there—I’m going to check and see if they need anyone. Get going!”

  “You got it,” Nick muttered, pressing the button and stepping into the elevator as soon as the door opened. He drew the cart in as an afterthought, hit L, and then waited impatiently for the doors to close. When they finally did he slumped against a wall and permitted himself to smile.

  He had pulled it off! He had actually managed to get into the hospital, get to Williams’ room, absorb him, and get back out! A perfect job!

  Charlie’s voice in his head warned him not to congratulate himself until he was actually out of the building, and Nick nodded in agreement, but he still felt the laughter bubbling up inside him, almost uncontrollably. He had done it!

  The lights read L, the chime sounded, the doors opened, and Nick stepped out. There were two young orderlies standing nearby, and Nick thrust the cart at them as he passed.

  “Here,” he ordered in his best professorial tone, “take this back where it belongs.” One of them started to object, but Nick cut him off with an upraised hand. “Not now,” he cautioned, almost out of range already, “I’ve got to find Dr. Suskind. Find me later.” Yeah, good luck at that, he thought as he turned a corner and found himself in a narrow corridor lined with doors. A water fountain stuck out a little farther down, and he headed for it.

  Sure e
nough, there was a men’s room next to the fountain. Nick stepped inside, chose a stall, and stripped off his borrowed scrubs and orderly jacket. Back in his own clothing again, he stepped out, stuffed the borrowed clothes in the trashcan, and exited the restroom, nodding politely to the older man just entering. Then he continued on down the hall to where he had seen a bright red Exit sign flashing.

  The sign hung over a glass door that let out into a small parking lot alongside the main one, and Nick took a deep breath as he found himself outside again. He paused for a second, reorienting himself, then turned and headed off in what he hoped was the direction of the L. The sun was out and the temperature had gone up, so he felt a little warm in his jeans, but there was a light breeze blowing in and he started whistling softly as he walked.

  He had actually done it!

  What was more, for the first time since this whole thing had started he had actually done something on his own, not because he had to or had been told to but because he had chosen. He hadn’t been reacting to anything, or been manipulated into doing something he didn’t understand or want—instead he had determined a course of action and followed it, without help or influence from anyone. It was like proving his independence all over again—he felt like he had finally gotten his life back, and as he groped in his pocket for his L pass he vowed not to let anyone take it from him again.

  Chapter Twenty

  That night Nick sat in his office after the others had left and thought about what he had gained that day. In addition to more energy, and from that a longer life, he now had the abilities and knowledge of a master motivator, a man whose entire life had been devoted to helping people realize their full potential. Nick could feel the thoughts in his head when he closed his eyes but they were tangled and confused. He needed to organize them so he could see exactly what he had, and then analyze that to see if it was what he needed. He turned off his desk lamp and leaned back, welcoming the darkness that crowded in around him.

  It had been a hectic day—he had finally finished his paper and handed it in to Carmichael, only to have the professor assign him a review and a new genetics text. It was an honor to be picked for the project, and if it went over well Carmichael might send it to one of the academic journals for publication, but it was an added headache and Nick had almost turned it down. Almost. In the end he had accepted it, of course, well aware of how rare such chances were and grateful that he had been chosen.

  After getting the details he had headed to the library to research the author and his past works before actually settling down in a chair with the thick new book itself. The next thing he knew, it was six o’clock and Gordo was leaning over him, inquiring about dinner plans. Hillary had gone out on another date, so the two of them got Mexican food and then checked out a new movie that was on both of their lists. Nick had enjoyed the break, relieved that they had both gotten over the tension of the other day. Then Gordo had gone home to do some homework and Nick had headed back to the office to try and read another chapter or two.

  Now the clock read 1:37 and his head was spinning from terms like anonucleide mixmitosis and hybernary reoxidation procedure, and the only sound in the building was the pounding in his forehead and the jackhammer drumbeat that echoed through his chest. Time for a break from work, and a chance to think over the morning’s events a little more carefully.

  Nick straightened up and levered himself out of his chair, back popping as he stretched and yawned. He’d been sitting for far too long—time to take a walk. He locked the office behind him, then headed downstairs to the soda machine, mind lost in thought as his body took the steps out of habit. What did Williams’ expertise have to say for itself?

  He paused on a landing—fortunately not the same one from that night weeks before, although he still shuddered at the thought—and concentrated on the new information in his head, trying to fit it into his own realm of experience. There was a good deal about self-confidence, about making one’s own choices in life and sticking to them, but Nick filed that away for a later date. At the moment, believing in his own ability wasn’t the problem. There was also a lot about having a positive attitude in general, how that could affect the whole nature of a person’s encounters and thus how well those situations turned out, but Nick only rifled through that before storing it safely in his head. That still wasn’t it. But what he was looking for had to be in here somewhere!

  He concentrated again, squeezing his eyes shut until they threatened to throb in retaliation, and visualized a table of contents the same way he had with Charlie. It took a minute, and his legs ached from standing, but finally the mental image formed and Nick scanned it eagerly. Martial Arts—he skimmed that one and was pleased to find that Tai Chi, Akido, and a little Karate had now been added to his list of talents, but then continued on. Let’s see, Financial Transactions, Television Procedures, Gambling Systems—that one was a little surprising, but everyone had some vice or another, it seemed—Hypnosis, Driving . . . perhaps Self-help? No, that one just had the stuff about self-confidence and positive outlooks he had already run across. Ah, what about Expansion Limits? He mentally opened the file and scanned its contents. Bingo! This was all about the upper limit of human potential, and mentioned some of the possibilities. Nick’s imaginary eyes widened at the list he was “reading,” and he could feel a smile moving across his face. This was it!

  Unfortunately, as he read further it became evident that this was only a theory on Williams’ part. The man had been interested in such possibilities, but hadn’t bothered to research them thoroughly, preferring to deal with what people could accomplish right now. Nick’s spirits fell as he realized that the area he had been counting on was only an amusing little hobby for this man, and had been treated as such. Still, he had included mention of the possibility in the last chapter of his book, and had conferred with a handful of experts on the subject. The list came immediately to Nick’s mind and there were five people on it. Two were researchers at a government think-tank in Washington, a husband-and-wife team, and one was a neurologist from Vienna. The fourth was the leader of a small religious cult in L.A., and the last one was a professor of psychology—at the University of Chicago.

  Nick straightened up, eyes snapping open as he did so, and caught his breath as the information sank into his brain. He could dimly sense that all of the new knowledge had found its way to the appropriate spots in his head, and could feel the difference in his movements as his body assimilated fifteen years of martial arts training into its menu of options, but his attention was focused on one piece in particular, and one name.

  Dr. Irving K. Alexander. Professor of Psychology at University of Chicago, former department head from 1991 to 1998. Three national awards for his work on the hidden side of human ability, dispelling phobias and releasing unrealized potential, and one for his treatise on the theoretical limits of such ability and how it might be unlocked. Retired from teaching as of 2006, and scheduled to retire permanently in 2010, when Williams had hoped he might return to writing full-time. Nick nodded. This was the man he wanted, the mind he needed, and he was perfect. Old, far past his prime, probably teetering on the edge of senility—but his head held all the information he had ever gathered, and in Nick’s hands it could all be utilized.

  He absently continued downstairs, stopping at the drink machine as his hand dug for change, but he didn’t even bother to remove the Coke once it slid down into the pickup tray. His mind was already focused on what he would say to the old professor when he went to his office tomorrow, and how he would manage to drain the man without drawing any attention to it. Tomorrow.

  Nick started up the stairs again, wondering briefly why he hadn’t gotten anything to drink but then shrugging and forgetting about it as he turned back to the plans he was starting to shape. He hadn’t expected to need more than Williams for this, but Alexander could be a godsend, an old man ripe for the picking, and then he would be ready to face Daniel. Ready to face any of them.

  Nick h
ad to remind himself to get his jacket out of his office before he stepped out into the cold, and he hardly felt the wind that cut through his clothes and whipped his hair into a frenzy. The walk home was all a blur, and Nick only barely remembered unlocking his door, stumbling into his room, and flopping onto his bed, as if it were a dream he had. Then he was in the realm of real dreams, where an old man shriveled beneath his fingers and he swelled to godlike proportion, and he slept soundly, mind churning all the while. When the alarm woke him in the morning he had a hard time remembering who he was and where, and gave himself a scare when he called for a wife who wasn’t there.

  I’m Nick Gordon, he told himself as he stumbled into the bathroom. The haggard face that regarded him from the mirror agreed with him, and he took a deep breath, vaguely remembering his actions of the previous night and the dreams that had followed them.

  “Get a grip on yourself, Nick,” he muttered out loud, running a hand through his hair and heading for the kitchen to rustle up some milk and a stale box of cereal. He hadn’t expected Williams’ memories to hit him so hard, or to lose his self-awareness like he had last night. He worried for a moment that he might be becoming obsessed with his plan, and cautioned himself to slow down and try to go on with his life as before.

  Fortunately he had class that day, and even as he realized that he found his mind slipping back into the comforting routine of plotting out what he would say to his students, and what diagrams he would use to illustrate the cell structure principles they were currently dealing with. He could feel another’s thoughts behind his, offering suggestions on how to teach and what to say, and occasionally he felt a question from Amy, but he pushed them back and concentrated on his own agenda and gradually they receded to a faint murmur.