Meds

by Amy Cross

  “I guess.”

  “What do you do when you get home?”

  “I...” Elly paused, realizing that her answer was a little embarrassing. Still, she figured she had to be honest. “I talk to my mother.”

  “Does she ask about your day?”

  She nodded.

  “And do you tell her?”

  “Of course.”

  “So that right there is your problem. You're letting your work thoughts get mixed up with your home thoughts. What's your way of unwinding, girl? Do you like going out with friends and getting wasted?”

  She shook her head.

  “Do you even have any friends?”

  “Of course,” she replied, even though it was another lie.

  “What about male friends? You got a man in your life right now?”

  “No.”

  “Not even someone to... Well, you know, someone to call when you need the check the mattress springs.”

  She shook her head, and after a moment she realized she was starting to blush.

  “Well,” Sharon muttered, heading to the door, “you need something, 'cause if you start carrying other people's problems around with you, then you start ignoring your own, and that's when things turn dangerous. When you leave a room, you need to cut off that person's drama cold, like you're chopping the head off a snake. Seems to me, you carry other people's problems around and you forget your own.” She stepped out into the corridor and then turned to look back at Elly. “See?”

  Elly turned to her. “See what?”

  Sharon waved a hand through the air, as if to mark the threshold. “Do you think, as I go check on the next patients, I'm gonna be fretting about you and your problems?”

  “I...” Elly paused, realizing the point she was trying to make. “Oh.”

  “That's just how you have to be around here. Don't take it personally.”

  “No, of course not.”

  Once Sharon had headed away, Elly found herself looking down at the empty bed. She knew the advice had been good, but she still wasn't sure she could forget things so easily. At the same time, she figured it had been a little excessive to go all the way across town to Mr. Lacy's apartment, and then to carry his suitcase all the way into the hospital. There were professional lines, and she'd crossed them. Deep down, however, she knew there was another reason for her actions, a reason she hadn't even dared admit to Sharon. She wanted to help the patients at the so-called Overflow not only for their own sake, but also because she worried that one day she'd be just like them, placed on a ward and never visited.

  She felt as if loneliness was creeping in all around her, like a ghost.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “A what?” Doctor Carmichael asked, holding the metal tube in his hands.

  “A cortex extender,” Kirsten replied, smiling as she picked her bra up from the desk and slipped her arms through the straps. “Are you telling me you've never seen one before?”

  Turning the device over, Carmichael frowned. He was holding a metal tube, about twelve inches long, with what appeared to be some kind of chain-link hose at either end. The side of the tube had a couple of indentations, along with what looked like a slit for some kind of key, but overall the device was like nothing he'd ever seen before.

  “Don't trouble your pretty little mind,” Kirsten said, heading over to him and taking the tube from his hands before setting it back down on its stand. “It's just a little memento I like to keep around the place, a reminder of one of the institutions I used to work at before I came here to Middleford Cross.” She let her fingers run across a small lump of gray stone, into which the tube's cradle was fixed. “This too,” she muttered, as if she was momentarily lost in her thoughts. “A genuine, original piece of Lakehurst wall.”

  “Lakehurst wall? What's Lakehurst?”

  She turned the piece of stone over in her hands, as if she was remembering something that had happened long ago.

  “Huh,” Carmichael said finally. “You're holding that thing almost tenderly. Have we finally found something you care about?”

  “I'm sorry,” she continued, turning to him. “I suppose I'm getting a little sentimental. Feel free to slap me. Go on, you know I like that sort of thing.”

  “And what does a cortex extender do, exactly?”

  She paused. “Honestly? If you connect one end to the base of a living human brain, you can then transfer that brain out of its host body and implant the extender in a second body, allowing a brain transplant. The extender prevents rejection issues, and you can even link several together into a kind of daisy chain, allowing you to mix and match brains for a while, keeping them all alive for as long as necessary.”

  He smiled. “Kirsten, I'm not an idiot. What's it really for?”

  “I just told you.”

  “Whatever.” Rolling his eyes, he checked his trousers were buttoned. “Keep your little secret, see if I care.”

  “Why do you always get so moody and introspective after sex?” she asked. “It's not a very endearing quality, you know. Frankly, it's starting to put me off. Either that, or perhaps I'm just tiring of you. After all, some of your moves are starting to feel a little stale. You need to put more thought into your repertoire.”

  “Maybe you should find someone else to call into your office whenever you need a little fun,” he muttered, heading over to fetch his shoes from next to the leather couch. “I was working before you so rudely interrupted.”

  “What's wrong?” she asked. “Getting sick of your duties? You were very enthusiastic in the early days.”

  “I wouldn't call this a duty, exactly.”

  “Well, keeping me happy should certainly be high on your agenda. After all, I could cut off your funding and boot you out of here in a flash. I doubt there's another hospital in the developed world where you could carry out your experiments.”

  “I doubt there's another doctor who'd be willing to work for you,” he muttered. “Don't act like we don't get something out of this arrangement.”

  “You're starting to think you're irreplaceable,” she replied. “That's always a dangerous path.”

  Without replying, but clearly annoyed, he slipped his shoes on and began to tie the laces.

  “I need you to do something for me,” she added after a moment.

  “I thought I just did.”

  “Something else. Or rather, someone else.”

  He turned to her.

  “Nurse Elisa Blackstock. Or Elly, as her friends would call her if she had any. I need you to get closer to her.”

  “By which you mean...”

  “By which I mean get closer to her in every way possible. I want to know more about her, I want to unsettle her a little and see how she reacts. She's so tightly-wound and nervous, I have to put her through a stress-test before I can be certain I can rely on her. She might be useful, but...” Pausing for a moment, she allowed herself a faint smile. “I've been waiting for someone like her to show up for a while now, someone who has the strength to deal with certain things. She's a little crumpled, she doubts herself, she's been through a great deal and she hasn't come out entirely unscathed, but I believe that deep down she has a strong core. I need to know how deep and how strong.”

  “So you want me to sleep with her?”

  “I want you to wine her and dine her. I want you to shake her out of her routine. If that means taking her to bed, so be it. Maybe she can teach you some new tricks. Lord knows, you need them.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Well, I suppose I could always do it,” she muttered, “although I think she'd respond more favorably to you. Plus, I'd have to fire you, and then maybe certain papers would find their way to the medical review board, and you might have some serious questions to answer. I offered you a safe haven here for your work, Jonathan. I thought our little arrangement was working rather well.”

  “Go to the medical board and you'll have questions of your own to deal with,” he pointed out. “Yo
u'd never report me. The last thing you want is to have anyone poking about this place.”

  “I'm a very good liar.”

  “So am I.”

  “No, darling,” she replied, “you're not.”

  He sighed.

  “There'll come a time,” she continued, “when I can walk away from this place and never look back. At that point, I really won't care what happens to anyone I leave behind. You always knew that our arrangement wouldn't be very sentimental and that it might end abruptly.” She watched him for a moment, and she could tell from the look in his eyes that she'd already broken his resistance. “Come on, what's the problem? Nurse Blackstock is pretty enough, and she seems to be able to hold a conversation. It's not like I'm asking you to spend time with Quasimodo.”

  “I just want an end to this,” he replied. “I feel like a goddamn puppet, like you're pulling all my strings.”

  “Those strings were already attached to you when I arrived,” she pointed out. “I merely picked them up off the floor after someone else was done with them. Some people are like that. They spend their whole lives walking around with their strings showing.”

  “If I do this, then it has to be the last favor.”

  She shook her head.

  “Kirsten, please -”

  “I own you,” she said firmly. “I let you carry out your little experiments in peace, and all I ask for in return is that you share your results and help me out every so often. You're free to walk away, Jonathan, there's no contract holding you here. I know I threaten you from time to time, but I'm so busy, I doubt I'd even have time to follow through with most of those threats. If you want to walk away and try to find another safe harbor for your work, then go ahead.” She paused for a moment. “Otherwise, start thinking about how you're going to get Elly Blackstock to go out for a drink with you. I've got a feeling she might be a frigid little thing.”

  He stared at her, before gathering the last of his things and heading to the door.

  “And while you're at it,” she continued, “I've noticed that you're focusing your experiments on Rachel Brown at the moment. Why? What's wrong with the other patients?”

  “Rachel can't scream,” he pointed out.

  “And that's a good thing?”

  “It is in the middle of the night when I don't want anyone to hear. It means I can push her further.”

  “Has the pain driven her mad yet?”

  “Hard to tell. She still writes fairly lucid responses to questions.”

  “Still... What about Thomas Clay Lacy? As far as I can tell, you've barely been near the man.”

  “The stroke guy?” He turned to her. “He doesn't really offer anything I can't already get from Rachel or one of the others. He doesn't interest me.”

  “Still, I think you should try him at least once.”

  “You want me to hurt him?”

  “Let's just say that I think there's a little more to Mr. Lacy than his cheerful demeanor suggests. In fact, I know there is. I certainly wouldn't be averse to him getting drawn in a little closer to your experiments.”

  “I'll think about it.”

  “Good,” she replied, before looking down at the cortex extender on her desk, “because if you don't do something to punish that evil old man, then I'll have to take matters into my own hands.”

  “I'm not going to torture him for you.”

  “You're not?” She smiled as she turned to him. “You were a good man when I first met you, Jonathan. An honest man, a man with noble ambitions, but none of those things apply anymore. You've become degenerate and weak, and cruel, so don't kid yourself that you're a saint. You'll do anything I tell you to do. You're just like the rest of us here. You pretend to care, so that you feel less bad about the pain you inflict.”

  “I'm not torturing a patient for you.”

  She sighed. “Fine. But if you won't, then I suppose I'll have to do it myself.”

  ***

  “Okay,” Sharon said as she carried a tray of food into Mr. Lacy's room, “here's a little snack for -”

  “What are you doing?” he snapped, closing his case hurriedly. “Don't you people know how to knock?”

  Setting the tray down on his bedside table, she barely batted an eyelid at his harsh tone. “Come on, Mr. Lacy, there's no need to get upset. I just thought you'd like something to eat, that's -”

  “You should knock,” he hissed, grabbing her wrist and squeezing tight. “What's wrong with you, did your mother never teach you any goddamn manners? If you're going to walk into a gentleman's room, you always knock. No excuses, no exceptions, you knock! I know that's not the way most young people behave these days, but when you're coming into my room, you will damn well have some manners!”

  “Fine,” she replied, trying to pull her wrist free. “Mr. Lacy, you're hurting me.”

  “No, I'm not.”

  “You are. Please -”

  “If I was hurting you,” he continued, pulling her closer until she bumped against the bed's metal railing, “you would have started screaming already. Is that understood?”

  “If you don't let go of me,” she said firmly, “I'll have to call security.”

  “What security? I know there's no security team in a rundown place like this. Stop issuing empty threats.”

  “Mr. Lacy -” She twisted her arm, and finally she managed to get her wrist free. Although the old man tried to grab her again, she managed to step back just in time. “I think this might have to go on your chart,” she told him, before heading to the end of the bed and taking the clipboard from its hook. “Don't worry,” she continued, making a few notes, “it's not unusual for people to suffer a slight change of personality after they've had a major stroke. You must be scared and confused.”

  “I'm not scared of anything.”

  She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  “What the hell do you know about anything?” he spat. “You don't know me. You don't know who I am or where I come from. The stroke didn't change me.”

  Rolling her eyes, she made some more notes.

  “Whore,” he added.

  “That's not a very nice word, Mr. Lacy.”

  “It's true, though. You're a whore, aren't you? You're all whores these days. I've seen girls like you, out in the street, going to bars alone and picking up men. There's no decency in the world, no honor. There are no real lovers anymore.”

  She set the clipboard back on its hook. “You need to get some rest. I've walked past your door several times in the past few hours, and every time I've seen you going through that suitcase. Why don't I put it away for the night and you can get back to it in the morning.” Stepping closer, she reached out to grab the case.

  “Don't you dare touch it!” he hissed.

  “Mr. Lacy -”

  “I'll kill you,” he continued, spraying a fine mist of saliva across the case's lid in the process. “I swear to God, if you touch my case, I will end your miserable life. It's my goddamn property and I won't let anyone take it!”

  She paused, before stepping back again.

  “How long until I can get out of here?” he asked.

  “I have no -”

  “How long?” he shouted.

  She stared at him for a moment. “That's for Doctor Carmichael to decide.”

  “What if I want to leave right now? What if I refuse to stay?”

  “We can't force you to be here.”

  “So I can go?”

  “You can try, but as far as I understand things, only one side of your body -”

  “I'll worry about that,” he continued, clearly becoming increasingly agitated. “I want to get out of here right now!”

  “Be my guest,” she replied, heading to the door.

  “Help me out of this bed, then! Do you goddamn job!”

  “Oh no,” she said, glancing back at him with a smile. “You're free to check yourself out, Mr. Lacy, but you'll have to do it under your own steam. No-one here will help you, on account of it be
ing a very bad idea.” She paused. “Seriously, take some advice. Stick around, don't sweat it, and I'm sure you'll be able to go before too long, okay? Nurse Blackstock is making a real pain of herself, constantly trying to arrange for you to get some physio sessions. Let people help you.”

  “I have things to do.”

  “Those things can wait.”

  “You don't know what you're talking about,” he sneered. “How could you? You're just some dumb slut in a uniform, like all the rest. You're lucky I don't...”

  She waited for him to continue. “I'm lucky you don't what, Mr. Lacy?”

  He looked back down at his case. “Never mind.”

  “Are you sure you don't want me to put that thing away for you?” she asked. “You're clutching it like it's got the crown jewels in it. I'll put it in the locker and no-one'll touch it, I promise.”

  “Keep your filthy hands off my property,” he replied. “And stop poking your nose in my business.”

  “Whatever,” she muttered, stepping out into the corridor. “Grouchy old fart.” Taking a deep breath, she took a moment to reset her thoughts. Despite everything she'd said to Elly earlier, sometimes she found it a little harder to forget a patient's troubles, and Mr. Lacy was proving to be particularly difficult. After a few seconds, however, she managed to smile, before heading into the next room to see what she could do for Mrs. Cathcart.

  “Goddamn whore,” Mr. Lacy muttered in his room, as he fumbled with the lock on his case. With only minimal use of one of his hands, he found that everything took much longer, and the frustration was starting to show. After a moment, however, he was able to get the case open.

  Inside, there were photographs. Hundreds and hundreds of photographs, some of them in frames, all of them showing different women.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Let me know if it hurts,” Elly said as she ran another cotton swab across Rachel's ravaged face. She glanced at the woman's hands, waiting for any attempt at communication, before continuing. “There's still no sign of infection,” she explained. “Even in the time I've been here, I can see you're healing a little and -”