“Sounds like a plan,” Andrea said. “I really don’t mind since I have to be here anyway.”
“You are a true friend,” Mitt said with all sincerity.
Andrea stood up and offered one cheek and then the other. Mitt was more than willing to comply. He then carried his tray over to the soiled-dish window before heading out of the cafeteria. Just before leaving, he waved back at Andrea and she returned the gesture. He felt lucky to have her as a friend.
Mitt was eager to get back to his apartment. As wired as he was after his conversation with Andrea, he worried he might have a problem falling back to sleep even though he was exhausted and mentally strung out. As he hurried through the hospital atrium on his way out, he couldn’t help but search for Charlene since he’d seen her there the previous morning. He didn’t see her, although surprisingly there seemed to be just about the same number of people coming and going and milling about as yesterday, despite it being the Fourth of July, a national holiday. It was living proof that Bellevue Hospital was a magnet for all types, no matter the date or time of day.
When he emerged onto the street and turned north, he was struck by how much warmer it felt than it had a few hours earlier just before dawn when Lashonda and he had hurried back from the psychiatric hospital. And when he walked out of the shadow of the Bellevue high-rise, the sun beat down on the back of his neck with such surprising intensity that he picked up speed by reflex.
Coming abreast of the psychiatric building’s padlocked gate on First Avenue, he couldn’t resist the temptation to stop and peer in at what he now knew was a faux entrance to the old hospital. Doing so brought back with disturbing clarity all the moments of surprise and terror he’d experienced on his recent visit. Despite how unnerving that had been, merely thinking about it had the benefit of forcing him to more seriously consider how he was going to get back inside that afternoon.
As he told Andrea, he was more or less counting on the homeless shelter to provide the route, but now he wasn’t as confident as he had been. He’d assumed there’d be a passable connection into the building proper just because it was the same structure, but now that he thought about the idea, he questioned what possible function such an access would have. On the contrary, he could think of a lot of reasons why it would be better to have none, considering the population the homeless shelter was serving.
With a rather sudden sense of disappointment, Mitt stepped back from the padlocked gate and looked up and down the wrought iron fence. Even it was a formidable obstruction, meaning there was no easy way for him to get over the fence, much less into a disused building that had been locked and boarded up for forty years. But then he thought again about the homeless shelter, but in a new way. The fact that the shelter existed and had for a number of years told him something else. It needed heat and power. He was also confident that the psychiatric hospital did not have its own furnace. Like any building in a major complex like Bellevue, the heat and other utilities had to come from a central source, and since the homeless shelter needed heat, the connection had to be still active and, more important, still open.
With a sudden sense of excitement, Mitt remembered something else that he’d learned somewhat by accident while he was in medical school at Columbia’s College of Physicians and Surgeons. That entire complex of multiple hospitals, academic buildings, and residences was connected underground by a maze of passageways and tunnels, which carried all the utilities, and when he thought about it, he couldn’t imagine that Bellevue would be any different. Suddenly it seemed to him that perhaps the best way to get into the mostly empty psychiatric hospital would be to meet a friendly but knowledgeable member of the engineering or maintenance staff and flatter him or her into giving up the info needed.
With a revived sense of resolve, and even a bit of newly found optimism, Mitt broke away from the psychiatric hospital and its imposing fence. Out of the corner of his eye, he’d caught the traffic light at 30th Street and First Avenue changing in his favor, so he took the opportunity to dash across the busy avenue. Reaching the other side, he kept up the power-walk momentum. From there, he only had another half block to go. Suddenly the idea of slipping into his bed naked after a quick shower completely engulfed his tired brain.
Chapter 29
Thursday, July 4, 2:47 p.m.
Mitt felt his pulse pick up both speed and intensity as he paused outside a heavy fire door with the designation Building 16 displayed in prominent block letters. He already knew from the Bellevue Hospital Engineering and Maintenance Department’s supervisor, Tomás Delgado, that building #16 was the departmental designation for the mostly vacated psychiatric hospital building. He also knew that the door could not be locked by law because it was a designated fire door.
For Mitt, it had been a busy but very productive early afternoon. When he’d finally gotten into bed a bit after 10:00 a.m., he’d set his phone alarm for 1:30 p.m. He knew he’d probably still feel exhausted after only a few additional hours of sleep, but he was eager to get the most out of his day off and that didn’t include languishing in bed. True to form, when the alarm went off, he’d felt as miserable as expected until he had shaved and taken another shower. By then, he was charged up and eager to face the day, as it was his goal to make a sincere attempt to learn and face his family’s true legacy.
The first thing he’d done was walk the two blocks to Third Avenue and visit the nearest hardware store. There he’d been able to purchase a flashlight similar to Lashonda’s such that it could be placed on the floor and the beam directed appropriately. He’d also obtained a sizable but inexpensive backpack that was capable of accommodating possibly two of the bankers boxes. He hadn’t planned on getting a backpack but happened to see it while waiting in the checkout line. On the way back to his apartment to grab his white doctor’s coat and hospital ID, he’d ducked into the neighborhood Kips Bay Deli for a takeout sandwich.
When he did return to the hospital, he went directly to the information booth in the lobby-atrium, where he had to wait in line. Despite the holiday, or perhaps because of it, the booth was a beehive of activity. Mitt’s question was about the exact location of the Engineering and Maintenance Department. Interestingly enough, the volunteer Mitt asked didn’t have any idea and had to make a call to inquire. Mitt and the volunteer both learned the department office was in the sub-basement, reachable by one of the high-rise’s service elevators.
As it turned out, finding the department and then finding a person took more effort than Mitt had anticipated, but it was well worth it. The department office was appropriately located in the subterranean engineering spaces, but the supervisor’s private office was not occupied when Mitt finally was directed to it. He had to enlist the help of one of the department workers before meeting the shift head, Tomás Delgado, who was in the furnace room dealing with a problem relating to hot water.
Mitt had introduced himself as Dr. Fuller and explained that he wasn’t on duty but wanted to come into the hospital on his day off to learn a bit of what it was like to keep the place functioning and see some of the behind-the-scenes infrastructure. Mitt made it a point to specifically emphasize his appreciation for all the work that Tomás and his team did to make Mitt’s doctoring possible.