“One,” said Davey.
“Super,” she said. She grabbed the plastic pitcher from next to the sink, and returned to Davey’s bedside. The pitcher had a large bent opening on top; she pointed it at Davey and asked, “Can you handle this?”
“Yes, thanks,” said Davey. He took the container and waited for the nurse to turn around before pulling down his sheet and hitching up his gown.
“All done,” he announced.
The nurse, Beth, took the half-full pitcher and smiled at Davey. Beth liked Davey’s smile; he seemed like a very nice boy. Making brief contact with his relieved eyes, she thought that even though she had never wanted children, if she had, should would have wanted to raise a nice polite boy like this one.
“You just ring that buzzer if you need anything else,” she said, pointing to the cord looped around his bed’s handrail.
“Okay,” said Davey. “Thanks again.”
“No problem,” said Beth. She took the pitcher over to the bathroom and flipped on the light. She raised the seat—better safe than sorry—noted the volume of fluid, and dumped it into the toilet. Beth transferred the plastic jug to her left hand so she could mark the number of CCs on Davey’s bathroom chart.
Beth made no secret of her disdain for the prissy new nurses who felt the need to don latex gloves every time they got within ten feet of a patient, and she certainly wasn’t afraid of urine from an nine-year-old boy. She barely noticed the drop that spilled from the mouth of the plastic jug onto her wrist. Beth filled the pitcher with water from the tap, sloshed it around, and cast it into the toilet with the rest. She flushed, returned the pitcher to its home, and washed her hands with hot, soapy water.
When she returned to Davey’s bedside, she spotted a mark on his cheek. “You’ve got a little schmutz on your cheek, hon,” she said.
“Oh, thanks,” said Davey. He grabbed a tissue from his tray and wiped his face.
“Don’t forget, hon,” Beth said as she turned to the door, “just buzz.”
Davey waved.
By the time she had returned to the nurses station Beth had forgotten all about the single drop of urine which had landed on her left wrist. Once washed off, a small thing like that was expunged from her memory—just another minor detail in a day full of duties.
Beth had no way of knowing that the single drop, washed and forgotten, would see her dead within a few months of that day. Her only living relative, her older sister who had taken up permanent residence in Beth’s guest room, would die just five minutes after, also because of that same accidental drop.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mike
“MIKE, SERIOUSLY, I’VE GOT to show you something when you get a chance,” said Gary.
“Okay Gary,” Mike snapped, “I heard you the first time, but there’s a lot of shit going on here.”
“Got it,” said Gary, as he stalked off towards the van.
“So you’ve got feeds for us?” asked the producer.
“Just pull your truck up next to the van and talk to that pudgy guy there,” Mike said pointing at Gary.
“I heard that,” Gary yelled.
“Shit,” Mike said under his breath. He turned his attention back to the paperwork spread out on Bill’s workbench and tried to make sense of it. The writing was tiny, and the lighting in Bill’s garage proved inadequate as the sun set outside.
“Mike?” asked Katie. “I think Bill is coming down the road.”
“Stall him,” said Mike. “We don’t need him complaining too.”
“Fuck it,” Mike said, sighing. He flipped to the last page of the contract and signed his name. “Let him sue me. I don’t have any money.”
Mike spun around at the sound of yelling outside the garage. As he expected, Bill rounded the corner and strode through the garage door, already yelling.
“What the hell are you guys doing?” demanded Bill.
“Relax, Bill. We’re just getting set up,” said Mike.
“I thought I told you to keep the door shut,” said Bill. He leaned in close—“If that thing figures out what you’re up to, this is going to be one hell of a night.”
“That wouldn’t exactly be bad news for us, Bill,” said Katie, standing off to the side of the irate man.
“Yeah, well,” said Bill, striding over to the workbench and picking up the contract that Mike had just signed, “this paper says you agree to my rules, or I get a percentage of your business.”
“We don’t make any money,” said Mike.
“You will once I’m done with you,” said Bill.
Mike raised his eyebrows and cocked his head, wondering what Bill meant.
“Can we do some establishing shots inside now?” asked a well-dressed woman from the garage door.
“This is a fucking circus,” said Bill, throwing up his arms.
Mike pointed from the woman to Bill. “Leslie, this is the homeowner: Bill Carson. Bill, Leslie.”
“So nice to meet you, Bill,” said Leslie, turning on her TV personality charm. “I’ll be doing the narration and scene work. My producer wants to know if we can get inside for some shots. Is that okay?” She smiled and winked at Bill.
Mike winced, predicting a negative response from Bill to the obvious flirting.
Bill surprised everyone by thrusting his hands in his pockets and stowing his earlier irritation. “Yeah, sure,” he said.
“Thank you so much,” she said. She put her hands together in a prayer position and bowed slightly to Bill, Katie, and Mike before stepping back, out of the garage.
“This better go smooth,” said Bill, regaining his ire as he turned back to Mike.
“Don’t worry,” said Mike. “We’re just here to make some observations and the press is here to keep everything documented and credible.”
“Hey, do you think I should show her the hand?” asked Bill, changing personalities once again.
“What? No!” said Mike. “They’re here to show that we’re not crackpots. Please don’t do anything crazy. Not to mention that you’ll probably get sued or go to jail if anyone finds out you’ve got a severed hand in your freezer.”
Gary trotted back into the garage, panting. “I’m ready to start doing cameras, but we’re never going to have enough cable. Do you think I could pull up on the lawn to get the van closer?”
“Hold on,” said Mike. “One step at a time. First, you can’t set up the equipment yet because the news crew is about to do their establishing shots. They want an untouched house; they don’t want to see our equipment everywhere. But as soon as they’re done, I want you in there. Second, ask Bill if you can pull up on the lawn. It’s his lawn.”
“Bill?” asked Gary.
“Go ahead,” said Bill.
As Gary jogged back out, Mike wore a puzzled expression. “Why wouldn’t he have enough cable?”
“The windows are nailed shut upstairs,” said Katie.
“Really?” Mike asked Bill.
“The contractors did it,” said Bill. “They said the windows made them uncomfortable and offered to replace them at the end of the job if I let them nail ‘em shut.”
“That must have been a strange outfit,” commented Mike.
“We’re going in for our shots now,” said Leslie, standing with her producer and camera man at the entrance to the garage. “Would you care to give us a tour?” she asked Bill.
“Sure, no problem,” replied Bill. He looked down at his his worn jeans and t-shirt. “Should I change?”
“You won’t be on camera,” said Leslie. “You just show me around and I’ll do the rest.”
Bill kept his eyes locked on the newswoman, but Mike saw Leslie’s producer roll his eyes slightly.
When Mike and Katie were finally alone in the garage, Mike sat down on a stool and sighed.