And that was all she would say.
Quinn had given Courtney a mild sedative by injection, and had left two five milligram tablets of Valium for Tiffany to take if she felt that she needed them.
She parked her car and got out, looking around at the parking lot and wondering which of the cars was Ian’s.
Where the hell was Ian?
As soon as she got in her office, she would try Joshua’s number again. Too much was happening too quickly.
As she came into the hospital, the PBX operator slid back the glass window that separated the communications office from the lobby.
“Dr. Logan,” the woman called.
“Yes?”
“I’ve got your long distance collect call from Baltimore on the line…do you want to take it at the courtesy phone?”
“No, give me a minute to get to my office and ring it through.”
“Okay.”
Quinn hurried to her office, unlocking the door as the phone began to ring. She sat at her desk, took a breath, and picked up the phone.
“Dr. Logan,” she answered.
There was a hesitation at the end of the line. “This is Emily Ballard, Dr. Logan. I got your message to call.”
“Mrs. Ballard.” Quinn grabbed a pencil and the clipboard she used for making notes on the videotapes, flipping to a clean sheet of paper. “I have a few questions I’d like to ask you about Abigail.”
“I’ve answered questions and answered more questions,” the woman said, a hint of sullenness in her voice. “And I’ve filled out all your forms.”
“Yes, I know. But there’s been a new development. We’ve eliminated the possibility that Abigail has a brain tumor. The magnetic resonance scans of her brain have shown that there is no tumor.”
There was silence at the other end of the phone.
“So…we asked ourselves…how does an eight year old child—”
“Eight and a half,” the woman corrected.
“Yes…how does a child that age mirror the symptoms of a brain tumor?”
“You mean, she was faking?”
“Not exactly…her physiological symptoms were real, but it’s almost like…” she searched for the words, “. . . she knew enough about brain tumors that, when she became sick, for whatever reason, her subconscious directed her body on how to react. Her body was responding, in a very realistic fashion, to a brain tumor that wasn’t there.”
“She was faking but didn’t know it,” the woman said, and began to either laugh or cry.
“You could put it that way,” Quinn admitted, failing to see the humor in the situation if the woman was indeed laughing.
She was. “So Abigail made herself sick.”
“Mrs. Ballard…I’ve read the family medical history and I know that Abigail’s grandfather died of a stroke when she was just a baby, and that her mother committed suicide. But was there anyone in the family, or maybe a close family friend, who had a brain tumor? Someone who she might have observed at some length so she would know enough about the symptoms to mimic them?”
“No…no.”
“Are you certain? Maybe the parent of a school friend of hers?”
“Abigail never had many friends,” Emily Ballard said flatly. “She’s a difficult child.”
Quinn’s mind was racing, trying to think of another alternative, another way for Abigail to have acquired enough knowledge to fool doctors and specialists into believing that she had a tumor.
“—never went to anyone’s house,” the woman chattered on.
Books? Could a six-year-old…that was absurd. Even if she could read the words, which was nearly impossible, she would have no way to translate medical jargon into physical fact.
“—except for her father, of course.”
“What? What did you say?”
“Her father died a couple of years ago.”
“I thought the identity of her father was unknown. It says in the history—”
“The history is wrong. I knew who he was.” She snorted angrily. “I knew. I was glad when he died.”
“What did he die of, do you know?”
“It was brain cancer,” the woman admitted, “but Abigail would have no way of knowing that. I never told her who her father was, and I never told her when he died.”
“But you’re sure it was brain cancer?”
“Of course I’m sure; we had…mutual acquaintances. But like I said, Abigail didn’t know anything about him. I never told her.”
Quinn closed her eyes. “Thank you, Mrs. Ballard. You’ve been very helpful.”
She looked at the notes she had scribbled while talking.
Abigail’s father had died “a couple of years ago,” apparently of brain cancer.
Abigail had developed the symptoms of a brain tumor when she was approximately six.
Abigail was never told the identity of her father or the circumstances of his death.
The rest of the history was negative. No other family members, no friends, no acquaintances. No exposure, then, to the malady which had plagued her.
But about the time her father was dying, she got sick.
Could a child be somehow biologically and psychically aware of an absent parent’s illness? Could a lonely child with no friends and no nurturing person in her life seek out and find…supernaturally…the one other person on earth with whom she shared a blood bond? And if that person died, might not she also wish to die?
There were stories of people who, at the exact moment a loved one was dying thousands of miles away, were somehow aware of that death.
Quinn sat back in the chair, watching as the pages on the clipboard flipped back over.
One Hundred Two
Abigail had not been able to do anything about Courtney or Tessi.
She had known, almost from the first, that her powers where the other children were concerned were limited. She could not physically stop them from doing what they strongly wished to do.
So they were gone.
Russell was still here, but he was closed off from her.
She was weak. What she had done last night had taken most of her strength and she understood more clearly that the power had limitations of distance. But…she had proved it could be done.
That was good because she had some unfinished business.
She looked at the empty beds, a little sad.
She would have taken care of them. She would have protected all of them. She would have made them secure, something she doubted either of them had ever been.
She did not really understand their fear.
It made little difference now.
She turned her mind to other matters: people were coming.
She accepted the fact that the time had come for her to prove herself worthy of the powers that had been given to her.
She knew what she had to do, and she would do it. She liked Dr. Fuller…she could sense him nearing…but she had no other choice. She had to protect the source.
She tried to imagine what it would be like, to live forever in this room. Because it was here where she had to stay, unless she wanted to become like everyone else.
She had been less than everyone else for too long a time. She was only a child but she had known that there was nothing for her in this world.
Now they were coming.
She needed to open herself up to the source of her powers. She had to draw in strength and prepare herself for what was to come.
She had to be ready.
It felt like her brain was on fire.
Panting, she opened her eyes.
She was more than she’d ever been.
The nurse walked into the room a moment later and Abigail looked at her through narrowed eyes, concentrating.
And the nurse just…disappeared.
One Hundred Three
“Dr. Fuller.”
Joshua stopped, turning to see who had called his name.
One of the security guards walked up to him, looking slightl
y agitated. “We haven’t found them yet, but we’ll find them,” the guard said.
“Find who?” Joshua was puzzled.
“The two girls.” He pointed in the direction of the children’s ward. “I thought you knew.”
“Knew what? You’d better…”
“Two of those kids, two little girls, are missing from the ward. Disappeared, one after the other.” He scratched his head. “I thought that lady doctor was going to call you.”
“Dr. Logan? Is she here?”
The guard nodded. “I think she’s in her office, but maybe you’d better come over and talk to the nurse who was on duty…”
“I’ll be over in a minute.” He started toward the hospital on the run.
“Dr. Fuller,” the operator called when he came through the lobby door. “They’re looking for you over at the ward.”
“I know,” he said. “Is Dr. Logan in her office?”
“Yeah…”
“Why don’t you ring me through?” He picked up the courtesy phone.
“Well, her line is busy,” the operator said, looking at her phone console.
“All right then…” Which of the kids were missing? “I’m going over to the ward, but I want you to keep trying to reach Dr. Logan for me…and tell her where I am.” And tell her…
“Sure thing,” the operator said, snapping her gum.
The guard had disappeared.
Joshua ran toward the children’s ward.
Things were going crazy. He had unplugged his phone last night and decided to rely on his beeper, only to find that the batteries had gone dead. Out of touch for a few hours and everything got out of hand.
The nurse was not in the nursing station.
He looked at the closed-circuit monitor. Abigail was sitting up in bed. Tessi and Courtney were gone. The curtain was drawn around Russell’s bed. The nurse was not in there, either.
He went through the double doors.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Abigail said.
It felt like his brain was on fire.
One Hundred Four
It was staring her right in the face.
Unbelievingly, she picked up the clipboard and looked at her notes.
Abigail had been in a catatonic-like state from 11:45 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. on the day— Thursday—when Anne Rossi and Lloyd Marshall were killed.
Quinn could remember the oddity of the child’s state, could see the tiny smiles, twice during her trance.
“Why did you kill them, Abigail, why did you do it?”
Kill them. Were they whom Russell was referring to?
What about David White?
“Wait a minute,” she said out loud, staring at the times written on the sheet.
Courtney had dreams that came true.
Courtney had run away from the hospital, a frightened child.
Courtney had insisted that she hadn’t told Abigail, but Abigail knew.
What did Abigail know?
She got up and found the tapes, looking through them for the one with Abigail’s trance. She inserted it into the video player and turned the set on, rewinding the tape and then watching in fast speed as it neared 11:45 a.m.
Something about the look on Abigail’s face.
Something…evil. A look of malice.
Why hadn’t she seen it before?
There was something about Abigail…
She picked up the phone and dialed Joshua’s number, knowing there would be no answer, but needing to try.
Courtney had told Ian about her dreams and now Ian had disappeared. Was that a coincidence?
“Come on, Joshua,” she said into the phone.
What now? She hung up.
She had to get Russell and Tessi out of the ward.
The phone rang as she was opening the door, ready to leave. Should she answer it? It might be Joshua or…
As much as she desperately wanted to talk to Joshua, she had delayed long enough. If she was right, and it was Abigail, then she had to get Tessi and Russell out of there somehow.
She closed the door on the ringing phone and ran toward the side exit.
One Hundred Five
“She’s coming,” Abigail said, looking inward. Joshua Fuller did not answer.
The nurse’s station was deserted and Quinn hesitated for a moment, catching her breath and trying to steady her nerves.
Her eyes were drawn to the closed-circuit monitor.
Joshua was in the ward, standing beside the window, looking out.
He seemed unnaturally still.
Quinn pushed through the double doors.
“Joshua,” she said.
“He can’t hear you,” Abigail said.
Quinn looked from Joshua to Abigail.
“What are you doing, Abigail?” Her voice sounded calmer than she felt.
“Whatever I want,” Abigail answered.
Quinn looked at the two empty beds. “Where is Tessi?”
“Gone. Her father came and took her away.”
“Her father…”
“Tessi’s mother had an accident last night.” Abigail’s tone was neutral, her expression disinterested. “She’s dead.”
“Dead.” Alicia Vincent, David White, Lloyd Marshall, and Anne Rossi. And Ian?
“Where’s Dr. Campbell?” she asked.
“He’s gone, too.”
“Did you kill him?” Quinn found it hard to say the words.
“No…but he’s not going to do any more harm.”
“What harm? He’s a doctor, he helps people.”
“No he doesn’t. He tries to make people remember things they want to forget. Always digging at places that hurt.” She smiled lazily. “He won’t be doing that anymore.”
“What have you done to him?”
“I emptied his brain.”
Quinn did not react.
“He liked you,” Abigail told her, matter-of-factly. “So does Dr. Fuller.”
“What have you done to Dr. Fuller?”
Abigail looked at Joshua standing by the window and frowned. “I haven’t done anything yet…I’m still deciding.”
Quinn wondered if Russell was listening, behind the drawn curtain.
“All right, Abigail,” she said. “This is between us, then. Let me get Russell out of here.” She started toward the boy’s wheelchair, which was parked at the end of the bed.
“No, I don’t think so,” Abigail said, and the wheelchair spun madly before crashing through the double doors and out of sight.
“Abigail,” Quinn said evenly. “Maybe you have an argument with Joshua and me, but Russell is an innocent bystander…”
Abigail smirked. “Russell is like me.”
Quinn started. The evasiveness she’d sensed? Was that part of all this? But he’d been angry at Abigail in Mary’s dream. Why did you kill them, Abigail, why did you do it?
“I don’t think so, Abigail.”
Of its own volition, the curtain flew away from Russell’s bed.
The boy was sitting up, one arm draped through the trapeze. His face looked…dark.
“Russell,” Quinn said.
“Tell her, Russell, about the things you did.”
Russell did not answer.
“He’s the one who messed up the computers and made a mess in surgery. Didn’t you, Russell?”
Russell did not answer.
“But he didn’t kill anyone,” Quinn said.
“Not yet…but they all deserved to die…that doctor…”
“What doctor?” Then she remembered Carter’s death in radiology. Abigail had been there when it happened.
“They all deserved to die,” Abigail repeated.
“Why?”
“I don’t have to tell you.”
That was the child in Abigail but there was something else, Quinn thought. Something malevolent, something ancient.
“You can tell me,” Quinn said reasonably. “You’re going to kill me too, aren’t you?”
“I
’m not,” Abigail said. “I think he is.” She looked at Joshua, who stood motionless. “He should be the one to do it.”
Quinn tried not to react, sensing that the child was enjoying this game.
“He’s going to wait until dark…”
Quinn glanced at Russell, trying to fathom what was going on in his mind. If he was like Abigail…had some sort of power…was he also evil?
Something was building in him, she thought. His body was drawn tight, like a spring under incredible tension.
She knew that he was very close to Joshua.
“What are you going to do with Joshua after he…does what you want him to do?” Quinn asked. The room was getting dark and she could barely make out Abigail’s face. Joshua was outlined against the window.
“I won’t have to do anything to him.”
Quinn hoped that Russell was listening and that he had some human compassion left, some kindness in him.
“I’m pretty sure he’ll kill himself,” Abigail added, and tilted her head, regarding him thoughtfully. “If he feels guilty enough. That’s what my mother did.”
It was past dusk.
“Can I turn on the light?”
“No…”
The television, overhead, lit up, the screen flickering in the dimness. It cast enough light that Quinn could see: Joshua was still at the window and Abigail was watching him. Russell had swung his legs off the bed but was still hanging on the trapeze.
“It’s time,” Abigail said, and in spite of herself, Quinn felt her heart begin to pound.
Joshua turned slowly away from the window.
His face was expressionless, his eyes blank. He moved slowly, as though he’d forgotten how to walk after having been frozen in place so long. Quinn watched as he drew near to her, and realized that she couldn’t move; whatever Abigail had been doing to him, she was now doing to her…
“No!” Russell said.
With effort, Quinn looked in his direction.
Russell was standing on spindly, shaking legs, his face intent. “I won’t let you do it, Abigail, I won’t let you kill anyone else.”
Joshua had stopped, two feet away from her.
“Why did you kill them, Abigail, why did you do it?”
“I had to,” Abigail said. “They were going to hurt us. Hurt you, Russell. They already did hurt you. I had to protect you! To protect all of us!”
The Children's Ward Page 22