"Hey, Quinn, it's Matt."
"Oh, Matt. Thank God you called. It's Tim! I think he's here!"
"What? He came back?"
Matt was stunned. But beneath the shock was a strange mix of emotions, an uneasy balance between relief that Tim was back and anger at him for running off in the first place.
"No. I don'...ink he ever went away..."
The signal was breaking up. Through the static Matt thought he'd heard her say something about Tim not going away.
"Come again, Quinn? I didn't catch that."
"I th...'s here, at...ngraham...ink they're hiding him."
"Quinn—"
"...'m going...ind out...sure...night...Sheriff's.... Southworth..."
And then he lost the signal completely. He tried the redial button a couple of times but couldn't make a connection. Either he was on the fringe of the local cellular transmitter zone or the storm was doing it. Whatever, he'd lost the connection.
But even through the static, Quinn had sounded strange. Frightened. Almost deranged.
Something about somebody hiding Tim at The Ingraham? What was happening to her?
To hell with knocking off, he thought as he put the Cherokee back in gear. He'd push through to The Ingraham tonight. A glance at the dashboard clock and he corrected himself: This morning. It was almost one a.m.
*
Quinn waited for Matt to call back. She'd barely been able to understand him. He'd sounded as if he'd been calling from a car phone. But why would he do that from Connecticut?
She waited a while, and when he didn't call again, she decided it was time. Enough waiting. Time to do. She had everything ready, lined up on the bed: her sneakers, her security pass card, and her penlight. All she had to do was put on her coat and slip into her boots.
Her hands shook as she slid the leather boot tops over her calves. One part of her mind was scolding her for even thinking of engaging in such a foolish, no-win stunt—if she didn't find Tim but was caught by security, she'd be in deep trouble with Dr. Alston and maybe even Dr. Emerson; if she did find Tim and got caught, she'd be in even deeper trouble, because she'd know something she shouldn't, and the people who had shangaied Tim would have to do the same to her.
But she wasn't going to get caught. She could do this. She had to do this.
Because another part of her was prodding her on, telling her she couldn't last another night wondering if that had been Tim in Ward C, couldn't go on with another day of her life until she knew the truth.
But what did she want the truth to be? Did she truly want to find Tim tonight? If that was Tim in Ward C, at least she'd know he was alive and know where he was. But she didn't want to find him there. Because that would mean there was something hideous about The Ingraham. Knowing that would put her in jeopardy and Tim in greater peril than he was already.
I have to know, she thought as she slipped into her coat. I won't have a moment's peace until I know.
With her sneakers jammed into the pockets of her overcoat, Quinn exited the dorm at a dead run, ducking past the camera in the lighted doorway, and dashing outside to where the powdery snow was gusting through the frigid air. The flakes seemed smaller now, and there were fewer of them falling, but the wind was rearranging them, building dunes around the shrubs and between the buildings, and scraping the open areas clean.
She had decided against the direct route to Science along the walks around the pond on the central campus. That would mean running the gauntlet of security cameras on all the flanking buildings. She opted instead for the rougher, woodsier route behind the class building to approach Science from the rear. She was a little concerned about her footprints at first, but when she turned to see how much of a trail she was leaving she saw the wind busily filling it in almost as soon as she completed a step.
When she reached Science, Quinn paused in the darkness outside the cone of light in front of the emergency exit door on the west side and looked around. No one about, nothing moving except the flakes. Still, she felt as if she were being watched. She knew there was a camera over the door, but were there others about? She wished she'd bothered to take note of their positions during the months she'd been here, but who'd have thought it would ever matter?
She pulled her security card from her jeans and took a deep breath, then she marched up to the door, slipped her card into the slot, and entered. She eased the door shut behind her but kept her snowy boots as close to the threshold as possible. Quickly she pulled her sneakers from her coat pocket and laid them on the floor. Then with repeated, nervous glances down the hall, she began pulling off her boots. She hated standing here in the fully lit, deserted corridor, sure to be spotted by anyone who walked into the rear end of the building's lobby, but she didn't dare leave a trail of wet footprints in the hall.
She also figured this gave her an excuse in case anyone in security had been monitoring the camera on the west side of Science during the two seconds she'd been on screen. If someone came to check, instead of a skulking interloper they'd find a student standing in plain view, changing her shoes. Quinn even had a story ready: She couldn't sleep so she'd come over to see if Dr. Emerson was around and if she could put her insomnia to good use.
But no one had come to investigate the door by the time she got into her sneakers, so she carried her boots over to the stairwell door, unlocked it with her card, and ducked inside. She left the boots in a corner and started up the steps, pulling off her coat as she climbed.
On Fifth Quinn carded herself out of the stairwell, blocked the door open with her coat, then crouched in the corner and checked the hall. Most of the overheads were out; only those by the nurses station were on. Softly glowing night lights were spaced low on the walls along the hallway. A Neil Diamond song was playing softly on the radio at the nurses station.
Quinn crept down the hall. So far she hadn't broken any rules. If they caught her now, her insomnia story would still hold up. She glanced into Ward C as she passed the window but it was dark in there. The only illumination came from the vital signs indicators, IVAC infusion pumps, and cardiac monitors over the beds. She tried to identify the patient she suspected was Tim but in this light they were all indistinguishable.
She stayed close to the wall as she edged toward the nurses station. Neil Diamond's baritone had segued into Michael Bolton's caterwaul on the radio—apparently one of those easy-listening stations. She knew there were two nurses on the late shift; she heard the muffled sound of their voices behind the music. They didn't sound as if they were at the desk, so she chanced a peek around the corner at the station.
Empty.
The music and the voices were coming from the little lounge room behind the med cabinet. That was where the nursing staff gave report, relaxed, and listened to the control board for alarms from the monitors in the ward.
This was her chance. She had to act now, before they came out onto the floor again. As the two nurses broke into soft laughter, Quinn moved. Without giving herself time to change her mind or lose her nerve, she dropped into a crouch, scurried around the corner, and ducked through the door into Ward C.
Now you're over the line, she thought as she eased the door closed and felt her terrified heart beating a mad tattoo against the inner wall of her chest. Now you've got big trouble if you're caught.
*
For a few seconds, Louis Verran didn't know where he was. He jerked forward in his chair and looked around. He was in Monitoring.
Christ! He'd dozed off.
He rubbed his eyes. Good thing he was alone. If Kurt or Elliot had caught him, they'd have given him a helluva razzing. But Elliot was in Baltimore on some R&R and Kurt was sacked out next door in the on-call room.
Goddam Quinn Cleary.
They all should have been getting some R&R. Christmas break wasn't a break for Security, as a rule, not with all those applicants rolling through here next week. Christ, it seemed like a treadmill at times. But at least they used to get off the first weekend of
Christmas break. Not this year. Because Cleary was staying, and because Alston wanted close tabs on her, only one of them was off tonight. Elliot had drawn the high card.
Verran got up and stretched. His gut burned. He needed a break. He craved a break. He was still feeling the stress of last week—hauling in the Brown kid, putting him in storage, none of it was his cup of tea. He hadn't figured on any rough stuff when he took this job—who'd have thought? It was rare, but the potential was always there, and it never failed to set his stomach acid production a few notches higher.
He grabbed for his bottle of Mylanta and unscrewed the cap. As he tilted back his head to chug a couple of ounces, he saw the red light blinking on the recorder.
Shit! She'd been on the phone. When the hell had that happened?
He hit the rewind button, put on his headphones, and listened.
An incoming call from her friend, Matt. Lots of static. Those two had already talked earlier in the day. Verran relaxed and smiled. Maybe old Matt was trying to move in on the absent Tim. But the smile vanished when he heard Cleary mention Tim.
"It's Tim! I think he's here!"
Acid surged anew into Verran's stomach.
"I don't think he ever went away"..."I think he's here, at the Ingraham. I think they're hiding him"..."I'm going to find out for sure tonight. If something happens to me, call the County Sheriff's office. Ask for Deputy Southworth."
Verran tore off the headphones. Where had she got those ideas? And when had her friend called her? There was no timer on the recorder.
...I'm going to find out for sure tonight...
Christ! She could be upstairs in Ward C right now.
He grabbed the phone and dialed her dorm room. If she picked up, okay—he could sit down and carefully consider his next move. If not...
Half a dozen rings and no answer. He began to sweat. Four more and he slammed down the receiver. If she wasn't already here she was on her way.
He dialed the Ward C nurses station. Doris answered.
"This is Verran. Anybody strange wandering around up there?"
"Strange?" Doris laughed. "There's nobody wandering around up here but us chickens."
"Check Ward C anyway."
"Mr. Verran, there's no way—"
"Check it now, goddammit!" he said through his teeth. "We may have a trespasser."
He could hear her swallow. "Yessir."
He hung up and began shouting for Kurt.
*
Got to make this fast.
The penlight trembled in Quinn's hand, its narrow beam wobbling ahead of her as she moved among the Ward C occupants, weaving her way toward the rear of the room to where she'd seen the patient who'd signaled her.
As she approached the bed, she heard a phone begin to ring out at the nurses station. She flashed the light on the patient's bandaged face. Only the eyes were visible; they were closed in sleep and the lids did not open in response to the light. Holding her breath, Quinn hooked a finger under the facial bandages and pulled down.
The nose came free. It wasn't Tim's.
She pulled farther down, exposing a pale, shiny area of scar tissue. She jerked her hand away. Not Tim.
She stood there in the dimness, confused and uncertain: Crushed because it wasn't Tim, which meant he was still among the missing; elated because it wasn't Tim, which meant he wasn't the victim of some grisly plot.
She rearranged the bandages into their original position. How could she have been so terribly wrong? She'd been so sure.
She stepped back from the patient to make sure she was in the right spot. Yes. This was it. This was where she'd seen—
Wait. She flashed her light along his body. This patient was short and heavy. The one who'd signaled her had been long and lean.
Like Tim.
As she turned to survey the darkened ward, she saw a shadow appear at the window in the door. Quinn dropped to the floor. A heartbeat later the door swung open and the overhead lights went on.
*
Kurt stood blinking in the glare of the lights.
"Jesus, Lou. I was sound asleep."
Verran envied him. He could have used a few solid hours of sleep himself.
"Enjoy the memory. That's the last you're going to have for a while. Our friend Cleary's on the loose."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Don't ask me how, but she suspects we've got Brown. I heard her on the phone. She's on her way here—may be here already."
"Fuck damn!" Kurt said. "I knew we should've taken her out with the Brown kid."
"That's not our decision. Besides, the situation is still salvageable. From what I gathered, she doesn't know Brown's here. If we intercept her, send her back to the dorm, then move Brown out, we can make her look like a nut case and kick her ass back to Connecticut."
"Why go to all the trouble?" Kurt said. "Let me handle it. I'll see to it she's found in the woods fifty miles from here—a rape-murder victim. Our worries'll be over."
Verran stared at the big blond man. Sometimes Kurt really frightened him.
"Just do as you're told. She's not in her room. I called Fifth and they're checking Ward C. She didn't get by the security desk in the lobby, so she's probably on her way."
"What about the side door?" Kurt said, turning to his console. "The bitch pulled a fast one like that on me once before." He tapped away at his keyboard, then pointed to the screen. "There she is: the west door, ten minutes ago."
Christ, no!
"Get upstairs! Stop her! If she gets into the ward and finds him our asses will be in a sling!"
*
Tim watched the whole sequence of events, and could do nothing. Real life was reduced to television, and he was a passive, helpless viewer. Couldn't even change the damn channel.
His tingling hands had awakened him but he'd wished they hadn't. He'd been too depressed over the day's events—non events, rather—to work his fingers in much more than a desultory fashion. No hope, no future—what difference did it make how well he could move his fingers? Even when the tingling reached his elbows, the highest yet, so what?
So he lay there in the darkness, staring at the blinking lights around the hall window, but from a different angle this time. They'd moved his bed at the end of the day shift, rotating him to the side of the room farthest from the door. The current shift had propped him up on his right side again.
When he saw a familiar blond head bob past the hall window, he thought he'd fallen back to sleep and was dreaming. But when he saw her slip through the door and begin flashing a penlight, he prayed it was real. It had to be real.
He wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry, he wanted to shout with booming joy. There was a God, there was a Santa Claus. Quinn was here! She'd seen! She believed!
Then he wanted to scream at her when she approached the wrong bed.
Over here! Over here! They moved me over here!
He watched her flash her light in the other patient's face, saw her flinch back when she realized it wasn't him. Silently he begged her not to think she'd been seeing things this afternoon and give up. When she started looking around again, he knew there was still hope, but he was bewildered when she suddenly dropped into a crouch.
Then the lights came on and he understood.
Squinting, Tim watched the nurse called Doris step inside the door. She appeared wary as she stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the ward. Tim couldn't remember a night when the overheads had been turned on like this. Had she heard something? Was she looking for Quinn?
Maybe it was his own cardiac monitor that had brought her in. His heart was tripping along at a breakneck pace.
He could see Quinn crouched beside Number Four's bed, statue still, barely breathing.
Jesus, she had guts. How many women—how many men—would brave this place at night to search for him?
Apparently satisfied, Doris turned off the lights and closed the door behind her.
Quinn's shadow popped up almost immedi
ately and she began to flash her penlight at the patients around her.
Over here, dammit!
Maybe she caught the thought. Or maybe she spotted the madly flashing rate light on his cardiac monitor. Whatever the reason, she came directly toward him and shone the light in his face.
She didn't have to pull at his bandages. She seemed to know as soon as she saw his eyes.
"Oh, Tim!" It was a whisper encased in a moan.
She bent and clutched his shoulders and buried her face against his neck, sobbing.
"Oh, Tim, it's you, it's you, I knew you'd never leave me like that."
He felt his own sobs welling up in his chest with nowhere to go, searching for a voice, an exit. His vision blurred and he was startled to feel the wetness of tears on his cheeks. Sensation was returning to his face.
If only he could speak. Because as wonderful as this was, she had to go now.
Okay. You've found me. Now get out of here, get somewhere safe and call the cops, the FBI, the CIA, the Pentagon, just make sure you're safe first!
And then over Quinn's shoulder, through the blur of tears, he saw the other nurse, the one called Ellie, walking past the window in the hallway. She stopped abruptly and stared into the ward. She leaned closer to the window and cupped her hands around her eyes for a second or two, then she jerked away from the window and darted back the way she had come.
But Quinn hadn't seen a thing.
She had to get out of here, had to run! He had to let her know! Tim tried his voice again, knowing he couldn't make a sound, yet he had to try.
"Go."
The word shocked him. His voice sounded like a tree limb scraping against a stucco wall, but it was his voice.
Quinn straightened and stared at him. "Tim! Can you speak?"
He tried to tell her that a nurse had seen her but his lips and tongue wouldn't cooperate. He had to keep it simple.
"Go!"
"Not without you. I'm never—"
Then the overheads came on.
*
Quinn whirled in the sudden burst of light and saw two nurses—one heavy and blonde, the other thin and brunette— standing inside the door, gaping at her.
"Now do you believe me?" the thin one said.
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