She sat up and away. "The bogeymen gotcha, Luther." She stood, and nodded at his head. "You've got the proof on your noggin. It's time to admit you're wrong. That's the only way you'll ever be able to defeat them."
She started out of the room.
"Gaby?"
Pausing, she said, "Yeah?"
"If you had to start looking for the bogeymen in one place, where would you start?"
Keeping her back to him, her shoulders straight and proud, she said, "Where I'd start is my business, cop." Over her shoulder, her blue-eyed gaze struck with laser accuracy. "But you should start in the hospital."
"This hospital?"
"Yeah." Her gaze never faltered. "Try the cancer ward and go from there."
Letting that go for now, he asked, "If bogeymen got me, then why aren't I dead?"
"That's an easy one, cop. Someone saved you."
With that niggling memory of Gaby's voice at the scene, Luther pushed up to one elbow. "You ? "
Pain marred her features before her countenance turned sardonic. "Yeah, right. That knock on the head really rattled what little brains you had, didn't it?"
Luther would not let her throw him off with insults. "I was the only one there when backup arrived." He watched her closely. "Where did the bogeymen go?"
Wearing no expression at all, she shrugged. "Where they all go, Luther." She turned away, and he barely heard her whisper, "Straight to hell."
Before he could call her back, she was gone.
Luther shoved the sheet aside. The pain in his head mushroomed, but he couldn't stay idle in the bed while Gaby stuck her stubborn little nose into dangerous police business.
If he didn't find the bogeymen, she would. He knew it down deep in the pit of his soul.
Five minutes later, when the doc walked in, Luther was dressed and anxious to be on his way. The attending physician tried to insist he couldn't drive and shouldn't be alone. Luther didn't need to do either one. He had another officer who could pick him up, but in the meantime, trolling the halls of the hospital would keep him in plain view of plenty of people.
He needed to follow what few clues Gaby had given him. He had to keep her safe.
Damn it all, he had to find a bogeyman.
Knowing Luther wouldn't be far behind her, Gaby dragged Morty along the white halls of the cancer ward. She shouldn't have told him anything.
She shouldn't have… well, more or less asked for his help.
She worked alone, damn it. Always had.
That's how God had designed it.
So why the hell did she still have Mort in tow?
"What are we looking for, Gaby?"
For some lame reason, Mort's presence brought her comfort in the memory-laden section of the hospital. Her body, her mind, recognized the smells, the sights, the auras and the emotions. Mort, with all his newfound gallantry, blunted the cutting edges of desolation.
She wore the yoke of his friendship, accomplishing much, and bearing the burden. "I'll let you know when I see it."
Ambling along, Gaby peered into each room, and eavesdropped on each conversation. Every nurse, doctor, and patient received her sharp appraisal.
"What are we doing here, Gaby?"
Pausing near a nurses' station, Gaby waited as two doctors approached. Voice low, she explained to Mort, "There's a thick tide of sickness caged in here, ebbing and flowing with no place to go. There's choking depression and a dark, heavy emanation because of it."
Mort stared at her wide-eyed.
Disgusted, Gaby said, "Don't let it spook you."
"It's not. But you're freaking me out."
He looked freaked, causing her to lock her teeth. "You weren't afraid of me earlier."
"I'm not afraid now. Just worried. But this isn't anything like earlier. You were hurting then. I could tell." He chewed his lower lip. "Can you tell me now what was wrong, what happened to you? I think I understand most of it. But you… you looked so different—"
"I didn't!"
At her angry retort, Mort jumped a foot. "Okay, okay," he soothed. "You looked the same—"
Sickened at herself and the growing stain of reality, Gaby dropped back against the wall. "Did I?" She turned her head toward him. "Did I look the same, Mort?"
Apologetic, Mort shook his head. "No."
"Fuck."
"Shhh. The nurses will hear you."
Reminded of her purpose, Gaby turned her body to face Mort as if in close conversation. "Be quiet so I can listen in."
"Listen in on what?"
To him, to a plain, mortal of a guy like Mort, the low voices of the doctors and nurses would be insubstantial. But for Gaby… "Just hush."
"Okay."
The conversation was a mere drone at first.
Until Gaby concentrated.
Then she heard them as clearly as if they addressed her personally from only a foot away. Another God-given talent.
Super ears—when need be.
"Ms. Davies has taken a turn for the worse. When I visited with her this morning, I couldn't get any response at all. Her vitals are weak. I don't think she's going to make it much longer. She's barely hanging on."
A female voice said, "I thought she was better yesterday."
"She's dying," said a male voice. "How much better did you think she'd get?"
Annoyed but attempting to hide it, the female said, "I'll check in on her now, to see if I can ease her in some way."
Gruffer and filled with impatience, the man growled, "It's a waste of time, Dr. Chiles. You're here to doctor her. Her family and friends should be soothing her."
"She has none."
"Perfect. So we're supposed to pick up the slack?"
"I thought—"
"I know what you thought. But you have other patients to see today, patients who are coherent, who have a chance. They need your care. Let Ms. Davies pass. We're short on beds anyway."
"I'll see to all my patients, Dr. Marton. But I won't let Ms. Davies suffer needlessly."
"If there's no response, what makes you think she's suffering?"
"Cancer has taken her, and it seldom does so without a great deal of pain."
"Hell." Gaby heard the pause, and then: "Fine. Do what you want. But she'll hardly know, now will she?"
Out of the corner of her eye, Gaby watched as the male doctor, Dr. Marton, stormed past. He was big, and though he tried to conceal it, he was furious.
At himself? At Dr. Chiles? Or at the hopeless situation in the cancer ward?
Behind Gaby, the nurses held silent, but Dr. Chiles said, "He's tired. Too many long hours and too little hope."
Then she too, walked away, releasing the nurses to gossip freely.
"God, he's a coldhearted bastard."
"I'm surprised he didn't have Ms. Davies moved out of here as he usually does with the indigent patients who can't pay for hospice."
"That horrible place where he sends them…" A shudder of revulsion broke the voice. "Can you imagine dwindling away in that cold, dreadful place, all alone and in so much pain?"
"At least he makes routine visits there to help treat them."
"If you call his brand of doctoring real treatment."
Like magnetized puzzle pieces clicking together, awareness, realization, and suspicion all formed an image of possibilities.
Dr. Marton.
Terminal cancer patients.
Indigent patients, all alone, without family or friends.
Each abomination Gaby had faced had an evil past, a past that had alienated them from family and friends, leaving them alone with their tragic fates.
Dr. Marton sent them somewhere, and then treated them there.
Where?
"Come on, Mort." In a hurry to investigate, Gaby had taken three steps before she realized Mort didn't follow. She turned back and saw him staring into Ms. Davies' room.
Retracing her steps, she paused beside Mort and followed his gaze into the room. The nurses and Dr. Chiles congregated around the sick bed.