Stealing Faces - Michael Prescott [113]
The shoes stopped squeaking. A momentary silence. Then with surprising abruptness the small window filled with Nurse Cunningham’s face, a face both stern and sad.
“Yes, Kaylie?” Spoken through the glass.
“I need to talk to you.” That was good, it had come out fine, it had sounded calm and lucid.
“Go ahead.”
“Can you open the door?”
“I’m afraid not.” Hesitation. “I saw what you did to Dr. Cray. That was bad, Kaylie. You mustn’t keep misbehaving like that.”
Cray? What had she done to him? Oh, yes, scratched his cheek—a few lines of blood, quickly dabbed up with a handkerchief.
“I need your help,” Kaylie whispered.
The nurse tapped her ear impatiently, and Kaylie realized the words had been inaudible through the glass.
She repeated herself more loudly. “I need your help.”
“We all want to help you.”
“No, that’s not true. Dr. Cray doesn’t want to help me. He wants to kill me.”
“Oh, Kaylie.” No trace of belief in the nurse’s voice, only a tired pity.
“It’s true. I know it sounds ... I know you think I’m ... But I’m not.”
She had been in this situation before, she was sure of it—insisting she wasn’t crazy, warning of the danger Cray posed, and hearing only patronizing solicitude....
The 911 call. Yes. This was like that.
Time had passed, things had happened, but nothing ever changed.
No one listened. No one believed. No one cared. No one could be counted on. No one anywhere, ever.
“It’s true!” she screamed in a rush of uncontainable frustration, and suddenly she was beating her fists on the glass and weeping. “It’s true, why won’t anybody help me, what’s wrong with all you people, what’s the matter with you?”
“That’s enough!”
Nurse Cunningham barked the command, startling Kaylie into stillness.
“Now,” the nurse added more gently, “just get hold of yourself. I know what the problem is, and I’ve taken steps to fix it.”
Kaylie heard this without comprehension. “Steps?” she echoed blankly.
“It’s the medicine you’re taking. It doesn’t seem to work at this dosage. But I’ve spoken with Dr. Cray, and he’s agreed to consider lowering the dose, starting tomorrow. That should help you, Kaylie. If it doesn’t, we’ll try something else.”
Kaylie lowered her head, worn out. “He was lying,” she said softly, no longer caring if the nurse could hear. “He knows I’ll be dead tomorrow.”
“You won’t be dead, Kaylie. You’re just imagining things, that’s all.”
“Don’t let him in my room.”
“Kaylie—”
“That’s all I’m asking.” She looked through the window again, trying one last time to reach the nurse. “Just for tonight. Don’t let him in my room.”
“There’s no reason Dr. Cray would be visiting your room tonight.”
“But if he shows up—don’t let him see me.”
“He won’t show up.”
“Don’t let him see me.”
The nurse looked away, fatigue written in the puffy flesh under her eyes, the slack muscles of her face. “Dr. Cray is the director of the institute,” she answered tonelessly. “If he needs to see you, Kaylie, of course I have to let him.”
No hope then.
No chance.
Told you, Justin chortled, but Kaylie barely heard.
“All right,” she mumbled, surrendering.
“I have to check on another patient. Okay?”
“Go ahead.” The nurse began to move away, when Kaylie added for no reason, “After I’m dead, you’ll know he did it.”
Nurse Cunningham frowned sadly. “Kaylie, don’t think that way. It doesn’t help you to get better.”
“After I’m dead,” Kaylie repeated stubbornly, “you’ll know. He did it. Remember that. Will you remember that, at least?”
“Dr. Cray would never hurt you, Kaylie. He would never hurt anyone.”
Kaylie sagged. She pressed her face against the glass, feeling its cold kiss.
“You bitch,” she whispered. “Stupid, stupid bitch.”
“I’m sorry,” Nurse Cunningham said from what seemed like a great distance.
Kaylie didn’t respond.
“Your dinner will be here shortly,” the nurse added, as if this would make everything better.
“Don’t want dinner.”
“You need to eat. You had no breakfast, no lunch.”
“Not hungry,” she said, though she was.
“I hate to see you starve yourself, Kaylie.”
Cray was going to