13
When I was a kid, my
dad would come home from a long day of nipping, tucking, and
surgically enhancing and watch MacGyver. Between his office hours and rounds at
the hospital, I hardly ever saw him, so even though I thought any
show that was long on science and short on fashion was basically
boring, I was starved for attention as only an only-child can be. I
spent many a Monday night sitting on the couch next to Dad, trying
hard to be interested.
I guess I absorbed
more than I thought. That’s the only thing that would explain
why, when I woke up again and found myself back in my room, I
decided (in an obsessive-compulsive,
I’ve-got-to-do-this-and-I’ve-got-to-do-it-now sort of way that
I blamed on the aftereffects of the drugs) that I needed to concoct
some brainy invention that would allow me to escape.
I rushed around the
room, scooping up everything I could find.
Then, for an hour or
more, I found myself staring at a toothbrush, a hospital gown that
I had—so far—managed to avoid changing into, and the entire
contents of my purse (minus the missing cell phone, of course).
Lipstick, compact, blusher, perfume, mascara, eyeliner, hand
sanitizer, hand lotion, lip gloss, tampons, breath mints, wallet.
Everything a girl could ever want or need. Except an idea of how to
use it all to get out of there.
MacGyver, I was
sure, would cobble together something simple yet
brilliant.
Pepper
Martin?
Not so
much.
Exhausted, I flopped
back on the bed, my brain tired and my stomach queasy from the
fatty bacon I’d never had a chance to finish. I don’t know how
long I lay there staring at the tiles of the drop ceiling and
wondering what to do next. I do know that it was frustrating, but
it beat worrying about what was going to happen to me if I stayed
in Doctor Gerard’s clutches. If history repeated itself—and as
much as I tried, I couldn’t think of a reason it wouldn’t—I
was about to become a statistic. Just another one of the
missing.
I wondered if Doctor
Gerard had pegged me correctly as someone no one would come looking
for.
My dad? No way he
could.
Mom? Between her
tennis league, her yoga class, and her book club (they didn’t
read a thing, it was an excuse to meet at the martini bar down the
street from her condo) and my schedule as detective to the dead, we
talked maybe once every couple weeks. She wouldn’t even know I
was gone for days, and by that time, something told me it would be
too late.
Quinn?
We hadn’t exactly
promised we’d see each other again when I returned from Chicago,
but I kind of figured we would. If he did, too, he might show up on
my doorstep, and if I wasn’t there...
I twitched the
thought aside.
If I wasn’t there,
Quinn would go on his merry way, no doubt about it. I wondered if
he’d ever bother to stop and think of me again.
Of course, there was
always Dan.
There was a time
this thought would have actually made me feel better. After all,
Dan had once saved my life. But now I suspected that he was so
hell-bent on contacting Madeline, he’d do anything to make it
possible. Even if that meant locking me up in some loony bin and
turning his back when Doctor Gerard poked around inside my
brain.
Had I tipped my hand
with Dan when I told him I’d spoken to Madeline? Or was it the
comment about the missing patients that had sealed my fate? Was
that why I was being held prisoner?
My stomach rebelled
again, and this time, it had nothing to do with greasy bacon or
runny eggs. My heart bumped and lurched, but even the bumping and
the lurching weren’t enough to kick my brain into gear. What the
hell was I going to do to get myself out of the predicament I’d
gotten myself into?
The daylight outside
my room faded from afternoon to evening, then disappeared
altogether, and the ceiling tiles above my head washed out from
white to gray. Still, I was no closer to figuring out how I could
escape.
Except for those
ceiling tiles, of course.
The idea hit, and I
sat up like a shot. I didn’t know how often they did a bed check
or how early breakfast might be served the next morning, but I
wasn’t taking any chances; I didn’t have a moment to lose. My
boots were next to the bed, so I slipped them on, turned on the
light, then carefully and quietly positioned the room’s one and
only chair so it was close enough to the dresser for me to step
from one to the other. I was all set to start climbing when I
decided I’d better take my purse, too. It was, after all, a Juicy
Couture. I slipped the shoulder strap over my neck and left
shoulder, and with my hands free, I got to work.
Lucky for me, the
dresser was sturdy. Luckier still, the first ceiling tile I tried
moved easily. I slid it aside and waited, my breath caught behind a
tight ball of anticipation in my throat. One minute went by. Then
another. There was no sound from out in the hallway, nobody running
to see what I was up to, no alarms. In fact, the only sound I heard
was my heart beating double time in my chest.
Before my heartbeat
could deafen me, I stuck my head into the hole in the ceiling and
took a look around. The nearly total darkness took a while to get
used to, but once my eyes adjusted, I saw confirmation of what
I’d thought when I took that walk to the dining hall: the
building was old and once upon a time long ago before the drop
ceiling had been added, the real ceiling was twelve feet or more
from the floor. There wasn’t plenty of room, but there was room
enough to move around between the new ceiling and the old. At the
same time I prayed I wouldn’t run into any of the spiders that
had coated the space with webs, I hoisted myself into the opening.
There were support beams between the tiles, and I sat down on one,
cautiously eased the tile I’d moved aside back into place, and
squinted into the darkness.
I was in a maze of
air-conditioning ducts, electrical wires, and years of accumulated
dirt. I knew when I scrambled up into the ceiling that I was facing
the doorway. That meant if I crawled straight ahead, I would be
over the hallway outside my room. I also knew the desk—and the
attendant who manned it—were down the hall to the left. On my
hands and knees, I went to the right.
I am not a good
judge of distances, and in the dark, it was hard to say how far
I’d come to begin with. I only knew when it felt like far enough.
When another passage intersected the one I was in, I went to the
left, listening as I did for any sounds from below.
The place was as
quiet as Garden View at midnight.
If this was a good
thing or a bad one, I couldn’t say. I only knew I couldn’t
spend the rest of my life in the ceiling. I stopped, and choosing a
ceiling tile at random, I hooked my fingers under it—and broke a
nail. Past caring, at least until I could get out of there and
schedule a manicure, I latched on tighter, winced when another nail
snapped, and moved the tile aside.
I found myself
looking down into a room with an open doorway on the left. Beyond
it, there was a light on in the hallway. Through the mishmash of
light and shadows, I saw what reminded me of the biology lab back
at my high school. Never the scene of any academic triumphs, at
least not for me. On my right, the wall was lined with
glass-fronted bookcases. There were windows on another wall. Yes,
they were barred. In the center of the room were a dozen or more
individual lab stations, complete with Bunsen burners and sinks.
Carefully, I lowered myself onto the countertop of one of the lab
stations, and from there, I hopped to the floor.
I didn’t dare move
from the spot, not until I was sure the coast was clear. I had just
about convinced myself it was and that it was time for me to dart
out of the relative safety of the lab and into the hall to try and
find a door that led outside when I heard a voice.
It was a man, and he
was headed my way.
I ducked under the
lab station, curled into a ball, listened, and waited.
“Everything’s
secured.†The man’s voice was punctuated by the bleeping sound
of a walkie-talkie. “Gonna take another swing through the east
wing, but I’m guessing we’re set for the night. Then
I’ll—shit.â€
The walkie-talkie
beeped and squawked before another voice responded. “What’s up,
Glenn? Something wrong?â€
“Just the lab.â€
Glenn was right outside the door, close enough for me to hear the
exasperation in his voice. And close enough for him to hear me if I
lost my nerve and whimpered. I dug the fingernails—broken and
unbroken—of one hand into the palm of the other as a way of
reminding myself to stay focused and keep quiet. “Somebody left
the door open again and damn, I didn’t bring the keys. I’ll
have to come back to the security desk to get them, then head back
up here. You’re still down there, right, Dwayne? You want to wait
for me to get back, then we can duck into the stairwell for a
smoke?â€
Dwayne’s
confirmation came with another squawk. “No problem,
buddy.â€
I waited until the
echo of Glenn’s footsteps died away before I dared to budge.
Looking back on it, maybe that’s where I made my mistake. I
should have moved faster, sooner. The way it was, I pulled myself
out from under the lab station, inched over to the door, and took a
look around. The hallway outside the lab looked much like the other
ones I’d seen earlier that day, except that way down at the end
of this one, there was a door marked with a red exit
sign.
I had just started
toward it when I heard Glenn’s footsteps again.
Apparently, the
security desk was not as far away as I’d hoped.
With no place to
hide in the hallway and no other options, I scurried back into the
lab, shot under the lab station I’d just crawled out from under,
and listened, helpless and losing heart, as Glenn arrived. When he
pulled the door shut and locked it, there was nothing I could do
but wait for him to leave.
Grumbling a curse, I
looked back up at the dirty, dusty, cobwebby hole in the ceiling
and knew I had no choice but to get back up there and return to my
room. Of course, that didn’t mean I couldn’t take a moment to
look out the windows and think about life on the
outside.
I had just gone over
that way when the clouds outside parted and a nearly full moon
shone above the waters of Lake Michigan. Its light glistened
against a few snow-flakes that floated past the window. It tipped
the lake water with silver and glittered against the coating of ice
along the shoreline.
It also glanced
against the glass-fronted cases in the room, and when it did,
something in them caught my eye.
Curious, I closed in
for a better look.
“Patient XK545.â€
I read the label on a glass jar just inside the door, then looked
beyond the paper label to the contents.
“Holy shit!†I
jumped back as fast as I could, but even if I wanted to (and
believe me, I wanted to), I couldn’t look away. I stared in
stunned horror at row after row of glass jars that filled the
shelves.
Each one of them was
labeled with a patient number.
Each one contained a
human brain.
Â
Â
“So, how are we
feeling this morning?â€
The last thing I was
in the mood for was chipper, and Doctor Gerard, with his tweedy
suit and cheery voice, was definitely going for
chipper.
With a sneer of epic
proportions, I let him know I didn’t appreciate it.
“I feel like shit. That’s all that
matters. And it’s your fault. What the hell did you shoot me up
with yesterday? And why? What the hell is going on around here,
Doctor, and—â€
“I am so sorry
about that.†We were in his office, and morning sunlight streamed
through the windows. It was nearly as bright as his smile.
“Forgive me, Pepper, but you have to understand, there are
certain scientific procedures—â€
“Screw your
scientific procedures.†I wasn’t in any frame of mind to sit
down and get comfortable, but after the walk from my room to the
cafeteria for breakfast (where I didn’t see Ernie or the oatmeal
lady, come to think of it, and where everyone else was as stoned as
they had been the day before), and from the cafeteria to Doctor
Gerard’s office, I was wiped out. I plunked into his guest chair.
Set right next to it was a table with two china cups and a plate of
flaky croissants. They sure as hell looked better than the
scrambled eggs and toast I’d had for breakfast, but I wasn’t
taking any chances. There were more ways to drug a girl than simply
by pumping the poison right into her veins, and I was too smart to
fall for any tricks.
“And screw you,
too,†I told the doctor.
“I can’t blame
you for feeling this way.†There was one of those thermal coffee
carafes on the credenza behind his desk. He got it, filled one cup,
and looked my way.
“No?†I guess my
expression—the one that had I don’t trust
you, buster, written all over it—told him everything he
needed to know. “I can prove it isn’t spiked, if that’s what
you’re worried about.†Doctor Gerard took a sip of coffee.
“The croissants are drug free, too. You don’t need to worry
about them. Go ahead.†He set the carafe near my elbow, and when
he did, the aroma of coffee filled my nose. One sniff and I knew
this wasn’t the watered-down version they served in the
cafeteria. This was the real deal and it smelled heavenly. I waited
for him to take another drink, and when he didn’t choke or pass
out, I figured it was safe to take a chance; I poured myself a
cup.
I gulped it down,
hot and black, and without the sweetener I always added. Doctor
Gerard beamed me a smile. “There. Now we’re on better
footing.†There was a chair next to mine, and he sat down in it.
His long-sleeved blue shirt was so starched, it crackled as he
settled himself. “You have trust issues. I can understand that. I
haven’t been as forthcoming as I might have been.â€
“Oh, you’ve been
plenty forthcoming.†I wasn’t exactly sure what the word meant,
but I liked the way it sounded when I added an acid twist. “And
now you’re going to go forth right now and pick up your phone and
make a call and then a cab is going to be coming to get me. I’m
getting out of here.†To prove it, I stood.
“Not yet.†The
doctor put a gentle but insistent hand on my arm. “We’re almost
done with our testing, and I have to tell you . . .†He stood,
too, and he was taller than me. When he looked down, his eyes
glittered with excitement. “The tests I’ve done, Pepper . . .
The results I’ve seen...You’re the only one I’ve ever met who
really might . . .†He was so overcome, he couldn’t
finish.
I wasn’t all that
emotional. Not when it came to ghosts, anyway. I backed out of his
reach. “You mean when it comes to talking to the dead, right?
What, you didn’t believe me when I told you I could do
it?â€
“I’ve heard it
before. Dozens of times.†The doctor turned and walked behind his
desk. There was a mountain of file folders on it, and he picked up
a batch of them. “So much promise! And so many people who I
thought just might . . .†He dropped the folders back on the desk
where they landed with a smack. “They
disappointed me. All of them. Then I saw your brain scans. You’re
the answer to my prayers, Pepper. You’re the key to the whole
mystery. Working together—â€
“Hold on there,
Hilton.†I held up a hand to stop him. Since I’d been unable to
resist and I’d just grabbed a croissant, it dropped flaky crumbs
around me. “Who said this was a partnership?â€
He leaned forward,
his palms flat against the desktop. “But it can be! It will be!
Don’t you see? Working together, we can change the world!†His
voice shook when he said, “Go ahead. Do it now. Call on one of
the dead.â€
“Call on? You mean
like demand they show up? I can’t just—â€
“Of course you
can. And don’t worry about all the messy little details. We’ll
get our attorneys involved later and—â€
“Lawyers?†OK,
it might have been the drugs messing with my mind, but honestly, I
didn’t think so. I finished the croissant, brushed the crumbs
from my hands, and got down to business. “Why do we need lawyers
to talk to ghosts?â€
“We don’t. Not
now. Not when you’re simply demonstrating.†The doctor rubbed
his hands together. “But once we’re in full start-up mode,
then, of course, I wouldn’t expect you to not get some portion of
the profits. After all, you—â€
“I’m the one you
think can get Shakespeare to spit out the words of his next play.
And Einstein the formula for . . . for whatever a guy like that
would come up with a formula for.†I chewed over this new
thought. “You want to contact the dead to make money from
them?â€
His laugh was a
little nervous. “You make it sound so vulgar. And besides . .
.†He smiled in a way that reminded me of the greasy bacon I’d
eaten for breakfast the day before. “We’re getting way ahead of
ourselves. Until I know you can really do it . . .†His look was
expectant. “Go ahead, Pepper. Don’t worry about doing anything
difficult. Not this early in our study. We’ll forego Shakespeare
and Einstein and the rest of them for now. You can simply talk to
one of the ghosts you’ve already been in contact with. The ones
you mentioned that day in my office. Gus Scarpetti or Didi Bowman
or—â€
“Madeline
Tremayne?â€
I wasn’t imagining
it. The light was too good in the office for it to play tricks on
my eyes. Doctor Gerard’s face really did get pale.
He ran his tongue
over his lips. “Madeline? My former assistant?â€
“One and the
same.†Something told me that for the first time since I woke up
and found myself wherever the hell I was, I had the upper hand. I
used it to my full advantage. “Want to know what she has to
say?â€
Doctor Gerard’s
smile fluttered. “Of course I do. Madeline . . . my goodness . .
.†Like he was trying to take it all in, he blinked fast. “How
I’ve missed her! What has . . . what has she told
you?â€
“Well, for one
thing, she’s the one who told me the patients here come in and
don’t go out again.â€
“Yes, of
course.†He sat back down in the chair he’d gotten out of only
a little while before. “She doesn’t think . . . she doesn’t
think there’s anything sinister happening here, does
she?â€
“Sinister?†I
laughed. After days of worrying, it felt good. “You sound like a
sci-fi movie. If what you mean is that Madeline thinks you’re a
shady little son of a bitch who’s scamming people to get them in
here then doing who-knows-what with them . . . well, yeah, I guess
you could say she thinks you’re doing something
sinister.â€
“She would think
that, of course.†Doctor Gerard ran a nervous hand over his shirt
sleeve. “She doesn’t know—â€
“What?â€
“That I help them
as a way of showing my thanks, of course.†Some of the tension
went out of his shoulders, and he smiled more freely. “I mean,
when they leave here. Madeline doesn’t know...She didn’t...I
hadn’t started that part of the program yet. She’d have no
knowledge of it. When I’ve finished studying those other
patients...†He drew in a long breath. “Well, you see, Pepper,
I don’t mean to brag, but I find them homes. And jobs. Of course
no one sees them on the streets again. I help them start new
lives.â€
He sounded so
sincere, I actually might have bought into the line of
bullshit.
If not for those
jars of brains I’d seen the night before.
“Funny, Madeline
never mentioned it,†I said. It seemed a better strategy than
saying anything about the brains. “She hangs around at the
clinic, you know.â€
Doctor Gerard’s
gaze darted around the room. “Is she here now?â€
I looked around,
too. “Not that I know of.â€
“Has she told you
. . .†He licked his lips again. “What else has she told
you?â€
Of course he was
nervous. He was worried word might get out about that bungalow in
the Bahamas. And the cooked books.
And I wasn’t
stupid. The coffee was terrific. The croissants were tasty. But my
sudden status as Princess of Patients would disappear in a flash if
Doctor Gerard knew that I knew more than I should have. Or more
importantly, if he knew that I knew something damaging. And if he
thought I’d spill the beans to the authorities.
I shrugged like it
was no big deal. “She hasn’t told me a whole bunch. She’s
pretty boring. Oh!†I added this as an afterthought just so he
didn’t get any ideas about how I had to be shut up permanently.
“She thinks you walk on water. You know, the whole helping the
homeless and the mentally ill and blah, blah, blah. I’d hate to
disappoint her and let her know how unhappy I am with the way
I’ve been treated here.â€
“Yes, yes, of
course.†When he got up and went around to the other side of the
desk, Doctor Gerard looked relieved.
When he came back
with some sort of machine that reminded me of one of those old
portable CD players, I was less so.
He held out what
looked like a set of headphones. “Go ahead, put them on. Then
when you make contact with Madeline again, I’ll be able to
monitor what’s happening inside your head.â€
“But I can’t
just make contact. Don’t you get it?†I didn’t like being
that close to one of his weird brain-reading gizmos, so I turned
and walked to the other side of the office. “They come to me. The
dead, I mean. And when I want them to show up, well, sometimes they
do. But most times—â€
“We’ll find a
way to conquer that little problem.â€
When Doctor Gerard
returned to his desk, I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d dodged the
test-Pepper’s-brain scenario. At least for the
moment.
Or at least I
thought I had.
Until I realized
he’d pressed a buzzer on his desk and that when he did, Thaddeus
the hulking orderly showed up.
“Get her into the
chair,†Doctor Gerard ordered, and Thaddeus closed in on
me.
There was no use
fighting. He was bigger and I wasn’t on top of my game. When he
grabbed me and hauled me to a chair, I sat as directed, and when
Doctor Gerard put the gizmo on my head, I knew that if I didn’t
sit still, Thaddeus would make me.
“Call them,â€
Doctor Gerard ordered me.
I looked from him to
Thaddeus who was standing nearby, his arms folded across his
big-as-Hoover-Dam chest. “I can’t. I—†A tingle like
electricity prickled over my scalp, and I let out a tiny screech of
surprise.
“Call them,†the
doctor said again.
“You’re not
getting this, are you? It doesn’t work—†Doctor Gerard hit a
button on the CD player look-alike he held on to. The tingle
intensified.
“Call them now,â€
he said again. Poor ol’ Doc Gerard. He was dying to talk to the
dead, but he didn’t know how stubborn I could be, and by that
time, I was pissed. Cooperating was the last thing on my mind. Even
when he turned up the juice on the machine and I
screamed.