Meds

by Amy Cross

  “Of course,” Elly said with a frown as she opened the door, “but if I could just ask you about -”

  “Off you go,” Kirsten added, with the firm, calm demeanor of someone who no longer wished to be disturbed. “You really must be exhausted, especially after your exertions with Mr. Lacy. I understand that you single-handedly saved him when he suffered a cardiac arrest?”

  “It was nothing. I just did my job.”

  “You saved a man's life. That's definitely something.”

  Elly nodded.

  “It would have been a dreadful shame,” Kirsten continued, “if Mr. Lacy had left us so soon. Thank you, Nurse Blackstock, for keeping him with us. I imagine he might prove to be rather difficult, so if you need help, contact Doctor Carmichael. Sharon sometimes doesn't want to bother him, but I'm of the opinion that he should be bothered as much as possible. Make him do some work for once. God knows, he gets enough time to focus on his side-projects.”

  “Okay,” Elly stammered, before waiting and finally realizing that the meeting was over. Stepping back, she pulled the door shut and let out a sigh of relief. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something about Nurse Kirsten Winter that made her feel distinctly uneasy.

  Turning, she made her way along the corridor to fetch her things from the office, so she could finally catch the bus home.

  ***

  In one of the corridors of the building's abandoned section, a door slowly began to creak open. For a moment, a shadow flitted across a nearby wall, before the door slammed shut.

  ***

  As machines beeped by his bedside and one of the day shift workers left the room, Thomas Clay Lacy lay on his back in bed. The room was still, with dust drifting through the air.

  Suddenly, the old man's eyes opened wide.

  Part Two

  The Yard

  Chapter Five

  “Consignment!” the intern called out as she carried a package into the lab. Taking a look at the details on the back, she frowned. “It's from some place called Middleford Cross. Ever heard of it?”

  “Nope,” the lab tech replied. “Stick it on the pile with the rest. We're already backed up.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Thomas Clay Lacy,” the tech muttered, dumping the package on a desk in the far corner, “you'll have to wait your turn.” She turned to the tech. “It's not marked urgent anyway.”

  “Then it goes right to the back of the queue,” the older woman replied, holding up the vial of blood she was already working on. “I don't get paid enough to expedite anything unless someone's got a goddamn gun to my head.”

  ***

  “Hey, do you see that guy?”

  Sitting on a bench in Times Square, the two cops watched as a man walked past in an ill-fitting, clearly homemade superhero costume. From the look in his eyes, it was clear he was out of his mind, but the cops just watched with amused grins as the guy disappeared into the crowd.

  “Harmless,” the first cop, the older of the two, replied. “Don't worry about it.”

  “But he looked sick.”

  “No kidding.”

  “So shouldn't we go help him?”

  “Half the people in this goddamn city are sick. It's someone else's job to play doctor, we're here to keep the peace. I know you're new to the job, but don't go giving yourself new tasks, okay? Appreciate a rare moment of tranquility.”

  “But if -” The second cop paused, before realizing he probably shouldn't push the point. “You're the boss.”

  “There are some weird people about,” the first cop muttered, taking a bite out of his sandwich. “You see all sorts round here. Every time you think you're used to it, like you've seen the upper limit of crazy, something new comes along. The things some people'll eat or inject into themselves, it's enough to make you lose faith in humanity.”

  “What's the craziest you've ever seen?” the second cop asked.

  “Jesus, I don't know. Maybe -”

  Stopping suddenly, he frowned as he saw a pale, ill-looking woman stumbling through the crowd.

  “You know what?” he continued after a moment, “that one right there's a contender. You see her over by the trashcan, the woman who looks like she's dressed as a zombie?”

  Craning his neck, the second cop tried to see. “Where?”

  “Right there, next to the Transformer guy.” He pointed again. “See? Kinda stumbling along, with blood on the side of her face and, like, some kind of skeleton make-up on her neck? Jesus, it's like she just stepped off the set of some movie.” He paused. “Hell, she looks worse than the bums under the 9th Street bridge, and that's saying something.”

  “I still don't see her.”

  “Wait here, I'm just gonna go check. Might be some kinda meth-head or something. Now those you gotta worry about. Unpredictable don't even cover it.”

  “You want me to come?”

  “Nah. I'm good.”

  Setting his sandwich down, the first cop made his way through the crowd. He already had one hand on his gun as he got closer to the woman, who was wandering through the throng of people as if she didn't have a care in the world. No-one else seemed to have even noticed her, but he figured that was just because anyone entering Times Square ended up getting real jaded, real fast after two or three steps. Still, something about this particular woman was making him worried. Even from behind, it was clear she was carrying something in her arms.

  “Hey!” he called out, followed by a whistle. “Lady! Come here!”

  The woman didn't even turn.

  “Hey!” Hurrying to catch up to her, he was about to reach out and touch the woman's shoulder when he realized that not only was she wearing a rotten dress with several holes in the side, but most of her torso had been eaten away, revealing her ribs. “Hell of a costume,” he muttered, as he noticed that between some of the ribs, he could see the sun-drenched sidewalk beyond. “How the hell does that work, then? Mirrors or something?”

  Figuring that it must be some kind of fancy new technology, maybe a hologram, he nevertheless held back from touching the woman's shoulder. Instead, he stepped alongside her, hoping to get her attention some other way, although he was suddenly aware of a powerful stench that reminded him of his first ever visit to the morgue. He'd thrown up that day, although he'd become much tougher in the intervening twenty years.

  “Hey, lady,” he continued, trying to sound a little more friendly, “are you okay there? Do you need help?”

  He waited, but the woman just kept staggering forward.

  “Alright,” the cop said, stepping past her and then standing in her way, “I'm gonna need to see some -”

  Before he could get another word out, the woman stepped right into him. The cop flinched and began to move aside, before suddenly feeling distinctly dizzy. For a couple of seconds, the crowd seemed to spin around him, and he stumbled back before a couple of tourists grabbed his arms to keep him from falling. It took a moment longer for him to regain his composure.

  “What the hell?” he muttered as he turned to look around. “Where did she go?”

  “Where did who go?” one of the tourists asked.

  “Didn't you see her? She was like someone off that TV show. You know, the one about the zombies.”

  After thanking the tourists, he looked around some more and finally spotted the skeletal woman still walking away. “Hey!” he called after her, starting to feel distinctly irritated. “Hey you, Get back here right now!”

  Hurrying after her, he had to force his way through the bustling crowd. He lost sight of his target a couple of times, but finally he squeezed through and grabbed the woman's shoulder.

  “Lady -”

  Suddenly he froze as he realized that his hand was resting on a patch of bare bone that was showing through from under her torn dress. The woman stopped, but she kept looking ahead, as if she had no intention of turning to the cop, who was still staring at the shoulder in shock.

  “Lady,” the cop said cautiously, “are you ok
ay? Don't take this the wrong way, but are you supposed to be out and about like this? Are you sure you're not supposed to... I don't know, be in some place?”

  He waited, but the woman still refused to turn to him. At least she'd stopped, though, so he figured he'd managed to get her attention.

  “I'm gonna need to know your name,” he continued, reaching for his radio, “and I sure hope you've got some ID on you, 'cause I really don't think I can let you just around like this.” Looking down at the woman's ribs, he realized he could see through the gaps. “Jesus, you're gonna scare the kids,” he told her. “I mean, I get it, there's like an arms race when it comes to Halloween costumes, but I've think you've gone too far. Plus, you know, it's not Halloween.”

  Slowly, the woman turned her head slightly, allowing the cop to see the patches of bare bone showing through her rotten, discolored skin. Most of her teeth were missing, and her eyes were dark, hollow holes.

  “Are you working on a movie?” the cop asked, taking his hand off the woman's shoulder. “Are... Is this some kind of stunt?” Looking at the palm of his hand, he realized there was a kind of soft, warm slime between his fingers. “Okay, in all seriousness,” he continued, “I'm gonna have to ask you to -”

  And then he saw it. Nestled in the woman's arms, cradled as if it was alive, there was a small, shriveled child.

  “Okay,” the cop said, feeling as if he was about to throw up, “I think that might be a little too far with the costume, yeah? I don't know where you think you're going, but -”

  He reached for his notebook, but when he turned back to the woman he was shocked to realize there was no sign of her. Pushing his way through the crowd, he looked around some more, but she seemed to have suddenly disappeared.

  “Hey!” he shouted. “Has anyone seen a creepy-looking woman in a zombie costume carrying a baby? Come on, she was right here! Which way did she go?”

  He waited, but no-one paid him any attention. For the next few minutes, he searched through the crowd, determined to find the woman, before eventually realizing that the task was hopeless. Turning, he made his way back to the bench where his partner was still sitting.

  “You okay?”

  “I just saw the craziest woman,” the cop muttered, taking a seat. Holding his hand up, he looked at the gunk for a moment before sniffing it, which immediately made him want to throw up. “Jesus Christ, that smells like...” He paused, feeling as if might bring up his lunch. Finally, he thrust the hand toward his partner. “What does that smell like to you?”

  “Woah!” the other cop said, pulling away. “That's foul! It smells like...” He paused. “It smells like a goddamn corpse!”

  “I know,” the first cop replied, taking another tentative sniff of his hand before looking back out at the vast, teeming crowd. “It looked like a corpse too.” He paused, allowing his mind to start considering things he'd usually dismiss, before finally he leaned back and took a deep breath. “Probably just kids,” he muttered, as much for his own benefit as his colleague's. “Probably trying to make one of those viral video things. Fair credit to 'em, though.” He felt a shiver pass through his chest. “That was one hell of a costume.”

  Chapter Six

  “Damn it,” Nurse Kirsten Winter muttered as she set another pile of old papers aside. Heading back to the filing cabinet, she shone her flashlight inside and reached in to grab some more files.

  She was in the deserted part of the old Middleford Cross building, far away from the section that was being used to care for patients. There were no lights in this part at all, since the electrical supply had never been reconnected after the fire several years earlier. The walls were still bare and scorched, in some places with thick black marks, and the only work that had been carried out had been some basic stabilization designed to ensure that the place wouldn't suddenly collapse one day. Later on, a contractor had been paid to enter the building and remove any sensitive files so they could be destroyed in accordance with patient confidentiality rules, but after cashing the check for the work the contractor had never even been near the place, leaving files scattered about in thousands of old cabinets spread throughout the building's hundreds of rooms.

  It was these that Kirsten was going through methodically, night after night, as she searched for one file in particular.

  “Did these people never hear of computers?” she sighed, rifling through the next set of papers. She set the flashlight on top of the cabinet and turned her back to it, so she could see the documents a little better, but as she flicked through them she found nothing but page after page of notes about various patients. The single piece of paper she was looking for, meanwhile, continued to elude her.

  Hearing a bumping sound nearby, she looked over at the dark doorway. Frowning, she set the papers aside and headed to the door, but when she leaned out and glanced both ways along the corridor, she saw no sign of anyone.

  “Mary?” she said after a moment. “Is that you? Have you come to check up on me again?”

  She waited, but all she heard was a piece of tarpaulin flapping in the wind.

  “Come on, Mary,” she continued, stepping out into the corridor, “why do you insist on playing these games? I know you've got something to say to me, so say it. I dare you to actually leave these ruins and come to face me properly some time. We could have a nice, civilized chat about our mutual interests.”

  She turned, looking the other way, but there was still nothing to see.

  “Well,” she continued, “you know where I am if you change your mind.” She turned to go back into the room, before stopping and allowing herself a faint smile. “Oh, and Mary... I know you keep saying that you have what I'm looking for, but I wanted you to know that I simply don't believe you. I think you're trying to get me to stop looking, but that won't work. I'm prepared to tear through every room in this entire hospital if necessary. It's here somewhere, and it's only a matter of time before I have it in my hands. And as for your attempt to make the new nurse feel sorry for you, don't even bother. She's many things, but she's not a fool.”

  Heading back into the room, she sighed as she returned to the filing cabinet. It was one thing to talk tough when she thought Mary might be listening, but it was quite another to face the daunting task of yet another night searching for that document. Pulling out yet another stack of files, she began to leaf through them one by one, filled with frustration but constantly reminding herself that, at any moment, she might strike gold.

  ***

  “They tell me,” Thomas Clay Lacy said as he was wheeled along the corridor, his voice considerably slurred following his stroke, “that I have you to thank for the fact that I'm still here. As the story was told to me, the other nurse would have let me die.”

  “It was nothing,” Elly replied, pushing him into his room and then parking his chair by the bed. “When your heart stopped, I just gave you a heart massage, that's all. Anyone would have done the same.”

  He smiled, at least on the one side of his face he could still control. “I'm not sure that's quite true, but...” As Elly was about to let go of his chair's handles, he reached up and clutched one of her hands. “Thank you,” he continued. “I mean that. I know I'm an...” He paused, clearly struggling to get the words out, due to the effects of the stroke. “I know I'm... an old man... I know I have to face death sooner rather than later, but I'm not ready quite yet. I still have things to do, you know.”

  “I'm sure you do,” she replied, smiling as she slipped her hand away and headed over to the bed. She pulled a metal bolt away and slid the railing down, ready to maneuver the old man back into position. It would be a two-man job, but there was no-one around to help. “You mustn't believe everything you're told, Mr. Lacy. No-one would have let you die the other night. If I hadn't been there, Nurse Cassidy would have taken over and you'd still be with us right now.”

  “But maybe I'd still be unconscious,” he added. “Maybe I wouldn't have made this miraculous recovery. Well, miraculous
apart from all this.” Reaching up with his one good hand, he touched the left side of his face, which was drooping considerably. “A whole side of my body,” he continued, “gone. I keep forgetting it's there, bumping against things...”

  “It's not gone,” Elly replied, backing his chair closer to the bed. “You just need physiotherapy, that's all, and it's being arranged. I'll give the center another call and hurry them up. Trust me, I've seen stroke patients make significant improvements once they really commit to a program.”

  “I won't get it back,” he muttered, wincing as she slipped her hands under his arms ready to lift him. “What are you doing? You're a scrawny little thing, you can't put me into bed by yourself. You need help.”

  “I'm fine,” she replied. “Okay, ready? One. Two. Three.”

  With great effort, and despite almost dropping him twice, she was just about able to haul him up. He tried to help as best he could, although he could only use the right side of his body, but finally Elly managed to get him onto the edge of the bed, from where she was able to roll him further on before lifting his legs up.

  “There,” she said finally, trying to hide the fact that she was out of breath. “All good.”

  “It's not right,” he replied. “You shouldn't be having to lift me by yourself.”

  She put the railing back in place, to make sure he couldn't roll out. “I'll mention it at the next staff meeting,” she told him, “but I doubt anyone'll listen. Besides, I'm still new, I'm right at the bottom of the food chain.”