Or something worse. What if during the surgery Dr. Verrick had cut a nerve he wasn’t supposed to, and C.B.’s voice was the result of hemorrhaging or injured neurons or something? He’d tried to warn her about complications, but she hadn’t listened, and now here she was with brain damage.
The intern was looking at her worriedly.
“Yes, I remember how I got here,” she said, and knew instantly that she’d made a mistake. It meant she’d yanked out her IV and come down here on purpose, and his next question would be “Where were you going?”
“I mean, I remember getting out of bed…,” she said, “and then…” She frowned as if trying to recall. “I guess I must have gotten turned around looking for the bathroom and thought this was the door to my room…”
But the intern didn’t look satisfied with her answer. “What was in the lobby?” he asked. “When your boyfriend called, he said you’d called him and mentioned something about the lobby, and he was afraid you might try to go down there.”
The nurse nodded. “He said he was afraid you might have tried to take the stairs.”
It isn’t the anesthesia or brain damage, Briddey thought. It’s real. And so is telepathy.
She supposed she should be relieved she wasn’t brain-damaged or hemorrhaging, but this was even more of a nightmare. And if she let this line of questioning go on, her nurse was going to remember that she didn’t have her phone and couldn’t have called anyone. And that her boyfriend was here in the hospital, recovering from an EED, too, and phoneless, and then it really would be a nightmare.
“It’s a good thing he told us to check the stairs,” the nurse was saying, “because hardly anyone uses them. Why did you—?”
“I don’t know,” Briddey said, reaching unsteadily for the intern’s arm. “Oh, dear, I guess I am feeling a little dizzy.”
It did the trick. The intern stopped asking questions and started giving orders, and they got her up the stairs, into a wheelchair, and back to her room in record time. The floor nurse and the nurse’s aide helped her into a clean hospital gown and then into bed.
She was still shivering. “I’m so cold,” she murmured as the nurse smoothed the covers over her.
“No wonder,” the nurse said. “It was like a freezer in that stairway.” She hung the new IV bag on the stand. “As soon as we finish here, I’ll get you another blanket.”
“You’re lucky your boyfriend called,” the nurse’s aide said. “You could have been down there for ages. We didn’t even know you weren’t in your room.”
The nurse glared at her. “Go get a blanket,” she said sternly.
The aide scuttled out. As soon as she was gone, Briddey said, “You don’t have to tell Dr. Verrick about this, do you? I was dopey from the anesthetic, and I got confused—”
“That’s what your boyfriend said when he called,” the aide said, reappearing in the doorway, sans blanket. “He was so upset. He said if we didn’t find you immediately, he was going to tear the hospital apart.”
“I thought I told you to go get a blanket,” the nurse said.
“I don’t know where they are.”
“They’re in—never mind, I’ll show you in a minute.” She reached for Briddey’s chart.
If she looks at it, she’ll see I had an EED and realize my boyfriend must have had one, too. “Could you get me that blanket now?” Briddey asked plaintively. “I’m so cold.”
“Right away,” the nurse said. “Now, your call button’s right there.” She clipped it to the sheet by Briddey’s hand. “Call if you need anything. You promise you won’t run off again while I’m gone?”
There’s nowhere to go, Briddey thought hopelessly. Wherever I go, he’ll be there, inside my head. “I’ll stay put,” she said. “I promise.”
“Good,” the nurse said, and went out, but seconds later a student nurse came in, ostensibly to refill Briddey’s water jug but obviously to check on her, and a minute later a different intern came in to ask her the same questions the first intern had, followed by an orderly with a mop.
But no nurse’s aide with a blanket, and her teeth were starting to chatter again. “Could I get a blanket?” she asked the orderly.
“I’ll tell your nurse to bring you one,” he promised and went out.
I thought they’d never leave, C.B. said. Are you okay?
“Yes, no thanks to you,” she said, and then glanced anxiously at the door. If someone came in and caught her talking to herself, they’d definitely call Dr. Verrick. Go away, she said silently. You’ve caused enough trouble.
Look, Briddey, I’m really sorry. If I’d known my talking to you would spook you into taking off, I’d never have—
Gotten an EED?
What? C.B. said blankly.
It’s the only explanation. When did you have it done? Right after you found out Trent and I were going to do it?
What? Why the hell would I have an EED? I was the one who tried to talk you out of it, remember?
That could have been a trick to throw me off. So I wouldn’t realize you were getting one, too.
Oh, right, he said sarcastically. I thought, Having a hole drilled in your head so you can exchange warm fuzzies is a great idea! I think I’ll get one, too.
“No,” she said, speaking aloud in her anger. “To keep me from—”
The student nurse who’d filled her water jug popped her head in the door. “Did you need something?” she asked.
She must have been stationed outside my door the whole time to stop me from bolting again, Briddey thought.
Which is an excellent idea, C.B. said, since you clearly can’t be trusted to take care of yourself.
And there went the last shred of hope that it was a bug, because the student nurse gave no sign that she’d heard C.B. at all. She was looking at Briddey with concern. “Are you all right?”
No, Briddey thought. “Yes,” she said. “I was trying to find my call button. Can you find out what happened to the extra blanket they were supposed to bring me?”
“Oh, sure,” the student nurse said, and disappeared.
Nice save, C.B. said the moment she was gone, but from now on you probably shouldn’t talk to me out loud.
I don’t intend to talk to you at all, she said. I can’t believe you did that.
Let me get this straight, he said. You think I found out about you and Trent having the EED and decided to steal a march on him? How exactly am I supposed to have done that when Dr. Whatzisname’s got a waiting list as long as my arm? And when? I saw you this morning at Commspan.
You could have raced over here and paid some patient to let you go first, or…A horrible thought struck her. What if he’d told the doctor he was Trent? That would explain why she couldn’t hear Trent, because he’d never had the EED at all, and C.B. was talking to her not from Commspan but from right here in the—
Are you kidding? C.B. said. Hospitals are really big on making sure they’re operating on the right body part, let alone the right person. Or do you think I stole his ID, too, and tied him up in my lab, all so I could have a surgery I told you was a terrible idea? And, anyway, aren’t you forgetting something? Doesn’t a couple have to be emotionally bonded for the EED to work?
If you’re trying to say we’re emotionally bonded—
I’m saying, according to what you told me about the EED, it wouldn’t have done any good for me to get one unless—
Shh, she said. She’s coming back with my blanket.
She can’t hear me, remember? Or you. Unless you forget and start talking out loud again.
It wasn’t the student nurse. It was the resident on duty, accompanied by yet another nurse. “I understand you took a little hike tonight,” the resident said jovially, looking at her chart. “Any ill effects?”
Yes, C.B. said. A huge persecution complex.
Shut up. “No,” she said to the resident.
“No more dizziness?” the resident asked, and took her through the litany of questions agai
n. “Double vision? Headache?”
Making ridiculous accusations? C.B. said.
Go away.
The resident and the nurse were looking at her curiously. Oh, God, she thought. Did I say that out loud?
No, C.B. said.
Then they must have asked her a question. Which she hadn’t heard because C.B. was talking to her. “Sorry, what?” she asked the resident.
“I said, have you experienced any unusual sensations? Tingling? Numbness?”
“No.” Numbness would mean they were worried about pressure on a nerve. Could the edema they’d talked about be pressing on something and causing the problem? Or could it be pushing two pathways together? Adjoining electronic circuits often crossed over each other, causing interference with the signal, so that you got a different channel or radio station than the one you were tuned into. Maybe the brain’s circuits operated the same way, and C.B.’s voice was some kind of resulting crosstalk.
“What about blurred vision?” the resident was asking.
“No.”
He scrolled through her chart, checked her bandage, and then said, “All right, try to get some sleep. And no more moonlight strolls. If you need the bathroom, use your call button.” He started out of the room.
The nurse, who up till now had stood there silently, asked, “Is there anything I can get you?”
“Yes,” Briddey said. “A blanket. I’m freezing.”
Uh-oh, C.B. said. I don’t think you should have said that.
He was right. The nurse and the resident exchanged worried looks, and the resident came back over to the bed. “Have you been having chills?” he asked sharply.
“No. It was just cold in the stairway, and I—”
They didn’t buy it. The resident insisted on listening to her lungs, and it was obvious from his questions that he thought she’d contracted pneumonia. Briddey had to convince him that she didn’t need her lungs X-rayed, wasn’t having difficulty breathing, had no intention of even getting out of bed again, let alone wandering off barefoot, and there was no reason to report any of this to Dr. Verrick.
Finally, after listening to her lungs one more time, the resident departed, and the nurse said, “I’ll tell your nurse to bring you a blanket,” and left, too.
Briddey expected C.B. to immediately start up again, but he didn’t. The nurse didn’t bring the blanket either. After ten minutes Briddey decided they’d forgotten, and in spite of the uproar it would cause if they caught her out of bed, she was about to go fetch her robe from the closet when she heard the nurse coming. Thank heavens. Much longer, and she would have contracted pneumonia.
Only it wasn’t the nurse. It was C.B. She recognized the shaggy outline of his hair in the light from the corridor. “What are you doing here?” she said. “Go away.”
“I can’t,” he whispered, shutting the door. “There’s an orderly out there mopping the corridor. He nearly caught me as it was. You wouldn’t want him to tell Trent he saw a strange man coming out of your room in the middle of the night, would you?”
She sat up. “Why—?”
“Shh,” C.B. said, putting a finger to his lips. “He’s right outside.” He tiptoed over to the door and listened for a minute. “Okay, he’s moved down toward the nurses’ station.” He pulled the door shut and came over to the foot of the bed.
Briddey switched on the light. He looked even scruffier and more thrown together than he had at Commspan, his dark hair a tangled mess. His T-shirt and sweat pants were badly wrinkled, as if he’d snatched them from that pile on the sofa in his lab, and the hood of his jacket was half caught inside the neck. “Why are you here?” she whispered.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said. “Sorry it took me so long. When I got here, they’d already brought you back to your room and there were a bunch of people around, so I waited till they’d left, and then I had trouble sneaking past the nurses’ station. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she whispered, frowning. He was talking to her. Out loud. Her heart lifted. It had been a dream after all.
Afraid not, C.B. said. And no, I’m not a ventriloquist. He pointed at her water jug. If you want proof, I can drink a glass of water and talk at the same time. No, wait, ventriloquists can do that, so it wouldn’t prove anything, would it?
“No,” she said, but it did because he was just standing there, looking worriedly at her and not saying a word, and she could hear him perfectly.
Here, he said, and sat down on the bed beside her.
She shrank away from him. “What do you think you’re—?”
Shh. The orderly, remember? He turned his head away and pulled his hair up away from his neck. No shaved patch, no stitches, no scar.
“Show me the other side.”
It can’t be on the other side. The area of the brain the EED—
“Show me.”
Fine, he said, and turned his head, lifting his hair on the other side. There wasn’t a shaved patch there either.
He stood up. Now do you believe me? I didn’t have a rush-job EED, I didn’t bug your room, and I didn’t drop a two-way radio into your brain while Dr. Whatzisname wasn’t looking. I was just sitting in my lab, minding my own business, when you started talking to me.
“I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to Trent.”
Well, you should have been more specific. All I heard—
“And stop doing that. It’s creepy. Talk out loud.”
“Fine,” he said in a low voice after glancing toward the corridor. “All I heard was you asking, ‘Are you there?’ and I was, so I answered you.”
“But you weren’t supposed to be there. And what are you doing here now? I thought you said you hated hospitals.”
“I do,” he said, “and you’re Exhibit A of why. They lose track of patients, they try to freeze them to death.” He looked around. “Jesus, this room’s even colder than my lab.”
“The nurse who was just in here is bringing me a blanket.”
“Wanna bet? She was the hot little brunette, right?” Briddey didn’t dignify that with an answer. “She went off duty fifteen minutes ago. And the rest of the staff have spent the last twenty minutes having a confab at the nurses’ station, trying to decide whether to call Dr. Whatzisname—”
“Dr. Verrick.”
“—about your little escapade.”
“What did they decide?”
“I don’t know. They were still at it when I came in here, but it seemed to be split fifty-fifty between waiting till morning and not telling him at all.”
Please let it be the latter, she thought. But if they were all at the nurses’ station, she’d never get her blanket. And she must have accidentally voiced that thought because C.B. immediately took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Here,” he said. “Better?”
“Yes.” She reached to pull it around her.
“Jesus, what’s that?” he said, staring at her hand. “It’s all bruised.” He grabbed it up. “I thought you told me you were okay.”
“I am okay,” she said, snatching her hand back. “It’s nothing.”
“That happened when you pulled out your IV, didn’t it?”
“No,” she said. “The nurse had trouble getting it started. She had to make several tries.”
“Lying doesn’t work when you’re telepathic,” he said. “I can read your mind, remember? Look, Briddey, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, and certainly not so badly that you’d do something like this. I mean, I know suddenly finding yourself able to talk mind-to-mind with somebody’s kind of a surprise—”
“A surprise?” she said, her voice rising. “A sur—”
“Shh. They’ll hear you.”
“I want them to hear me. I want them to call Dr. Verrick and tell him something went wrong so he can—”
“What? Drill another hole in your head?”
“No, fix this. Uncross our circuits and get rid of the crosstalk—”
??
?This isn’t crosstalk,” C.B. said. “It doesn’t work like that. Although…,” he said. He frowned.
“So you’re admitting it could be crosstalk,” she said. “And if it is, Dr. Verrick can uncross the circuits or unsplice the synapse and hook it to the right one or something.” She reached for the call button.
“No, don’t do that,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Because, as you told me yourself, people don’t believe telepathy exists, and even if it did, the EED doesn’t make people telepathic. So let’s say you tell him you’re hearing my voice in your head. Either he’s going to transfer you to the psych ward or he’s going to say, ‘But for a connection like that to happen, there’s got to be emotional bondage—’ ”
“Bonding!”
“Whatever. He’s going to say, ‘If you’re hearing Mr. Schwartz, then that must mean you two are—’ ”
“He will not,” she said. “I’ll explain what happened—”
“Which is what? You called to your boyfriend and somebody else answered? Forget Verrick. How’s that explanation going to fly with Trent?”
C.B. was right. If she told Trent she’d connected to someone else—and C.B., of all people—
“Thank you very much,” C.B. said.
You weren’t supposed to hear that.
“I know. Which is why telepathy’s a terrible idea.”
“I just meant—”
“I know exactly what you meant. I can read your mind, remember? It’s okay. I am well aware of what a comedown I am from the rising young executive and his Porsche. Still, it could have been worse. Think of all the sleazeballs and perverts and people who think they’ve been abducted by aliens out there. You could’ve ended up being connected to one of them. Or to a knife-wielding serial killer like the one you lied to the nurse about. Or a religious nut who believes the world’s going to end next Tuesday.”
The world’s already ended, she thought.
“Not even close,” he muttered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. You were saying?”
“You were right. I can’t tell Trent,” she said. “Not until I’ve figured out what’s causing this and how to remedy it. And you can’t tell him either. Or anybody else at Commspan.”