And always the nagging question, Is it worth it? Seemingly, it was the question on everyone else’s mind. She couldn’t afford to let her mind dwell on it. At least not overtly. Her attitude had to be steadfast, uncompromising. She was convinced that the moment she faltered, St. Vincent’s would come tumbling down. In this, she was not much mistaken.
“Oh!”
In her startled outcry, she scared both herself and the elderly gentleman who had just exited his room at her left.
She recovered quickly. “I’m sorry I startled you. Are you all right?”
“Whatinhell!” the old man muttered. “Goddam women! Gotta scream all the time! Scare a guy shitless, you let ’em. All the time gotta scream. Goddam women! “
“I said I was sorry. May I help you with something?”
“Goin’ to the bathroom. Can do that without you. Did it for years. Just don’t scream no more. Or I won’t have to go to the bathroom no more. Goddam women! Gotta scream all the time!” Muttering, he proceeded down the hall.
Eileen couldn’t suppress a smile. In the good old days, she would have been wearing a traditional religious habit. The old man had not recognized her as a nun. Undoubtedly, he would have been mortified if she had identified herself.
But it was odd. Twice tonight she had been frightened. That never happened.
She offered herself the simple excuse that both the nurse and the elderly patient had come out of nowhere suddenly, unexpectedly. It was the element of surprise that had frightened her. Nothing to worry about.
Though she was able to rationalize the episodes of fright, Eileen could not shake the feeling that something was different here tonight.
She shrugged the apprehension away. You could not function in a hospital in this part of town if you allowed yourself to be the victim of panic. It was either be brave and face this reality with confidence in God, or strike one’s tent and move on.
It was odd that she had encountered only the charge nurse and the bathroom-bound patient. True, she had not yet seen the missing aide, Helen Brown. That was not untoward; Helen might very well be occupied in another wing. But the absence of a security guard bothered her. She certainly should have passed one by now.
“Uh—!” Eileen had not screamed since she was a teenager. She tried to scream now. But no sound escaped through the large muscular hand that covered her mouth. His other arm slid under her chin, pressing hard into her neck.
She felt her body being lifted. She squirmed and struggled, but could not break free. Had she ever imagined such a thing might happen, she would have thought she’d be brave. But she was terrified.
It was ungainly, but she kicked and flailed. The more she struggled, the tighter grew the grip on her neck. An opaque pall dimmed her vision, intensifying her panic. Her heart pounded. A mounting sense of dizziness enveloped her.
Fearing she would never awake, she fought the lowering darkness. Yet she welcomed it as an escape from the pain and terror.
She gagged and lost consciousness as her assailant dragged her into room 3009.
* * *
Things have to be very serious before the sacred routine of a hospital is demolished. This, then, could be described as a very serious situation.
The CEO had been all but murdered. By a deranged, chemically dependent escapee from the detox unit. Sister Eileen had been saved, at the last moment, by George Snell, one of the hospital’s security officers.
The corridor lights had been turned up throughout 3-D. Many of the patients had awakened; several were wandering about the rooms and hallways. As many of the staff as could be assembled were present. Chief Martin, head of security, was presiding.
Once the resident on duty determined that Sister Eileen, beyond a few bruises and some diminishing fear, was all right, she had been placed in a bed and mildly sedated.
“Now, you wanna run that by me again? From the top?” Martin was pardonably skeptical at the tale of Snell’s singular skill, bravery, and efficiency.
“Well”—Snell basked in the figurative spotlight—“I turned the corner down there”—pointing toward the corridor’s dead end—“and I seen this guy grab Sister and start to drag her into this room.”
“Uh-huh. Then?”
“Then I got down here fast as I could. When I got in the room, he was chokin’ her. So I hit him. And he fell. And when he did, he let go of her. Then he hit his head on the bed and he was out cold. Then I called you. And you know what happened from then.”
“Uh-huh. Where did you hit the guy?”
“In the mouth . . . the face, I guess.”
Chief Martin studied the unconscious patient who was being attended by the resident. “Hey, doc, there any marks on that guy’s face? Like he’s been hit or somethin’?”
“No . . . no,” the resident said, “I don’t see any. Just this big bump on the back of his head where he hit the bed frame.”
“So,” Martin turned back to Snell, “if you hit him, how come he got no marks on his face?”
Pause. “Maybe I pushed him ... it all happened so fast.”
“Uh-huh.” Martin continued to ponder the scene. None of Snell’s story jibed with Snell’s previous proclivity to uninvolvement. But Martin was unable to come up with any alternative to Snell’s story.
There was one present who could come up with a different story. However, for many reasons, not the least of which was a personal interest in not having the facts revealed, Helen Brown wasn’t talking. But, barely able to stifle a smile, Ms. Brown recalled those events very clearly.
After his award-winning performance in disrobing both himself and her, Snell had propelled them onto the mattress with such enthusiasm that the bed slid several inches closer to the window.
Minutes passed as seconds. Snell seemed insatiable. No sooner was one episode concluded than another began. Ms. Brown had no way of telling how long that had gone on when she heard an unexpected and inexplicable sound in the corridor.
“George,” she stage-whispered, “somebody’s out there!”
“Shh! This is no time for small talk. “
“Come on, George!” Struggling to get out from under. “George! Somebody’s out there!”
Snicker.
“George, somebody’s fighting out in the hall!”
“And I’m fightin’ in here. I’m fightin’ to keep goin’ for you, baby.”
“George, don’t you think you ought to investigate?”
“I am, baby. And I like what I find!”
“George! George! They’re coming in here! George, they’re fighting! George, it’s a man, and he’s choking somebody! George!”
“Now, baby, get ready: Here comes the Snell Maneuver!”
Snell appeared to be going through a procedure not unlike a cowboy mounting a horse. Halfway through that maneuver, Helen Brown pushed him. She shoved with all her strength. It was enough.
Caught unaware, he toppled out of bed and, with momentum building, rolled across the floor. In rolling, he made contact. In effect, Snell took the man’s legs right out from under him, much the same as a roll block in football.
The man dropped Sister Eileen’s body and, tumbling over Snell, fell, hitting his head against the metal bed frame.
George Snell got to his feet and surveyed the scene. A detox patient, in pajamas and robe, unconscious. The CEO, unconscious. A nurse’s aide, conscious and naked, in bed.
This was the part from which Helen Brown never completely recovered. Snell wanted to get back in bed and continue with what he promised was the storied Snell Maneuver.
It was all Ms. Brown could do to dissuade him from his maneuver and persuade him to: get dressed and allow her to do the same, fabricate a believable explanation for what had happened—without ever coming close to
