Darklings, p.5
Darklings, page 5
She had put a little bit of disinfectant on the cut and bandaged it nicely for him, and all the while he had been shaking his head, mumbling to himself.
“What the hell was it? What could it have been? It came right out of his nose!”
She’d kept her thoughts to herself at that time, knowing that they would only make it worse. She’d thought that he was very tired, a little excited; he’d just lost a patient, after all. He was overworked and under-rested. Perhaps Collinson’s rantings had touched something in him
(someone’s knockin’ at the door)
as they had in her. In any case, she didn’t like seeing him that way and it occurred to her then that the best thing for him would probably be a vacation. But she’d decided to wait until he’d calmed down to suggest it to him. Maybe the next day.
Rudy Pazulo had beaten her to it, though. And it had been more than just a suggestion. She regretted not bringing it up herself when she’d first thought of it. It would have been much better coming from her. Maybe if she’d spoken up then, if she’d not worried about sounding skeptical and making Martin think that she didn’t believe him, she could have helped avoid the little mess that had arisen from it all. Maybe she could have persuaded him to keep it to himself and not cause trouble.
Do I believe him? she wondered as she set aside her magazine a few minutes before her shift ended. Well, she didn’t disbelieve him. Martin wasn’t the type to see things. He’d seen something, even if perhaps it hadn’t crawled out of Jeffery Collinson’s nose.
“Whatever it was,” he’d said to her after things had calmed down that morning, “it’s loose in the hospital somewhere, and it could hurt somebody else. Maybe a lot worse than it did me.”
As Julie put on her red sweater when it came time for her to leave, she felt the rumblings of her empty stomach and decided to stop by the cafeteria for something to hold her over until she got home. She went to the candy machine and punched the button underneath the Milky Way display after depositing her coins. The candy bar dropped into the tray below, and she bent down and got it. When she stood up again, Tracy Parker was standing at her side.
Tracy was a surgical nurse who always wore just a tad too much makeup and always smelled strongly of perfume. She was the same age as Julie, twenty-seven, and she was very pretty, yet she was unsatisfied with her looks and was therefore always striving to improve them. She and Julie had studied nursing together up the hill at the Seventh-day Adventist college, and they frequently bumped into one another at the hospital. They weren’t particularly good friends, though, and if their paths never crossed, Julie would probably make no effort to stay in touch with her. When it came right down to it, Julie didn’t really like Tracy Parker.
“Hey, Julie,” Tracy said perkily, “what’s cookin’?”
Julie smiled as she tore off the end of the candy bar wrapper. “Next to nothing. How are you?”
“Oh, next to nothing, my eye, child,” Tracy replied, putting some coins into the vending machine. “I heard about all the excitement this morning.” She pushed a button and a Baby Ruth fell out for her. “Don’t be so modest. Let’s sit down a sec. I want to hear all about it.” She stepped over to a table and sat down, looking up at Julie, waiting for her to follow.
I’m too nice, Julie thought as she sat down across from Tracy.
“There’s really nothing to tell,” she said. “A guy got hit by a car, came into ER, and then he died.”
“Oh, come on, kiddo, he was a killer! A mass murderer! And worse.” She daintily removed the wrapper from her candy bar and took a bite of it, her glossy lips hugging the candy seductively, and, Julie decided, after all these years of trying to look seductive, probably quite unintentionally. “I read in the paper today that he was into all kinds of sick shit—bestiality, necro … necro … oh, you know, when you fuck a corpse. Stuff like that.” She licked some chocolate off her lips, then leaned toward Julie over the table. “I understand,” she said deliberately, “that Martin—er, Dr. Hunt—saw something.”
“Oh, really?” Julie bit into her Milky Way. Hard.
“Yeah. Something … gooey. Crawled out of this killer guy, is what I hear. I hear Dr. Hunt really went berserk trying to find the thing, too. Any truth to that?”
“Well, Tracy, you know how it is. Nobody’s ever satisfied with the truth, so they have to decorate it a little.”
“Yeah, but I hear he’s been … uh … reprimanded.”
Julie began chewing the candy a little harder than she needed to, secretly releasing her slowly building anger on the chocolate bar.
“I hear Rudy Pazulo has … asked … him to take some time off.” Tracy tilted her head a bit and cocked one finely plucked brow. “Zat true?”
“Come on, Tracy, it’s not like that. There was a lot of confusion this morning. Some misunderstanding. Martin’s very tired and overworked, is all. Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“Hah!” Tracy snapped a hand in the air beside her face, a sort of tell-me-about-it wave. “Don’t talk to me about overworked. At least you’ve got somebody who’s young and clear-minded.”
Here it comes, Julie thought with irritation.
For the last eight months or so, Tracy had been having an affair with Dr. Roland Hollister, old and near retirement. Given the opportunity, Tracy would complain to anyone about the perils of being involved with an aging surgeon. Before Hollister, she’d been sleeping with one of the radiologists, and, before that, another surgeon. Tracy seemed to feel that nurses were obligated to sleep with doctors, and she spoke to other nurses of her affairs as if they were all members of a club. Julie sometimes wished that she was not a nurse, or that Martin was not a doctor, so Tracy couldn’t include Julie in the group.
“Sometimes,” Tracy went on, still eating her Baby Ruth, “I think Rolly’s losing it altogether.”
Rolly, Julie thought. How nauseating.
“I mean, he’s really starting to get scattered, you know? It’s kind of scary, him being a surgeon and all. I mean, he forgets things, he repeats himself a lot. He’s been looking really tired lately, too. Just the other day, he said to me, he says, ‘You know, Tracy, sometimes you get so fed up,’ he says, ‘that you just want to reach inside your patient and scrape the sucker out. Just because you can.’” She looked at Julie and sort of curled her lips back into a look of disgust. “Not a pretty thought, huh?”
Julie blinked a few times at the horrible idea, taking the last piece of her candy bar from the wrapper, then crumpling up the paper in her free hand.
“I don’t know, though,” Tracy said. “He’s sweet. He gave me these.” She reached up and pulled back her full auburn hair to show Julie the tiny diamond earrings she was wearing. “Nice, huh?”
“Very.” Julie’s mind suddenly turned its back on Tracy and her earrings and she thought maybe she should get some take-out Chinese food and drop by Martin’s with it instead of going home. She’d been thinking about him all day and wanted to be with him. She didn’t really want to be alone, anyway.
“Yeah,” Tracy muttered, fingering one of the diamonds, “I guess I can’t complain … too much. But you”—she stabbed the bitten end of the Baby Ruth toward Julie—“you’ve got it made. Dr. Martin Hunt is a very sharp guy, and pretty damned good-looking, too, if you don’t mind my saying. In fact, if you hadn’t gotten to him first,” she said and giggled girlishly, “I might’ve taken a shot.”
Ho-hum, Julie thought, nearly saying it.
“If Dr. Hunt has been working too hard,” Tracy continued, “that can be taken care of. Unfortunately, you can’t avoid oncoming senility with a few hours of sleep.”
Julie was thinking about how nice it would be to crawl into bed with Martin, surprise him quietly. She finished off the candy bar and dropped the wrapper into the ashtray in the center of the table. “I’m going to hit the road, Tracy. I’m bushed.” She pushed her chair back and stood. “I just finished a double shift. Nice talking to you.”
“Well, hey, there’s no need to rush off so fast like,” Tracy said, turning in her chair to watch Julie go.
Oh, yes, there is, Julie replied wordlessly, thinking about eating egg rolls in bed with Martin.
“Oh, wait, Julie!” Tracy called.
Julie turned back to the young woman, trying to hide her annoyance. “Hmm?”
“Do you remember the last time we were together? You promised to give me Randy Sheckley’s address, remember? You wouldn’t happen to have it with you, would you?”
Randy Sheckley had been a “real piece of work” (to use Tracy’s words) from their college days, and Tracy had chased him for two years. But he’d been going with a proper, upright Adventist girl named Janice to whom he’d remained faithful, despite Tracy’s advances. Word had gotten out recently, however, that Randy and Janice had divorced, and suddenly Randy Sheckley was once again on Tracy’s mind, as she so faithfully reminded Julie each time they were together. Julie did have Randy’s address (they’d had several classes together and had become good friends) and she had promised to give it to Tracy. She decided she wouldn’t forget it this time; maybe it would get Tracy off her back.
“I swear I’ll bring it tomorrow,” she promised.
“You gonna be here tomorrow afternoon?”
“Well, I may have to work another double if Shirley doesn’t get better.”
“Just swing on by OR, then. I’d really appreciate it,” she said, her voice implying all that she hoped to do with Randy Sheckley once she found him. “See you tomorrow.”
Julie turned again and left the cafeteria, thinking once again of those egg rolls as she walked briskly down the corridor toward the staircase. It felt good to be going home to her man.
5
Megan
* * *
Megan Crawford found it next to impossible to stay awake in study hall. She failed to see the necessity of a period in which she was required to do her studying when she did all of her studying at home in the evenings, at home—where it was possible to study. Here it was too quiet—the silence was deadly—and the room, good old 114 with the nameplate on the door that read MRS. WASHLEY, was almost always stuffy and uncomfortable, definitely not conducive to good studying. She preferred to study in her bedroom at home with her cat, Boston, nearby so she could stroke his fur now and then, with music playing on the stereo.
“I do not understand,” her mother was forever saying, “how you can concentrate on your studies with that music playing.”
Megan, however, could not do it without the music.
To make study hall even more unbearable, it also happened to be her last period of the day. She spent most of it writing letters to her friend Bonnie in Canada or filling out those self-tests in Cosmo.
(What Kind of Lover Are You?)
Sometimes she just stared at the clock, waiting for the bell, as she was doing today. The clock in room 114 was three minutes fast, so two o’clock came around sooner than it was supposed to, making the period seem to last even longer. Only three minutes longer, of course, but study-hall minutes were long minutes.
When the bell did ring, Megan closed her biology book, which she’d left open before her to give the appearance of studiousness—Mrs. Washley was very observant, the old battle-axe, so you had to make sure she had reason to think you really were studying—and stuffed it into her book bag, then left the room with the rest of the students.
“Hey, Megan!”
She’d just stepped into the corridor with her book bag hanging from her shoulder and she turned at the sound of her name. It was Winny Albertson, hurrying toward her while trying to hold a stack of books in her arms.
“Wait a sec!” Once the girl was at Megan’s side, they began to walk together. “How’s it going?”
“A lot better now that I’m out of there,” she replied, jerking her head in the direction of room 114. “How ’bout you?”
“Oh, I’m fine.” She dropped one of her books and a few papers fell from it, sliding over the floor.
“Why don’t you get a book bag, Win?” Megan asked as her friend bent down to retrieve the book and papers.
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I will someday.” She stood and her movement tossed back some of her long black hair. She smiled, her lips held tightly together, something she’d been doing ever since she got her braces, and started walking with Megan again, still juggling the books in her arms. “You got your hair cut.”
“Yeah. Got a permanent, too.” Megan tossed her head mockingly, like someone in a shampoo commercial, making her dark blond hair swing back and forth above her shoulders. “Like it?”
“Yeah, looks good. How’re things going between you and Ross? I heard you guys were … well, that you weren’t talking to each other right now.”
“We’re not.”
Winny’s face tightened, her mouth curling into a little O, as if she hadn’t really believed the news when she’d heard it and had expected Megan to deny the rumor. “How come?” she asked, her voice breathy with disbelief.
“Oh, lots of things. Mostly, though, because he said he thought we should date other people. You know, not be so serious.”
“Gawd, how come?”
“Well, he said he thought we were too intense. That was his word.”
“But the St. Patrick’s Day dance is coming up in a few weeks!” She sounded panicky. “Who’s he gonna take if he’s not gonna take you?”
“Probably Pam Brewster,” Megan said. “I think she’s the reason he wanted to date other people in the first place. Intense, my ass! He just wants to get his hands on those big boobs of hers.”
“You think so?”
“Well, doesn’t everybody! All the guys on campus have been creaming their jeans since she arrived in January.”
“But doesn’t this just slay you—the thought of breaking up with Ross? I mean, aren’t you really depressed? You guys were so serious!”
“We weren’t that serious, Winny. I mean, we weren’t going to get married or anything. Well … not right away, anyhow.”
“But, you two were the couple around here.”
“Just because he’s senior class president, is all. It’s no big deal, Winny. Really. I’m fine, anyway.”
“Oh.” Winny was silent for a while as they walked down the locker-lined corridor and neared the front exit. As they went out the door and down the steps to the parking lot, she said, “Hey, you wanna come with me over Margie Withers’ place tonight? Her parents are gone for the evening and we’re gonna watch some fuck films on the VCR.” She let her lips turn upward into a mischievous smile, revealing her shiny braces.
“Ah, I really shouldn’t. This is my day to work at the hospital, so I’ll have to do my studying this evening. I don’t think I’ll have time.”
“Oh, c’mon. Screw the homework. We’ve got Never So Deep and Bucking Broncos, a gay film.”
“You mean guys? With each other?”
“Uh-huh,” Winny replied with a quick, staccato nod.
Megan frowned a little, but it was an amused frown, even a little interested. “Well, I’ll call you. Let me see just how much I have to do. I may just show up. Okay?”
“Sure.” Winny started to walk away from her, toward the other end of the parking lot. She gave a little wave, then turned her back.
Megan got her keys out of the pocket of her brown coat and unlocked her dark green Mustang. She got in, started it up, and drove up the hill from St. Helena to the Napa Valley Hospital.
* * *
Megan had lied to Winny. Her situation with Ross was a big deal, and it did upset her. Ross had given her a heart pendant at Christmastime, with the promise that he would always love her. Hokey, maybe, but it meant a lot to her. Now this. She’d thrown the pendant in his face a few days ago when he told her he thought they should back off a little. She regretted that now, not because she wanted the pendant, but because it had made her look silly and immature.
She wasn’t immature! She had to keep telling herself that because … well, because Ross treated her like she was, sometimes. Sometimes her parents did, too.
It’s not like he’s my first love, or anything, Megan thought. I’ve had boyfriends before. But Ross is different. He said he wanted to marry me!
Megan found a parking place at the hospital, a small miracle, and went inside, past the information desk in the lobby, and into the office of Volunteer Services.
“Hello, Mrs. Munson,” she said to the little black lady behind the desk.
Mrs. Munson looked up from the package she was wrapping and smiled, her dentures clicking quietly. “Hello, there, Megan. Good day at school?”
“There’s no such thing,” she replied as she removed her coat and hung it on the coatrack inside Mrs. Munson’s small closet. She stepped in a bit farther and removed her candy-striper uniform from its hanger. When school was in session, the number of candy stripers dropped severely, and there were so few that Mrs. Munson let them keep their uniforms in her office closet. During the summer, however, there were so many that they had to keep them in a separate closet made expressly for that purpose. “I’m going to go freshen up a little. I’ll be right back.”
Mrs. Munson smiled and blinked her eyes cheerily, then went back to the package, her slightly clawed fingers working slowly but efficiently.
