Meds Page 8

  “Like me,” he replied, still struggling to speak properly.

  “We arrived at Middleford Cross on the same night,” she told him.

  He nodded slowly. “Middleford Cross,” he muttered. “Of all the places for them to bring me...”

  “You've heard of it before?” she asked, checking one of the monitors. “There was a big fire here a few years ago. Most of the place is just a ruin, but we've got this little corner all lit up and working just fine.” The monitor flickered, and she had to bang the side to make it work properly. “Well,” she muttered, “almost fine.”

  “Place looks like it's falling apart,” he replied. “It's a disgrace, having people here.”

  “I'll be back soon,” she continued. “I just have to go and check on some of the other patients, but -”

  “Wait,” he replied, reaching out and grabbing her arm. “I need to ask you something.” He paused, as if he was struggling to find the strength to get more words out. “Tell me, this place, this hospital... I know this might sound strange, but do you happen to know if there are any ghosts here?”

  “Ghosts?” She frowned. “Like... spooky, creepy things that go bump in the night?”

  “Please,” he continued, “just tell me. Are there any?”

  “I...” She paused, sensing the earnestness in his question. “No. No, I don't think so. As far as I know, it's just a regular building.”

  He sniffed, but her answer clearly didn't bring him much comfort.

  “Why do you ask?” she continued.

  He didn't reply at first. Instead, he looked toward the door as if he expected to see someone arrive at any moment.

  “You really don't need to worry about ghosts,” Elly continued, smiling brightly as she made sure the blankets were covering his feet. “You're completely safe here at Middleford Cross, and we're going to look after you until it's time for you to go to a rehab clinic.”

  “How long will that be?” he asked.

  “I don't know, it's up to Doctor Carmichael. It could be a few weeks, though.” She paused, seeing the fear in his eyes as he continued to look over at the door. “Is there someone you want me to call for you?”

  He turned to her.

  “A friend? A relative?” She waited for an answer, and although she knew that none of the patients at the Overflow had anyone in their lives, she still found it hard to believe that a nice old man like Mr. Lacy could be all alone in the world. “There must be someone who'll worry about you,” she continued. “Someone who cares?”

  He paused, before shaking his head.

  “No-one?” she asked.

  “I'm okay,” he replied, “I... It's been a long time.”

  “A long time since what?”

  He stared into space for a moment, as if some long-buried memory was floating close to the subject. For a few seconds, his eyes seemed to be getting a little moist, but finally he shook his head again. “There's no need to fuss.”

  “I'm not fussing, I just -”

  “Leave it be,” he added, more firmly this time, as he turned to her. “Don't you have other patients to be dealing with? I'm sure they're not paying you to be my goddamn personal assistant.”

  Surprised by the change in his tone, she realized she'd inadvertently stumbled onto a sensitive topic, and she figured it'd be best to hold back for now and let him relax.

  “I'll be back in a while to give you your pills,” she told him, heading to the door. “I'll see if we have some books around the place, something for you to read. You can't just sit there and stare out the window all day:”

  Once Elly had left the room, Lacy watched the empty doorway for a moment longer. There was still fear in his eyes, the kind of fear that came from knowing, really knowing deep down, that something bad was on its way. He tensed as he heard footsteps in the corridor outside, but then to his relief he saw that it was only a nurse making her way past.

  “No ghosts, huh?” he muttered, his voice still slurred from the stroke. “Well, there will be. They'll get here soon enough.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Okay,” Doctor Carmichael said, making some more notes on a chart next to Rachel's bed, “you're doing very well so far. I just want to carry out one more round of association tests for tonight, is that okay?”

  Glancing at her hand, he saw her write the work Okay on the pad of paper. With her face gone and bandages covering most of her head, the pad was her only method of communication, and they'd built up a kind of shorthand that allowed them to communicate fairly efficiently.

  “So just like before,” he continued, “I'm going to play you a series of sounds, and I want you to jot down a word of two, the first thing that comes to mind. It's important to determine whether your neural pathways are interpreting information in normal ways.”

  He brought up the player on his phone and set it on the bedside table.

  “Ready?”

  Tapping the screen, he waited as the phone played the sound of a train running along a set of tracks. Once the recording had stopped, he turned to see that Rachel had written the word Train.

  “Okay,” he said, tapping the screen again, “that's good. Here's the next one.”

  A moment later, the phone played the sound of waves crashing against a shore. Even before the recording was finished, Rachel had written Beach on her pad, and then she added another word: Summer.

  “Excellent,” he continued. Reaching out to tap the screen again, he paused for a moment as he watched her bandaged face. “You know, Rachel, there's no reason to think you won't one day get to go to a beach again. That world probably seems so far away right now, and it is in many respects, but... I just don't want you to give up hope. Without trying to sell you false promises, I really do think that eventually you'll be able to leave Middleford Cross and have some kind of fulfilling life again. It'll just take time.”

  He paused, before seeing that she'd written another word on the pad: Next.

  “Boring you, am I?” he asked with a faint smile, before tapping the phone again. “Fine. Try this one.”

  He sat back as the phone played the sound of a baby crying. Once the recording was over, he looked at Rachel's hand, only to see this time that she hadn't written anything on the pad.

  “Rachel?” he asked after a moment. “Do you not have an answer for that one?”

  He waited, before tapping to replay the sound.

  “We'll try again.”

  Once the recording had played for a second time, he looked at her hand and saw that she was still simply holding the pen, not writing anything. This time, however, he noticed that her hand seemed to be trembling slightly.

  “Rachel, are you okay?”

  Glancing at the monitors, he saw that her heart-rate had increased, although most of her other numbers were well within normal ranges.

  “Okay,” he continued, “I'm going to play that one more time, and let's see if you can write something down this time.”

  He tapped the screen, and for a third time the recording of a crying baby filled the room. Once it was over, he looked at her hand and saw that she was still gripping the pen. Glancing at her face, he realized that the lower part of her bandages seemed to be vibrating slightly, so he leaned closer and felt the area where the remaining bones of her jaw lay beneath a section of gauze. He frowned as he realized that the muscles at the top of her neck and around her ears were seemingly in some kind of spasm, almost as if – despite having no mouth left and no way of making any noise – she was instinctively trying to scream.

  “Rachel, are you okay?” he asked. “Do you need -”

  Suddenly she tilted her bandaged face toward him.

  “Rachel -”

  Before he could get another word out, Rachel reached up and stabbed the pen into the side of his neck.

  ***

  “You were lucky,” Kirsten muttered a short while later, as she continued to clean the puncture wound just below the jawline on the left side of Carmichael's neck. “Ano
ther quarter-inch and this would've been quite the gusher. Fortunately for you, I happened to be passing the room when she went for you.”

  “It doesn't make any sense,” he replied, wincing at the pain. “Rachel has never shown even the slightest hint of anger or aggression.”

  “Her face got torn off by a truck. I'm pretty sure she has issues.”

  “Not like this. She just seemed to let it all burst out from nowhere.”

  “Maybe she doesn't like your bedside manner. You can sound a little whiny sometimes, Jonathan.” She paused, watching him with a faint smile. “Of course, your manner in the bed can be rather annoying sometimes too.”

  “There has to be a reason for her reaction.” He glanced at his phone, which he'd set down on his desk. “I was trying an association test. She'd been doing really well, and then when I got to the sound of a baby crying...” He paused for a moment, before pulling away and bringing up Rachel's files on his laptop. “It seemed to trigger something.”

  “Can you hold still for a moment?” Kirsten asked, clearly a little irritated as she had to shift position to continue cleaning the wound. “So the woman got annoyed when she heard a baby crying? Some people just don't like children.”

  “There's nothing on her medical records to indicate that she's ever been pregnant,” he said after a moment as he scrolled down the page. “There's no history of termination, or any kind of fertility treatment. If the sound of a crying baby triggers some kind of negative reaction, maybe -”

  He let out a gasp of pain and quickly pulled away from Kirsten.

  “Sorry,” she said with a grin, “did I get a little too poky?”

  “I appreciate your help,” he replied, reaching up and feeling the wound, “but I think it just needs a bandage now.”

  Taking a seat on the edge of his desk, she opened a plastic box and pulled out a set of adhesive bandages.

  “I can do it myself,” he told her.

  “But I enjoy looking after you,” she replied, unable to stifle a grin. “I spent most of my time doing paperwork these days, it's so rare that I get a chance to actually help someone.” Peeling the back off a pad, she pressed it against his neck, covering the wound. “I honestly don't remember the last time my fingers touched the flesh of another human being. It's such a rare feeling, I'm actually getting a little tingly.”

  He pulled away. “There. Now your fingers can get back to normal.”

  “I didn't say the tingle was in my fingers,” she added, as she closed the box and got to her feet. “You're going to be absolutely fine, Doctor Carmichael, although you might end up with a nice little scar. It's a shame she didn't stab you twice, really. You'd have been able to claim you were attacked by a vampire.”

  “Something about the sound of a crying baby sent her into panic,” he replied, still looking at his laptop's screen as Kirsten headed to the door. “Not just panic, but... It was almost like a kind of primal fear, as if she couldn't control herself. I think she was trying to scream.”

  “Suddenly you're worried about one of your patients? Seriously? I thought they were just test subjects.”

  “They're human beings.”

  “That never stopped you before.” She paused. “Don't go getting soft and empathetic on me. I wouldn't like that one bit.”

  “Maybe it wasn't anger,” he muttered. “Maybe she was scared.”

  “We all have it in us,” she replied, stopping in the doorway and looking back at him. “By the way, I hope our discussion the other day didn't change anything. Your work here at Middleford Cross is valuable, and I want to see it continue. Besides, I'm sure you understand that no other hospital in the country would let you carry out the tests that you're doing. You're very lucky that the less ethical aspects of your project are allowed to slip past without comment. Really, when you think about it like that, the price you pay for that freedom is... Well, it's insignificant.”

  “I'm eternally grateful,” he said sourly, not looking up from the screen.

  “I'll need you to show that gratitude again shortly,” she told him. “I'll have a little out of hours job for you to do, it'll only take a short while and you might even enjoy it.”

  “I've very busy at the -”

  “Aren't we all?” she asked, interrupting him. “I'll let you know when I need you. Don't worry, though, all it entails is spending a few hours in the company of our latest arrival, Nurse Blackstock. I'm sure that won't be too much of a burden for you, will it?” She waited for a reply. “You're not going to get all moral on me, are you? Please don't, Doctor Carmichael. I find that kind of thing so boring.”

  He glanced over at her, just as she left the room. For a moment, he felt a shiver pass through his chest at the thought of performing another 'favor' for Nurse Winter, but finally he turned back to his laptop and began to search for more information about Rachel Brown's accident. As he did so, he absent-mindedly reached up and began to pick at the edge of his bandage.

  Chapter Eight

  Five years ago

  “Hey,” he said with a smile, “what did I tell you about picking at that thing?”

  The little girl grinned. “Not to do it.”

  “So...” Reaching over, he smiled as he gently moved her hand away from the bandage covering her belly. “The more you pick at it, the more you make it so I have to put another one on.” He paused for a moment. “You don't want that, do you?”

  She shook her head.

  “So when you feel like you want to pick at it -”

  “I mustn't,” she said earnestly.

  “I hope not, because -”

  “Doctor Carmichael?”

  Turning, he saw that one of his colleagues, Wallace Ford, was standing in the doorway, and he immediately remembered that they were due to discuss one of the other cases. As usual, he'd lost track of time while talking to Sabrina. Every time he visited her room, he found her looking scared and lonely, and he always felt so bad that her parents so rarely had time to visit. He thought of all his patients as brave, but Sabrina Huntingdon was the bravest of them all.

  “Okay,” he continued, turning back to her, “I have to go and talk to this nice gentleman, but when I get back, I don't want to see any sign that this bandage has been picked, is that clear?”

  She nodded.

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “Huh.” He smiled as he headed to the door. “Your mother said she might be in to see you tomorrow. I hope I don't have to tell her that you've been naughty.”

  Sabrina frowned. “She won't come.”

  “She might,” he replied, even though he hated giving her false hope. “My point still stands.”

  “No more picking,” Sabrina told him. “I promise.”

  “Good girl.” Still smiling, he headed out into the corridor and made his way over to Wallace, who was now looking at some papers at the busy reception desk.

  “She seems cheery,” Wallace pointed out. “For a girl who might as well be an orphan.”

  “Sabrina Huntingdon?” Carmichael removed his glasses for a moment so he could give his eyes a quick rub. Sighing, he slipped his glasses back on. “Nothing I do with her is working,” he muttered. “The last round of radiation didn't slow the tumor at all. If anything, the damn thing grew more than ever.”

  “Give it time.”

  “She doesn't have time. Her spinal column's becoming impacted.” He looked back toward the door to Sabrina's room. “Any day now, any second, she might lose the use of her legs. I swear to God, of all the cancers I've treated, Sabrina's feels like the most...” He paused, searching for the right word.

  “Aggressive?”

  “I was going to say evil. I don't know how much longer I can hold that kid together. Sometimes I think...”

  Wallace paused, before turning to him. “Sometimes you think what?”

  “Her father never comes to see her,” he continued, “and her mother makes time in her busy schedule about once a week. She's a six-year-o
ld girl, for God's sake! I'm sure she'd be doing better if her parents could be bothered to visit more often. She's such a fighter, but she needs her parents' support.”

  “She'll be fine,” Wallace replied. “Come on, you help her to pull through. She'll be out of here in no time, no matter how bleak things look right now.”

  ***

  “Morphine!” Carmichael shouted a couple of hours later as he raced around the bed, in which Sabrina was shaking violently as she screamed. “Get me another patch of morphine right now!”

  “She's already had too much,” the nurse replied, struggling to hold the little girl down. “If you give her any more, she'll go over the recommended -”

  “I don't care right now,” he hissed, trying to hold Sabrina's face still so he could see into her eyes. “Sabrina,” he continued firmly, “can you hear me? This is Doctor Carmichael. I know you're in pain, but I'm going to stop that right now, okay? I'm going to make the pain go away.”

  “Doctor -” the nurse began.

  “Are you going to get that morphine,” he continued, turning to her, “or do I have to do it myself and then fire you?”

  She paused, before heading to the trolley.

  “Okay, Sabrina,” he muttered, taking hold of the girl's waist and rolling her over, before lifting the back of her hospital gown so he could examine her back. She was still trembling as he ran his hand across her skin, feeling the bump of her spine. “Sabrina, I want you to move your toes for me. Can you do that?”

  He looked down at her feet, but it was impossible to tell whether the lower part of her body was moving of its own accord or merely because her upper half was shaking so violently.

  “Jesus,” he whispered, rolling her onto her back again as she continued to scream and sob. Her face was turning red and her eyes were filled with tears, and after a moment she reached up to him, digging her fingernails into his arms. “It's okay,” he continued, even though the words felt more hopeless than ever, “I'm here, I'm going to make everything okay. I'm going to stop the pain.”