by Jane Toombs
Sally had scared the shit out of him, fainting again. He'd thought maybe he'd killed her. But after she came to she'd gotten up. He couldn't have hurt her too badly. Under his hands her bones had felt fragile, like a bird's. She was so small....
Finding himself getting excited by remembering what he'd done, Frank slammed out of the parking lot, almost missing the exit drive. The fog closed about him but he drove wildly, paying no heed to whether he was on the shoulder or over the center line.
Sally, Sally. Would she come to work tomorrow? Would she report him to Dr. Fredericks?
He'd be exposed for what he was—a molester of children. Frank shook his head. No, no, Sally was almost twenty. She wasn't Doris. She wasn't a child.
But what about the next one? He shuddered.
Sally was no child, but she hadn't wanted him. He'd forced her. He'd raped her. Instead of disgust at himself, desire rose in him like nausea. He gritted his teeth and shoved the accelerator to the floor.
Chapter Seventeen
"Of course I understand the circumstances," Crawford said to Dr. Fredericks in his office. "Although I must say I'm surprised at Barry Jacobs."
"We can only hope the L.A. papers won't pick it up," Dr. Fredericks said. "They'd manage to make the hospital responsible, as always. I wouldn't ask you to take the extra MOD if Tony Newbold hadn't gone out of town. Apparently he traded tonight with Barry so he could attend a wedding. And, as you know, Larry Haskins is on vacation until next week. We're somewhat short-handed."
"You realize I'm also on call Thursday night?"
"I think you can manage, Crawford. Naturally you'll get compensatory time off."
"How long will Barry be out?"
"He ought to be covering his own wards by the end of the week. I'll keep him off call for another week."
"So, I'll have my wards and his and Tony's today, call tonight, then half Barry's wards for the rest of the week?"
"Yes. Tony will be back tomorrow to pick up the other half." Dr. Fredericks smiled, regarding Crawford with his small, bright eyes. "Do you think I'm asking too much of you?"
"As you pointed out—I'll manage," Crawford said tartly.
* * *
Sven Taterson put on the green jacket as he left the AdministrationBuilding. Though it was after lunch, the sky was still overcast and the wind damp. His library job was a bummer. He was forever answering questions, but there was no one there he could really talk to.
Industrial therapy, they called it and he really didn't mind working, but if he had to he ought to have a say in what he did. He increased his pace, eager to get to Harry.
As soon as Harry caught sight of him he sprang up from the bench and beckoned.
"You got news?" Tate asked.
"He said this afternoon. Might be there already."
"We'll go see."
"I don't know," Harry said. "Seems like all the wards got techs out walking people right now."
"Come on. They won't pay us no never mind."
The two men sauntered down the path, first deliberately heading away from their goal, then circling back.
Dolph, shuffling along outside the fence behind a day shift tech from Thirteen West, spotted the green jacket and watched carefully, noting when the man called Tate slipped behind bushes and disappeared.
Dolph waited till the tech stopped and began talking to a female tech from another ward before he slipped away, hurrying toward where he'd last seen Tate.
"Hey, wait up," Harry complained to Tate. "You're traveling like a warthog with a stick of dynamite up his ass."
Tate paid no attention, pushing aside fronds of shrubbery, making his way toward the wall surrounding the grounds. There, that was the palm he always sighted by, a big old date palm squatting between two of the tall skinny kind. Now, take ten paces to the left. He hunkered down and pulled at a large rock that had taken both him and Harry to cart over here when they dug the hole.
"Thought I wasn't never gonna catch you," Harry complained, squatting down beside him. "Anything in there?"
"I'm looking." Having gotten the rock shoved aside, Tate stretched out on the ground and reached his arm inside the hole that ran under the wall to the other side. A section of clay pipe stolen from the grounds shed kept the dirt from collapsing into the hole.
His fingers touched paper, a paper bag. He drew it toward him, hearing bottles clink together. Saliva ran into his mouth.
"Yeah," Tate told Harry, pulling the bag free. "Look here."
Tate left the two wine bottles inside the bag, removing the two pints of whiskey, one for Harry and one for him. He twisted the cap off his and took a pull.
"Jesus, stash it! Someone's coming," Harry warned. At the same time Tate heard crashing in the bushes.
Harry thrust his unopened bottle into the bag and jammed the bag back into the hole, shoving the stone over the opening. Tate had to recap his and was too late to do anything but push the bottle into the inside pocket of the jacket he wore, zipping it in.
Dolph burst upon them with a ward tech immediately behind him.
"Gotcha," the tech cried, hooking Dolph around the neck. He eyed the other two men. "Well, Tate," he said, "what are you and your friend planning to do—fly over the wall?"
"Weren't doing anything," Tate muttered. "Just like to get away from jerks like him." He pointed at Dolph. "Isn't it enough I got to have him on the ward with me? No, he's got to follow me around outside."
"Yeah, yeah, I heard that before. You guys better come back to civilization with me." He shook Dolph. "You going to behave?"
Dolph had no objection to returning once he knew the man called Tate had to come with them. He didn't resist when the tech pulled him along by the arm. When they got to the inner courtyard, the tech collected Mousie and W.W. from the female tech who'd watched them.
Hands on Mousie's wheelchair, he said to Dolph. "Inside the fence for you next outing." Looking at Tate, he added. "You're coming in with me."
"Hey, I got a grounds pass. You got no right—"
"Any pass can be revoked. Come on, don't argue—you know you're not supposed to be off hiding in the bushes." Harry rolled his eyes and hunched his shoulders at Tate. "Where do you belong?" the tech asked Harry.
"Who, me? Twelve East. But I got a pass."
"You better get back there. I'll be calling them when I get to the ward, let them know what's going on. You better be there."
Going to shake me down for sure, Tate told himself as he trailed behind the tech who was pushing Mousie ahead in the wheelchair, Dolph walking ahead. Got to ditch the jacket first. My room'll be locked, can't get in, most of the rooms'll be locked this time of the day, everybody in the day room.
Who won't be? That teenager—they shocked her this morning. Maybe drop the jacket behind the door in there if I can manage without getting caught. No place else. Get it later.
While the tech was occupied unlocking the outer door, Tate slipped off the green jacket. Dolph, watched him and tried to pull away from the tech, who jerked him forward, inside the building. Dolph continued to try to reach Tate and the tech snarled at him, hauling him through the second door and pushing him down the hall.
Taking advantage of the tech's distraction, Tate darted inside Laura Jean's room. Nobody in there but her and she looked out of it. Good. He flung the jacket behind the door and nipped out without being noticed.
"Dolph needs a shot, I'd say," the tech told the day charge nurse. "Ran off on me, tried to get away again when we got back here. Must be getting set to blow like he did that one night. And old Tate here needs a shake down. Been out in the bushes with a friend from the alky ward. I can smell something on him. Maybe you should call Twelve East and let them know about their stray lamb."
Dolph got his shot and was put into the day room. Tate was herded off to his room for a strip down.
"Hey," the tech demanded, "didn't you have a jacket on?"
"Gave it to my buddy outside there," Tate said. "Belongs to him."
The tech frowned, trying to remember, finally shrugging. "They'll check him, too. Won't do you much good if that's where you stashed it. Get dressed. You're clean."
"Goddamn prison rules," Tate said. "You run this place like San Quentin."
"You should know."
"Come on—I never been inside there."
"You seen one jail, you seen them all," the tech said. "Don't try to shit me you don't know the inside of a drunk tank."
In the day room, Dolph got up from his chair.
"Where you going?" the tech inside asked.
"To the men's john."
The tech watched him go down the hall to the bathroom. Dolph went in and flushed the toilet. He waited a few minutes and flushed it again. Then he stuck his head out and looked up the hall. The next shift was coming in and the techs were laughing and talking to one another. Dolph slipped along the hall and into Laura Jean's room. He came out clutching the jacket.
David, coming on duty, noticed where he was coming from and grabbed him. "What were you doing in there?" he said. "That's not your room."
"Got lost. Looking for my room." He held up the jacket. "Got my green jacket back."
David raised his eyebrows. Damned if the guy didn't have a man's green jacket. Whether it was really his or not, odds were he hadn't swiped it from Laura Jean.
"Maybe it is yours, at that," he conceded. "You've been bleating long enough about losing one. But you don't go into rooms you don't belong in—you hear?"
"I feel dizzy," Dolph said. "They gave me a shot and I need to lay down. I was looking for my bed."
David hesitated. He could herd Dolph back into the day room, but he'd probably keep trying to sneak out and find his room which, of course, was locked.
"Okay," he told Dolph, unlocking the door to his room and ushering him in.
Dolph made a beeline for his bed, lay down and covered the upper part of his body with the green jacket.
"You stay put," David warned.
Dolph closed his eyes without replying.
After lying still for a long time—easy to do 'cause he did feel kind of dizzy—Dolph opened his eyes and looked toward the hall. No one. He turned on his side with his back to the door and slid the jacket onto the bed in front of him.
With his body concealing what he was doing, he slipped his hand inside the jacket and unzipped the inner pocket, extracting a brown bottle. He forgot a lot of things, he knew that, but he'd remembered this right. He sat up and opened it carefully. Nearly full. He tipped it up and drank greedily.
Dolph finished the bottle and stared at it solemnly. They'd be mad. Have to hide it. He fumbled the cap on and got it back into the inner jacket pocket. He lay back down on the bed, warmth flowing inside him like a molten river.
Tate sat fuming in the day room where they were keeping him as a punishment. Usually he was privileged to use his room in the evening if he wanted to. Now he'd have to find a way to talk Lew or David into letting him out of here. "Look," he said to Lew. "I wasn't doing a damn thing, just talking to my buddy outside. You know that day shift—always looking to jump on someone. All I want to do is go to my room."
Lew shrugged. Never had liked that guy on days. Smart ass, forever trying to make time with the chicks—the kind Becky went for. Thought he was King Shit, shooting off his mouth. Serve him right, getting transferred to nights 'cause Lew was replacing him on days. Sure would be a drag if he had to work the same shift with him.
"Okay," he said to Tate. "The doors are all unlocked now—you can go to your room. Only stay out of trouble."
"I don't get into trouble," Tate protested.
"That's what they all tell me."
Tate started up the hall, saw Lew wasn't watching him, doubled back and dived into Laura Jean's room.
Sally straightened, turning from Laura's Jean's bed to stare at him.
"Look, I accidentally dropped something in here," he said quickly. "I'll just grab it and clear out." He ducked behind the door, but the jacket was gone. A fast glance around the room didn't locate it. "You find a green jacket?" he demanded.
Sally shook her head "You'd better get out of here," she told him.
"You sure? Somebody must've found it."
"I'm sure. And no one's mentioned finding a jacket. You know you don't belong in here, Mr. Taterson."
He stepped into the hall. If she hadn't found it and the jacket was gone—where was it?
Tate struck his forehead with the heel of his palm.
That little guy who used to be his roommate—what was his name? Dolph. Him. The one who trailed around after him, who'd tried to take the jacket before. Dolph hadn't been in the day room, come to think of it.
Tate hurried along the hall to his old room, the one he used to share with the guy. Sure enough, there he was on the bed with the jacket spread over him. What a sneaky little bugger. He went in and yanked the jacket off Dolph, felt the zipped pocket and found the bottle still there. Dolph didn't stir. Good. Let him wonder what happened when he woke up. Tate took the jacket to his room and stashed it in the cupboard. He wouldn't risk taking a drink till after supper. Lew might just decide to check on him.
* * *
"I hear you're leaving us for days," Alma said to Lew as they served supper trays in the dining room.
"Yeah, it works out better with my wife and all—she's on days."
"Glad it's nothing personal."
"In a way, I kind of hate to change—I get along good on this shift."
Alma smiled. "I can hear you now, once you get on days, complaining about the way the evening shift does things."
Lew shook his head. He was going to miss most of the other techs on this shift and Ms Reynolds, too. Long as you did your work, she never bugged you. He dreaded the possibility he'd be assigned to the ECTs once he got on days. Then he'd have to take Laura Jean over there and watch while they put the electrodes on, watch her arch up against the straps when the current zapped her. Bummer.
Alma took a deep breath. She hadn't been sure she could make it through the evening but no one seemed to notice how artificial her smiles were nor how stiff her behavior. And no one had said a word about it. Was it possible the whole horrible story wasn't all over the hospital?
The day charge had given her an odd look—she'd heard something, all right. By tomorrow the grape vine would have spread some version of it far and wide.
Charlie'd insisted she come back to L.A. with him but she couldn't do that, she had to give her proper notice and leave in an orderly fashion. You had to do things right. Didn't he understand? It was her career, after all, and she didn't want it on her record that she'd left without notice. Looked like Willie might make it. As her grandmother would say, took more than a knife in a lung to kill a man born to be hanged.
"I can't wake Dolph up," Sally said to Alma, appearing at her elbow.
"He had a shot of Thorazine just before change of shift. It's probably zonked him," Alma said. "We can save his supper for later."
Sally hesitated. Dolph had looked odd to her, but maybe that was to be expected in a heavily tranquilized patient. "All right. I got Laura Jean to feed herself with some help. I could hardly believe it."
"Shock does that sometimes—brings them back in a hurry."
"Oh!" Sally exclaimed, then quickly looked away from the door, covering her mouth with her hand.
Alma glanced at her in surprise. "What's the matter?"
"N-nothing," Sally stammered, staring down at the tray of food she held to avoid watching Frank come into the dining room. All she could do was pray he wouldn't stay on the ward very long because she wouldn't be able to function with him around.
Frank knew Sally was in the room, even if he didn't dare look directly at her. He'd dreaded this moment and it was as bad as he'd expected it to be. Apparently she hadn't told anyone. Why? In her place he would have. Like she said, he was no better than an animal.
Chapter Eighteen
Night cloaked the CarsonValley. Out
side, stars did their twinkling dance in the black velvet of the sky and the half moon shed its pale light earthward….a romantic setting Sarah wanted no part of. She and Frank were inside, sitting in her living room, in two identical chairs she'd bought after the divorce to replace the mama and papa chairs she'd always loathed.
The chairs were angled toward each other, a conversational grouping with an occasional table separating them. They'd brought their tea in here after supper. The empty cups still sat on the table.
Rather than address what lay simmering between them, Sarah said, "When I was outside earlier, I thought I heard the phone." She knew perfectly well if she had heard it, Frank would have let the answering machine take the call—he never answered the phone—but she'd forgotten to check the machine.
"Your daughter called to find out how you were bearing up," Frank said. "I assured her I hadn't murdered you yet."
"Frank, you didn't!"
He shrugged. "She seemed relieved."
"You actually took the call?"
"Why not? You keep telling me I should start doing things on my own. Since I can't stay here forever, I'm giving it a try. I realize now what a damn fool risk you took snatching me off that San Diego street." His gaze trapped hers. "You never did know what was good for you, did you, Sally?"
Sarah's heart fluttered apprehensively when she heard him say Sally—always before he'd said Sarah. "You know."
"In a way, I must have known who you were from the moment you called me by name in San Diego. Otherwise I wouldn't have gone with you."
She couldn't quite believe that. As dazed and sick as he'd been? "You couldn't have recognized me."
"Not by the way you look now, no. But there's more to knowing someone than appearance." He rose from the chair and leaned against the fireplace mantel. "You regretted letting me in that night at Calafia. Yet you deliberately did it again after all these years. Why, Sally?"
She swallowed, unsure of the answer. "There you are, looming over me again, damn it."