chapel channel, which, most of the time, showed a large, empty ornate chapel. Patients were fed three meals a day plus an evening snack, according to doctors’ orders.
A kind of climax was reached in late afternoon. After which came a gradual decrescendo.
Dinner was followed by prime-time TV and/or visitors. At 8:00 p.m., visiting hours ended and night prayers were broadcast.
Most employees had gone home, thus the hospital tempo slowed. There was a last-ditch effort to supply patient needs. After 10:00 p.m., in effect, the patients would not be needed until morning.
It was now just a few minutes after ten. All corridor overhead lights were off. Floor-level night-lights gave only scant illumination to hallways.
George Snell, a burly security guard, was on duty.
There was no reason anyone should have rested easily on that account. Though widely recognized for his prowess as a ladies’ man, George was by no means the most reliable member of a security force that was hardly topflight. It was, when all was said and done, the best security service St. Vincent’s could afford.
George, supported by both arms, was leaning against a wall on floor 3-D. Between him and the wall was a nurse’s aide, also theoretically, on duty, but who George knew could be talked into a short break.
“How about it, baby? How’s about a little?”
“I’ll say this for you, George,” replied the virtually imprisoned aide, “you sure have a way about you.”
“Yeah.”
“Why, you could charm a girl right out of her better judgment.”
“That’s the idea.”
“I know what the idea is, George. But we are on duty.”
“Duty, rootie. Everybody’s asleep.”
“No, they’re not, George. And if one of them rings that little bell at the nurses’ station, the charge nurse is gonna start wonderin’ where I am.”
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll cover for you.” He winked elaborately.
“And you’re supposed to be on duty, too. What if something happens?”
“What’s gonna happen at old St. Vinnie’s? The hospital’s asleep and this end of downtown’s deserted. We’re the only ones awake.” He leaned closer.
“Well . . .” she vacillated, “where can we go?”
“I got that all figured out, baby. Room 3009 is a single and it’s vacant.”
“A single! For you? And me, too?”
“We will be as one.”
“A pretty big one.”
“Baby, we can stand here and talk about it all night. Or we can get it on.”
“Okay. But I got a hunch we’re gonna be sorry.”
“Baby, one thing I can promise you, you ain’t gonna be sorry.”
They made their way, she leading, down the hall to 3009. As she entered the room, she heard a dull plop behind her. She couldn’t believe her eyes. His clothing was in a heap on the floor. He must’ve been loosening everything on their way down the hall. If it were an Olympic event, George would win a gold medal for disrobing.
So there it was.
Two things seemed evident: He was ready and she was not likely to be sorry.
Lay on, George Snell.
* * *
Late evening—a quarter past ten—her time of day.
Sister Eileen had finished her paperwork. No one had disturbed her since night prayers at eight o’clock. Slowly, gradually, gratefully, her body chemistry was tapering off.
It’s funny, she thought, how, over the years, she had become so attuned to hospital routine that she and St. Vincent’s had become as one. Something like a couple who have been married a great number of years. The hospital’s ebb and flow was matched by her own emotional highs and lows.
As the patients and, in a sense, the hospital also, began to drift into quiescence, so did she.
As was her custom, Eileen would take one final tour of the various floors before bedtime. The pattern conformed to all the routines she had built up over the years. This was her time of silent prayer and reflection as she figuratively tucked the hospital in.
The night-lights gave an eerie glow to the otherwise darkened hallways. As she walked down the corridors she could hear the old building. Each evening it seemed that St. Vincent’s was settling further into the ground. It wasn’t true, of course; it simply was the sort of sound an old, well-constructed building makes.
The sound of deep, restful breathing emanated from most of the darkened rooms. Sleep, induced or natural, but a peaceful sound. A few patients still had their TV sets on. It was against the rules at this hour. But Sister would do nothing unless the noises were loud enough to disturb other patients.
There was something different about this evening. Eileen could not put her finger on it. But something was different. Was it a foreboding? She couldn’t tell. Just that tonight was different. Shivering, she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
From time to time, she passed by a window to the outside world. A solid coating of snow covered everything but the sidewalks around the hospital. The long-standing snow contributed its unreal glow to the dimly lit surroundings.
And the sirens. Always the sirens. Emergency vehicles delivering frightened, ill, or injured people to St. Vincent’s or one of the neighboring hospitals. Or a police car delivering someone in handcuffs to police headquarters.
“Hello, Sister.”
“Oh!” It was so unexpected. She had thought she was alone. But she’d been so deep in reverie, she had been unaware that the charge nurse had caught up and joined her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“You didn’t frighten me.” Eileen would not admit that anything in her hospital could frighten her. “I just didn’t hear you.”
“It’s these shoes. Plus I get in the habit of creeping around at night. How’s everything?”
Such a big question. “Okay, I guess. Just making some rounds before bedtime.”
The nurse was well acquainted with this routine, as was the rest of the staff. The joke had it that wristwatches could be confidently set depending on where Sister Eileen was in her nocturnal rounds.
“By the way, Sister, you haven’t seen Helen around, have you?”
“Helen?”
“Helen Brown, one of my aides. You know her.”
“Of course. No, I haven’t seen Helen. As a matter of fact, now that you mention it, I haven’t seen anyone but you so far. And I should have passed one of the guards by now.”
“The guards!” The nurse threw up her hands. “What next? I think the hospital should hire some agency to protect the guards.”
“Could Helen be in one of the patients’ rooms?”
“I suppose that’s where she must be. But she’s been gone longer than usual. I just wondered. I guess there’s nothing to worry about.”
“I don’t think so either. But I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Oops! There goes the phone.” The nurse hurried back toward her station where the phone was buzzing softly.
The guards! Eileen could make all the resolutions she wished and nothing would happen. This service, while it left very much to be desired, was the best St. Vincent’s could afford. Perhaps it was fortunate that police headquarters was on the next block.
Nevertheless, she would speak to John Haroldson, the COO, tomorrow. Perhaps he could get some favorable response from the service.
Dear God, how much longer could she keep this institution going? Sometimes she dreamed that she was literally Scotch-taping and tying string around St. Vincent’s to keep it together.
