Vortex

Chapter Seventeen Sandra and Bose

Bose phoned as he was pulling into the State Care parking lot. Sandra tucked everything she wanted to keep from her office—a few gigs of files, a photo of Kyle from before he was hurt—into her bag, then went to Reception to meet him.

Jack Geddes was still keeping vigil in the hallway. He stood up from his chair and said, “You leaving now, Dr. Cole?”

“Good night, Jack,” she said, which was not an answer. But he watched her head for the main lobby and waved as she turned the corner, no doubt happy to be released from surveillance duty.

Bose’s uniform and badge got him past the guard who was posted at Reception. The next hurdle was the night nurse in charge of the locked ward. Sandra led the way.

She knew the night nurse by reputation only. Her name was Meredith something—Sandra couldn’t remember, and the woman’s nametag just said MEREDITH. She appeared to be in her mid-fifties, with a don’t-mess-with-me expression that sat so naturally on her face Sandra suspected it might be congenital. Meredith stepped out from behind her desk when she saw Bose and Sandra approaching, effectively blocking the door to the ward. Before she could say anything Bose handed her a standard release-to-next-of-kin form, which he must have filled out himself. Meredith gave the document a frowning study.

“Just unlock the door, please, ma’am,” Bose said. “It’s late and I’d like to get this prisoner back to his family.”

“Prisoner he may be but he’s not your prisoner, not right now anyhow. And yes it’s late—what brings you around this hour of the night?”

Sandra took the initiative: “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Dr. Cole. You’re right, it’s an unusual time to transfer up a patient, but just bear with us, please. I’ll sign the patient out.”

Meredith appeared to hesitate. According to staff gossip, the night nurses ran their wards like private fiefdoms. Clearly Meredith didn’t appreciate this intrusion into her kingdom. “Okay, Dr. Cole, but this Orrin Mather’s on a special protocol and I don’t see anything on his chart about you being his physician of record. What I do see is a notation from Dr. Congreve that you were pulled off the case a couple days ago.”

“Do you see anything on that chart about preventing a staff physician or a police officer from entering this ward? Because I’m starting to get impatient, Meredith.”

Meredith glared but reached for the switch that would unlock the ward door. Then she drew her hand back. “A patient transfer needs authorization from the attending physician.”

“I’m just asking you to open the door, Meredith.”

“Dr. Congreve might not like it.”

“If you keep us waiting any longer, I won’t like it. And I may not be Dr. Congreve, but I can sure as hell let him know you thought it was a good idea to stand here and give us attitude.”

Meredith made a lemon-sucking face but threw the switch. “I’m gonna have to talk to Dr. Congreve about this.”

“Your choice,” Sandra said.

The door ratcheted open. Sandra followed Bose along the corridor toward Orrin’s room. The lights had been dimmed, making the green-tiled hallway seem long and subterranean. “Nice work,” Bose said, glancing back. “But she’s already on the phone.”

The next problem was obvious as soon as Sandra used her pass card to open the door to Orrin’s room. Orrin lay on the bed as if he’d been dropped on it. Sandra shook him gently. “Orrin,” she said. “Hey! Orrin! ”

His eyes drifted open but the lids stayed at half-mast. “What?” he said softly. “What now, what now?”

He was heavily medicated. “Orrin, it’s me. It’s Dr. Cole.”

He gave her a groggy look. Fucking night staff, Sandra thought. Were they double-dosing everybody on the ward, to keep them quiet? Or just Orrin? “It’s dark outside, Dr. Cole…”

“I know it is, but you have to get up. Get up and come with us, okay?”

“Officer Bose,” Orrin said, still lying there inertly, his hospital gown rucked up over his skinny butt. “Hi.”

“Hi there, Orrin. Listen to me. Dr. Cole’s right. We have to get you out of here. Take you to see your sister Ariel. Is that okay with you?”

It took a few seconds for the question to register. Then Orrin offered a loopy grin. “That’s just exactly what I want, Officer Bose. Thank you… I’m pretty tired, though.”

“I know.” Bose bent down and put his arm around Orrin’s shoulders and helped him to his feet. Orrin wobbled but managed to remain standing.

“Easier with a wheelchair,” Sandra said. She ducked out of the room—the corridor was still empty, Nurse Meredith still at her station but talking vigorously into her phone—and grabbed one of the folding wheelchairs from the supply cubby. STATE CARE OF TEXAS / HOUSTON AREA UNIT was stenciled across the leather backpiece. The chair rattled as she wheeled it into Orrin’s room, startlingly loud in the stillness of the ward.

Bose helped Orrin into the chair. As soon as he was seated Orrin’s chin nodded toward his chest and his eyelids slid shut again. Maybe it was better that way, Sandra thought. She took the handles of the chair while Bose led the way to the exit.

But Meredith was blocking the ward door again, and now she had company—Jack Geddes.

“Hold on right there,” Meredith said. “I got Dr. Congreve on the phone, and he says you have no right to remove this patient. So you just wheel Mr. Mather back to his room and you can take up the matter with management in the morning.”

Bose ignored Meredith and directed his remarks to Geddes, who had bulled up to him with his chest thrust forward. “This is a police matter. I’m removing Mr. Mather on my authority.”

“You don’t have any authority,” Meredith said.

“You can get out of my way,” Bose told Geddes, “or I can arrest you for interference, but make up your mind, sir. I wouldn’t be here at this hour if this wasn’t urgent business.”

Sandra imagined Congreve taking the call in his car, turning around, heading back to State. How long ago had he left? Half an hour, forty-five minutes? Had he gone straight home or stopped on the way? She tried not to betray her anxiety by looking at her watch.

Geddes had locked eyes with Bose, a classic stare-down, Sandra thought, but then the orderly sighed and turned to Nurse Meredith. “This man showed you his badge? His papers?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then I can’t do nothing about it, ma’am.”

Geddes stepped aside. Bose, preternaturally calm, asked Meredith, “Do you need my signature?”

“If you insist on taking him you better had sign.” Nurse Meredith thrust a clipboard at him. “At the bottom. You too, Dr. Cole. Be hell to pay when Dr. Congreve gets here. It’s on you, that’s all I can say.”

Bose signed; Sandra added her own slightly shaky signature. Then she wheeled Orrin down the hallway at a brisk clip, following Bose’s long stride. Orrin had gone back to sleep, miraculously. She could hear his soft, rasping snores over the rattle of the wheels.

As soon as they were past the main door into the parking lot Sandra’s face began to prickle with sweat. A reef of clouds had hidden all the stars.

“The paperwork you gave them,” Sandra said, “was that legitimate?”

“Hardly. It’s a standard form. I just scribbled in a few of the boxes.”

“That’s not entirely legal, is it?”

He smiled. “Another bridge burned.”

“They’re going down fast.”

She took a last look back at State. She would never be allowed inside this building again. She was unemployed, she was free, and she was so frightened she felt like laughing out loud.

They headed toward the motel where Ariel Mather was staying. Orrin slept in the backseat, his body lax against the seat belt, his hospital gown spindled around his thighs. “We’ll need to get him some fresh clothes,” Sandra said.

“I believe Ariel brought him some clothes from Raleigh, just in case.”

A car passed by, speeding in the opposite direction—Sandra thought it might be Congreve’s car, though she couldn’t be sure. She spent a few moments relishing the thought of Congreve getting the news from Jack Geddes or Nurse Meredith.

“I brought his notebooks, too,” Bose said. “Orrin’ll be glad to have them back.”

“I read what you sent me. But there’s more, right?”

“A little more.”

“You still want my opinion of it?”

He gave her a curious look. “Anything you have to say, I’m interested.”

“At one point you thought the document constituted some kind of evidence.”

“Yeah. You may not have read the relevant parts yet.”

“But that’s not the real question, is it? The real question is, how much of it is true?”

He laughed, but she saw his grip tighten on the steering wheel. “Come on, Sandra. True? ”

“You know what I mean.”

“You really think Orrin’s channeling spirits from the year twelve thousand?”

“I willing to bet you’ve given it some thought. There are corroborative details in there, stuff you could have tracked down. Stuff even I could track down. Allison Pearl, for instance. Born and grew up in Champlain, New York. A truly incurious man might not wonder whether such a person really exists. But you’re not an incurious man.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As it happens, there’s no Allison Pearl in the Champlain directory.”

He wasn’t smiling anymore. “You checked?”

“Only a handful of Pearls altogether. No Allison, but there’s a couple with a daughter by that name.”

“You called them?”

“Yes.”

“Did they tell you I called them too?”

“Yes, but thank you for mentioning it.”

“Because Orrin, or whoever wrote that document, might not have picked those names out of the air—Turk Findley, Allison Pearl. I asked Mrs. Pearl whether she knows Orrin or Ariel Mather or anyone fitting their description.”

A question that hadn’t occurred to Sandra. “Does she?”

“No. She never heard of them. But that doesn’t rule out a connection. Orrin could have come across the name Allison Pearl somewhere, maybe from a neighbor who happens to be a distant relative—I don’t know. Or it could just be a coincidence.”

“Does that seem likely?”

“Compared to what? The idea that Orrin can travel in time? As far as I can tell the only trip he ever took was Raleigh to Houston on a Greyhound bus.”

“So we’ll never know?”

He shrugged.