Crosstalk (8 page)

“I'm sorry,” she said blurrily. “I must have dozed off—”

“You're coming out of the anesthesia,” the voice said, and it was a different nurse. “How are you feeling?”

“What time is it?” Briddey asked.

“A little past three. How are you feeling? Any nausea?”

“No.”

“Headache?”

“No.”

There were a lot of other questions, and Briddey must have answered them correctly because the nurse said, as Briddey closed her eyes again, “You're doing really well. You're going to stay here in the recovery room a little bit longer just to make sure everything's okay.” And when she opened her eyes again, she was in a hospital room with two beds and a window, and the nurse who came in to check her IV said it was five o'clock.

So I must have already had the EED,
she thought groggily, even though she had no memory of being taken into the operating room and the back of her head didn't hurt. They'd said it was a minor procedure, but she should feel something, shouldn't she? She tried to feel if there was a bandage back there, but she couldn't. The IV on the back of her hand restricted its movement. But at least her hand moved, which meant she hadn't ended up paralyzed.
You were wrong, C.B.,
she thought sleepily.
The surgery went fine, and in a little while Trent and I—

She stopped, holding her breath. She'd heard something.

Trent?
she called, and then remembered that they weren't supposed to be able to connect till at least twenty-four hours after the surgery.

I must have heard the patient in the other bed,
she thought, but when she raised her head slightly so she could see over the nightstand, the other bed was empty, a stack of linens piled neatly at its foot.

The sound must have come from the corridor, then, but she knew it hadn't. It had been in here, and very close. It
had
to have been Trent.
Are you there?
she called, and waited, holding her breath.

Yes
, she heard.

But I can't have,
she thought. The EED didn't make you able to hear your partner's thoughts. It only made you able to sense his feelings.

I did hear him,
she told herself stubbornly, but before she could analyze why she was so sure it had been a voice, she was hit with an explosion of emotion: delight and worry and relief all mingled together. Emotions that hadn't come from her, that definitely belonged to someone else.

It
is
Trent,
she thought. Dr. Verrick had said they'd scored exceptionally high in compatibility, so maybe that had allowed them to connect sooner than twenty-four hours after the surgery.
Trent?
she called.

The burst of emotion abruptly stopped.

But I was communicating with him!
she thought jubilantly, and felt a massive rush of relief. She hadn't realized how much she'd let C.B.'s warnings that something would go wrong get to her.
I heard you,
she called happily to him.
Can you hear me?

There was no response.
Of course not,
she thought.
I need to be sending him emotions, not words.
She closed her eyes and tried to transmit recognition and love and happiness.

Still nothing, and before she could try again, a nurse came in to take her vitals and ask the same litany of questions that the recovery room nurse had asked. “Any dizziness or nausea?”

“No.”

The nurse wrapped a blood-pressure cuff around her arm. “Any confusion?”

“No. Are you sure…?” Briddey began, but the nurse had already put the stethoscope in her ears.

She had to wait till after the nurse had helped her into her robe and walked her to the bathroom—an ordeal during which Briddey realized that she was dizzy after all—and helped her back into bed before she could ask, “Are you sure it takes twenty-four hours for the EED to work?”

“Yes,” the nurse said, and told Briddey the same things the other nurse had told her about the edema and the anesthesia. “You've only been out of surgery for a few hours. Nothing's going to happen till at least tomorrow.”

“But I thought I felt—”

“You were probably dreaming. The anesthetic can cause all sorts of strange dreams. I know you're eager to make contact with Mr. Worth, but you need to give your body a chance to recover first, and the best way to do that is to rest. Here's your call button.” She showed Briddey where it was clipped to her pillow. “If you need anything, call.”

I
did
,
Briddey thought,
and Trent answered me. I felt it. I need to speak to him and find out if he felt it, too. I need to find out his room number.
But the nurse had already gone. Briddey fumbled for the call button. Before she could push it, though, the nurse returned with a huge bouquet of roses.

She showed Briddey the card from Trent. It read, “In just one more day we'll be inseparable!”

It may not take that long,
Briddey thought, and asked the nurse, who was setting the roses in the window, “Which room is Mr. Worth in?”

“I'll check,” she said, and came back a moment later to say, “He's still in recovery.”

Of course. Briddey'd forgotten that he'd had his EED done after hers. “I need to talk to him,” she said.

“He's not out of the anesthesia yet. You can talk to him later. Right now you need to rest,” the nurse said firmly, and shut the overhead light off.

He must have come out of the anesthesia for a few minutes and then drifted off again,
Briddey told herself,
and that's why he didn't answer the second time.

She was feeling a little drowsy herself, as if she might doze off at any moment.
The nurse was right,
she thought.
I do still have a lot of anesthetic in…
and was asleep before she could complete the thought.

When she woke up again, it was to darkness.
What time is it?
she wondered, groping for her phone, and then remembered that she didn't have it—she was in the hospital. The darkness—and her mind feeling much clearer—told her she'd been asleep for hours, and that was confirmed by the late-night hush in the corridor outside. There were no footsteps, no nurses' voices, no intercom announcements. The entire floor was asleep.

But something had woken her. As before, she had the distinct feeling that she'd heard a voice. Trent would definitely be out of the anesthesia by now. Had he reached out to her?
Trent?
she called.

No response, and after a minute she heard a buzzer from somewhere down the hall and footsteps going toward it. Had she heard an actual sound—a door shutting or a patient calling for the nurse—and was that what had awakened her? And was it a sound like that, plus her imagination and the after-effects of the anesthestic, that had caused the first one, too?

But it had felt so real—and so different from what she'd imagined Trent would be feeling. She'd expected delight that they'd connected but not relief. Trent had been completely confident about the EED. And there'd been other feelings in that explosion of emotion—surprise and uncertainty and amusement. And some other feeling, which had been suppressed so quickly she hadn't had time to identify it. But she was sure about the uncertainty and the surprise.
Were you secretly afraid it wouldn't work, like I was?
she called.

No answer.

She waited a long minute, listening in the darkness, and then called,
Are you there? Can you hear me?

Yes.

I
knew
I heard him,
she thought. And realized who the voice sounded like.
But it can't be him! And this can't be happening. The EED doesn't make you telepathic—

Apparently it does,
he said, and this time there was no question at all who the voice belonged to. She clapped her hand to her mouth, horrified.

I told you it could have unintended consequences,
C.B. said.

“I can call spirits from the vasty deep.”

“Why, so can I, and so can any man;/But will they come when you do call for them?”

—W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE
,
Henry IV, Part I

Please tell me I'm dreaming,
Briddey thought, but she knew she wasn't. She could feel the sharp pull of the IV needle in the hand that she'd clapped over her mouth, could hear the beep of the IV monitor next to her bed.

And C.B.'s voice answering her, saying,
I'm afraid not, unless I'm asleep, too. Which I'm not. Nope, I hate to tell you this, but we're really talking
.

“But how
can
we be?” Briddey said aloud.

That's what I want to know,
C.B. said.
You ignored my warning, didn't you? I guess it's a good thing I didn't warn you not to jump off a bridge, or you'd have ignored that, too. You went ahead in spite of everything I said, and had the IED—

“It's
not
an IED!”

Yeah, well, that's a matter of opinion. Where are you talking to me from? The hospital?

“Yes,” she said. “Where are you?”

My lab. At Commspan,
he said, and if that was true, then he was miles away. Which meant they were talking telepathically. Which was impossible.

Apparently not,
C.B. said.
I told you having it was a terrible idea, that there could be UICs, but you didn't listen, and now here you are, connected to me instead of Trent
.

“I am
not
connected to you!”

Then what would you call this?

“I don't
know
! Dr. Verrick must have gotten a wire crossed when he—”

Brains don't have wires.

“A synapse, then, or a circuit or something.”

It doesn't work like that,
C.B. said.

“How do
you
know? You're not a brain surgeon. Dr. Verrick could have spliced the wrong synapses together, so that when I called to Trent, I got connected to you instead.”

So I'm what—a wrong number? And speaking of Trent, where is he? And how come he didn't answer if you were calling him?

“I don't
know!
” she wailed. “Oh, how could this have happened?”

I warned you there could be unintended consequences.

“But not telepathy,” she insisted. “It's not even a real thing!”

Yeah, well, about that, Briddey. There's something I need to tell you.
His voice was so close it felt like he was standing at the end of the bed.

He is,
she thought, suddenly convinced of it. He wasn't at Commspan. He'd sneaked in while she was asleep and was hiding somewhere here in her room, and this was all his warped idea of a practical joke.

Hiding?
he said.
What are you talking about? Where?

Under the bed,
she thought.
Or behind the curtains
. But when she turned on the light above her bed, she saw that the curtains only reached to the bottom of the window, and the long dividing drape between the two beds was pushed all the way back against the wall, too narrow to conceal anyone.

He could still be down behind the other bed, or in the bathroom or the closet
, she thought, though if he was, why had his voice sounded like it had been right next to her?

Exactly
, C.B. said.

“You're throwing your voice,” she said accusingly. “Like a ventriloquist.”

He laughed.
A ventriloquist? You're kidding, right?

“No,” she said, and sat up. She swung her legs over the side to go look, but the sudden movement made the room lurch. She lay back down. “You'd better come out now,” she said, fumbling for the call button clipped to her pillow, “or I'm calling the nurse.”

I wouldn't do that if I were you. It's three o'clock in the morning, which means she's not going to be happy that you're awake, and she's going to be
really
unhappy when you tell her you're hearing voices. In the second place, she'll call Dr. Whatzisname, and he'll—

“What? Come in here and throw you out? Good,” Briddey said, and pushed the call button. “I'd like to see that.”

So would I,
C.B. said,
especially since I'm all the way across town.

“Well, if that's true, which I don't believe for one second, then he'll realize something's gone wrong, and he'll go back in and fix it.”

Maybe. Or maybe he'll have you moved to the psych ward. And either way, he'll tell Trent
.

Oh, my God, Trent.
She hadn't thought how this would sound to him. She fumbled for the call button to see if she could turn it back off, but she was too late. The nurse was already there, and she
did
look annoyed. And was going to look even more put out if Briddey told her she didn't want anything, so she said, “I'm sorry I buzzed you. I had a nightmare. There was a man in my room. With a knife. In the bathroom,” and thought,
What am I going to do if she doesn't go look?

But she did, opening the bathroom door wide and switching on the light so Briddey could see inside, and then doing the same thing to the closet, which held only the hospital robe Briddey'd worn to the bathroom earlier. “See? Nobody there.”

The nurse came back over to the bed. “Just a bad dream.” She picked up Briddey's chart and began entering something. “Confusion's common after surgery. It's the anesthetic. It frequently causes strange dreams. Or you may have seen a nurse's aide or an orderly coming in. Do you need me to help you to the bathroom?”

Not now that I know he's not in there,
Briddey thought, wondering if there was something she could drop so the nurse would have to look under the bed, but there was nothing within reach. “No, I'm fine,” she said.

“Try to get some sleep,” the nurse said, and switched off the light.

“Would you mind leaving that on?” Briddey asked, putting a quiver in her voice. “Or—could you check the rest of the room before you leave? Please? I know it was just a dream, but I'd sleep so much better if you would.”

And if I'm asleep, I won't be pushing my call button and bothering you,
she added silently, and the nurse must have come to the same conclusion because she turned the light back on and checked under both beds and in the far corner.

“See?” she said, coming back over to Briddey's bed. “Nothing there. Good night.” She switched off the light again and went out, pulling the door almost all the way shut behind her.

“Thank you,” Briddey called after her and then lay there, trying to make sense of what had happened. C.B. wasn't in her room. Was the nurse right? Had his voice been part of an anesthetic-induced dream?

That must be it,
she thought, because C.B. hadn't spoken to her since the moment the nurse came into the room.

Nice theory, but no,
C.B. said, and his voice was as clear and close as ever.
And what kind of nurse tells you to go to sleep when there could be a serial killer on the loose in the hospital?
I wouldn't trust anything she says
.

How is he
doing
this?
Briddey wondered, despairing.

He bugged my room,
she thought. He had a mike and speakers hidden in here somewhere.

Bugged your room?
C.B. said.
Are you crazy?

No.
It made perfect sense. That was why he hadn't said anything while the nurse was in the room, because the nurse would have heard him. And with a bug, he could hear if she was alone or not. Briddey sat up, switched the light on again, and began looking around the room for a concealed bug.

Briddey, I did not bug your room.

“Liar.” It explained everything. How he'd known what the nurse was saying and—

I didn't hear what she was saying,
he interrupted.
I heard you
thinking about
what she was saying. When you have a conversation, you not only think about what you're saying but what you're hearing. And when am I supposed to have done all this? I didn't even know you were having the surgery till a few minutes ago.

“I don't know,” she said, “but you did.” He could have hidden the bug and the mike anywhere, on the lining of the curtains, on the windowsill, in the roses Trent had sent. She squinted at them, searching for telltale wires.

But there wouldn't necessarily
be
wires. C.B. could have rigged up some sort of wireless thing. He was a computer genius—

Thanks. I didn't think you'd noticed
, he said dryly, and his voice wasn't coming from over by the window. It was right in her ear.

It's in my pillow
, she thought, sitting up to feel for an unnatural lump. Nothing. She pulled off the pillowcase, shook it, and then felt down behind the head of the mattress.

It wasn't there. But it could be anywhere—and tiny. It could be on the wall panel above her bed. Or attached to the water jug or the chart or the Kleenex box, or—

I didn't bug your throw-up pan,
C.B. said.
I—

He abruptly stopped talking.
So I can't use his voice to find the bug,
Briddey thought, picking up the throw-up basin.

It wasn't there or on the water jug. And if it was on the wall panel, she'd never find it; it was covered with buttons and switches and inputs, any one of which could be a mike. The only way to prove he was bugging the room was to get out of it and go somewhere the mike didn't reach. She wished she'd asked the nurse which room they'd taken Trent to after recovery. She could go tell him what had happened, and he could find the mike. And have C.B. fired.

But she didn't know which room Trent was in, and buzzing the nurse again was a bad idea. So she'd have to settle for going down the hall far enough that she was out of range. She sat up, put her legs over the side, and sat there a moment to see whether the room was going to veer sideways again. When it didn't, she got carefully out of bed, using the IV-stand to steady herself.

Oh, no, what was she going to do about her IV? The stand had wheels. She could take it with her, but if that was where C.B. had concealed the mike, leaving her room wouldn't accomplish anything.

She'd have to pull out her IV. But what if the monitor beeped when she did and alerted the nurses?
I'll wait till after I get my robe and slippers on,
she thought, and walked over to the closet, pulling the IV-stand with her.

The thin cotton robe was there but not the slippers.
They must be under the bed,
she thought, checking the robe's neckband and ties for a bug and then struggling into it. She managed to get one arm through and the robe up over her shoulders, but the other arm would have to wait till she'd pulled out the IV. She worked her way back to the bed, trailing the robe awkwardly behind her, and bent over to try to see her slippers.

If she hadn't been hanging on to the IV-stand for support, she'd have passed out. As it was, the room banked sharply and then wavered, and she had to cling to the IV-pole till the wobbling stopped and then grope for the edge of the bed.

She sat down and took a steadying breath. There was no point in trying for her slippers again, because even if she did find them, she'd never be able to bend over for long enough to get them on. But she only had to go far enough down the hall to be out of reach of C.B.'s speakers.

I can do without slippers for that far,
she thought, and tackled the problem of the IV-stand. She couldn't see an on/off switch, but there
was
a button near the top. She hit it gingerly, braced for the machine to begin beeping.

It didn't. The motor stopped, and the green light went off.
Good,
she thought, and ripped the surgical tape off the back of her hand to look at the place where the IV needle had been pushed under the skin.