“ ‘Their hands and faces were all badg’d with blood,’ ” Mr. Briarley’s voice said in the background.
“Luckily, Mrs. Gray was here,” Kit said. “She bandaged it up till I could get him to the ER.”
“How did he do it?”
“A juice glass broke, and he was trying to pick up the pieces,” Kit said, and Joanna wondered if that was the whole story, or if he had been dismantling the kitchen again.
“But he’s okay?”
“He’s fine,” Kit said. “I was worried the emergency room might upset him, but it’s one of his good days.” She laughed. “He kept quoting Macbeth to the staff.”
“ ‘So were their daggers, which unwip’d we found,’ ” Mr. Briarley said, “ ‘unmannerly breech’d with blood.’ ”
He was fine. Not only fine, but having a good day.
“Who’s that on the phone?” Mr. Briarley said. “Is it Kevin?”
“I’d better go,” Kit said.
“If it’s Kevin, tell him the assignment is ‘The Wreck of the Hesperus.’ Pages 169 to 180. Tell him it will be on the final.”
“I’m glad he’s all right,” Joanna said.
“ ‘Oh, father! I see a gleaming light,’ ” Mr. Briarley said. “ ‘Oh, say, what may it be?’ ”
And so much for the good day, Joanna thought.
“I’ll call you as soon as I find the book,” Kit said and hung up.
He wasn’t dead. She had outside confirmation. Then why did she still have the feeling? It persisted, in spite of the relief she’d felt hearing Mr. Briarley’s voice, in spite of the fact that people didn’t die of cut thumbs. Maybe it’s a message of some kind, a premonition.
There was a sudden shriek from outside in the ER, and a clattering crash. “Mrs. Rosen,” Nina said, exasperated, “the British aren’t coming!”
“They are!” the woman said, her voice rising ominously. “I saw the light!”
The feeling’s a message, all right, Joanna thought, a message that you’re starting to sound just as crazy as that woman out there. Richard was right. You are turning into Bridey Murphy.
It wasn’t a premonition, or precognition, or proof that Mr. Briarley was dead. It was a contentless feeling, brought on by temporal-lobe stimulation. And what about the feeling that the Titanic is the key to the NDE? Doesn’t this prove it’s purely chemical, too?
“No,” she said stubbornly to the radio control board and the dangling wires. “It means something, and I’m going to find out what.” Which meant calling Betty Peterson back and going over the NDE accounts line by line, looking for clues.
Nina had asked her to take the phone back to the station desk. She picked it up and opened the door. The British are coming! woman had stopped screaming. Joanna leaned out the door to see if she was still out there.
She wasn’t, and Joanna couldn’t see Nina anywhere. The security guard was still lounging against the wall, and scrubs-clad nurses were moving routinely between the trauma rooms. Halfway down the row a young man in a lab coat and running shoes—Dr. Carroll?—stood, earnestly reading a chart.
But there was no telling when the next rogue-raver or gun-waving gangbanger might show up. Joanna started for the side door, keeping a sharp eye out for anyone who looked dangerous. At least Vielle isn’t here, she thought, walking between two heart monitors. And maybe a few days away from the ER had given her a new perspective. Joanna went over to the station desk and set the phone down. The door of Trauma Room 2 opened, and an orderly came out, talking to a black nurse in a surgical cap and dark blue—
“Vielle!” Joanna said. She started across the crowded space toward them. “What are you doing here?”
Vielle had turned at the sound of her name. As she caught sight of Joanna, she grabbed compulsively at her right arm and cradled it close to her body as if protecting it.
“I thought you weren’t coming back till next week,” Joanna said. “What made you change—?” and saw what Vielle was protecting. No, hiding. It was a bandage, and it covered half her forearm.
“What happened?” Joanna said blankly.
“Didn’t you hear about Vielle getting shot?” the orderly asked.
“Shot?”
“This guy comes in, waving a gun around,” the orderly said, “and he says, ‘Where the—’ ”
“Don’t you have work to do?” Vielle said sharply. “The bed in Four needs to be stripped. And mop the floor,” but she was looking at Joanna.
Joanna couldn’t take her eyes off Vielle’s bandaged arm. “You didn’t have the flu,” she said numbly. “You got shot.”
“Joanna—”
“You could have gotten killed.”
Vielle shook her capped head. “It’s just a flesh wound. It—”
“They told me you went home with the flu. Where were you? Up in the ICU?”
“No, of course not,” Vielle said. “The bullet barely creased the skin. I didn’t even have to have stitches.”
“That’s why you wouldn’t let me come over. You said you didn’t want me to catch the flu, but it was because you didn’t want me to know you’d been shot.”
“Joanna—”
“You told me you were going to stay home and get over it,” Joanna said. “Did you, or was that a lie, too, and you were back at work the next day because you couldn’t wait to let them take another shot at you?”
“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d be upset,” Vielle said, “and I didn’t see any point in—”
“Upset? Upset?” Joanna said furiously, and Dr. Carroll and one of the nurses turned around to look at them. The security guard began to lumber to his feet. “Why should I be upset, just because my best friend has been shot?”
“Keep your voice down,” Vielle hissed, looking anxiously toward the security guard. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you, because I knew you’d overreact—”
“Overreact?”
“Problem, Nurse Howard?” the security guard said, heading toward them, his hand on his gun.
“No,” Vielle said, “no problem.”
“Yes,” Joanna said to him, “where were you when the guy was waving a gun around?” She turned back to Vielle. “When exactly did you plan to tell me? Or did you plan to? If he’d shot you through the heart, would you have told me then?” and flung herself across the ER.
“Joanna—” Vielle called after her.
She pushed through the side door. Behind her, she heard Vielle say, “Cover for me. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Joanna, wait—”
Joanna ignored her and headed down the hallway.
“Joanna, please!” Vielle caught up to her just before she reached the stairs. “Don’t be angry,” she said, clutching at Joanna’s arm with her left hand. “The reason I didn’t tell you was—”
“Because you knew what I’d say,” Joanna said. “You’re right. I would have said it. Did you really expect me to stand idly by and watch my best friend get killed?”
“It was just a scratch,” Vielle protested. “He wasn’t shooting at me. I don’t even think he knew he had a gun. He was on rogue—”
“On rogue,” Joanna said, “which has caused a twenty-five percent increase in emergency room casualties.”
“You don’t understand,” Vielle said. “I was as much to blame as he was. I should have seen he was too far gone to reason with. I thought I could calm him down, and I took hold of his arm. The first thing the hospital memo said was, ‘Do not attempt to engage the patient.’ I had no business—”
“You have no business working in the ER,” Joanna cut in. “How many more warnings do you need? This is about as plain as it gets. You’ve got to get out of there.”