Invasive Procedures Read online

  8

  PATIENTS

  Monica drew a map in her mind as she followed Galen down another series of corridors. Wyatt’s room was a good distance away now, and Monica wanted to know exactly how to return to it unaided if she had to. It was doubtful, she knew, that Galen would allow her to go anywhere without an escort, but the opportunity might arise. And even if it didn’t, she couldn’t stand the thought of not knowing precisely where Wyatt was in relation to her. The map was a mental string tying the two of them together. To lose herself in the labyrinth of the building was to lose Wyatt. And that was not going to happen.

  “What is this place?” she said. “This building, I mean. Before you came here.”

  “Not too much look at, is it?” said Galen.

  It wasn’t. Most of these halls, unlike those nearest the Core, were not under renovation—although they desperately needed it. These were old walls. With peeling wallpaper and grime and smelling heavily of mildew. The building still had the appearance of a hospital, but now of a hospital left empty and neglected for decades. The ceiling had water damage. The linoleum was cracked and badly stained in spots. And instead of bright fluorescent lights, a string of naked lightbulbs had been jerry-rigged to the ceiling, as if this weren’t a hallway, but a mine deep within the earth.

  “This used to be a retirement home,” said Galen. “Or in other words, a place for middle-aged people to drop off and forget about their aging parents.” He didn’t laugh.

  Behind Monica, Lichen still carried Jonathan, limp in his arms. Had she not checked Jonathan’s vitals herself, she’d think him dead.

  Two men in hooded black capes approached, each with his face buried in a book. The costume looked vaguely familiar to Monica. She had seen capes like this before but couldn’t place them. One of the men noticed Galen approaching and elbowed the other. They both stopped and stepped out of the way, making room.

  Galen nodded to them as he passed. “Brothers.”

  They nodded in return, then focused their attention on Monica. “That’s her,” she heard one of them whisper.

  She avoided their gaze and quickened her pace, looking over her shoulder twice to see if they were still there staring at her. They always were. She shuddered. It wasn’t until Galen turned down another corridor that the men in capes disappeared from sight and Monica relaxed.

  “Be at peace, Dr. Owens,” said Lichen. “You need not fear them. They will not harm you. And nor will I.”

  She studied his face and could see that he meant it. Like Stone, Lichen looked almost childlike. It was an odd conclusion, considering his size, and yet Monica couldn’t deny the gentle sweetness there.

  “What are you?” she said. “You and Stone?”

  “We are Healers,” Lichen said. “Men brought to their full potential. The prophet has made us stronger than evolution has made man.”

  She didn’t understand. Didn’t want to understand, really. But for some reason she felt certain that he would not, as he had said, hurt her.

  At least, not until Galen tells him to, she thought, coming to her senses. If the old man ever gave the order, she had no doubt that Lichen would obey.

  “Your patients are still a little shaken up, Dr. Owens,” said Galen, stopping at a closed door and dropping his voice to a near whisper. “It was quite a shock to their systems to be brought here, so a few of them are fairly resentful right now, especially Jonathan.” He gestured to the limp body hanging in Lichen’s arms. “This is the fourth time he’s tried to run off. It’s silly, of course. He has nowhere to go. It’s the drugs, I suspect. He can’t stand the withdrawal. It makes him desperate. I’m not too worried, though. He’ll come around eventually.”

  He paused for a moment to study Monica’s face. “You think I’m cruel, don’t you?” he said.

  Monica said nothing.

  “We’ve rescued him, Doctor. Think of that. We took a young man who was dead to the world and we gave him a second chance at life. I know you may think our methods are a little unorthodox, but consider what we’re accomplishing here. The world has turned its back on these people. We’re giving them a life they never thought possible.”

  He smiled.

  “Of course, they don’t see that yet. They don’t comprehend what we’re doing for them. And frankly, I suspect neither do you. But again, I don’t fault you for it. It’s too new. It’s too different from the world of medicine you know. But believe me, Dr. Owens. When all is said and done, I feel confident you’ll agree that we were in the right all along.”

  He opened the door and led them inside.

  A group of Healers, all large and all wearing black, were huddled near the door. They parted and grew quiet as Galen entered. Monica avoided looking directly at them but could feel them staring down at her.

  At the other end of the room stood four people, three men and one woman, all wearing matching green hospital scrubs.

  Galen pointed at each of them. “Dr. Owens, I present Byron, Nick, Dolores, and Hal.”

  The youngest of the bunch, Nick, a boy about Jonathan’s age, saw Jonathan’s limp body and ran toward him.

  “What did you do to him?” he said, looking fiercely at Galen.

  One of the Healers standing by, perhaps in an attempt to protect Galen, grabbed Nick and held him firmly.

  Nick kicked and thrashed and tried to free himself.

  “Let him go,” Galen said.

  The Healer released Nick, and he fell hard to the floor.

  Galen approached him and offered a hand to help him to his feet, but Nick pushed it away.

  “Get away from me,” he said.

  Byron came over and helped Nick stand up.

  “Thank you, Byron,” said Galen. “Now, I want everyone to calm down. Jonathan is fine. We had to give him a little dose of something so he’d sleep, but he’s not hurt. Lichen, put him in his bed and let him rest.”

  Lichen carried Jonathan to one of the many beds in the room and set him gently on it.

  Monica noticed how the patients gave Lichen plenty of room and then some.

  “This is Dr. Monica Owens,” said Galen. “She’s working with us now, and I want you all to give her the respect she deserves.”

  “If she’s working with you,” said Nick, “then she doesn’t deserve spit.”

  Galen looked at him coldly. “I’ll ignore that remark, Nick. And so will the rest of us.”

  Nick turned to Lichen, who now stood tall and erect beside him. He was clearly whom Galen was referring to. Nick hung his head and said nothing.

  Galen sighed. “Brothers, dear sister, let’s stop this behavior. Have I not given you more food than you could eat? A bed to lie on? Hot water to wash with? Clean clothes to wear? Dolores, did I not give you the feminine products you requested?”

  Mortified, Dolores turned away. The others kept silent.

  After what seemed to Monica like an eternity of awkwardness, Galen smiled. “There. See? Isn’t that better? We can all get along wonderfully if we simply try.”

  This was the real George Galen, Monica thought: not the one who talked fancy about gene sequencers, but the one who kidnapped and used people and acted as if he were doing them the biggest of favors. He was the most dangerous of men, because in his actions, he saw only good. He saw himself as a hero.

  Galen turned to Monica. “Check their vitals, Doctor. Let me know if they need anything. Medication, rest, exercise. I want them as healthy as possible. Lichen, stay and supervise. And see to it that Jonathan remains comfortable.”

  Lichen nodded, and Galen left with the other Healers.

  Lichen found a chair near the door. Monica stood alone in the middle of the room, all of her supposed patients staring at her, waiting.

  She tried to make sense of it all but couldn’t. Why were they her patients? Galen had said he needed a heart transplant. Did one of these people need a new heart? She doubted it. They were all relatively young and—with the exception of Dolores, who was slightly overweight—lo
oked fairly fit. Nick and Hal were a little thin for their height, yes, but that could be the result of high metabolism, not a weak heart.

  Monica smiled meekly and was about to speak when Hal threw his arms up. “I knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere,” he said with exasperation. “I knew it. The kid runs like a girl. It’s pathetic.”

  “Like a girl?” Nick shouted, getting in Hal’s face. “Well, at least he’s running. I don’t see you trying anything.”

  “Because I’m not an idiot. You think any of us is getting anywhere with him around?” Hal pointed to Lichen, who was watching the whole exchange without expression.

  Hal’s face softened. “No offense to you of course, Mr. Lichen,” he said. “Personally I find it appalling that Jonathan would even attempt such a thing. It shows a complete lack of respect for authority.”

  “Oh, you’re one to talk,” said Nick. “It was your idea to send someone for help in the first place.”

  Hal shoved Nick hard in the chest. The boy fell backward but was up in a flash, pushing Hal back, twice as hard. They were at each other’s throats when Byron pulled them apart. “Hey. Back off. Both of you.” He was between them now. “We won’t accomplish anything if we kill each other.”

  “Then you tell the little brat to keep his hands off me,” said Hal.

  Nick made a move to charge again, but Byron held him at bay. “That’s enough. Both of you. Now cool it.”

  Hal pushed Byron’s hand away and stalked off to his bed.

  “Contention is of the devil,” said Dolores. “I hope y’all know that. We won’t get no blessing with the two of you acting this way.”

  “Shut up,” said Hal. “We want a sermon, we’ll ask for it.”

  Dolores shook her head and spoke to Monica. “Men.” Then she crossed to her bed and lay down.

  Nick stormed off also and plopped down on the bed beside Jonathan’s. Only Byron remained. He put his hands together and smiled. “Well, Dr. Owens, let’s get this over with.”

  Monica wasn’t sure how to proceed. They were all watching her again, waiting for her to take action. She spotted a chair beside the nearest bed, but was hesitant to ask anyone to sit in it for an examination.

  “You want me to sit down?” Byron asked, following her eyes to the chair. “It might be easier to check my vitals if I sit down.”

  She nodded. “Yes, please.”

  He sat. She grabbed another chair and put it beside him. “Would you roll your sleeve up please?”

  She got out her equipment and checked him. His blood pressure was great. His temperature was normal. His heart rate was good. There was hardly an ounce of fat on his body. She asked him all the appropriate questions. He was thirty-five. He didn’t smoke, drink, or use drugs. He exercised regularly, watched his diet, and had no history of heart disease. Both of his parents were still living and healthy. In short, he was one of the healthiest persons Monica had examined in years.

  Byron was pleased to hear it. He even smiled and thanked her.

  Monica felt more comfortable now, in her element. Byron was a normal person. He wasn’t a Healer. He wasn’t a crazy, bearded old man. He was just a guy. And to top it off, he was no friend of George Galen. Monica gathered enough courage to speak with him openly.

  She lowered her voice. “You’re being held here against your will?”

  He looked surprised by the question. “Yes.”

  “Why? What do they want from you?”

  He whispered, “I don’t know. My car broke down a few days ago and I was hitchhiking to get to a phone when—”

  A deep voice boomed from the corner. “Examine them only please, Doctor.”

  Monica didn’t turn to look at Lichen. She worried that if she did he would take her expression as a show of defiance. Instead she bowed her head submissively and asked Byron to leave. He got up and went to his bed without another word.

  Dolores was in the examination chair before Monica even had a chance to ask the next person over. She had been waiting for Byron to leave apparently, but standing behind Monica so that Monica hadn’t noticed her.

  “I’m Dolores Arlington, in case you didn’t know already, and I figure you don’t know, since you don’t have a folder or any papers that I can see. Or do you have files on us that we don’t know about?” She looked suspicious.

  Monica was momentarily at a loss for words. “No, I don’t have any files on you, Dolores. But I am interested in your health. Would you mind answering a few questions for me?”

  Dolores laughed and shook her head. “Questions? Goodness.” She became quiet then, considering this. “You know, no one’s asked me any questions in a long time. And you know why nobody ever asks me any questions? Because nobody cares, that’s why. Because what I got to say and what I think don’t mean a hill a beans to nobody.”

  Monica stared at her, suddenly feeling sad. Dolores spoke with such simple conviction that it was clear she believed what she said. She wasn’t looking for pity. She was simply stating fact, as if reading from a textbook of her own life.

  “I care,” Monica found herself saying. And she meant it.

  Dolores looked at her oddly, as if Monica had spoken Chinese, then shrugged. “Ask away.”

  “Okay. Do you exercise?”

  “Oh, we’re getting right to it, are we? I mean, I know I could lose a few pounds. And I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking how can a homeless woman have a belly at all, right? I should be skinny as a rail, right?”

  Monica cocked her head. “Homeless?”

  “Homeless,” repeated Dolores. “As in without a home. I live on the street. We all do, except Byron over there. He’s a big-shot lawyer, only Galen thought he was a drifter and picked him up same as the rest of us. He needed people who wouldn’t be missed, know what I mean? Who’s gonna miss a few homeless, right? Answer: nobody. Only Byron isn’t homeless. Or at least so he says, and I believe him even if Hal doesn’t. You see, Byron’s car broke down. I used to own me a Chevy Nova, but the man who ran the trailer park, he had it towed after my Earl burned himself.”

  “All of you are homeless?” Monica said.

  “You got wax in your ears? Galen picked us up because we’re homeless. Nick over there thinks Galen’s got something in store for us. Something bad. Otherwise, why wouldn’t he just let us go?”

  Monica’s head was spinning. What did Galen want with five homeless people, or at least five people he thought were homeless? Why was he holding them here? Why was he holding her here? None of it made sense.

  She asked Dolores more questions and concluded that she had a good heart. So it couldn’t be Dolores that needed the transplant.

  She politely dismissed Dolores without giving her a full examination, and Dolores went back to bed.

  No one was waiting to take her place. In fact, neither Nick nor Hal moved from his bed or showed any desire to be examined at all.

  “So who’s next?” Monica asked.

  No answer.

  “It doesn’t hurt one bit,” said Dolores. “I don’t know what y’all are afraid of.”

  “Shut up,” said Hal. “Nobody asked you.”

  “You shut up,” Dolores said, her smile replaced with a snarl. “You keep barking like you own the place. But you’re just mad because you don’t have a bottle of liquor to suck on.”

  Hal hopped out of bed with clenched fists. “You’re going to have a fat lip if you don’t shut your mouth.”

  Lichen rose to his feet, and the mere movement of his massive frame changed the mood of the room immediately. Hal lowered his fists, and Dolores lay on her bed, deliberately turning her back to Hal.

  Monica stood. “It’s all right. I’ll check Jonathan. They can relax for now. I’ll examine them afterward.”

  Lichen considered this a moment before finally sitting back down.

  Monica relaxed and took her bag to Jonathan’s bedside. She rolled up his sleeve and saw over a dozen needle wounds. Most of them were swollen, and many of them
had been scratched to the point of bleeding. Heroin.

  She glanced at Nick, who was watching her closely now.

  “Jonathan is a friend of yours?”

  “What do you care?”

  “I just ask because you seemed eager to help him before.”

  Nick said nothing.

  Monica checked Jonathan’s temperature and blood pressure. “He has a fever. Was he hot like this before he tried to run?”

  Nick wouldn’t look at her.

  “I need to know because he may be having a reaction to the tranquilizer.

  No response.

  She pulled back Jonathan’s eyelids and saw that his pupils were highly dilated. Lichen had given him quite a dose of ketamine, no question.

  “He gets the shakes at night,” Nick said softly. “Sweats a lot, too. He’s been hot for two days now.”

  Monica nodded and took out her pad and wrote a prescription. It surprised her that she still remembered the names of drugs she hadn’t even thought about since her stint in the ER during her residency.

  “You’re going to give him some medicine?” Nick asked.

  “Jonathan is going through withdrawal. He’s very sick. If you’re a friend of his, and I think you are, I’d appreciate your encouraging him to get some rest. He shouldn’t scratch these sores. I’ll try and get a cream he should rub on them. That will ease the itching.”

  Nick looked at the floor. “What do you people want from us, huh?” he whispered. “Why you keeping us here? We didn’t do nothing to nobody. We weren’t hurting anything. But you got us as prisoners here. Why?” His eyes were welling with tears.

  Monica wanted to cry also. She wanted to tell him that she was a prisoner as much as he was. She wanted to tell him about Wyatt, how they had taken him and frightened him and how she didn’t know if they were going to let her and Wyatt live once she had finished whatever it was they had brought her here to do.

  But she said nothing because suddenly Lichen’s voice boomed from across the room.

  “No more questions!”

  After that, Monica examined Nick and Hal in silence, which was perfectly fine with Hal, who Monica could see was in no mood to talk anyway.