a decade ago.
Nico nodded at her, but didn’t reply. He knew what the nurses thought about him talking to his old victims.
“All your stuff, it’s being transferred as we speak,” Rupert added, leading him around the side of the building, near the loading dock that said,
New Patient Intake—Ambulance Parking Only
.
Nico knew why Rupert was being so nice. Just like he knew why they were entering through the loading dock instead of the main lobby. With all the VIPs and reporters who were watching during the grand opening, the last thing the hospital needed was to have their most famous patient—the man who, a decade ago, tried to kill the President—making a scene during his transfer.
“It smells different than the old building,” Nico said as they climbed the concrete steps that ran up to the loading dock.
“That’s kinda the point,” Rupert said, approaching a high-tech keypad and swiping his ID. There was a loud
ca-chunk
as the double doors popped open, swinging toward them and revealing a brand-new U-shaped desk at the front of the still-empty Intake Office. The desk and the surrounding chairs were still covered in plastic. As they reached the hospital’s main hallway, there wasn’t a staffer in sight.
“
You should ask to see your room
,” the dead First Lady said.
“I’d like to see my room now.”
“You will, Nico. But first they want you in—”
“You’re not listening. I want to see my
room
,” he growled. To make the point, Nico stopped in the hallway, refusing to move.
“Nico, I am so not in the mood for your nuttiness today. They’re waiting for us in TLC,” Rupert said, raising his voice as he referred to the Therapeutic Learning Center.
Nico still wouldn’t budge.
Rupert grabbed him by the biceps. “Can you for once not be a pain in my rear?” Tightening his grip, he added, “Y’know how many of us got fired to pay for this building? We used to have orderlies running the juice cart. Now I gotta do all that,
plus
haul you to TLC,
plus
—!”
“You need to let go of me,” Nico warned in a calm voice.
“Or what?” Rupert challenged, making sure Nico got a good look at the small electronic device—like a miniature walkie-talkie—that Rupert held in his left hand.
Nico had heard rumors that the new building would have those. To be used during patient transfers. It was called a “man-downsystem.” If a staffer dropped it, or their body went horizontal, an alarm would ring through the building, while the hallway’s cameras would immediately zoom in within twenty feet of the device.
Nico checked both ends of the hallway. Brand-new cameras—encased in unbreakable glass cubes—on each side.
Nico stayed silent. Two years ago, he would’ve jammed his thumbs in Rupert’s eye sockets and pressed hard enough to hear the pop in his brain. But Nico’s therapies… all the drugs… He was a new man now. A cured man, is what the doctors called him. Cured. With a soft exhale, Nico unclenched his shoulders. Even the dead First Lady didn’t argue.
Smiling and still holding Nico’s biceps, Rupert steered him up the—
“What do you think you’re
doing
!?” a southern voice shouted behind them.
Following the sound, Rupert and Nico spun to find a tall man with tight curly black hair and a fine gray wool suit. Around here, only doctors wore suits. And among those doctors, only this one wore a vintage 1950s King Kong tie.
“Rupert, you have half a second to get your hands
off him
!” Dr. Michael Gosling barked.
“Sir, you don’t understand,” Rupert pleaded, letting go of Nico’s bicep. “I was just taking him to TLC—”
Gosling’s hand shot out, gripping Rupert by his own bicep and tugging him aside, just out of Nico’s earshot. “Was he putting himself or anyone else in danger?” Gosling challenged in a tense, low voice.
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s
always
the point. We have rules here, Rupert—and first among them is, don’t put your
Nico nodded at her, but didn’t reply. He knew what the nurses thought about him talking to his old victims.
“All your stuff, it’s being transferred as we speak,” Rupert added, leading him around the side of the building, near the loading dock that said,
New Patient Intake—Ambulance Parking Only
.
Nico knew why Rupert was being so nice. Just like he knew why they were entering through the loading dock instead of the main lobby. With all the VIPs and reporters who were watching during the grand opening, the last thing the hospital needed was to have their most famous patient—the man who, a decade ago, tried to kill the President—making a scene during his transfer.
“It smells different than the old building,” Nico said as they climbed the concrete steps that ran up to the loading dock.
“That’s kinda the point,” Rupert said, approaching a high-tech keypad and swiping his ID. There was a loud
ca-chunk
as the double doors popped open, swinging toward them and revealing a brand-new U-shaped desk at the front of the still-empty Intake Office. The desk and the surrounding chairs were still covered in plastic. As they reached the hospital’s main hallway, there wasn’t a staffer in sight.
“
You should ask to see your room
,” the dead First Lady said.
“I’d like to see my room now.”
“You will, Nico. But first they want you in—”
“You’re not listening. I want to see my
room
,” he growled. To make the point, Nico stopped in the hallway, refusing to move.
“Nico, I am so not in the mood for your nuttiness today. They’re waiting for us in TLC,” Rupert said, raising his voice as he referred to the Therapeutic Learning Center.
Nico still wouldn’t budge.
Rupert grabbed him by the biceps. “Can you for once not be a pain in my rear?” Tightening his grip, he added, “Y’know how many of us got fired to pay for this building? We used to have orderlies running the juice cart. Now I gotta do all that,
plus
haul you to TLC,
plus
—!”
“You need to let go of me,” Nico warned in a calm voice.
“Or what?” Rupert challenged, making sure Nico got a good look at the small electronic device—like a miniature walkie-talkie—that Rupert held in his left hand.
Nico had heard rumors that the new building would have those. To be used during patient transfers. It was called a “man-downsystem.” If a staffer dropped it, or their body went horizontal, an alarm would ring through the building, while the hallway’s cameras would immediately zoom in within twenty feet of the device.
Nico checked both ends of the hallway. Brand-new cameras—encased in unbreakable glass cubes—on each side.
Nico stayed silent. Two years ago, he would’ve jammed his thumbs in Rupert’s eye sockets and pressed hard enough to hear the pop in his brain. But Nico’s therapies… all the drugs… He was a new man now. A cured man, is what the doctors called him. Cured. With a soft exhale, Nico unclenched his shoulders. Even the dead First Lady didn’t argue.
Smiling and still holding Nico’s biceps, Rupert steered him up the—
“What do you think you’re
doing
!?” a southern voice shouted behind them.
Following the sound, Rupert and Nico spun to find a tall man with tight curly black hair and a fine gray wool suit. Around here, only doctors wore suits. And among those doctors, only this one wore a vintage 1950s King Kong tie.
“Rupert, you have half a second to get your hands
off him
!” Dr. Michael Gosling barked.
“Sir, you don’t understand,” Rupert pleaded, letting go of Nico’s bicep. “I was just taking him to TLC—”
Gosling’s hand shot out, gripping Rupert by his own bicep and tugging him aside, just out of Nico’s earshot. “Was he putting himself or anyone else in danger?” Gosling challenged in a tense, low voice.
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s
always
the point. We have rules here, Rupert—and first among them is, don’t put your
Similar Books
