Terrified (17 page)
Stacey had advised her to ask around, and that was exactly what Lisa did—when she ran into Dr. Swann in the third-floor corridor the following day. He was stepping out of Cliff’s room. He checked in on Cliff from time to time. As he always did whenever he saw her, Dr. Swann shook her hand and kept holding it while he talked to her. He said Cliff might be released within the next two days.
Lisa couldn’t help becoming a bit tongue-tied around him. He was so handsome, and Cliff was so much better off thanks to him. Dr. Swann was like her hero. She thanked him for the good news. “And thank you for everything you’ve done for Cliff,” she continued. “I hope you didn’t have to go to too much trouble or—or make anyone jump through any hoops.”
He let go of her hand, and gave her a puzzled smile. “What do you mean?”
“I just—well, I don’t want us getting any special treatment if it means people on the staff or other patients might end up resenting it,” she explained. “You said you had some clout here, and I heard that your parents are big contributors to the hospital—”
He frowned. “Where did you hear that?”
“About your folks, you mean?” She shrugged. “I just heard one of the nurses talking.”
He stroked her arm—up near her shoulder. “My parents have nothing to do with what goes on in this hospital, Lisa. Any clout I have here, I’ve earned. And for people like you and your brother, I’m happy to call in a few favors.”
She smiled at him and nodded. She felt relieved. But she couldn’t stop thinking about Stacey’s claim that Glenn had hired some “goon” to beat up Dr. Siler.
“By the way,” she said. “Dr. Siler stopped in yesterday to find out how Cliff was doing. He apologized for any misunderstandings. But then, I suppose you already know about that… .”
He shook his head. “No, but that was awfully big of the little guy.”
“Did you hear he got mugged? He was awfully beat-up.”
Dr. Swann scratched his upper lip. “Yeah, I heard about that. A bunch of us on the staff chipped in and sent flowers… .” He chuckled, “
To Joel
, not the guy who mugged him.”
To Joel
, not the guy who mugged him.”
Lisa let out a nervous laugh.
“We have our little squabbles on the staff, but despite how it looked in the cafeteria last week, we all get along pretty well. I hear he’s going to be okay.” He rubbed her arm again, and looked into her eyes. “I really like it when you smile, Lisa. That smile from you will get me through the rest of this long day.”
Heading down the corridor, he left her speechless and close to swooning.
Lisa wanted to tell Stacey that she didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. But Stacey wasn’t on duty that evening—or the next day or the following day when Cliff was released. So after loading up the car with everything Cliff had accrued over the past three weeks, and while the orderly got Cliff into his wheelchair, Lisa scribbled a note on Evanston-Northwest Hospital notepad paper:
Dear Stacey,
My brother is being released today. All the staff members here have been so kind and considerate—except for you. You’re a lousy nurse. And you were all wrong about Dr. Swann.
Sincerely,
The Sister of “The Gay Guy in 308”
The Sister of “The Gay Guy in 308”
She knew it was immature and silly, but she felt the need to defend Dr. Swann, who had been so good to them. And Stacey was indeed a bad nurse. Someone had to tell her.
On the way to the elevator with the orderly and Cliff, she stopped by the nurses’ station and asked for an envelope. The nurse on duty was among the kind and considerate: Mira, a soft-spoken, petite Asian Indian woman in her mid-twenties. She’d already come in Cliff’s room to say good-bye. She reached into her desk and pulled out a blank envelope for Lisa. “We will miss you and Cliff,” she said in her quiet voice—with a hint of accent.
“Thank you, Mira,” Lisa said. She scribbled
Nurse Stacey Wagner
on the envelope, slipped in the note, and then handed it to her. “Could you make sure Stacey gets this?”
Nurse Stacey Wagner
on the envelope, slipped in the note, and then handed it to her. “Could you make sure Stacey gets this?”
Mira looked perplexed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Stacey no longer works here.”
“Really?” Lisa murmured. “What happened?”
“She quit the day before yesterday.”
“Did she give a reason for quitting?”
Mira shook her head, and then pushed the envelope across the counter toward her. “I’m sorry, I cannot say. Good-bye, Lisa.” She awkwardly turned away, and then started typing on the computer keyboard.
“Well, thank you anyway, Mira,” she managed to say.
The nurse just nodded, but didn’t look at her.
Lisa crumpled up the note and tossed it a trash can at the end of the corridor. Then she and the orderly wheeled Cliff into the elevator. As they rode down, she thought about Stacey quitting so suddenly. And she thought about how Mira couldn’t quite look her in the eye. She’d seemed so uncomfortable.
More than uncomfortable, she’d seemed scared.
Lisa should have seen the early warning signs then. But she’d been so happy to have her brother looking healthy and leaving the hospital. And she’d been so grateful to Glenn that nothing else had mattered at the time. Besides, she’d had a terrible crush on him.
She’d had no idea they would get involved any further than that. She’d had no idea what she was in for.
A chilly wind kicked up, and Megan quickly grabbed the salad container so it wouldn’t blow away. She tossed it in a nearby receptacle—along with her half-empty Diet Coke can. She glanced around the courtyard plaza one more time—just to make sure no one was watching her. As long as she knew Glenn Swann was a free man, she couldn’t help being on her guard.
Her cell phone rang again, giving her a start. She pulled it out of the pocket of her blazer and squinted at the little window for the caller ID. But the sun’s glare made it impossible to read. She sighed, and then pressed the answer button. “Hello?” she asked cautiously.
“Hello, Megan?”
“Yes?”
“This is Dan Lahart,” he said. “You know, your Matefinder date from last week? We had dinner at The Tin Table… .”
“Oh, hi, Dan,” she said. “It—it’s nice to hear your voice.”
“I got your email. Thanks very much. I just wanted to let you know, the feeling’s mutual.”
She had to think for a moment. It seemed so long ago that she’d sent him the note. She’d said she enjoyed meeting him and wanted to get together again. She’d sent the email just minutes before finding out that Glenn had been pardoned. But it may as well have been months. So much had changed in such a short while.
“Is there some night this week you might be free for dinner?” he continued. “My Saturday night is open… .”
Megan hesitated. She remembered how Dr. Glenn Swann had seemed so perfect when she’d first known him.
“I’m really sorry, Dan,” she said at last. “But something came up yesterday, and this week isn’t very good for me. In fact, I’ll be tied up for quite a while. But thank you, Dan. I really appreciate you calling.”
“Oh, well, okay,” he muttered. “Um, you have my number if you change your mind. Bye, Megan.” She heard him hang up on the other end.
“Good-bye,” she said to no one. Then Megan clicked off the line.
C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN
HAPTER
E
LEVEN
T
he coach had said he needed to improve his hook shot, so Josh stayed after practice to work on it. A couple of guys were horsing around at the other end of the court, shooting hoops. But Josh didn’t pay any attention to them. He was busy pretending he had a defender taller than him, and he tried to keep his body between his invisible opponent and the basketball.
Ball on fingertips, arc it over your head and release,
he told himself—again and again. But he was still missing the hoop most of the time. Hell, he even missed the damn backboard on a few tries.
he coach had said he needed to improve his hook shot, so Josh stayed after practice to work on it. A couple of guys were horsing around at the other end of the court, shooting hoops. But Josh didn’t pay any attention to them. He was busy pretending he had a defender taller than him, and he tried to keep his body between his invisible opponent and the basketball.
Ball on fingertips, arc it over your head and release,
he told himself—again and again. But he was still missing the hoop most of the time. Hell, he even missed the damn backboard on a few tries.
He didn’t notice when the other guys left. What he did notice was how every sound he made suddenly seemed louder and more intense in the huge, empty gym. Each bounce of the ball and every squeak of his gym shoes against the shiny wood floor echoed. The lower bleachers were folded up and stowed against the wall. The balcony bleachers, wrapping around three quarters of the gym, were vacant. Josh kind of liked the idea no was around to watch him screw up.
He’d lost track of the time. But he reached a point at which he kept flubbing, and told himself that if he sunk just one, he’d leave. He was about to retrieve the ball after yet another pathetic, failed attempt, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone in the upper bleachers—in the nosebleed section. Josh stopped in his tracks and turned around to see who it was. The bouncing basketball made a waning echo until it started to roll away, and then everything was silent.
The bleachers looked empty.
“Is somebody there?” Josh called, his voice piercing the stillness. He kept staring up at the balcony bleachers. There was a long, horizontal strip of fogged windows behind the top row, and he saw the shadows of tree branches outside swaying in the wind. It was starting to get dark. He glanced at the clock in the middle of the scoreboard: 5:50
PM
. He’d told his mother he would be home by now.
PM
. He’d told his mother he would be home by now.
“Anyone there?” he called again.
No answer. Josh felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He could have sworn he’d seen someone, but decided it was nothing.
He put the basketball away in the coach’s office, then shut the door. With one last look over his shoulder at the balcony bleachers, Josh headed out of the gym. He passed through a dim hallway—illuminated mostly by lights in the trophy display case against the wall. He hurried down a cinder-block stairwell off the hallway to the varsity locker room. The only freshmen who had lockers down there were on the basketball and football teams. The rest of the lockers belonged to upperclassmen on the varsity teams.
The swinging door let out a yawn as he pushed it and stepped inside. Josh was hit with the familiar waft of B.O., sweat socks, and bleach. He heard some guys laughing and carrying on as he headed toward his locker. He spotted three upperclassmen in one section of lockers. They were getting into their street clothes, and didn’t seem to notice him.
At his locker, he undressed and wrapped a towel around his waist. As he started toward the showers, he could hear the other guys’ laughter fading. It sounded like they were headed out. He heard the swinging door creak open, and then silence.
The shower area was one big, communal, tiled space with a dozen poles and five small showerheads on each pole. Josh was glad to have the place to himself. He’d just started to sprout pubic hair—finally. But he still felt self-conscious showering around other older guys in the varsity locker room. Some of them even had chest, back, and ass hair, for God’s sake.
Right now, he didn’t have to care, because no one else was around. He hung up his towel on a row of hooks by the shower area, then padded over the cold, wet tiles to one of the poles. He turned on the water, and it took a few moments to heat up. The industrial-strength soap that came out of the dispenser on the pole smelled a little like Comet, but he lathered up with it anyway. He even put it in his hair for shampoo.
Josh was about to rinse off his head when he noticed a row of lights go out in the far section of the locker room—near the entrance.
“Hey, somebody’s in here!” he called.
Soap ran down his forehead into his eyes. It stung. He quickly put his face under the spray. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced again toward the far section of the locker room, which was still dark.
Another two rows of lights suddenly went out. Half the locker room was shrouded in blackness.
“Hello?” Josh yelled. “Hey, somebody’s still in here! Turn the lights back on!” A panic swept through him. He frantically rinsed off as much soap as he could, then shut off the water. The pipes let out a surrendering squeak.
Another section of the locker room went dark.
“Hey, cut it out!” Josh yelled, his voice echoing. He shook his arms and swiped the excess water off his body. He figured those upperclassmen had come back, and decided to play a joke on the skinny, near-hairless freshman. But he didn’t hear any footsteps or laughing—only a steady drip from the showerhead he’d just used.
Suddenly the lights above him went out, and he couldn’t see anything.
“Damn it, turn the lights back on!” he cried out. “C’mon, this isn’t funny!” He had a feeling they might swipe his towel—or maybe his clothes. He couldn’t remember if he’d locked his locker.
Naked, wet, and shivering, he blindly made his way through the darkness. He couldn’t see anything, and had to grope around the poles in the shower area. His feet felt slippery and unsteady on the wet tiles. Any second now, he expected somebody to grab him. For all he knew, he could be walking right toward someone—someone with a knife or a razor blade. He remembered his mother calling earlier today, afraid some creep might be following him. Was this what she’d been worried about?
He suddenly walked smack into a pole. “Shit!” he hissed. His shoulder got the worst of it, banging into one of the knobs, but it still hurt. He stopped for a moment, trying to get his bearings, trying to distinguish something in all the blackness. A few small, fogged windows high up on one wall allowed a streetlight to shine through. Josh could just make out the shadows of the locker tops, and nothing else.
Then he heard something past the steady drip from the shower head. He heard a man sigh, and then chuckle.
Josh froze.
The man sounded very close.
“Who’s there?” Josh whispered.
His whole body was shaking as he tried to make his way to where he’d left his towel. He kept waving his hand in front of his face—until he found the row of hooks on the wall. “This isn’t funny, asshole!” he yelled, getting himself good and pissed off. Yet the tremor in his voice gave him away. He was utterly terrified. “God, don’t you have anything better to do?”
If only he could find his towel. He kept touching the hooks and running his other hand along the wall. A squeaking noise in the distance—and then a clatter—made him stop for a moment. It came from outside the locker room.
His foot brushed against something on the floor, and Josh realized it was his towel. He swiped it up and wrapped himself in it.
Someone opened the locker room door. He could hear it creaking. Then he spotted a shaft of light pouring in from the hallway. Then there was another sound, the squeaking noise again.
Suddenly the lights went on.
“Hello?” Josh called nervously. His heart was still racing.
With the towel around him, he stepped toward the locker area and gazed down the aisle. An older, stocky white-haired custodian stood just inside the swinging door. He was pushing a mop, which was inside a steel bucket on wheels. With the overhead lights reflected in his glasses, the janitor stared back at him.
Josh turned and saw the lights were still off above the shower area. Then he noticed the switch on the wall by the row of towel hooks. Whoever was screwing around with him had been standing right there.
Reaching over, he switched the shower area lights back on.
He looked at the custodian again. “Excuse me,” he called. “Did you see anybody run out of here just now?”
Leaning on his mop, the man shook his head.
“Okay,” Josh replied, a little out of breath. “Thanks.”
The janitor started mopping the floor.
Clutching the edges of the towel around his waist, Josh crept down a few rows of lockers, but he didn’t see anyone. He glanced over toward the bathroom area—with the urinals, toilet stalls, and sinks. He wondered if the guy was hiding there.
He imagined the culprit, some upperclassman bully, snatching his towel, knocking him down, and running out of there laughing.
Josh suddenly became more concerned about his clothes. Had they been stolen? Was that part of this prank? He hurried back to his locker. It was half-open, but his clothes were still there—including his cherished lightweight, zip-up jacket. It was orange with
Sunset Bowl
and a bowling pin on the back. He’d bought it this summer for thirty dollars at a secondhand shop; and then he’d read online that some collector said it was worth about three hundred fifty dollars. That didn’t keep Josh’s mom from hating the jacket and calling it “god-awful ugly.” But Josh loved it, and he was glad to find the jacket still in his locker. And his wallet was in his jeans pocket—thank God. He quickly got dressed.
Sunset Bowl
and a bowling pin on the back. He’d bought it this summer for thirty dollars at a secondhand shop; and then he’d read online that some collector said it was worth about three hundred fifty dollars. That didn’t keep Josh’s mom from hating the jacket and calling it “god-awful ugly.” But Josh loved it, and he was glad to find the jacket still in his locker. And his wallet was in his jeans pocket—thank God. He quickly got dressed.
With his jacket and his backpack on, Josh was still shaking when he reached his Schwinn—at the bike rack behind the school. There were still a few cars nearby in the faculty parking lot, but his was the only bicycle still chained to the bike rack. Josh was so rattled that it took him three tries before he finally got his lock combination right.
“Hey, there, you,” a woman called out.
Startled, Josh glanced over at the faculty lot. He saw a teacher he didn’t recognize, standing beside a silver SUV with the back door open. She was about thirty and skinny, with long, curly dark brown hair. She wore jeans and a purple jacket. “Could you help me get something out of here?” she called to him. “I’ve got a box of books, and it’s awfully heavy. You look like a strong guy… .”
Josh hesitated. He shoved his bike lock in his backpack, and then leaned the bag against his Schwinn. As he started toward her and got a closer look, she didn’t quite seem like a teacher after all. Her lipstick was dark, like something a goth girl would wear. When she smiled, he could see her teeth were bad.
Behind her, the SUV rocked a tiny bit.
Josh stopped in his tracks. All he could think was that someone was inside that car.
“You’re a lifesaver,” the woman said, smiling. She stepped aside and rolled the SUV’s door open farther.
“I—I’m sorry,” Josh heard himself say. He started to back away. “I can’t help you. I hurt my hand earlier… .”
“Hey, come back,” the woman called. “Isn’t your name Josh? Weren’t you on the news a while ago? Didn’t they give you a medal or something?”
He hurried toward his bike, grabbed his backpack, and strapped it on. “I’m sorry!” he said loudly. “I’m late for something! I need to go… .”
“Aren’t you some sort of hero?” she went on. “C’mon, back, Josh. Aren’t you going to help a damsel in distress?”
“I’m sorry!” he yelled, jumping on his bike.
He started pedaling. The bike felt wobbly at first. But then he realized he was shaking so much he couldn’t steer the handlebars. It took him a few moments before he stopped teetering. He could still hear her calling to him as he raced down the block.
He started for home and kept glancing back to make sure the SUV wasn’t following him. His hair was still damp, and his clothes clung to wet spots he hadn’t quite dried on his back and arms. He never did check the bathroom area near the shower room. And he hadn’t gotten quite close enough to that SUV to see if someone was really inside it.
He pedaled faster. The cool, fresh night air felt good—almost reassuring. But he could still smell that Comet-like scent from the soap he hadn’t washed away. He thought of how scared he’d been while lost in the darkness for those few minutes.
He wasn’t sure why, but it seemed like just the start of something.
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