“Lie back and shut up,” Helen said cheerfully. “It’s obvious you’re going to be trouble.”
Estelle swung the door open. “I see you’re in good hands, sir. I’ll keep you posted.” She held up my briefcase. “I’ll let you know what the junk is.”
I waved. Helen Murchison sniffed her disapproval. I guess I wasn’t supposed to feel better.
Chapter 20
They had promised to move me, and while I waited for that grand event, I drifted off. When I woke, the room was quiet and lonely, save for the patient, faraway hum of the machines above my head. No clock, no watch, no window-it could have been midnight or noon of July Fourth or Christmas. The chemicals still dripped into my veins. I felt like cloudy water.
“Ugg,” I said, and shifted position. I wanted a cigarette. Was there enough oxygen in the room that if I lit up I’d risk blowing the side of the building out into the parking lot? Either that or Helen would knock me through the wall herself. I examined what I could see of the darkened ceiling. The room, a twilight tomb, was depressing. What were all the damn white curtains for? To remind the patient of heaven?
The fuzzy, disoriented, floating feeling had to be from the drugs. Or was that what dying felt like? Scary notion. Did things just fade to black without any awakening? Was death a special fade? Was its approach recognizable? Morbid. I couldn’t help it. My brain kept casting back for other memories. What had Art Hewitt thought, as he lay on his back in the village park? When there’s time like that, did the mind unwind slowly? Could the person feel things gradually coming apart, gradually shutting down? Did Scott Salinger have a couple of seconds of conscious thought after the Magnum shredded his heart? Or was it simply like a light switch…one instant full on, the next instant full off-permanently off, main line cut and wires removed? Who the hell knew? In frustration, I kicked the sheet that covered me. I wasn’t going to lie there any longer and torture myself. I twisted my neck and this time found the buzzer cord. By moving carefully, I could flex my left arm, tubes and all, and press the button.
I waited about thirty seconds and repeated the call. And repeated. And repeated. Maybe the button wasn’t connected. The door was open, even though I couldn’t see it through the curtain. I heard activity of some kind down the hall, and I pressed the button again for good measure. A shadow materialized first, and then one of the nurses pushed the curtain back. She regarded me soberly for a second, saw that there was no panic on my part, and then smiled.
“What can I get for you, Sheriff?” she asked.
“Undersheriff,” I corrected, and then wondered why I had bothered. I had never worried about the distinction before.
“Do people really call you that?” she asked pleasantly.
I let my arm relax back on the bed. “No. Too awkward. I was just wondering if there was anyone left on the planet.”
She smiled a delightful smile. She was young, raven of hair and eye, and the name tag pinned to the right breast of her uniform was too small to read even in good light. “Just you and me, dear,” she said.
“What a pleasant thought. How long have you worked here?”
“Longer than you’ve been a patient,” she said, and I detected a little edge. If she couldn’t melt a recalcitrant patient with those eyes, then there were other weapons in her management arsenal, I decided. “Are you feeling discomfort?” she asked.
“I just wanted some information,” I said.
“It’s six-fifteen.”
“P.M.?”
“Yes.”
“Good God. I’m supposed to be out of here. What’s for dinner?”
She smiled and ran two fingers down one of the tubes. “You’re on drip.”
“How much do I have to pay for some real food?”
“You’ll have to ask Dr. Perrone that. His orders.”
“And I suppose a good cigar is out.”
She just laughed mildly and adjusted the hanging hardware. I watched her for a minute, then said, “I need something to do before my brain turns to mush. I’m lying here thinking nothing but unproductive thoughts.”
“You’re not supposed to be thinking anything,” she said. “You’re supposed to be asleep. About a month straight would be about right. Nobody can work a dozen twenty-six hour days in a row.” I wondered whom she’d been talking to. She put one of those warm, soft nurse hands on my forearm. She reminded me a little of my youngest daughter, and then of Amy Salinger.
“Am I allowed to use the telephone?”
“You got a quarter?” She flashed a bright smile, and patted my arm again. “Probably tomorrow, when they move you out of ICU. You know, we kind of like to keep you quiet.”
“I thought today…”
The footfalls were so soft I almost didn’t hear them. Harlan Sprague pushed the curtain back and surveyed me critically.
“Hello, Doc,” I said. “Now you’re going to tell me my internal plumbing is crapped out, too.” Sprague laughed the polite little laugh that doctors use when you mildly insult their medical specialty.
“You’re looking a little better, Sheriff. He nodded at the nurse. “Katie,” he said, and then ignored her. “It’s probably wishful thinking to ask if you’re behaving yourself.”
“Barely,” I said. “See ya,” I called to Katie as she slipped through the curtain. “She’s a doll, isn’t she? And you’re the first doctor I’ve seen all day,” I said, and Sprague shrugged.
“You’re asleep most of the time, Sheriff. There’s not much they can do right now, except monitor and adjust medication. Perrone’s a good man, though. I always thought the hospital was lucky to have him on staff.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and clasped his hands together over one knee. “No more discomfort?”
“No. Just buzzed. Why all the drugs? They’re worse than anything else.”
Sprague looked up at the IV tube. “Just relaxants. Maybe a blood thinner. The object is to create a situation where your heart has as little work to do as possible. No sudden surges, no spikes on the electrical chart. It’s pretty standard. Given a chance, it’s an organ with wonderful recuperative powers. Up to a point.”
“What do you think they’re going to suggest for me?”
Sprague smiled. “I hate to try and second-guess a specialist. Maybe in your case, just the required change in life-style might be enough.”
“That’s as bad as letting Gonzales in with his knives.”
“Come on, Sheriff. There’s got to be a way you can relax. I can see that I’m going to have to drag you off fishing sometime with me.”
“I haven’t baited a hook in fifteen years,” I said.
“Once a fisherman, always a fisherman,” Sprague said affably. “You ever fished in the surf?” I shook my head. “One trip to the ocean and you’ll be a convert. Guaranteed.”
“Maybe I’ll have to try that.”
Sprague stood up. “I don’t make idle promises, Sheriff. When you’re on your feet, off we’ll go. I’ve got a little spot I like down on the coast in Mexico, a few miles from Bahia Kino. Therapeutic isolation. Sunshine, sand, maybe a few fish. Nothing like it.”
“Sounds good,” I said. And it did…a whole lot better than this white chamber they’d stuck me in for a little case of fatigue. There were too many unanswered questions for me to be sleeping the days away. I looked at the IVs in my arms, then managed a grin at Sprague. “As soon as they unplug me.”
“It’s a deal.” Sprague patted my foot. “Behave yourself.” He left the room, and left me wondering why a retired doctor was so damn eager to adopt new patients.
Chapter 21
My IV needles were removed and my arms patched. And in my new room, there was a window. A telephone. Even a newspaper lying on the nightstand. But I wasn’t planning on staying.
“Dr. Perrone will be in to see you after a while,” a nurse whom I didn’t know assured me.
“Terrific,” I grumbled. It was nice to be able to roll over without fear of ripping out connections. I lay on my stomach and gazed out past mattress, bell cord, side rail, glass of water, and pill cup. I had to admit that the rest had been nice. It gave me time to think. Now, I was bed-weary, eager to go. The newspaper on the nightstand was turned in such a way that I could see several headlines. A portion of one headline included the name of our governor, and so I ignored that one. A smaller head, low on the bottom half of the page, included the word “coroner” and I stared at it, trying to read the whole thing.