Jimmy found another article about the crash. I scanned it, searching for more information. With this Newland owning a company called MicroHealth, it became pretty certain where and when the pod came from. I hated it when Jimmy was right.
32
An Overdose
The phone rang four times before I picked up. What if investigators into Newland’s death suspected foul play and they found my number in his recent calls list? Could they work that fast? I answered with a cautious, “Hello?”
“May I speak with Kathy Wyatt, please.”
Oh God, they had connected me to Newland.
“Speaking…” An urge to slam the phone down came over me. Somehow I resisted.
“Oh, hello Kathy. It’s Wendy here.”
Wendy? It took me a second to realize who she was. “Hi, you’re calling about Sally. Is there any news?”
“That’s why I’m phoning. I’ve got a number for you. You can contact her now.”
I sagged against the wall. “Thank God. I was beginning to worry they’d never let me speak to her. How is she doing?”
“As well as can be expected. She’s had a rough couple of weeks.” Wendy recited the number for me and rang off. I admitted I was surprised she’d kept up her part of the deal and given me a contact number. I’d spent so many years hating Wendy alongside Sally that it was weird to be in league with her.
I dialed the number, feeling my excitement growing. We could plan to take her out for the day. I could get her down to the pod and fix her dodgy head. Only five days to go and the machine would be functional. Such a small number of days. A big grin spread across my face.
Finally the phone was answered.
“Hello, can I speak to Sally Jones. I’m Kathy Wyatt. I believe she’s been given permission to talk to me.”
A female voice told me, “I’ll see about finding her. I’m just going to put you on hold for a moment.”
No music to ease the wait with this system, just a quiet static hum to give me a clue I was still connected to the hospital. No one came back to me for a long time, and I was on the verge of hanging up when there was the sound of the line reconnecting and someone manhandling a handset.
“Hello?” A man this time.
“Hi, I’ve been on hold for a while. A woman was looking for Sally Jones for me.”
“Right, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Wait-”
He put me on hold before I could ask how long he might be. I sat on the stool by the phone and tapped on my knee while the static played into my ear.
“Hello?” A woman again. I wasn’t sure if it was the first person again or another woman.
“Hi, this is Kathy Wyatt. Was it you I spoke to before? You were looking for Sally Jones for me. She’s a patient.”
“Ah, yes, that was my colleague. Who is it you’re looking for again?”
“Sally Jones,” I said, trying to mask my frustration. “I think there are two people searching for her now.”
“Yes, well, let me find out what’s going on.”
Jesus. Was it that hard to find patients? What kind of place were they running?
The phone crackled in my ear again. “Hello, are you looking for Sally Jones?” Could be the second woman was back on the line.
I sighed. “Yes, I am.”
“What is your name again?”
“Kathy Wyatt.”
“You’re not on the list.” There was the sound of papers rustling.
“I should be, her sister Wendy gave me the number and told me to call.”
“Yes, that’s right. But there’s been an incident. Sally can’t come to the phone right now.”
I sat up. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I can’t tell you. That’s what I meant. Only her sister Wendy Theodore is on the list. I am not allowed to divulge information to anyone else.”
“Is she okay? Can you tell me anything?”
“Sorry. You’ll have to call her sister.”
“Thanks, will do.” I hung up and got a dial tone again, saying, “Shit,” over and over as I plugged in the number for Wendy’s mobile.
“Wendy,” I said as she picked up. “Something’s wrong with Sally. They wouldn’t let me talk to her. All they’d tell me was there’s been an incident.” I paced the hall holding the handset with both hands.
“Calm down and explain this to me slowly.”
I did so, relating my trouble getting through.
“Stay where you are. I’ll ring the hospital now and find out what’s going on.”
I could hear the worry in her voice as she said her goodbyes. With a history of suicide in the family, I had to admit that my lovely Sally being dead was the first thing that came to mind.
Wendy took a long time coming back to me. I fixed a cup of tea and sat beside the phone, waiting for almost an hour before it finally rang. I snatched up the handset.
“Hello?”
“It’s me again, Wendy.”
“What’s happened to her, what’s wrong with Sally?”
“I’m on my way to her now. They’ve taken her to hospital, she’s gone to Arrowe Park. She attempted suicide.”
“Oh shit.” Somehow I kept hold of the handset as bottom of my stomach seemed to collapse inside me.
“I’ll know more when I get there.”
“You’ll phone me as soon as you know anything?”
“Of course I will. I’m going to list you as family as well, so you’ll be able to find out information for yourself. You’ll be listed as her sister.”
Suddenly I felt so awful for bad-talking her with Sal all these years. “Thank you, Wendy.”
“I’ve got to go. I’m in the car and the last thing I need is a ticket or worse to crash on the way.”
“Yes, of course. Wendy, you’ve no idea what it means to have you list me as family.”
“Why don’t you meet me over here? Give me a ring once you’ve arrived.”
We ended the phone call, and I suddenly felt so lost. Everything was happening too fast. The machine wasn’t fixed yet, I couldn’t do anything to help Sal. It was all so unfair.
Wendy met me in the lobby area at the front of the hospital. She approached looking grey with worry and indicated that we sit on one of the bench seats just behind the large circular welcome desk.
“I thought before you saw her I should warn you what’s going on.”
I nodded, terrified of what I was about to hear.
“They think Sally got a hold of around forty Paracetamol tablets and took them either yesterday morning or Wednesday evening. The first they knew anything was wrong was when she started vomiting. They put it down to a virus and sent her to bed. The doctor looked her over, but apparently it’s really difficult to diagnose Paracetamol overdose in the first day or two.”
“So how is she now, did they pump her stomach?”
Wendy shook her head. “It was too late for that. They’ve got her on a drip with a drug that’s supposed to counteract the Paracetamol, but it’s only really effective in the first few hours.”
“So what else are they going to do?”
Wendy looked like she might be about to cry. I reached out and took her hands between my own.
“Nothing,” she finally said. “It’s up to her whether she survives or not.”
“What do you mean, nothing?”
Wendy waited while a surge of chattering people came through the lobby. The place emptied enough for her to be heard again, and she continued, “The damage to her liver is already done. All we can hope is that she’s one of the few who makes it through. The doctor said if she makes it to day five, then chances are she’ll live.”
I sat back, stunned by what Wendy said. “Surely there’s something else they can do?”
Wendy shook her head.
“But… waiting? That’s it? We just have to wait and see?”
“Once the damage is done all they can do is keep her alive and hope she heals.”
“J
esus.”
“She’s waiting for you,” Wendy said as she dabbed her eyes with a tissue.
I drew in a deep breath, wondering how I’d cope. Sally wouldn’t be pleased with me if I broke down at her bedside. I needed to put my strong face on. Wendy led me down the main corridor to the lifts and then up to the second floor where the High Dependency Unit was located.
“Prepare yourself. She seems very… different.”
Deciding not to question Wendy on what she meant, I followed her to a room where there were three beds. Sally was in the middle one. There was some kind of air mattress under her and it seemed to swallow her up. Sally was only tiny, but she seemed even smaller now. She caught my attention with a weak smile, her eyes wide and adding to her child-like appearance.
Sal raised her hand and I sat next to her, taking her hand, surprised at how cold her fingers were.
“Oh, you silly woman. How did you end up here?”
Sally shrugged, a tiny movement that I barely noticed. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice a mere breath with faint words.
“No, don’t you dare apologize.”
From what Wendy told me as we walked through the hospital corridors, I knew Sally’s liver was failing. I’d seen enough medical dramas on the telly to know what to look out for, and although her skin was merely pale, I still wasn’t prepared for the horrible mustardy yellow of her eyes. The lovely healthy whites were gone, her blue irises standing out in the sickly shade.
Wendy leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her sister’s forehead. “Is it okay if I go find something to eat, Sally? It’ll give you two a chance to talk.”
Sally nodded, again, the movement barely perceptible.
I stroked Sally’s hand and watched as Wendy left the room. There were two other beds in the room, one was empty and the other had an elderly woman hooked up to all kinds of machines. A mask on her face wheezed out oxygen every time she inhaled. A bag with what I assumed was urine was hooked up to the bottom of her bed, a tube disappearing under the sheets. Two drips fed into her, one on either side. As far as I could tell, the woman was unconscious. Was that how Sally would end up in a couple of days’ time? Wendy said her organs would start failing one by one until eventually life could no longer be sustained.
The worst of it was I could have stopped all this. If only the machine hadn’t been broken. If I’d thought of taking her there right at the beginning. If Sal had taken her overdose five days later, giving the machine a chance to start working again. Then I could steal her from the hospital and fix her forever. So many ifs. I brushed aside a tear and tried to smile for Sally.
“Hey chick. Can I do anything for you?”
“It hurts,” Sally said, and hovered her other hand above her liver. “It hurts all the time, no matter what they give me for the pain.”
“Are they treating you right, I’ve heard…” I didn’t have the courage to finish my thought. But as always, Sal knew what I meant.
“Because I attempted suicide, you think they’d treat me badly? Well don’t worry. They’re being lovely.”
The nurses were off in their station just beyond the door to Sal’s room. I could hear their quiet chatter. The other patient in the room still seemed to be out for the count. Leaning in close, I spoke in a whisper. “I need to break you out of here, I can mend you.”
Sal managed to laugh. “And how do you think you’re going to do that?”
“You noticed how well I looked before you went into the psych ward. There’s a reason. I’ve been using a machine that fixes people. You get in and it figures out what’s wrong. I’m almost cancer-free.”
Sal laughed again. “And they say I’m the crazy one.”
“I’m being serious. You need to hang on for a few days, it’s broken right now. But it’ll be fixed in four days. Then I can make you better.”
“Kath, you know you sound totally bonkers, right?”
I did. I sounded insane. What if Sal said something, and they thought she was having another psychotic break? “You’re right. It would be wonderful, though, wouldn’t it? A machine that fixed everything? No more needles, no more medicines. Just lie down and zap, you’re mended.”
“I’m very tired now.” Sal closed her eyes. “I do like the sound of your machine. You should get someone to invent it.” She chuckled quietly.
I sat there, holding her hand and staring out the window at the park beyond the hospital as Sal’s breathing settled into a sleeping rhythm. Occasionally she’d squirm a little and moan, her other hand fluttering over her tummy. Then she’d quieten again.
“Hold on, Sal. Four more days. That’s all. You just need to hold on for four more days.” I kissed the back of her hand and finally allowed the tears to fall.
33
An Envelope in the Church
I stayed with Sally for the rest of the morning, holding her hand while she fitfully slept. Wendy came back after a few hours, her eyes swollen and a tissue clutched in one hand. I relinquished my seat beside Sally and left the sisters to say their peace to each other.
Besides, I had places to go. I drove from the hospital to the church, ignoring the hunger pains in my stomach. Maybe the machine had recharged early. What if it had? I could admit the truth to Wendy and together we could get Sally here. Fix her, and not just from the overdose.
My key struggled in the lock as usual, and then the door swung open and the first thing I noticed was the envelope on the floor.
Thinking it was probably junk mail of some sort I picked it up. The envelope was A4 size, and creamy white, an expensive paper, not the sort you’d find a double glazing leaflet inside. There was nothing on the front, no name, not even: to the occupier. I ripped the flap open and pulled out a wad of papers, a second key falling out from the bottom.
“Oh my God,” I muttered. Realizing the door was still wide open I closed it and on a whim used the new key to lock up. “Huh.” I popped the key in my pocket and took the post over to my favorite seat. During the week I’d moved one of the pews so that I had the perfect view, with the pod in the foreground and the cross directly behind. If I squinted it seemed as if Jesus had his feet resting on the lid.
The first page was a title page and simply said: To the current Key Holder. Then underneath it said: In the event of the death of Richard Newland. How very odd. I flipped over and started reading through the following pages. There was a lot of legal jargon that I had to admit I didn’t understand. But the gist, if I understood it, was that the pod was to be signed over to the current key holder – which was me.
There was a separate document that needed to be taken to a named solicitor. I’d sign and be witnessed, and the church and contents would become mine. And there was further provision to carry on this method of ownership in the event of my death. On top of that I would then be named as caretaker. I flipped the page to find that as caretaker, I would be paid.
“Seriously…?” I scanned the document again. No, I’d read right the first time. My wage would be more than I’d ever earned in my previous life as a teaching assistant.
And, to go along with owning the church and becoming the caretaker, there was a generous fund for repairs. The church was to be kept looking neglected, but in a safe state. The papers explained this was to keep the church from being noticed. The fund had so many zeroes behind the initial number that I had to look twice. All repairs had to go through the named solicitor, and seemed very secure. No sneaking money out of this fund.
“Bloody hell.” I put the papers down and stared up at Christ. “This is huge,” I said. “I’m not sure I’m the right one for the job. Look what’s happened since I’ve had the key.”
This was more responsibility than I think I’d ever had in my life. I thought of Janie, she’d be far more suited to this than me. She was caring and compassionate and reliable. She thought of others and set about making a difference. With me having Jimmy around, who knows what would happen in the future? What if he got another urge to poke around
in the machinery? Since I knew him he’d been talking about how one way or another he’d make millions. Over the years he’d tried to perfect various inventions and ideas. If he had this wonderful pod within his reach how long before he tried to copy it? He didn’t have the expertise to go it alone, so it would be him and Bob in league against me. I wouldn’t stand a chance.
“What do I do?” My words echoed around the church.
Christ didn’t seem to be in an answering mood today. He hung there from his cross, his expression pained, yet there was peace there, a serene expression hidden in the torture that I’d not noticed before.
“Okay, I’ll do it. But make a deal with me. Help me. Can you do that? Make sure I don’t cock this up.”
Silence filled the church, and as I stared up at the cross the sun broke through the clouds and streamed through the stained glass windows, blanketing Christ in a rainbow of colors.
“That’ll do for me. Thank you,” I said. Dipping my head in respect I took a moment of reflection before gathering the papers and leaving.
34
Sally’s Getting Worse
I slept badly. Wendy called late Friday and brought me up to date. Sally’s liver function was beginning to deteriorate. Her kidney function was worsening as well. This could well be the start of multiple organ failure, and not a good sign.
The pod came to me in my dreams, taunting me with its super powers and mending an ever-lengthening stream of patients. A queue had formed, one that seemed to go on forever, stretching out the church, around Birkenhead and beyond. When I tried to get Sally to the pod, I was met with polite smiles then told to get to the back of the queue. Someone was selling trinkets in the car park. They had miniature pods on sale and fridge magnets with the words: I’ve been to the pod and survived. There were t-shirts and pictures of the church. The stall owner grinned widely at me, displaying gaps where he was missing teeth. The waiting people reminded me of people I’d seen in pictures as they waited at Lourdes and other holy places. The cripples and the infirm, the diseased and the insane, all hoping for a miracle.
That Elusive Cure Page 16