Lakewood Memorial

by Robert R. Best

  “Oh god.” Angie shook her head, but smiled while she did it. “Not you too.”

  Freeda laughed. “I know, I know. They're your babies. And you've had Maylee since you were practically a baby yourself. But you have to start letting go a little.”

  Angie nodded and finished the sheet she was folding. She felt bad for being cold to Maylee. Call home, her mind nagged at her. Tell her you're sorry. “I know you're right, but...” She trailed off, putting the folded sheet on the stack Freeda had made. “Well, I don't know but what, just but something.”

  “I see,” said Freeda, nodding as she finished the last sheet. She put it on the pile and raised an eyebrow at Angie. “but as in butt out.”

  Angie laughed. “No, no. Not like that.” She helped Freeda straighten the stack, then they both headed for the door. Angie snapped off the light as they both left.

  They walked down the hall quietly for a moment. “Speaking of butts,” Angie said, “Sam Shuab...”

  “Oh god, that prick.” Freeda laughed. “You'd think Shuab Auto Sales was worth billions, the way he acts. What's he want?”

  “A doctor,” said Angie. “He's demanding one come talk to him.”

  They turned a corner and headed up a hallway toward the break room. Freeda frowned. “Mr. Paulson's refusing the surgery again?”

  “Yep.” Angie nodded, then thought for a moment. “Who's the doctor on duty, anyway?”

  “Doctor Gordon.”

  “Oh great. Well, at least he and Sam should hit it off.”

  Freeda laughed. “I swear, if that little jackass was half the doctor he thought he was, he wouldn't have the late shift on a Thursday night.”

  Angie nodded. “This is true. He probably wouldn't even have this shift if he didn't have so many buddies on the board of directors.”

  They both turned another corner and almost collided with Nurse Ruby Meyer. Ruby had been headed the other direction and looked very annoyed at having been stopped. She was a tight-looking woman with a stern face and her hair pulled back taut.

  “Where are you two going?” she said.

  “Break room,” said Angie as pleasantly as she could. Ruby made her nervous, but she refused to show it. “We're both pulling a double tonight, so I thought we'd take the chance to sit for a few minutes.”

  Ruby frowned for a tiny moment, then pushed past them. “Not yet, girls,” she said as she walked up the hall. “I'll need everyone we can spare in ER. We've got a gunshot victim coming in. Someone who tried to rob Ed's.”

  Then she was gone around the corner. Angie and Freeda listened to the receding pat of Ruby's sneakers. Even with those sneakers, Angie could usually hear Ruby coming. Something was distracting her tonight. Something was wrong.

  When Ruby was out of both sight and sound, Freeda turned to Angie. “What if we just don't show?”

  Angie shook her head. “You know Ruby. That would be a bad idea.” Then Angie felt a dread come over her. A feeling of something awful creeping up. Call home, she thought. No, no time. Have to work. “A very bad idea.”

  * * *

  “I told you it was a bad idea,” said Parker Welch as he whipped his groaning pickup into the parking lot of Lakewood Memorial. He ignored a speed bump and his muffler clattered in protest. His hunting cap began sliding off his long, unkempt hair and he tossed it off impatiently.

  “The guy looked hurt, Park,” said Morton Buck from the passenger seat. Park had known Moe for most of his thirty-five years, and Moe was constantly saying things like that. Stupidly nice things.

  Moe rocked from side to side in rhythm with the truck. His teeth were clenched and he had one hand clamped over his left arm. Blood seeped from between his fingers.

  “Fuck him,” said Park. The truck's headlights bounced as he swung around, looking for a place to park. He found a spot near the emergency entrance and aimed for it. It was a handicapped spot, but Park ignored that. He was in a hurry. “That's what I said, and it's what you should have said too.”

  “Now, Park,” said Moe, leaning to one side as the truck banked hard into the spot and stopped. “You can't ignore a fellow who's hurt.”

  Park let the engine run and stared across the front of the truck. He wondered what the hell had happened. The sun was going down on what was supposed to have been Parker's dying day. A nice, long-overdue hunting session with Moe, then home again to blow off the back of his head with a shotgun. Maybe he'd even feel the breeze against the back of his eyeballs before he winked out.

  He hadn't told Moe, of course. Moe would have tried to stop him, showing the same stupid helpfulness that had gotten him bit.

  “Well, he wasn't hurt, was he?” said Park, turning to him. “He was some crazy fucking asshole who bit you. Fucker was probably on meth or something.”

  He jerked the engine off and the truck shuddered in complaint. He realized he was still wearing his hunting gloves and he pulled them off, tossing them into a camouflage heap at Moe's feet. “Let's get inside.”

  Three

  The emergency room was full. It was unusually busy for a Thursday night. But it wasn't just that. There was something unsettled in the atmosphere, something swirling in the air that Angie couldn't place.

  “Wow,” said Freeda next to her, looking around. “Things are bat-crap tonight.”

  And they were. Injured people were everywhere. A man with scratches on his face and a quickly bandaged leg. A woman in a torn and dirty dress, holding a cloth to deep red gashes on her arm. A young boy standing as his parents showed Nurse Paula gouges on his shoulder.

  Paula looked over and nodded at Freeda. “Hey,” she called, “come give me a hand.”

  Freeda turned to Angie. “Duty screams,” she said, then rushed to the boy.

  Angie stood in the middle of the room, taking it all in. There was definitely something wrong. The tone was off. The patients didn't look annoyed or embarrassed, the way most mildly injured people looked in the emergency room. They looked confused. And afraid.

  That's it, thought Angie. They look afraid.

  Call home.

  “Hey, Anj,” came a voice behind her.

  She turned and saw Rick sitting at his dispatch desk. An old CB radio sat on the desk, waiting for the ambulance to call. Angie's eyes moved from the radio back to Rick. He was middle-aged, round and pleasant. Angie liked him. “What a night, huh?”

  “No kidding.” Angie nodded. “I hear we got a gunshot victim coming in.”

  “Yeah, someone tried to stick up Ed's. Can you believe it?” He looked around and rubbed his bristly goatee in a conspiratorial way, then leaned forward. “You know, that robber was not the only person to leave Ed's on a stretcher tonight. Only the coroner took the other one.”

  Angie's back went taut. The feeling returned. Something sneaking up. She stayed outwardly calm and leaned forward, raising an eyebrow.

  Rick nodded. “Old Timmins.”

  “Oh god,” said Angie. She'd seen Timmins here and there her whole life. He was a drunk, but a pleasant enough one. “Heart attack?”

  “More like a stroke. He started biting people. Hard. As in drawing blood. By the time the cops and the ambulance showed up, he'd bit both Ed and some guy who tried to help. Even tried to bite a cop. Cop ended up shooting him.”

  “My god,” said Angie.

  Angie heard a stern cough from behind her. Rick made an “oops” face and quickly started looking busy. Angie turned to see Nurse Ruby.

  “There's no time for chit-chat,” Ruby said. “Please go straighten up the waiting room, Angela. We've had an unusual amount of traffic tonight.”

  No kidding, Angie thought. “Yes, ma'am.” She gave a little parting smile to Rick and headed for the waiting room.

  * * *

  “I'm dying,” said Dalton, clutching his stomach as he lay on the couch.

  “You're not dying,” said Brooke. She sat in Mom's chair with the TV remote in her hand. She hit the up button again and again, flipping through channels.

>   Maylee sat on the edge of another chair, across the room. “Can I have your stuff?”

  Dalton said nothing, watching TV channels flash by. He slid his hand inside his open over-shirt and rested his palm on the t-shirt underneath.

  “Hey, ass turtle!” said Maylee.

  “What?” said Dalton, looking over.

  “Can I have your stuff, since you're dying?”

  Dalton shook his head and rubbed his stomach. The TV flipped past a news report, something about masses of people holding up traffic in a big city. “No, you'd better not. My things may be contaminated.”

  Maylee rolled her eyes. “I thought you were starving to death.”

  Dalton nodded. “I am starving, yes. But it may be a coincidence. I may be both starving and have a highly contagious disease.”

  Brooke chuckled as she clicked the remote. “You use lots of big words for a little brother.”

  Dalton beamed. “Mom says I'm smart.”

  “Sure,” said Maylee. “To your face. To me, she says you're an ass turtle.”

  Dalton sat up and scowled at Maylee. “No she doesn't!”

  Maylee held up her hands and sat back. “Hey, don't blame the messenger.”

  “I blame your ugly face,” said Dalton. He stood, ignoring Maylee's quickly-flashed middle finger.

  He frowned. “Is the pizza ever coming?”

  The TV flipped past another news report, something about slow-moving mobs and random killings.

  “Maybe food will save me.” Dalton grabbed his stomach and made a big show of stumbling to the front window.

  The usual view of their street greeted him outside. No car with a pizza sign.

  He sighed and put his forehead on the glass. It felt cold. He gazed at a lit window in a house across the street. The light snapped out, sending an odd chill through Dalton. It was like the window had died.

  A figure shuffled into view. It stumbled in from Dalton's right, headed to the left.

  Dalton gasped and pulled away. The curtain fell back into place.

  “What?” said Maylee from across the room. “The pizza?”

  “No,” said Dalton. He pushed the curtain over and squinted outside.

  It was a man, stumbling slowly across the lawn. He looked like a man staggering just before falling down, only he never fell. He just kept taking one slow, herky-jerky step after another.

  There was something wrong in the man's walk. No, Dalton thought. There was something wrong in the fact that the man was walking at all. Something said he shouldn't be walking. Shouldn't be doing anything.

  The man jerked out from under a tree and into the moonlight, giving Dalton a clearer view. The man's head leaned all the way back, bouncing limply as he moved. His eyes were wide open, staring solidly at the moon.

  Or at nothing.

  “Dalton?” said Maylee, suddenly right behind him and breathing on his neck.

  He jerked. “Crap, Maylee! Don't do that!” He turned to glare at her.

  “What's your problem?” Maylee said, leaning to one side to look past him and out the window. “What's got you screeching like a little girl?”

  “Nothing,” said Dalton, embarrassed now. He turned back to gesture out the window. “There's just some weird guy on the lawn.”

  “Where? Oh, there he is.” Maylee fell quiet as they both watched the man continue his deeply wrong walk across the lawn. A few seconds later, Dalton realized they were both holding their breath.

  Then Brooke was behind them both. “For heaven's sake,” she said. Both Dalton and Maylee jerked. Dalton heard Maylee gasp.

  “It's just a drunk or something,” said Brooke. “Go sit back down. The pizza should be here soon.”

  “Yeah,” said Maylee, not sounding very convinced.

  Dalton nodded and moved away from the window. He was blushing. He'd acted like a scared little kid. Don't be such a baby, he thought as he sat back down on the couch. Look at Brooke, she's not afraid.

  But he noticed she stared out the window for a few extra seconds before turning away.

  Four

  Shambles, thought Angie as she stepped into the waiting room and looked around. Chairs were moved. Paper coffee cups were stacked everywhere. Magazines appeared to have been tossed around at random.

  To Angie's left stood the reception desk, and Velma stood behind that. Velma had worked reception since Angie was a girl. Two men stood in front of the desk, talking to Velma. One clutched a wounded arm. Angie overheard that his name was Moe.

  She moved past them and started cleaning. One of the men, the unhurt one, was complaining about having to wait to see the doctor. He sounded like a jackass.

  She collected up several half-empty coffee cups and took them to a nearby trash can. Lukewarm coffee splashed on her hands as she dumped the cups inside. She cursed and wiped her hands on her smock. She looked around and saw at least three magazines nearby. She picked up two off of a nearby chair and went toward one lying on the floor just by a large window.

  She knelt, picked up the magazine, then jerked back when something brushed the glass.

  She stood, her heart skipping, and saw a woman pressed against the window. The woman moved feebly, writhing against the glass. Like she was trying to walk through it.

  The poor thing's drunk, thought Angie as she tried to direct the woman to the doors. But the woman wasn't looking at her. The woman wasn't looking at anything, really. Her eyes were a milky yellow and her slowly opening and closing mouth revealed a swollen, gray tongue.

  “Oh my god,” Angie said, stepping back.

  She heard movement behind her. Her back tightened and she spun around.

  Dr. Gordon stood there. He was a short man with a lean face and a comb-over.

  “Dr. Gordon,” she said, breathing out. “Um, Nurse Ruby told me to clean up...”

  He gave a little shake of his head to indicate he wasn't interested. “Ms. Land, I was just talking with Mr. Paulson's family.”

  “Oh, right,” Angie said. “Mr. Paulson's saying he doesn't want...”

  “Mr. Shuab told me you're trying to give medical advice.”

  Angie's cheeks tightened with heat. “No, sir, I was just...”

  He shook his head again, dislodging his thin bangs. “You don't seem to realize what your duties are. And I must say I'm tired of complaints about your attitude.”

  Angie's first thought was to punch him. She'd never hit anyone before, but this little fucker had asked for it night after night. She needed this job, but damn it would be fun to...

  Something bumped the glass behind her. She'd forgotten about the woman at the window.

  “Sir, I think there's a woman who needs help,” she said, turning to the window. The woman was gone. Only smears on the glass remained.

  “Ms. Land!” Dr. Gordon shouted.

  Angie spun back to see him fuming and readjusting his hair. “I'm afraid that's all I can take. If you can't even do the courtesy of looking at me while I'm talking to you, then...”

  “Sir, please...”

  “No, I'm sorry. I'm going to recommend the hospital board fire you.”

  “What?” Angie said. “You can't...”

  “Now I hate to be a man who uses his connections, but I'm afraid I have no choice. If I were you, I'd start looking for other work.”

  He turned and walked toward the emergency room. Angie watched him go.

  He couldn't.

  Dr. Gordon pushed the emergency room doors open and walked through. The doors swung shut.

  Angie blinked. She opened her mouth, then shut it.

  He couldn't. He didn't have the authority.

  But he did have the friends. A whole board-of-directors full.

  So maybe he could after all.

  Shambles, thought Angie as she sat down in the closest chair she could find, next to a soda machine. It hummed in her ear, but she barely noticed. She stared at the floor.

  Call home.

  Why not?

  She took out he
r phone and started dialing.

  * * *

  Ten Minutes Earlier

  “I don't believe this,” said Park, drumming his fingers on the reception counter. “Can't you see how bad he's bleeding?”

  “Be nice, Park,” murmured Moe, clutching his arm. “It's not that bad.”

  “I understand, sir,” said the fat old bitty behind the counter. “But we are unusually busy tonight. Just have a seat and the doctor will be with you as soon as possible.”

  “Great,” said Park. “Just great.” He paused to watch a woman in a hospital smock walk by. Angie, her name tag said. He turned back to the fat old bitty. “Thanks for the heaping help of jack fuck.”

  “Come on,” said Moe, wincing slightly. “Let's sit.”

  Park grudgingly followed Moe to a chair and plopped down next to him. He ran a hand through his long hair, scratched at his stubble and absently watched “Angie” pick up magazines and cups around the room.

  “Damn it,” he muttered to no one in particular.

  “Just try to relax,” said Moe. Park turned back to see Moe looking at his red-stained palm. Moe put his hand back on his wound. “I'm the one who got bit.”

  Park sighed. “Yeah, I know. I'm just in a shitty mood.”

  Moe chuckled. “You're always in a shitty mood. You were born in a shitty mood. You wake up every morning in a shitty mood. And when you die, the doctors will tell your wife 'At least he died peacefully, in a shitty mood.'”

  Park grunted. “Ex-wife. And I doubt she'd work up enough of a shit to show up.” He hiked up one hip and fished around in his pocket for change. He cursed, switched hips and tried the other. This time he found some coins. “I saw a soda machine on the way in. You want one?”

  “Don't know what I'd do with a soda machine,” said Moe. “Doubt I could even carry it in my condition.”

  “Hey, it's the funniest fuck in fuck town,” said Park. “You know what I mean, dipshit. Do you want a soda?”