18
...The thorns made it impossible for anyone to pass through to disturb the sleeping princess...

 

HIS

 

By the time they got back in the cars, the sky was darkening fast.

“Man, I’m starving,” Paul said.

Fish agreed. “Let’s get some pizza or something. You guys have to be back for anything?”

No one did, and Fish said, “Okay, you tell me where the best local place is. I’ll pay.”

Fish found a local pizzeria on a group recommendation, and they downed four pizzas in a short period of time. As they were finishing in a more leisurely manner, Alex said, “Too much intense stuff. What do you say we all relax for the evening? Ben, what are you up to?”

“Nothing much,” Fish admitted. “I could go back home and study, but I’m sure all of you have to do that, too.”

“What would you say to a good movie? There’s a new Jet Li that just came out on video.”

Fish ruminated, and decided to take him up on the offer. “All right,” he said at last.

So he found himself that night squeezed into a tiny dorm room with five other guys, watching a Chinese movie in subtitles. Alex and Paul shared a room, which, in typical collegiate fashion, was more interesting than orderly. The central point of the room was a huge pegboard which they had mounted on the wall. Displayed there on hooks were all types of weapons—numchucks, throwing stars, and various kinds of swords.

After it was over, the guys drifted back to their various rooms, but Fish sat up with Alex and Paul, talking about martial arts. He found both of them had studied extensively, Paul specializing in aikido, a more modern “soft-technique” Japanese art, while Alex had a black belt in shorinji kempo, which he explained was a specialized form of karate.

“You’ve never done any martial arts training yourself, you say?” Alex asked.

Fish shrugged, sitting back in his chair. “No. First, I never had the interest, then I didn’t have the opportunity, and now, again, I don’t have the interest. I can handle a switchblade fairly well, and a gun. But I don’t enjoy it.”

“Do you own a gun?”

For an answer, Fish pulled the small pistol from his chest holster and tossed it into Alex’s lap. Alex picked it up and examined it.

“This is a good piece,” he said reflectively. “Hate to say this, but as proctor, I probably shouldn’t let you have this in here. You know, the whole illegal weapons thing. I’ve gotten a concession for our own weapons, but a gun might be pushing it with the administration.”

“It’s registered,” Fish said, pulling out his wallet. “I’m licensed to carry a gun in both Pennsylvania and New York.” He showed Alex his ID, and the proctor glanced at Paul and shrugged.

“I guess it’s okay then,” he said. “As far as I know, this campus is not a gun-free zone.”

“I didn’t know you could carry a concealed weapon on you, legally,” Paul said.

“Sure you can, if you’re willing to submit to registration,” Fish said. “There are some places where it’s illegal—like in a medical facility or a courtroom—but there are a lot of places you can carry one.”

“But you said you don’t enjoy using it,” Paul said.

“No,” Fish said. “I carry it for protection—I lived in downtown Pittsburgh till recently—and because I know how to use it. But I wish it weren’t necessary.”

“It’s an ugly modern weapon,” Paul agreed. “Not like a sword.”

Alex nodded. “The essence of the warrior code is actually found in the sword.”

“Alex, show him your katana,” Paul urged.

Alex didn’t need much encouragement. He pulled a case out from under his bed and unclasped it. Inside was a silver sword with a carved ivory handle.

“This is the weapon of the samurai,” Alex said. “It’s usually paired with the tanto, a smaller dagger used for the kill stroke, and a wakizashi, which is a medium length sword. But I don’t have those yet.” He pulled out another sword in a black leather case. “This is a ninja sword. You’ll notice it’s straight, like a Western sword, also shorter, but with a tapered end on one side. It’s meant to be strapped on the back and drawn by putting your arm over your head.”  He pulled out the blade and handed it to Fish, who looked along its sharp edge, half wondering, half skeptical.

“Do you actually use this?” he asked.

Alex nodded. “But not for combat—far too lethal. That’s where we use wooden swords.” He ran his finger down the dull side of the blade. “Also because a sword nicks easily, and the oriental swords are so thin they can break. We usually use them for doing things like slashing through two-liter bottles filled with water. It’s pretty neat. Then there’s kata—those are exercises you do alone with the sword to improve your accuracy and technique. Paul and I both do those, but alone. I don’t think we’ve ever dueled with the Oriental weapons, at least not the real ones.”

Paul nodded. “It would be too easy to do serious damage to each other,” he said.

“So you practice with all these weapons you actually never use?” Fish asked, a bit cynically.

“It’s a preparedness thing,” Alex said. “Part of our code here, at Sacra Cor.”

“I think of it as the way we look at manhood,” Paul said. “Being prepared. To protect the innocent, defend the common good. It’s not just weapons, you know. It’s the skill needed to handle them. It’s almost a mental attitude.”

“As well as a physical capability,” Alex said, sheathing his katana.

Fish slid the ninja sword back into its sheath, and couldn’t help noticing how smoothly the metal slid into the case.

 “Have you seen my Claymore?” Paul said, and got his sword out of its place in the corner. “It was too heavy to hang on the wall.” 

He handed the weapon to Fish, a long silver blade with a carved pommel, almost three feet long and very heavy. “It’s a Scottish two-handed sword. More like a club with sharp edges. You can do some severe smashing up with it.”

Fish tried to lift it, and agreed. “Impressive.”

“But this is my combat sword,” Paul said, pulling out a silver sword from an ornate leather sheath that hung by his bed. “It’s a one-handed sword.”

He handed it to Fish. “Test its balance,” Paul urged. “This isn’t one of those cheap fantasy swords you get at reenactments. This one was hand-forged by this company in New York. Can you tell? Each one is unique.”

Fish hefted the blade in his hand. “You’ve got to have a lot of muscle strength to wield this,” he remarked.

“It’s made to fit me,” Paul said, a bit proudly. He looked at Alex. “Let him try one of yours. You’re more his size.”

Alex reached up to his weapons wall and pulled down another broadsword, this one lighter. Fish weighed this one in his hands.

“That fits in your hand better,” Alex said.

“It does,” Fish admitted, turning it around so that light caught its surface and its keen blade.

“Want to try it sometime?”

“All right.”

“How about you spend the night and we do it tomorrow morning?”

 “I have to leave early.”

Alex smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you up earlier.”

The next morning he was shaken awake from his makeshift bed on the floor before, it seemed, the sun was up. Blinking, he got up in the foggy gray light to find Alex tossing a hooded heavy sweatshirt and gloves to him.

“Get dressed and come on,” he said.

Outside, Alex climbed the wet hillside to the soccer field beyond the dorms. He was carrying three swords in his hands, two wooden and one metal. “Right,” he said when they reached the top. “Here’s how we start.”

For the next half hour Fish found himself standing in a dew-drenched field, wielding a heavy sword and attempting to learn how to use it.

 Alex demonstrated and gave constant instructions. “First—holding the sword. Most people try to hold a sword like a baseball bat. You can’t choke up on it, and with this kind of sword, you’re supposed to use only one hand.”  He demonstrated with the wooden sword. “Got a grip? Right. Now—stance. Unlike in Eastern disciplines, it really doesn’t matter how you put your feet, so long as you’ve got them firmly under you. Don’t hold it too close to your body, or you can’t move it, but don’t hold it too far out, or you can’t defend yourself. That’s it. Right about there.”

He led Fish through a series of strokes—the overhand strike, the underhand strike, and various kinds of blocks.

 “Good,” Alex said, tossing him a wooden sword. “Now, if you want to try some actual combat, take this, and we’ll have a go.”

Fish handed the metal sword back, and Alex sheathed it and took up his own wooden sword. “Now, hit me,” the stocky guy said.

“How? Where?” Fish said warily.

“The goal is to touch me with your sword. Anywhere on my body. And to stop me from touching you. Use the techniques I just showed you.”

The wooden sword was still heavy in his hand, though he could tell it was definitely a safer weapon. He was a bit uncertain, but at last he lunged forward for Alex, who moved aside and brought his sword down towards him. Fish remembered to block it in time, and then tried again.

“Don’t expose your hands,” Alex warned. “When you turned your sword like that—see?—I can slash your hands like this.” He demonstrated. “Keep it turned so I can’t do that. Again.”

It was, as Fish had expected, more difficult to touch Alex with the sword than it looked. At one point he feinted at Alex and then lifted up his arm to lunge down, and Alex swiftly poked him in the armpit.

“Aha!” he said. “You were open. Watch yourself there! Most vulnerable part of the person is under the arm, because there’s never armor there.”

Fish gritted his teeth but gamely went for him again.

“Not too close to me,” Alex warned him. “Too close means you can’t maneuver either. Back me up, yes, but don’t get into my personal space or you’ll be at a disadvantage.”

Fish found soon that he did better if he kept his eyes fixed on Alex’s sword arm. To look anywhere else was a distraction. He concentrated and finally, after fifteen minutes and surviving three more touches by Alex, he landed a blow on Alex’s arm.

“Good, very good,” Alex said appreciatively. “Take a break?”

They were both panting, but not winded. Fish nodded, and they rested.

“You’ll notice sword fighting is actually very simple,” Alex said. “Much simpler than weaponless combat. In weaponless combat, you’ve got to be aware of both your opponent’s hands and feet at all times. Here, you only have to watch the sword.”

“A lot like gun fighting, only closer-range,” Fish said.

“Yes, there are similarities. You’re good, Ben. Fairly quick on your feet, but in this form of combat, that’s not an advantage unless you can back it up with strength. I would highly recommend martial arts for that.”

“Like I said, not interested,” Fish said, catching his breath.

“Why not?”

“Never had a desire to go looking for trouble,” Fish said with a wry smile. “In my experience, trouble has always had to come looking for me.” He looked at the sun-infused clouds on the horizon. “I don’t know if Rose ever told you about my brother and me.”

“I think I’ve heard the basic story, yes.”

 “Then you know I was in prison, and that’s where I was taught how to fight. Basic survival technique, learned by necessity. I learned to shoot when I was living on the streets and needed to defend myself against guys who were bigger than I was. It wasn’t exactly a fulfilling experience. Now, I’m in school like most normal guys, and I prefer it to battle any day. The ivory tower really appeals to me.”

“Well, that’s understandable, given your circumstances. I suppose the rest of us must seem awful facile, getting all excited about battles and swordfights, when none of us has ever been in a real fight for our lives,” Alex said reflectively.

“No, I can understand it,” Fish said. “I was ready to take on the world when I first found the faith. I was all fired up and idealistic, wanting to take on the evil in the world and crush it for Christ. That’s how you guys are—all pumped up with energy and optimism. That’s great to see. I wouldn’t want you to trade places with me for any reason.”

“Because you’ve seen too much?” Alex suggested.

Fish shrugged. “I just got too hurt and got too tired. You hear people say ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?’  Not true. Sometimes it makes you weaker. I still believe, but I struggle at times to believe that anything I can do would make a significant difference against all the evil that’s out there.” He stretched. “So I’ve stopped looking for trouble. I’m trying to get my degree, get a job, do my research in my corner of the world. And find whatever kind of happiness is still possible. That’s about it.”

“It’s understandable,” Alex said, meeting his eyes. “Still, no offense, Ben, but the world hasn’t stopped being evil just because you’ve decided to stop fighting it.”

Fish bristled. He evenly turned the pointed look right back at him. “All right,” he said slowly. “I won’t take offense.”

Alex didn’t drop his gaze. “I’m glad,” he said. “Let’s have another round before you go.”

Fish got to his feet with some irritation and took up the stance Alex had coached him in again. After a few more parries, Alex said, “Good job. You learn quick. If you want, you should go in for further training.”

“Why put all this effort into something that’s so outdated?” Fish asked, rubbing his shoulder a bit crossly.

“Why study philosophy? Or literature? Or even go to a liberal arts college?” Alex asked. “You figure it out.”

Fish’s investigation slowed down as classes began in earnest and he found other things pressing around him besides tracking down the three medical personnel Rose had interviewed.

The nursing home doctor she had talked to answered all of Fish’s questions but couldn’t tell him very much. And after what seemed like a dozen phone calls, the Indian doctor whom Rose had interviewed returned from his winter vacation, and Fish interviewed him. For something that had taken so long to accomplish, the interview yielded disappointingly little. He, like the nursing home doctor, was new to the area, and didn’t know anything about Daniel Brier or the anonymous nurse. However, he did agree somewhat cautiously with Dr. Murray’s assessment of Robert Graves Memorial Hospital.

“I have heard rumors,” he said in the end. “And that is all I can say.”

 “Rumors about what?” Fish asked patiently.

“That is all I prefer to say,” the doctor repeated.

And the last doctor, Sister Genevieve, was away in Rome for some reason. Fish waited for her to return and focused on his studies. But he still saw Rose’s friends every Friday.

Donna returned to Mercy College this semester, and Fish started to find it impossible to talk to Kateri without finding Donna in her company. The tall blond girl still was uncomfortable around him, as he was around her. She was more reserved than she had been in the past, not pushing herself forward. Mostly, she worked diligently at her studies and helping Kateri in her activism work. Kateri was now the newly-elected president of the campus Human Rights group, but she continued to research the question of the mysterious nurse informant when she had a chance.

The first Saturday that started to feel faintly like spring, despite the snow that was still on the ground, Kateri called Fish on his cell phone around five o’clock.

“We found something,” she said, and Fish could feel the excitement in her voice.

He cradled his cell phone. “Where are you?”

“I just got back from the library. I’m in my room.”

“Then come over and tell me about it. I’m over at Sacra Cor. I was on my way out to visit Rose.” He had been sitting in the courtyard on the rock, talking with A.J. and Paul.

“You want to make an extra stop?”

“Sure. Where to?”

 “To visit the children of the late Tennille LeBlanc? I got her son on the phone this morning, and he agreed to talk to me.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Her son still lives at her original home. Her daughter lives next door.”

“I’d be more than happy to come along.”

“Then come and pick me up.”

Fish said goodbye to the guys, who were too busy that day to go visit Rose, and drove over to Kateri’s dorm. He found Kateri and Donna sitting outside on the edge of the raised flower bed outside the dorm. When he drove up, Donna got up quickly and stood aside, but Kateri came forward, her hair almost twitching with her energy.

She swung into the front seat. “I got the directions,” she said.

“Donna, are you coming?” Fish inquired, looking at the blond girl.

She looked away and shook her head. “I have to go study,” she said, and turned away, red-faced. It was obvious she still wasn’t comfortable around him, but Fish didn’t particularly mind. He didn’t enjoy being with her either.

“Donna actually found the information,” Kateri told him, spreading out a folded photocopy on her lap. “She’s been working hard at this.”

I can understand why, Fish thought. Either a desire to redeem herself, or a desire to throw suspicion away from herself. Most likely, a mixture of both.

As they were driving, Kateri showed Fish a copied photograph of Tennille LeBlanc. A middle-aged black woman with an agreeable face. “This article was written when she was honored for being the first black nurse to head up the emergency room at Graves Memorial Hospital.”

“Interesting,” Fish murmured.

Kateri directed him to a neighborhood in the center of Meyerstown, where the houses were tiny but well-kept, with fenced-in yards creatively landscaped. Not a wealthy neighborhood, but a good one.

Mark Leblanc met them at the door of the small frame house and welcomed them into the living room, where he introduced them to his sister, Frances. Both of them were in their fifties. They showed Fish and Kateri pictures of their mother, and were quite willing to reminisce about her.

Both of them knew that their mother had begun to have difficulties with her job at the hospital. They recalled some strange goings-on. The daughter, Frances, said, “One night, she came home from work looking real bad. I asked her what was wrong, and she said a bum had been hit by a truck and brought into the emergency room. She was starting to take care of him and got called away. When she came back, she found he had been pronounced dead and a surgeon was removing his vital organs for the hospital organ bank. She said she was sure he couldn’t have died in that quick a time, and was just sick at heart.”

“Do you think there’s any chance she would have tried to speak to a reporter about what she saw?” Fish asked.

The progeny of the deceased nurse looked at each other dubiously. “Only if she could do it anonymously,” her son predicted. “She wouldn’t have done it if her name was going to be in the paper. She was shy, Mom was. When the local chapter of the NAACP honored her, she didn’t want to even go to the ceremony—she just couldn’t stand being noticed. But she was real smart. When she died, at her funeral, other nurses came up and told us how smart she was on the job, and how sharp. ‘Knew as much as most of the doctors,’ one of them said.”

“Do you know if she worked with any particular doctors?” Kateri asked.

“I think most of the time she was in the emergency room. She moved around quite a bit,” Mark said. “For a long time she was head of the emergency room staff.”

“Yes, for a long time, till Dr. Prosser was made director and demoted her,” Frances said, a little sourly. “I think Mom was too old-fashioned for her.”

“We keep on hearing the phrase—‘abuse of patients’ regarding what your mother told Rose’s dad,” Fish said. “Any ideas on what that means?”

Mark looked a bit apprehensive. “I’m not too sure, but I have a feeling Mom thought they were using patients for their organ banks—or maybe, something worse. Like, to sell.”

“They were selling organs?” Kateri asked.

“I think so. I just overheard her talking with dad one night, and she was saying something like, ‘It’s all about the money.’ And that only makes sense if the doctors were selling the organs. It’s against the law to sell organs, you know. People have to donate them.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Kateri said, and shivered.

“But that’s all we know,” Mark said. “Suspicions, nothing more. I guess I’m not ready to make an accusation against the hospital or anything.” 

Fish decided to change the subject. “Before I forget, do you recognize this phone number?”  He wrote out the phone number Kateri had found on the piece of paper in the barn.

“Oh sure,” Mark said. “That’s our old number, before they switched the area codes around. Dad had that phone number until he died last year.”

Kateri and Fish both nodded. “Thanks very much for your time,” Fish said courteously.

“Well, that was a match!” Kateri said, raising an eyebrow as they got in the car.

“Certainly was,” Fish said. “Unless Dan Brier was interviewing her for some other reason, I bet she was our informant nurse.”

“Dying unexpectedly—and conveniently—in a car accident fifteen years ago,” Kateri pointed out.

“I wonder though,” Fish said abruptly. “Dan couldn’t get the interviews published. Could it be because Tennille might have been a ‘hostile witness?’  In other words, she was mad with Dr. Prosser about being demoted, and set out to slander the hospital, using a young green reporter to do her work for her?”

“I don’t think so,” Kateri objected.

“But the fact is, the story was never published,” Fish said. “Maybe her information was tainted by her prejudice against her new boss, and the editor picked that up.” 

Kateri sniffed. “If anyone was prejudiced, it was probably the editor,” she said, a little bitterly. “There’s still a lot of that around this town.”

It was at times like these that Fish remembered that Kateri was Vietnamese, and deferred to her knowledge of prejudice.

 “Besides, the story Frances remembered about the bum having his organs harvested doesn’t sound like something vindictive to me. It sounds sick,” Kateri said. “There’s something seriously wrong at that hospital.”

“But maybe she misdiagnosed him. Maybe he actually was in more critical condition than she thought, and he just died naturally and wanted to have his organs donated. That happens too.”

“But why would the hospital send someone to threaten Dan Brier at his daughter’s christening party if the story he was writing wasn’t truthful?” Kateri asked.

“Slander can be damaging. They said that Dan couldn’t expect to get optimum medical health care if it was published. If he had been about to write false accusations about them, they might well have been ticked off.”

“But his mom dying...”

“Might just have been a coincidence, as Jean said,” Fish said. He sighed. “I’m just playing the devil’s advocate here. What would really help is if we had the interviews themselves. Then we’d know what they were about, and whether anything in them was true. Or at least, we’d have a better idea.”

“True,” Kateri said. “But they seem to have vanished.”

“Along with Rose’s notebook of her interviews, and Rose’s ability to serve as a legal witness,” Fish said dryly. “It’s still suspicious, I grant you. Threats made to Daniel Brier, Tennille LeBlanc dying, Grandma Brier dying, Rose getting nearly killed—I suppose we do have a trail of corpses, assuming they’re all related somehow.”

“Rose isn’t a corpse yet, thank God,” Kateri said.

With that idea in his mind, Fish drove them out to Graceton Hall as it was nearing seven o’clock. To their surprise, they found Paul and Alex there.

“We just came out for a visit,” Alex said. “I had to run to the mall.”  He was sitting next to Rose, who lay sleeping peacefully, as usual. Paul was out in the hallway, talking to Dr. Murray about some kind of drug research.

“We had some interesting conversations,” Kateri said to him quietly. “Really?” Alex dropped his voice. “With whom?”

Fish related the substance of their visits with the children of Tennille Leblanc. Alex shook his head.

“Fishier and fishier,” he said. “You think this is evidence enough, Ben?”

Fish shrugged. “There are still missing links. Even if Dr. Prosser was responsible for getting rid of Tennille and Grandma Brier, there’s still the jump of twenty years to get to Rose.”

“Fifteen years,” Kateri reminded him.

“All right, fifteen years. Still, it’s a long time. We have no idea if Dr. Prosser knew anything about Rose’s research, and she’s not a suspect unless we can prove that.”

“And why would someone like Dr. Prosser care if someone was digging up fifteen-year-old dirt?” Alex asked quietly. “Sorry to be critical, but there it is. Unless it was a crime with no statute of limitations.”

“Like murder,” Kateri put in.

“I was just going to say that.”

 “Or unless it was documentation of something she had done that she was still doing,” Kateri said. “She could still be harvesting organs from poor patients. Maybe she’s selling them on the black market. There’s a lot of money in that, from what I understand. Some doctors will buck the penalties to keep their practices out of debt, to line their own pocket, or whatever reason.”

Fish turned to the comatose girl. “Rose, what do you think? Were you the victim of foul play, or was it an accident? Wish you could tell us.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know,” Alex said. “She might not have seen it coming.”

“No,” said Fish. “She saw it coming, beforehand. She didn’t know what would happen, but she saw it.” And he added to himself, “And I saw it, too.”

They talked for a bit more time, until a technician came by and reminded them that visiting hours were about to end.

“Where’s Paul?” Alex said, getting up. “Isn’t he back yet?”

“Haven’t seen him,” Fish said.

Alex checked his watch. “I have a proctor’s meeting in a half hour. I’m going to go find him.” He thrust his hands in his black trench coat and hurried down the hallway.

Fish waited for Kateri to finish saying goodbye to Rose and said, “Ready to go?”

“I was going to get a ride back with Alex and Paul,” Kateri said. They lingered in the hallway a moment, waiting for the two Cor guys to come back, but no one returned.

“Come on,” Fish said at last. “Let’s go find them.”

He and Kateri walked up the hallway in the direction where Paul, and then Alex, had gone. There was no sign of either in the downstairs lobby, but they caught Alex on the stairs going up.

“Where’s Paul?” they called to each other simultaneously, and Alex made a face.

 “He’s not out in the car—I already checked. He’s going to make me late for my meeting. Can I use your cell phone?”

“I can’t get a signal anywhere around here,” Fish said.

“Drat. Well, we have to find him now.”

“Let’s try upstairs then,” Fish said with a grimace.

They hurried to the third floor, then up to the fourth floor, and scanned the long marble corridors. There was no sight or sound of Paul.

“What a pain. The staff is going to be annoyed with us,” Fish said. “Where could he have gone?”

“Anywhere,” Alex said with a groan. “That’s the problem with Paul and  medical facilities. He gets inquisitive and talkative. How much you want to bet he’s off in some corner charming some nurse and swapping stories about IV insertions and impactions? And I’ve already been reprimanded for being late to these stupid proctor meetings. Well, it’s going to happen again.”

They retraced their steps to the ground floor and hunted down the side passages, checking in the staff cafeteria and meeting rooms. They even found the basement, a rather sinister-looking area behind a bolted door.

“Paul?” Alex yelled down the steep wooden steps to the cavernous regions below. There was nothing but echoes. “Where could he have gone?”

“For someone so tall, he’s managed to lose himself pretty thoroughly,” Fish remarked, and all present nodded.

They were wandering back down the corridor. “I don’t even know where we are anymore,” Kateri said unenthusiastically. “I hope we haven’t gotten lost ourselves.”

Fish was looking around at the rooms. “We seem to be in the surgical section,” he said. “Those look like operating rooms.”

“Probably not at all where we should be,” Alex said. “Darn proctor meetings, darn Mercy College regulations, and darn Paul.”

They turned a corner and found their way blocked by two beefy male techs.

“What are you doing down here?” one of them demanded.

“We’re looking for our friend—a tall curly-haired guy,” Alex attempted to justify their position. “We were visiting a patient upstairs, and we seem to have lost him.”

“Visitors shouldn’t be down this hallway, and no one should be here after hours,” the one technician grunted.

“Sorry,” Alex said, retreating. “Like I said, we’re just looking.”

“We’ll get night security to bring you back to the exit then.”

“Right. No problem. Sorry.” And Alex and the others were escorted back to the visitor’s entrance by a mean-looking security guard, when a very fierce receptionist whose nametag said “Janet” landed on them.

“Are you still here?” she demanded curtly. “I thought you had left.”

“We were trying to find our friend,” Alex explained wearily. “Paul Fester. Tall guy with curly hair. Have you seen him?”

“No,” she said, even more irritated. “We can’t have visitors running all over the building without permission. It’s against our regulations. This is a private care facility, not a public hospital.”

 “I’m sorry,” Alex repeated.

Just then they heard a clamor of footsteps and Paul came bounding down the hallway towards them.  Janet the receptionist turned on him.

“You must be the missing one. Didn’t anyone tell you that you shouldn’t be wandering around without an escort?” she said with exasperation.

“But I wasn’t,” Paul said earnestly. “I was with Dr. Murray. She was showing me around the place. I’m a pre-med student, you see, and I asked for a tour, and she was kind enough to show me what you do here. It’s really impressive.”

Janet softened. After all, Paul had a terribly engaging manner. Plus, he was what girls termed “cute.” 

“Oh. Then that’s all right,” she said abruptly, raising her nose. “I didn’t know.”

“We didn’t know that either, or we wouldn’t have gone looking for him,” Alex added. The receptionist eyed him, still a bit stern. Obviously, he wasn’t as “cute” as Paul.

“I’ll show you all out,” she said.

The four college students hurried to their car in the cold winter night, feeling effectively bounced from the building.

“I hate their attitude sometimes. You’d think they didn’t want us to visit,” Kateri said, getting into Paul’s car.

“They just want us to respect their rules,” Fish responded mildly. “They have things they have to get done.”

“Yeah, Paul, and then you go and get us all in trouble,” Alex added. “We got caught in the surgery section, which we didn’t realize we had wandered into.”

 “Surgery section?” Paul said, surprised. “She didn’t show me that. Gosh, that must have been interesting. What was it like?”

“Peopled by goons who look like they beat up vagrant visitors when they don’t have anything better to do,” Alex retorted. “Which is what I’m going to do to you if I get chewed out for missing my proctor’s meeting. Thomas Aquinas on ‘the necessity of attention to one’s duty’ for you, lamebrain—in the snow, till midnight. You’ll be lucky if I let you sleep in the room.” He got into the car and slammed the door.

“Boy, he’s mad,” Paul remarked to Fish, getting into his car.

“See you, Fish,” Kateri said with a sigh, shutting her door.

Fish shook his head in sympathy, and got into his own car, grateful for some solitude at last.

 

Hers

 

Again she surfaced into the blue world, but this time she was forced to hover beneath the water, unable to rise to the surface.

Questions again? She asked as the wavering figure bent over her.

I’m afraid so. Or we can just talk, if you like, until you fall asleep again.

She saw the serpent hover, then lower itself over her arm. There was the bite of silver she couldn’t feel.

Are you going to kill me now?

Such paranoia.  No, I won’t kill you. The serpent was sweeping over her face again. Relax. Last time we spoke, you were telling me about the old barn you visited the day you fell. Why don’t you think about that? How did you come to be interested in your father’s notes? Such an interesting story.

I don’t suppose you’ve seen Fish?

The Fish again. How do you know he’s not a figment of your imagination?

Laughter bubbled up deep inside her.

He’s far too uncomfortable to be a figment. If I had invented him, I would have created someone far more pleasant, and perfect, not to mention compliant.

So he is a disappointment to you. I hope you aren’t thinking of him as your savior.

Her heart skipped. And what if I am?

You’re being foolish. Who can save you from a coma?

I certainly can’t do it myself. She writhed against the twisted serpent coils pinning her in place. So I suppose I’m waiting…for him.

Why him?

He has an extraordinarily good track record, when it comes to me. I know it’s foolish…but I’m waiting for him.

Ah. Tell me more about this Fish of yours.

Rose, aching at the memory of Fish, needed no further encouragement.  She spoke for a long time about Fish, how she had first met him while playing her violin in Central Park, how she had known his brother Bear, and then, there was that dire day when she had descended into an old man’s cellar and found Fish beaten, bleeding, and bound to a post… She shivered in her bonds, but kept talking. The serpent seemed interested in the story, and asked questions: who was the old man, and why was Fish there, and what had happened to him… and before Rose had quite realized it, she had told the entire story, including the depth of Fish’s suffering and humiliation.

Tears ran down her face and she turned her head and sobbed. Her tears were mixing in with the waters around her, turning them gray. She couldn’t believe what she had just done: revealed Fish’s secret. The words had slid out of her carelessly and effortlessly, as though she had no inhibitions to stop them.

Why are you crying?

Because he trusted me. The one thing he trusted me with, and I told you.

Were you supposed to keep this all a secret?

Parts of it.  Oh, I wish I hadn’t said anything! What is wrong with me?

Don’t be so upset. The serpent brushed against her cheek, its coils seeming like the spread of human fingers. You’re a very sweet girl. But you must remember, you can’t communicate with the outside world, nor they with you. Your friend will never know that you told anyone.

But will you keep my secret?

Your secret will be safe with me. All your secrets.

 

HIS

 

“Ben, have you finished with those notes I gave you last week?” Dr. Anschlung queried as she came in the door.

Fish rubbed his hair, which was getting too long again, and winced. “No, I’m sorry.  I forgot.  I had meant to do them over the weekend, but things…cropped up.”

“Oh,” his boss hovered between his desk and hers.  “I’m sorry. I know you have a lot going on right now, with your sister-in-law…”

“No, I’m sorry,” Fish said. “I shouldn’t have forgotten.  I’ll have them for you by tomorrow.”

He chastised himself after she left. This wasn’t the first time he had let things at work slip. Visiting Rose took a large chunk of his evenings, and now this extra investigation work…and he needed a haircut, he hadn’t cleaned his apartment in weeks, and it certainly was a good thing that Dr. Anschlung was patient as well as brilliant.

His cell phone rang. “Mr. Denniston?”

“Yes?” he checked the number, and didn’t remember it.

“This is Sister Veronica from the hospital. I wanted to let you know that Sister Genevieve just returned from Rome and said she would be happy to meet with you. She asked me to set up a time.”

“Thank you, Sister,” he said, grabbing a pad and paper.  Regardless of the toll it was taking on his normal life, he had to continue investigating. For Rose’s sake.

When he met her on Saturday, he found Sister Genevieve to be a pleasant thoughtful nun in a modern white habit, quite upset to hear about Rose’s accident. She told him as much as she could remember, and answered all his other queries as best as she could. She didn’t seem to mind that Fish asked some rather strange questions.

“Would you have spoken to anyone at Robert Graves Memorial Hospital about your interview with Rose?” Fish asked, just to cover his bases.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “There’s not much interaction between us. They’re quite a different kind of hospital from us.”

“So I understand,” Fish said wryly. “Some of Rose’s friends protest outside the hospital every Saturday.”

“Oh, I’m not sure that’s such a good thing,” Sister Genevieve said, blinking. “I think that’s a bit too confrontational. I’m not certain it actually does much good.”

“I suppose it keeps human rights violations in the public eye,” Fish said. “It helps that the protestors are firmly committed to non-violence.”

“Well, I can certainly appreciate a non-violent witness,” the nun said, seeming relieved. “I suppose we are in some ways to be a scandal to the world—in a good sense, that is.”

Out in the car, Fish realized he had come to a dead end. After staring at the cold night beyond his windshield, he tried not to feel discouraged. After a moment, he dialed his brother’s number, and Blanche picked up.

“Hi, Blanche. How are you?”

“I’m okay. The baby seems to be fine,” she said, and he could feel the pain in her voice. “How’s Rose?”

“She’s fine, too,” he said, knowing how inadequate a word it was. “Is Bear home yet?”

“No. Something wrong?”

“Just trying to find our mysterious suspect in the barn, and I ran into a dead end.”

“How so?”

“Well, I just spoke to the last person that Rose interviewed the day she fell, a Sister Genevieve, and found no connection. I’ve done everyone else, and I can’t think of where to go next.”

Blanche paused. “What about that nurse she interviewed, Lucille Johnson?”

“I didn’t know about her,” Fish reached for his notebook. “Who is this?”

“When I was up visiting with Bear during the play, I went with Rose to interview this nurse who was working in a private home. She was—well, she was a little strange.”

“Do you remember where the house was?”

“Somewhere in the town where the college was. Let me see——I think it was on Brown Street.”

“Do you know where she got the contact from?” Fish was writing rapidly.

“I’m not sure—did you check her notes?”

 “They’re missing.”

“Then check with her professor. I think Paul was in her class. He would know the teacher’s name.”

“Blanche, you are a lifesaver,” he told his sister-in-law.

“I’m glad,” she said, with irony. “I hope it helps, Fish.”

“I have a funny feeling that it may,” he said.