Crazy Dangerous

by Andrew Klavan

  “Yes!” she said. “Yes, there is something . . .”

  Wouldn’t you know it—at that very moment, the door swung open. Light from the hallway flooded the room, catching us both.

  I swung around and saw the nurse, standing in the doorway, staring at me.

  All three of us—me, Jennifer, the nurse—stood frozen like that for one more second.

  Then the nurse—without saying a single word—lifted a lanyard clipped to her uniform. There was a small black device at the end of the lanyard. It had a red button on it.

  She pressed the button and an alarm went off.

  22

  Running for It

  The alarm wasn’t loud. In some ways that was the scariest thing about it—how soft it was. Instead of some high-pitched, shrieking siren that sounded like a woman trapped in a burning building, this was a mild, calm, repeated tone that sounded like it was all business. The second I heard it, I knew it was probably sounding on a device clipped to the pocket of every aide in the hospital. Probably on a direct line to the police station too. That meant the large block-of-cement guy around the corner was probably already on his way—not to mention several carloads of armed officers of the law. I figured I had less than thirty seconds before I was in custody.

  That meant there was no time to think. There was no time for anything—unless I was ready to grow old in jail. I had to run for it. Now.

  The nurse stood there, blocking the doorway. I grabbed hold of the cart handle.

  “Get out of the way!” I shouted at her.

  And at the same time, I started pushing the cart straight toward her.

  I didn’t push it too fast—I wanted to give her time to step aside so I didn’t hurt her. But I didn’t slow down either.

  The nurse hesitated a moment as the cart barreled toward her. For another moment I thought, Oh no, I’m going to knock her down! But then, thank heavens, she moved—she didn’t have much choice really. At the last second, just before the cart slammed into her, she dodged to the side and the cart went hurtling through the door right past her.

  I ran out after it. Or, that is, I tried to run. But I couldn’t—because Jennifer was still holding on to my arm with both hands. As I went forward, she stumbled after me so that I dragged her out into the hallway with me. I tried to shake free of her. But I couldn’t.

  “Jennifer, let go!” I shouted.

  “No, no, no!” she cried, holding on.

  “Let go of me!”

  She wouldn’t.

  I looked up. Oh yeah, there he was, all right. Block-of-Cement Guy, larger than life. Charging around the corner full speed and racing down the corridor toward me. The other aide who’d been at the counter with him—the one who looked like a female block of cement—was right behind him.

  I had to make a choice: surrender and find myself back in the police station facing Detective Sims—or take Jennifer with me.

  “Run, Jennifer!” I shouted.

  Then I started running—and to my relief, so did she.

  We raced down the hall together, side by side at first, Jennifer’s straight brown hair flying back behind her. After a second, I took the lead, dragging Jennifer after me.

  I might have outrun Block-of-Cement Guy by myself—I probably would have—but there was no chance of it as long as I was hauling Jennifer around behind me. At this rate, the aide was going to tackle me in about ten seconds. I had to think of something—some other plan—and fast.

  But what? The elevator was no good—too slow. There had to be a stairway. That was it. I had to find the stairs.

  We reached the end of the corridor. Block-of-Cement Guy was closing in behind us. I could hear his sneakered footsteps getting louder on the floor.

  At the corner, I looked to my left: there was another corridor. To my right: Yes, there it was! The stairwell door.

  Pulling Jennifer by the hand, I ran to it, yanked it open, dashed inside.

  Now Jennifer and I were thundering down the steps. I clutched her hand in one of my hands. With my other hand I steadied myself on the banister as I flew downward two and three steps at a time.

  I heard Block-of-Cement Guy bang through the door upstairs and come thundering after us.

  The stairs switchbacked as we went down. We reached the first floor and went spinning around to get on the next flight. As we did, Jennifer tripped. She let out a scream. Her hand slipped out of mine. She went down two steps and was about to topple over. If she’d been wearing shoes, I think she would’ve kept going. But she was barefoot, I realized now, and that gave her some extra traction. Somehow she managed to spin around in front of me and grab the banister, holding herself up.

  I just kept running past her. To be honest, I figured it didn’t matter that much if she got caught. What would they do to her? They’d just put her back in the hospital, where she already was. I was the one in danger of going to prison if Detective Sims heard about this. I was the one who had to get away at all costs.

  I kept running.

  I reached the bottom floor, the basement. I could hear Block-of-Cement Guy’s footsteps right above me—and more footsteps and more doors opening up there as more people came into the stairwell chasing after us.

  I pulled open the door. Jennifer went flying past me, racing out of the stairwell. I charged after her, pushing the door shut behind me.

  As I did, I noticed something. A keyhole on the outside of the stairwell door. Sure, they had to be able to lock the stairwell when they needed to. Maybe . . .

  I yanked out the Buster.

  I could hear the footsteps of my pursuers come down the last flight of stairs. I figured I only had seconds before they came plunging through the door. I figured—if I know how to open a lock, I must be able to close one too.

  I pulled a lockpick out of Buster and went to work on the keyhole as fast as I could.

  Inside the stairwell the charging footsteps reached the bottom of the final flight and raced at the door as I struggled to turn the latch with the Buster pick.

  “Sam Hopkins!” Jennifer screamed behind me in a panic. “They’re coming! They’re coming!”

  The pick clicked. The lock turned over. The stairwell door locked shut just as Block-of-Cement Guy ran into it with a thud—at least, I guessed it was him. The door rattled against my hand as the big aide tried to force the door open. He couldn’t do it.

  I heard him curse.

  “He locked it somehow!” he shouted to the others behind him.

  I didn’t wait around to hear him curse again. After all, I’m a preacher’s kid! I can’t be listening to that sort of thing. So I took off.

  By now, my overalls were starting to unroll. The places where I’d rolled them up at the sleeves and cuffs had come most of the way down. My hands were swimming in the sleeves and I was tripping over the cuffs as I moved—like a little boy trying to walk around in his daddy’s clothes.

  But with the pursuing aides locked in the stairwell, I had a few seconds of freedom. I used those precious seconds to stumble down the hall, looking for somewhere—anywhere—to hide.

  I found another supply closet. Good thing too, because just then I heard the bell of the elevator ring around the corner. I heard the door slide open and a big, angry voice say, “They must be down here somewhere.”

  I pushed into the supply closet—and Jennifer quickly crowded in behind me.

  I shut the door.

  “Sam Hopk . . .”

  “Shh, shh, shh,” I told her. I put my finger to my lips for emphasis, but it was too dark for her to see me, so I put the finger to her lips and she was silent.

  I pulled out my flashlight and quickly passed the beam over the place. It was just like the room I was in before when I first came in: carts, garbage cans, brooms, supplies. As the flashlight beam went around, I saw Jennifer’s face in the outglow. Her eyes were shining, her mouth was open. She looked . . . she looked happy, to tell you the truth. Excited. As if this were all some sort of big hilarious adventu
re. Well, like I said, she wasn’t the one who would go to jail if she got caught.

  There was no lock on this side of the door. But there was a big garbage can that seemed just the right size. I rolled it over and wedged the edge of it under the doorknob. That would hold people off for a couple of seconds anyway.

  And they were out there looking, that’s for sure. I heard the footsteps running down the hall. I heard the voices, loud enough so I could make out the words:

  “I don’t see them!”

  “Start searching the rooms!”

  “Someone unlock that stairwell door!”

  I pulled down my overalls. Peeled them off my pant legs, threw them aside. I flicked the flashlight on, then off again—just long enough to find my way. Then I moved through the crowded supply room to the window.

  The window was high on the wall, but the latch was on the bottom. I could reach up and get it, unlock it. Then I grabbed hold of the ledge and pulled myself up, using my head to push the window open as I went. I crawled out onto the ground and scrambled to my feet.

  “Sam Hopkins!”

  I heard Jennifer’s desperate whisper below me. I looked back through the windows and saw her standing in the supply room, reaching her hands up toward me, the way a baby reaches when it wants to be picked up. It occurred to me that if I just left her here and ran for it, I might have a chance of getting away.

  But then I remembered: Just before the nurse caught us in Jennifer’s room, Jennifer had been about to tell me something. There was some clue, she said, that might help me find out about tomorrow, about the dead. If I left her behind now, I might never hear what she had to say. All this craziness and danger would’ve been for nothing.

  I stuck my hand down through the window. Jennifer grabbed it. I pulled her up until she could take hold of the window ledge herself. Then I caught both her arms and dragged her up and through the window, out into the open air.

  We both stood up—and immediately we heard the sirens. Police. They sounded close too. Very close. I figured they’d be coming up the hospital driveway in under a minute.

  “Hurry,” I said.

  I ran to the edge of the building and peeked around until I could see the entrance and the long driveway.

  We were already too late. A couple of aides had come out through the front door and were shining flashlights over the lawn, searching for us. I had to duck back quickly as one of the beams went sweeping past me.

  Then there were the police. They were already in sight. When I looked down the driveway, I saw the red glow of their cruiser lights running up into the high branches of the winter trees down by the road. They were seconds away from the driveway. Soon they’d be coming into view over the hill.

  “Sam Hopkins!”

  Jennifer’s voice had dropped to a low whisper, but even so, the sound of it made me jump, made me turn to her with my face scrunched up in a warning, too scared even to tell her to be quiet.

  Jennifer didn’t speak again. But she gestured frantically, pointing away from the front of the building.

  I lifted my eyes, followed her gestures. I looked to the rear of the building. There were spotlights back there. They picked small swaths of lawn out of the surrounding darkness, bathing them in their soft glow. They also made it possible to see the brick wall that surrounded the grass. The wall wasn’t high. I thought I could get over it.

  Beyond the wall, as far as I could tell, there was nothing but forest.

  I nodded once.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  Jennifer and I ran off together.

  23

  What Happened in the Woods

  A sprint across the grass. A running leap. I grabbed hold of the top of the wall and, grunting, pulled myself up. As the sirens sounded closer and closer, as the red glow of the police flashers lit up the surrounding forest, Jennifer, barefoot, raced to join me. I sat astride the wall and reached for her as she reached for me. Now her hand was in my hand. I pulled her up. I took one last glance across the lawn at the hospital. I saw aides pouring through the rear doors into the night, passing their flashlights over the back lawn, searching for us.

  No time to wait around. I slid off the top of the wall and hung from it, as far down as I could—then dropped onto the forest floor on the other side. Jennifer did the same, but as she landed . . .

  “Ouch. Ow!”

  The sticks and rocks bit into her bare feet, and she flinched and stumbled, crying out in pain. I knew it was only going to get worse in the forest.

  I glanced up at the wall. I could see the flashlight beams piercing the night above it as the aides crossed the lawn, searching. If we were going to escape, we had to go into the woods and we had to go now.

  I lifted Jennifer into my arms. I was amazed how easy it was, how light she was. It was like picking up a doll. She put her arm around my neck and rested her head against my chest.

  “Sam Hopkins,” she said tenderly.

  Oh brother!

  I carried her into the forest.

  There was no path, but the trees were spaced pretty far apart and the brush was fairly thin. We also got a lucky break from above: the clouds went sailing past and the moon came out. Its light shone down through the bare branches, making it easier to see. It wasn’t hard to make my way through the darkness, even carrying Jennifer.

  After a while the ground began to rise. I was gasping for breath by that time and my arms were starting to ache pretty badly. I knew I couldn’t carry Jennifer much farther. I found a small space and set her down. I sat beside her. Looking back through the trees, I couldn’t see anything but moonlit darkness. No one seemed to be coming after us. I figured we had some time.

  I took off my sneakers. They were way too large for Jennifer, but I thought my socks might do her some good. I took those off too, and pulled them over her feet to give her a little more protection. As I did this, I felt her watching me with her big eyes. I glanced up and tried my best to smile at her.

  “This oughta help your feet a little at least,” I said.

  “You’re my only magic friend,” she said.

  I rolled my eyes. What are you supposed to answer when somebody says that? “Right,” I said. “Sam, the magic friend, that’s me.”

  I put my sneakers back on my bare feet, ready to go. But something else occurred to me now: it was cold out here. I hadn’t noticed it before. When we were running, the motion had kept me warm. But I could feel it now—and I could see the gooseflesh coming up above Jennifer’s wrists. She wasn’t wearing anything but a flannel nightgown, remember.

  “Stand up,” I said.

  She jumped to her feet as if this were the army and I was a general who had given her a command. I stripped my jacket off and put it around her.

  “This’ll keep you warm,” I told her.

  “But you’ll be cold.”

  “I’ll be fine. My fear will keep me warm.”

  She laughed. I think it was the first time I’d ever heard her laugh, and I looked at her in surprise.

  “You’re funny,” she said.

  “Oh yeah, I’m a laugh riot.”

  “You’re good too,” she said then, serious. “No one else helps me. When I’m with you, I feel better.”

  “Jennifer . . . a minute ago you were safe in the hospital; now you’re on the run in the forest. I don’t think I’m helping you at all.”

  “But you are,” she said. “You are.”

  I rolled my eyes again. There was no talking to her. “Let’s go.”

  We set off again, moving more slowly now. My guess was that the aides and the police would be in no hurry to go wandering through the forest in the middle of the night. They would do a thorough search of the hospital and its grounds before they came chasing after us. If we were lucky, they might even wait until morning before making a full search. But even if they didn’t wait, I thought we might be able to evade them out here in the darkness of the woods, at least for a while.

  So we went on at o
ur own pace. We picked our way through the trees. It was an eerie scene, an eerie place to be. The naked branches stirred above us as the wind rose, their motions strangely rhythmic and alive. The moon dodged in and out of the clouds, sending weird, tangled shadows every which way. The crackle and squeak of the bending wood filled the forest, which was already loud with other noises: night peepers and crickets—and startling bursts of motion as animals and birds escaped from us through the brush. Now and then, there was a distant sound of traffic—a car or truck passing on the road. Once, a freight train let out a lonesome whistle, and my mind went back to how all this began: that desperate race over the rail bridge with Harry Mac after me. Poor Harry Mac.

  When I thought it was safe, I paused a moment. I turned on my flashlight and passed it over the scene. The twisted branches and moving shadows went up the hill as far as I could see. I felt very alone, far away from my home, my ordinary life.

  Finally, near the top of the rise, we came to a clearing. It was an open circle of ground surrounded by winter oaks. They were big trees with big branches that reached out to one another, creating a lacework canopy above our heads. There was a little brook gurgling along underneath them. As we entered the clearing, the moon came out. The branches of the trees cast dense shadows that moved back and forth hypnotically. The running water of the brook winked and sparkled with the silver light. Then the clouds raced over the moon again and there was only darkness and the whisper of the wind.

  “Let’s rest here,” I said.

  The moon appeared again as Jennifer sat down on a rock next to the brook. In the dim light I saw her reach her hand into the water and bring it up to drink out of her palm. I turned away, hugging myself and shivering. Now that we’d stopped moving—and now that Jennifer had my jacket—the cold was really beginning to get to me.

  I tried to ignore it. I tried to think. All I could think was: What am I doing here? Was I as crazy as Jennifer? I had helped her escape from a mental hospital! Where the doctors were taking care of her! Why did I do that? I must’ve been out of my mind. I probably should’ve been in the hospital with her!