left, Gulp-a-pill wrote out a scrip, which he handed to another nurse.
Lanky seemed oblivious to the attention he was drawing.
He was talking rapidly to himself, arguing back and forth, as he pushed the food on his plate about into a rapidly congealing mess. He gulped at a glass of water, gestured once or twice wildly, pointing at the air in front of him, his bony index finger jabbing the space, as if punching the chest of no one in front of him as he made a dramatic point to no one who was there. Then, just as rapidly, he would lower his face, and stare at his food, and return to mumbling to himself.
It was near dessert, squares of lime green Jell-O, when Lanky finally looked up, as if suddenly aware of where he was. He spun about in his seat, a look of surprise and astonishment on his face. His wiry gray hair, which usually fell in slimy rings to his shoulders, now seemed electrically charged, like a Saturday morning cartoon character whose finger is pushed into a light socket, except this was not a joke and no one was laughing. His eyes were wide and wild with fear, much like they had been when Francis first encountered the older man, but multiplied, as if accelerated by passion. Francis saw them search rapidly around the room, and then fasten on Short Blond, who was only a little ways away from where Lanky was seated, trying to help an elderly woman through her dinner, cutting each slimy morsel of chicken into small bites, then lifting them to her mouth as if she were a baby in a highchair.
Lanky pushed back sharply from his seat, sending the chair clattering to the floor. In the same motion, he lifted his cadaverous finger and began pointing it at the young nurse-trainee.
'You!' he cried out furiously.
Short Blond looked up, confused. For a second she pointed at herself, and Francis could see her mouth the word, 'Me?' She didn't move from where she was seated. Francis thought that this was probably her limited training. Any veteran of the hospital would have reacted much more swiftly.
'You!' he cried again. 'It must be you!'
From the far side of the dining room, both Little Black and his brother started moving rapidly across the space. But the rows of tables and chairs and the crowd of patients, made their course filled with obstacles, and slowed their pace. Short Blond rose to her feet, staring at Lanky, who was now striding toward her quickly, finger outstretched, pointing directly at her. She recoiled slightly, backing up toward the wall.
'It's you, I know it!' he cried. 'You're the new one! You're the one that hasn't been checked! It's you, it must be! Evil! Evil! We've let her through the door! Get away! Get away! Everyone be careful! No telling what she might do!'
His frantic warnings seemed to imply to the other patients that Short Blond was diseased or explosive. Throughout the dining room, people shrank back in sudden fear.
Short Blond retreated to the nearest wall and held up her hand. Francis could see the edge of panic in her eyes as the old man steadily descended upon her, arms flapping like bird wings.
He started to wave the other patients away, his voice rising in pitch and fury, 'Don't worry! I'll protect us!'
Big Black was now pushing tables and chairs aside, and Little Black vaulted one patient, who had fallen to his knees in some indistinct terror of his own. Francis could see Mister Evil sweeping in their direction, and Nurse Wrong and another nurse also moving through the tangle of patients, all of whom were knotting together, unsure whether to flee or to watch.
'It's you!' Lanky shouted as he reached the nurse-trainee, and towered menacingly above her.
'It's not!' Short Blond screamed in her high-pitched, reedy voice.
'It is!' Lanky yelled back.
'Lanky! Stop there!' Little Black shouted. Big Black was closing fast, his own face set in an obsidian mask of determination.
'It isn't, it isn't!' Short Blond said, cowering, sliding down the wall.
And then, with Big Black and Mister Evil still yards away, there was a momentary silence. Lanky rose up, stretching toward the ceiling, as if he was going to throw himself down upon Short Blond. Francis heard Peter the Fireman cry out from nearby, but he wasn't sure where, 'Lanky don't! Stop right now!'
And, to Francis's surprise, the big man did.
He looked down at Short Blond and a quizzical look came over his face, almost as if he was inspecting test results from an experiment that didn't precisely show what the scientist thought they should. His face took on a skewed, curious expression. Much more quietly, he gazed at Short Blond, and asked, almost politely, 'Are you sure?'
'Yes, yes, yes,' she choked, 'I'm sure!'
He stared at her closely. 'I'm confused,' he said sadly. It was a deflation of immediate and immense proportions. One second, he'd been this avenging force, gathered as if for assault, then in a microsecond, he was childlike and small, diminished by a storm of doubts.
In that moment, Big Black finally reached Lanky's side, and roughly grabbed the tall man by the arms, pinning them back. 'What the hell are you doing!' he demanded angrily. Little Black was only a stride behind, and he stepped into the space between the patient and the nurse-trainee. 'Step back!' he insisted, a command that was obeyed instantly, because his immense brother jerked Lanky rearward.
'I could be wrong,' Lanky said, shaking his head. 'It seemed so clear, at first. Then it changed. Just all of a sudden, it changed. I'm just not sure.'
The tall man turned his head to Big Black, craning his ostrich like neck. Doubt and sadness filled his voice. 'I thought it had to be her, you see. It had to be. She's the newest. She hasn't been here at all long. A newcomer, to be sure. And we have to be so careful not to let evil inside the walls. We have to be vigilant at all times. I'm sorry,' he said, turning as Short Blond rose to her feet, trying to regain her own composure. 'I was so sure.' He looked at her hard again, and his eyes narrowed.
'I'm just still not sure,' he said stiffly. 'It could be. She could be lying to me. Satan's assistants are expert liars. They are deceivers, each and every one of them. It's easy for them to make someone seem innocent, when they're really not.'
Now his voice lacked rage and doubt.
Short Blond stepped away from the group, keeping her eyes warily on where Lanky was being held by Big Black. Evans had finally managed to cross the room and join the tangle of people, and he was speaking directly to Little Black. 'See that he gets a sedative tonight. Fifty milligrams of Nembutal, IV, at medication time. Maybe we should put him in isolation for the night, as well.'
Lanky was still eyeing Short Blond, when he heard the word isolation. He spun toward Mister Evil and shook his head vehemently. 'No, no, I'm okay, really, I am, I was just doing my job, really. I won't be a problem, I promise…' His voice trailed off.
'We'll see,' said Evans. 'See how he responds to the sedative.'
'I'll be fine,' Lanky insisted. 'Really. I won't be a problem. Not at all. Please don't put me into isolation.'
Evans turned to Short Blond. 'You can take a break,' he said. But the slender nurse- trainee shook her head.
'I'm okay,' she replied, mustering some bravery in her words, and went back to feeding the elderly woman in the wheelchair. Francis noted that Lanky was still staring in Short Blond's direction, his unwavering gaze marked with what he took for uncertainty, but, later, realized could be many different emotions.
The usual evening crowd pushed and complained at medication time that night. Short Blond was behind the wire mesh of the nurses' station, helping to distribute the pills, but the other, older and more experienced nurses took the lead in handing out the evening concoctions. A few voices were raised in complaint, and one man started crying when another pushed him aside, but it seemed to Francis that the outburst at dinner had rendered most of the Amherst residents if not exactly speechless, at least subdued. He thought to himself that the hospital was all about balances. Medications balanced out the madness; age and confinement balanced out energy and ideas. Everyone in the hospital accepted a certain routine, he thought, where space and action were limited and defined and regimented. Even the occasional jostling and arguing, like nightly at medication time, was
