Poet Anderson ...Of Nightmares (7 page)

Chapter Eight

A
nother knock. Jonas's eyes opened,
immediately assaulted by the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling of his room. He squinted, and by the time he adjusted to the light, the dream had faded entirely.

“Jonas,” a soft voice said on the other side of the door. It sounded like the assistant he'd met earlier. He was at the hotel.

Wait
, he thought, sitting up.
What time is it?
He got to his feet and scanned the room, but without windows, there was no way to tell. His head was pounding and his stomach grumbled, so he knew he'd been asleep for a while.

“Shit,” he said, and grabbed the business card off the bed, stuffing it in his back pocket. He went to the door and yanked it open, jumping back when he found Molly, knuckles up and ready to knock again. In her other arm she held a black, folded-up suit.

“Sorry,” she apologized immediately. “I didn't mean to wake you. Hillenbrand was looking for you and I talked to laundry and they said you hadn't picked up your uniform yet. So, I got it for you, if that's okay.”

“What time is it?” Jonas asked quickly, looking past her into the hall for daylight, but since they were in the basement he had no sense of time.

“About seven,” she said, looking at him before darting her gaze away nervously.

“In the morning or at night?” he asked.

Molly took a step back, seeming slightly intimidated by his intensity. “It's night. Your shift started at six, by the way.”

“Damn,” Jonas said, taking the clothes from her hands. “I'll get ready now. Can you cover for me?”

Molly smiled. “Sure.” She folded her hands nervously in front of her. “I'll tell Hillenbrand that Marshall had you filling out paperwork.”

“That would be awesome,” Jonas said. He held up the suit. “And thank you. I really appreciate your help.”

Molly watched him. “Anytime.”

Jonas smiled, feeling awkward. He waved and backed into his room. “See you later.”

With the door closed, Jonas took a deep breath and rested his forehead against the closed door. He was still exhausted, worn down from school, living in a hospital room, and worrying about Alan. And now he was late for his first training shift. He was failing spectacularly at filling Alan's shoes here at the Eden Hotel.

Jonas changed into his uniform, and grabbed the hat out of the box and the umbrella. He rushed to the elevator and pressed the lobby floor, the anticipation of his first night's work making his heart beat a little faster.

As he was headed toward the front door, Jonas caught his reflection in one of the full-length mirrors in the lobby. He stopped. Now
this
was a look. A black suit and skinny tie, a black bowler hat, and an umbrella. And he had to admit he looked pretty damn good. Even his sneakers were on point. Jonas touched his hat, tilting it slightly, and then made his way out the front door.

The air was a little crisp, but Jonas found it refreshing after sleeping in his stuffy basement room. Hillenbrand glanced over as he came out, and then nodded approvingly. The suit, as Jonas knew, worked for him.

“Paperwork, huh?” the doorman asked. Jonas could tell he knew it was a lie, but nodded anyway.

“Yeah, sorry man. But I'm here now and I swear I'm a hard worker.”

Hillenbrand smiled to himself. “Well, all you have to do is be invisible, my friend. That, and anticipate the needs of the guests.”

Okay
, Jonas thought.
I can do that
. He took a spot next to the doorman and copied his position, folding his hands in front of him and staring at the street. Rain drizzled down, tapping on the overhang of the entrance. The minutes passed slowly, and Jonas resisted all urges to ask what time it was. At around the hour mark, he finally turned to Hillenbrand, desperate for conversation.

“Is it always this quiet?” he asked.

“Usually,” Hillenbrand responded.

Jonas didn't love that answer. “Doesn't it get boring? Especially at night?”

“No,” Hillenbrand said, looking sideways at him. “The night is the best time. That's when it gets fun. Nothing better than seeing rich, drunk people stumble home. Last week, I had to hold a man's Pomeranian in one hand and my umbrella in the other as he kneeled at the curb and puked in the sewer. It was amazing.”

Jonas groaned. “I think I'd rather just open the door for people.”

“Not me. When they're that drunk, you usually get tipped twice,” he said. “They tip you that night and then again in the morning, just to make sure you keep your discretion.”

“And do you keep their secret?”

Hillenbrand looked over at him, his expression more intense than the question required. “Oh, yes. You have no idea how important secrets and discretion can be, Jonas. It's actually the most important part of the job.”

Jonas held his stare for as long as he could, but eventually he turned back to the street, thinking that maybe Hillenbrand took his job a little too seriously. Fortunately, only a few more minutes passed before a limo pulled to the curb. It had tinted black windows and the driver didn't exit. It sat, idling.

“This is you, kid,” Hillenbrand said. “Keep your umbrella opened above the door so when the guest steps out, not a drop of rain hits them. Got it?”

Jonas said he understood and opened his umbrella. He rushed out to meet the car. Drops of rain hit his hat and shoulders, and his sneakers sloshed in a puddle that was running along the curb. Jonas took a deep breath, giving the person in the limo a moment to get themselves together. He then opened the door and immediately straightened, holding the umbrella steady.

It was dark inside the car. The seconds ticked on and Jonas resisted peering inside to see what was causing the delay. It was a long leg wearing red heels that caught his attention first. The woman stretched it to the curb to avoid the puddle, flashing skin from the slit of her red dress. She held out her hand, rings flashing in the lights of the hotel. Jonas took it and assisted her out, afraid he'd lose his balance and ruin this entire moment.

The woman stood, tall and picturesque. Beautiful. She was older, with thick ringlets of hair that grazed her sharp jawline. She ran her heavily made-up eyes over Jonas, smiling when she finished. “This is a nice surprise,” she said with a British accent. “I'll be sure to thank Marshall.”

He knew he should play it cool, but Jonas's entire body reacted to her compliment. “Good evening, miss,” he said, bowing slightly. She laughed and reached to take his arm so he could lead her into the building. Her perfume carried a heavy scent that felt mature, older than she seemed. Her long nails bit into his skin through his jacket, but he didn't want to flinch.

Once she was under the awning, the woman turned to Jonas and lifted an eyebrow. “Call ahead for me and let Marshall know I'm here,” she said.

“Uh, sure,” Jonas said, fumbling to close the umbrella. “Who should I tell him is here?”

The woman laughed. “I'm sure your description will be enough.”

The woman turned and Hillenbrand held open the door for her, lowering his head in a show of respect as she waltzed inside. The limo was gone by the time Jonas looked back at the street. Hillenbrand laughed when he saw Jonas's expression.

“Who the hell was that?” Jonas asked.

“Not sure. But that's also part of the reason the night shift is great. Marshall stays after his shift and occasionally gets late night visits, especially the past few weeks. People from all over. The staff likes to guess he's running an international drug cartel, but I have to believe he'd be more pleasant if that were true. Haven't heard a better theory, though.”

Hillenbrand touched his earpiece. “This is the front door,” he said to whomever answered. “Can you let Marshall know that a woman in a red dress with a British accent is here to see him?” He ended his call, and took his position next to the door.

“Wait a minute,” Jonas said, looking between the street and the door. “She didn't tip me.”

Hillenbrand sniffed a laugh. “Oh, she will. Just not tonight.”

Jonas watched the doorman, having no idea what he meant by that, but then they both continued on with their jobs, the rest of the evening wholly uneventful.

Jonas's shift ended around
three a.m. Although exhausted, he found that after he got to his room and changed, he couldn't sleep. He ended up going to the kitchen and finding some sandwiches wrapped up in the walk-in, labeled with his name by, he assumed, Molly. After eating, he took a hot bath, letting his mind drift over the past few weeks. Over how much his life had changed. And when he grew bored of that, he wondered about the woman in red.

He didn't sleep—couldn't sleep. And so when six a.m. rolled around, he was annoyed and half-dead.

Jonas pulled on a clean T-shirt from the bag and grabbed his black umbrella. He wanted to get to the hospital before school to check on Alan. He took the elevator upstairs, offering a wave to one of the desk girls when she beamed at him, and started for the bus.

It wasn't raining, but Jonas's sneakers sloshed in the leftover puddles on the sidewalk as he approached the glass front doors of the hospital. Just as he got under the awning, the security guard—Raul—eyed him, and Jonas lowered his head as he passed.

He got inside, noting that the guard was following him. Jonas swallowed hard, sensing an impending confrontation. Was it because he was supposed to be in school? Was it because he accused Doctor Bishop of wanting to murder his brother? Whatever the reason, Raul got in the elevator with him, staring straight ahead as if he wasn't being totally obvious.

Jonas curled his hand into a fist, trying to keep his annoyance in check. “What is it?” he asked.

The security guard glanced at him, and then turned away. “Doctor Bishop asked me to accompany you, that's all.”

“Is that legal? 'Cause this feels like harassment.”

Raul chuckled. “I'm just observing, Mr. Anderson. But I would suggest you keep your cool today. Your brother had a rough night and—”

Jonas swayed as if the world had dropped out from underneath him. “What?” he asked. “What do you mean? Did Alan wake up?”

The guard's expression faltered. “They didn't call you?”

“I don't have a phone.”

Raul opened his mouth, his eyes suddenly apologetic. The doors of the elevator slid open and he stepped aside, holding up his arm to usher Jonas through first. Jonas broke into a run, his sneakers squeaking on the tiles of the hallway. In front of Alan's room was another security guard, but Jonas wasn't going to be stopped.

The security guard held up his hand to slow him, but Jonas pushed past and through the open door of the room. He was panting, but when he entered the room, his entire body exploded in fear. The bed was empty, stripped down to the mattress, the monitors pushed back against the wall. Jonas's hoodie and backpack waited neatly on the chair.

Jonas fell back a step, covering his mouth with his hand. Where was Alan? Jonas spun on Raul, who'd just arrived at the door, and he rushed up and grabbed his light blue shirt.

“Where's my brother?” he asked desperately. The security guard's eyes flashed, but he carefully pulled Jonas's hands away.

“Wait here,” Raul said. “I'll get the doctor.”

How was he supposed to wait? Jonas ran his fingers through his hair, pacing nervously as his mind flipped through all the possible scenarios—the one he was clinging to involved Alan in a recovery room, awake and asking for him.

Doctor Bishop appeared in the doorway, and Jonas started shaking. The doctor entered, glancing at Raul so the security guard walked in with him. He closed the door and the doctor motioned for Jonas to have a seat.

“Where's my brother?” Jonas asked as he sat on the arm of the chair. From the look on Doctor Bishop's face, his hopes had been too high. Jonas thought he might get sick right there on the hospital floor.

“Alan went into cardiac arrest last night,” Doctor Bishop said in a quiet voice. Jonas felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach, and he fell into
the
seat of the chair, crushing the backpack. “We were able to stabilize him, but he had to be moved. After this latest episode, we're afraid his condition will continue to deteriorate. I'm not sure there is much more we can do for your brother. We need to discuss options.”

Jonas lowered his eyes, staring at the white floor. His hands had gone numb. His face. He wouldn't believe it—Alan would come back. This wasn't like when his parents died, that sense of security evaporating as if they'd taken their arms from around him. He could still feel Alan.

“Unfortunately,” the doctor went on, “this hospital isn't equipped for long-term care. And quite frankly, I don't believe it's what your brother would want.”

Jonas darted his gaze at the doctor. “How would you know what Alan wants?” he asked. “Don't bullshit me.” The security guard took a step forward, anticipating a clash. “You want us out of here because we can't pay,” Jonas said.

“Although that is a concern for the hospital,” Doctor Bishop said, straightening like he was offended. “My oath is to my patients. And I'm offering my opinion on the most humane way to—”

“Doctor Madeline Moss,” Jonas said quickly, reciting the name from the card. “I talked to her and she's going to take Alan's case. She doesn't think it's hopeless.”

That was, of course, a lie. Jonas hadn't called Doctor Moss, but he'd run out of options. Doctor Bishop seemed taken aback and nodded apologetically.

“I wasn't aware,” he said. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his white coat. “Doctor Moss is a well-respected researcher. She's taken on several of our coma patients. I suspect she'll want to get started right away.”