She finally realized that the bugs were now surging up her high heels and up her legs, settling on her bare skin and latching on somehow. Before, when she had first seen the bugs, there had been dozens. Now, there were hundreds, maybe even thousands, jockeying for position, fighting to find an empty patch of skin, so they could sink their strange, undulating teeth into her exposed flesh.
And only then did she start slapping at the bugs. She might have been slapping at the wind. The bugs continued to rise from the floor, unfolding up her legs like a horrible wave. She grabbed at her skirt and tried to pull it up in a vain attempt to stop the bugs from crawling into her pubic region.
The bugs though, smelled blood, and flowed up her legs and wriggled under her damp panties.
Janelle jerked the bolt open and stumbled out of the stall. The bugs had reached her armpits. Her heels slipped. The phone dropped from her hands as she reached out for support. Dizzy from the loss of blood, she fell into the wall, and sank to the floor. There was time for a final exhale, and the bugs swarmed over her skull, crawling into her open mouth. Her nose. Her eyes.
CHAPTER 51
8:47 AM
August 14
They spent the night at the bar until the bartender kicked them out at four. Ed, Qween, and Dr. Menard crashed at Sam’s apartment, while Sam sat in the kitchen, chewing nicotine gum and drinking ice water. When the sun filled the kitchen, he woke everyone up and they wordlessly piled back into the car.
Ed decided to go out for breakfast at The Golden Waffle. They filed inside, exhausted. The place was empty except for one cab driver who didn’t want to go home to his wife. A sleepy waitress gestured at the empty dining room and told them to sit anywhere they felt like. The cook eyeballed them from inside the kitchen as if they’d interrupted something important.
The meal was a quiet affair. When they were finished, Sam took the check and told the waitress, “More coffee.”
They sipped their coffee in silence. Qween finished her mug and snapped her fingers to get the waitress’s attention. She pointed at the empty cup and waddled off to the bathroom.
When she was out of earshot, Sam spread his hands, palms out, and looked Dr. Menard in the eye. “Sorry about the tap on the head there. I jumped to conclusions. I ah . . . sorry.”
Dr. Menard touched the raw spot on his forehead and winced. He shrugged. “I’ll live. Could have been worse, I guess.”
“Things can always be worse,” Ed said. “You’ll have to accept our unofficial apologies for the time being. You want to file a complaint or anything like that, I suppose somebody might get back to you in a couple of months. Or years. There’s not much rush to investigate things when cops overstep their bounds here, you understand.”
Dr. Menard shook his head. “Understood.”
The waitress refilled their mugs. More customers trickled inside. The place grew louder.
“So what now?” Dr. Menard asked.
“We find ourselves a bar, baby,” Qween said, settling back into the booth.
“Damned if I’ve got a better idea,” Sam said.
“I could go to the media,” Dr. Menard said. “Let people know what’s really going on down here. Get the public’s attention. You guys know somebody at the newspapers or one of the TV stations, right?”
Sam snorted and shook his head. As a general rule, detectives did not hang out with anybody associated with the media.
“Maybe,” Ed said. “I got maybe someone that would listen.”
Sam was curious. “Who the hell do you talk to?”
Ed said, “None of your damn business.”
Sam grinned. “Oh, now I know. It’s that short one, that poor girl they send out to car crashes and bad weather.”
“Yeah. So what.” A pause. “Don’t you dare tell Carolina.”
“Never.”
Ed wandered away to make the call. They heard him say, “Is this the famous hotshot girl reporter, Cecilia Palmers?” and laugh.
Qween said, “I already tried this, and nobody listened.”
Sam said, “I know, Qween. I know. It was a good plan. Wish to hell somebody had listened. Maybe things would be different. All we can do now is let folks know the inside story. Put some pressure on these assholes.”
Ed slid back into the booth. “It’s all set. We’re gonna meet Cecilia out in front of City Hall in an hour. Just so we’re clear, me and Sam won’t be anywhere near the cameras and you are not to mention our names under any circumstance, all right? All I want is for people to start wondering what’s going on in that hospital. Let’s put it out there, and let somebody else start poking around. We don’t need that kind of exposure. Like it or not, you’re gonna be the face of this thing. You ready, Doc?”
Dr. Menard rubbed his face. “I don’t know. I guess so.” “That’s the spirit.” Ed grinned. “Fuck it. You’re gonna be a hero. Go on Oprah.”
“Maybe she’ll give you a car,” Sam said.
Ed rapped on the table. “That’s it then. We’re gonna get your story out in front of the public, and damned if we’re aren’t gonna bring justice to the mean streets of Chicago.”
“Hell, that’s our job description,” Sam said.
Ed’s phone rang. He checked the number. It was Arturo.
Across the restaurant, the cook yelled, “Holy shit, turn that TV up.”
CHAPTER 52
9:09 AM
August 14
Kimmy awoke to pounding. At first, she wasn’t sure what was making the noise. She realized it must be Lee. He’d left his phone when he stormed out last night, and he must have left his keys as well. She just hoped he had burned off the anger.
She wanted to slip into some lingerie, coax him back into bed, see if she couldn’t improve his mood, but she didn’t want to risk enraging him further if she made him wait. She threw on a silk robe instead, deciding that she could always make him coffee and then change. She closed Grace’s door as she passed, and hurried to the front door.
It was Phil. “I need to talk to Lee. Immediately.”
“He’s not here.”
“Then where the fuck is he? He won’t answer his phone.”
Kimmy shrugged. “He took off last night. I think he broke his phone before he left, so he didn’t take it.”
“Jesus Christ.” He eyed her suspiciously. “You sure he’s not here? You’re not covering for his dumb ass, are you?” He pushed past roughly past her and banged on the walls with his fist. “Lee! Lee! You better not be hiding, you stupid sonofabitch.” He poked his head in the master bedroom, even checked the bathroom. On the way back, he opened Grace’s door, stuck his head inside.
He circled the living room, squinting at the brilliant sunlight sizzling through the floor to ceiling windows. He whirled on Kimmy in the kitchen. “Goddamnit, I’ve been up all fucking night, trying to save his career.”
Kimmy crossed her arms. She didn’t like the way he looked at her. “I told you. I don’t know where he is. He left without saying anything.”
Phil ran a shaking hand through his wild hair. “Make me some coffee. I need to sit and think a minute.” He dragged a chair back from the dining table and collapsed into it.