08 Illusion (43 page)

And she sure didn’t want to end up in the hospital again.

So could she tell the difference?

Her little blue Bug had to be real, and the pavement rushing under it at sixty-five miles per hour more than just her imagination. That her hands were on the steering wheel, keeping the machine from veering off and flipping over the guardrail, was a fact she’d better not have doubts about.

Oh, great
. Was that her exit?
Nuts!
See, there was another real thing: she wasn’t paying attention so the real exit in the real world went right by her and she missed it. She wouldn’t have made that up and caught herself off guard like that. She drove on to the next exit and took that one, hanging a left at the bottom to duck under the freeway, where she could hang another left back onto the freeway …

There was no on-ramp here.

Guy!

She kept going straight, lost. She’d have to pull over, look at her map, get her bearings …

She’d been here before.

That mall over there … that Kinko’s. She was seeing them again … for the first time. Wasn’t she?

Turn right at the Kinko’s.

She turned right. She didn’t know why except that it seemed the thing to do. Just like déjà vu, you kind of know which way you’re going to go and what you’re going to see before it happens.

Oh, what was this now? The hospital district. She got nervous. She’d just been thinking about hospitals and it wasn’t pleasant, never was.

Here came a blue sign:
HOSPITAL.
She’d seen that sign before.

Well, of course she had. There were plenty of signs in plenty of places she’d been that said
HOSPITAL.
Just like that big red sign that said
EMERGENCY VEHICLES ONLY
and that little blue one that said
ADMITTING
and that one that said
VISITOR PARKING.

It was the big blue logo on the side of the building that made her slow down, then make a right into the visitor parking lot. Before she even parked in a slot she stopped the car, flung the door open, and leaned out to see it better.

It was a stylish, modern logo in big blue letters against the cream-colored building:
CCMC
. Beneath the logo was the name of the place:
CLARK COUNTY MEDICAL CENTER.

Another car pulled in behind her. She scurried, found a parking slot, killed the engine.

She couldn’t climb out of the Bug fast enough, but once she did, she remained beside it, staring at the building, then the parking areas around it, then the streets, the trees, the multistory parking garage. It was more than déjà vu. It was memory. She’d been here.

“God, is this real?”

As real as the pavement under her feet. As real as the curb she stepped up on, the grass she ran her fingers through, the palm tree she touched. Nothing moved, nothing wavered, nothing shifted into and out of her world. The smells, the feel, the sound and sight, all remained right where they were, exactly the way they were.

Why did she remember this place?

Her eyes came to rest on two young men by the front door under the big breezeway, parking valets in blue shirts. The heavier one on the right; she’d seen him before. She even knew his name: Kerry.

What if he knew her? What if … she didn’t know what if, she only knew she had to get inside that building and check it out.

She crossed the parking lot, went under the breezeway and right up to Kerry.

“Hi,” she said.

He smiled, entirely pleasant, maybe even a little stricken by her looks. “Hi.” His name badge bore his name: Kerry Mathinson.

She gave him time to recognize her.

He only looked puzzled at the silence. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Mandy Whitacre.”

“Oh. Well, it’s great to meet you. This is Mark, I’m Kerry.”

They shook hands and it was all very cordial, just like strangers meeting.

Okay, she ventured the question, “So you’ve never seen me before?”

Kerry checked with Mark, who shrugged. “Afraid not. Believe me, I would have remembered—uh, no offense.”

“None taken. Thanks.”

She went through the doors, they eased shut automatically behind her, and she was enveloped by the sights—daylight through huge windows, marble and mosaic floor, high ceiling—and the sounds—air noise, talking voices nearly lost in the vast space, the clunks, clacks, and taps of shoes on the marble—and the smells—floor cleaner, wood stain, disinfectant—of the hospital lobby. Her steps faltered and slowed until she came to a dead stop right in the middle of the big logo on the floor. She was dumbstruck. Frightened.

Was she back in the madness, in the unreal? She braced herself, tapped her feet to be sure the floor was under her, and took in every detail: the sofa seats along the windows, the big logo she was standing on, the wooden pillars and paneling, the reception desk directly in front of her, the hanging fluorescent light fixtures, the plaques and portraits on the walls.

She was not in a strange, new place. She’d been here countless times before, seen it from many angles at many speeds and distances. It was the biggest, most insistent, most pervasive feature of her madness, always appearing and vying for attention among the other worlds, wavering like a tea-stained mirage, superimposed over clashing layers of light, sound, movement, depth. But now it was clear, in full color, rock solid. No wavering, no shifting, here to stay, right in front of her, daring her to believe her eyes.

She felt weak and consciously strengthened her knees so she wouldn’t crumble. Clark County Medical Center, Las Vegas, Nevada.
This
was the hospital of her madness, not the one in Spokane. She always thought, assumed, just figured she was having flashbacks, visions of that other place, but—

“May I help you?” The pretty receptionist behind the counter was looking at her as if there was cause for concern.

Mandy stared back. She knew this lady’s name without looking at her name tag. She’d passed by her countless times.

The lady asked, “Are you all right? Should I call for someone?”

“Nancy,” Mandy squeaked, her throat dry and constricted. “You’re Nancy Wright.”

The lady cocked her head and studied her. “Yeah … Who are you?”

“I’m Mandy Whit——”

Her own name caught in her throat. She lurched, body tense and eyes wide as a ghostly vision popped out of nowhere in front of her and became as solid and real as any person.

It was another Mandy, herself, in the same dress, same hair, same everything, happening a few yards apart from her and … it had to be later, she didn’t know how much. The other Mandy was rattled, gasping for breath, crouching like a cat who’d just fought off a pack of wolves, and when she spotted Mandy she froze as if caught in the middle of a terrible act.

Mandy had never come face-to-face with herself and had no idea what to do. She could have asked what in the world just happened but there were people around, and she couldn’t be sure her other self would hear her anyway. Clearly, the other Mandy saw her; she looked ashamed and embarrassed. She straightened, composed, and neatened herself, then told Mandy with a wry chuckle, “Oh, boy, are you in for a ride!”

chapter

37

T
he other Mandy looked down at the floor and at a couch in a nearby sitting area, then strode up to Mandy and got in her face. “Don’t let ’em do this to you, you hear me?” Then she brushed past Mandy, started for the door, warped, wavered, and vanished.

“Mandy?” Nancy was still watching her and now seemed even more concerned. “Is there anything I can do for you? You okay?”

Mandy tried not to gawk at everything, but everything, down to the texture of the wallpaper and the shape of the light sconces, was spellbinding. She stepped up to the counter. “Um … I’m here to visit someone.” It didn’t matter who, it was true.

“Name?”

“Mandy Whitacre.”

Nancy smiled. “I mean the name of the person you’re visiting.”

Oh, brother
. “Uh …” For some reason the name seemed to fit in this place. She took a chance. “Ernie. Ernie Myers.”

Nancy checked the computer. “He’s in room two-oh-two.”
He is? Really?
“Just go down this hallway to the end, turn right, you’ll see the elevators. Go up to the second floor and someone at the nurses’ station will help you out.”

Mandy headed for the hallway she already knew.

“Oh, Mandy …”

She stopped.

“There’s a gift shop on the left once you get down there in case you want to bring him anything.”

Oh, yeah, the gift shop with those goofy stuffed dogs that doubled as carry bags in the front window. “Thanks.”

She headed down the hallway, past doors and office windows she’d seen before—
DIAGNOSTIC IMAGING; OCCUPATIONAL MEDICINE; PAIN MANAGEMENT CENTER—
and signs she’d seen before:
SHUTTLE PICKUP/DROP-OFF; PHOTO ID REQUIRED FOR ENTRY; PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE YOUR CHILDREN UNATTENDED.

She was familiar with the ceiling lights, the doors on either side, the hand railing that went along the walls, the same intersections with other hallways with more signs:
NUTRITION; SLEEP DISORDERS CENTER; FAMILY CARE.
She expected to see them and she did. The déjà vu just kept going.

A doctor in blue scrubs, a big guy with blond, curly hair, walked by and she gawked at him. He was right out of her visions: Dr. Kurt Mason, orthopedic surgeon. He met her eyes, nodded hello, kept going. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was the one always looking at X-rays, talking about simples, compounds, linears, transverses, obliques, and then rods and screws. He looked back once. She caught herself staring, averted her eyes, and kept going down the hall.

Being in the real world was weirder than being in the
other
one.

She knew the next intersection the moment she approached it. She knew the hallway to the right led to the
EMERGENCY ROOM
and
INTENSIVE CARE UNIT,
and the big double doors marked
NO ADMITTANCE, AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
were where she expected them, just three doors down that hall. She walked toward the doors, hoping to peek through the windows.

“Offices on the left,” she said to herself as she peered through the glass, and there they were. “One for Dr. Markham”—there it was—“and the other one for Dr. Kessler”—right again.

There was a row of curtained rooms along the left side of the room. Funny, she couldn’t see inside those curtains from here in the real world, but in her visions she’d seen how each space had a bed with beeping, feeding, monitoring hospital gear crammed all around it.

A team of doctors and nurses in blue scrubs and shower caps hurried across the room with a patient on a gurney. She recognized a young surgeon with wire-rim glasses. “Bailey … Baylor … yeah, Baylor. He eats a lot of yogurt in the cafeteria.” She saw a nurse and smiled. “Rosalie. Always laughing.”

Oh-oh
. Some personnel—Steve the trauma guy, Rachel the assistant, Julie the nurse—were coming toward the door. She spun on her heels and doubled back to the intersection.

Safely around a corner, she stopped to catch her breath—her runaway mind, actually. She simply could not get over it: it was
this
hospital she’d been seeing in her visions, every hall, curtain, door, nook, and cranny of it.

Steve, Rachel, and Julie came around the corner. She tried to relax, look normal, and not gawk at them as they passed.

Whoever, whatever all her other selves, hands, arms, minds were, they must have been here, they might be here right now; whenever she was working her magic, this was one of the most frequent places they … what? Came from? Lived? Journeyed to?

And why? She’d never been here before, never lived in Las Vegas. The question shouted louder than every other thought:
Why?

Ohhh, that brought her to Ernie—which was just another totally weird coincidence, by the way. If he was the painter she saw, and he was really here and they had really seen each other …

Well now, that was a thought: she’d seen all kinds of places, things, and people in her visions, but only two people who were able to see
her
: that Tom Hanks–looking guy—hey, he was in a hospital, or that’s what it looked like—and the painter Ernie Myers.

So was the painter Ernie Myers the guy in 202? Man, comparing notes with him in the real world could tell her something; it just had to. Her stomach was tight and she wanted to run but she had to find out, like it or not, scared or not.

She whisked by the gift shop—yep, the goofy stuffed dogs were still there—and went to the elevators. The second floor was just the way she remembered it, though she’d never been there—how was that for weird? She didn’t need to ask the nurse at the nurses’ station where 202 was; she already knew how the rooms were numbered and where they were.

She got there and put on the brakes just outside the door. What if it really was
the
Ernie Myers and he recognized her? She remembered him touching her, then screaming as if he’d gotten hurt. Did
she
put him here?

She swallowed her fear. This would be quite a connection, wouldn’t it, between her other world and this one?

She swallowed her fear again. How could he be mad at her? It wasn’t her fault.

She went in quietly, ducking around the privacy screen and calling in a polite tone, “Hello? Mr. Myers?”

“Hello?” he answered, and she might have recognized the voice. Sounds were different between the two worlds.