“You’d better believe it. I do have a self-preservation reflex. Besides I’m starting to get delusional about the whole thing. I think I had some sort of paranoid reaction this afternoon. I was convinced a man was following me to the point that I actually panicked. Look at my knees and my clothes, as if you haven’t already noticed. To make a long story short, I tried to cross from the inbound to the outbound platform at Kendall Station of the MBTA. Idiotic!” Susan tapped her head lightly with her index finger for emphasis.
“After that I realized that it behooved me to get back to normal, quickly. Like right away. But I’m still worried that there is something peculiar about these coma incidents at the Memorial, and I would like to continue studying the problem in some capacity. Apparently there are more cases involved than I originally suspected, and maybe that is why Dr. Harris and Dr. McLeary were irritated at my naive interference. One way or another, I’m sorry I’ve caused trouble for you at the Memorial. It goes without saying that it was not my intent.”
“Susan, the Memorial is a big place. It’s probably blown over already.
The only tangible legacy is that I’m going to have to switch your surgery to the V.A. hospital. I’ve already made the arrangements, and you are to report tomorrow morning to Dr. Robert Piles’s office.” Dr. Chapman paused, looking at Susan intently. “Susan, you have a long road ahead of you. There will be plenty of time to discover new diseases or syndromes, if that is what you want. But now, today, this year, your primary goal should be basic medical education. Let Harris and McLeary work on the coma incidents. I want you to get back to work because I expect nothing but good reports about you. You’ve done very well so far.”
Susan emerged from the medical school Administration Building with a mild sense of euphoria. It was as if Dr. Chapman had powers of absolution. The ponderous problem of being ejected from medical school in disgrace had vanished. Obviously the surgery rotation at the V.A. was not as good as that at the Memorial, but in comparison to what could have happened, the transfer was a mild inconvenience indeed.
Although it was only a little after five, the winter night had begun in earnest. The rain had stopped as another cold front pushed the weakening warm front out over the Atlantic. The temperature had plummeted to about eighteen. The sky was speckled with bright stars, at least directly overhead. Toward the horizon the stars disappeared, their light unable to penetrate the noxious urban atmosphere. Susan crossed Longwood Avenue by running between the cars of impatient commuters in the clogging traffic.
In the lobby of the dorm she passed a few acquaintances, who were quick to notice Susan’s skinned knees and the greasy stain of the rail across her coat. There were some clever jibes about how tough surgery rotation must be at the Memorial, to judge by Susan, who looked as if she had been in a barroom brawl. Despite the fact that she thought the comments were rather funny, Susan almost stopped to snap back at the wisecracks. Instead she passed through the lobby and crossed the quad.
The tennis court in the center had a sad, neglected winter look.
The well-trodden wooden staircase curved gracefully up, and Susan mounted the steps slowly and deliberately, looking forward to the isolation and security her room promised. She intended to take a long bath, sort out the day mentally, and, above all, relax.
As she always did, Susan entered her room and bolted the door behind her without turning on a light. The switch by the door activated the circular fluorescent bulb in the center of the ceiling, and Susan preferred the richer glow of the incandescent lights, either the lamp by the bed or the modern floor lamp by the desk. With the help of the light coming from the parking lot she walked over to the bed to turn on the lamp. Just as her hand reached for the switch she heard a noise. It was not loud but it was nonetheless distinctive enough to make her aware that it was not part of the normal sounds of her room. It was a foreign noise. She switched on the light, listening for the noise to repeat itself, but it did not recur. She decided it must have come from a neighboring room.
She hung up her coat and her white jacket, and unpacked the new nurse’s uniform. It had survived the afternoon remarkably well. Then she unbuttoned and removed her blouse, throwing it onto the pile of dirty laundry in the easy chair. Her bra followed. Reaching behind her with her right hand, she began to struggle with the button on her skirt. At the same time she headed for the bathroom to start the bath water.
She opened the bathroom door and flipped on the fluorescent light, preparing to look in the mirror when the light came on. With a screech of plastic hooks along metal, the shower curtain was whipped back; a figure leaped into the room. Almost at the same instant the fluorescent light blinked and then filled the room with its raw light. There was a flash of a knife and a lightning blow to Susan’s head. She twisted backward under its impact, crashing into the wall of the bathroom. By sheer reflex her arms straightened and her hands groped to keep herself from falling. It all happened so quickly that she had no time to react. A cry had started in her throat but the blow to the head had dislodged it.
Instantly the left hand of the intruder grabbed Susan by the throat, forcing her up to her full height against the wall, her naked breasts tensing. Despite all her fantasies about what she would do if she were attacked, knees to the balls, fingernails in the eyes, Susan did nothing but breathe as best she could and gaze at her assailant in utter horror.
Her eyes flung open to their very limit. The fury of the unexpected attack had been totally overwhelming. The power of the hand that held her by the throat was unmistakable. And she recognized the man. They had met on the subway platform.
“One sound and you’re dead, baby,” snarled the man, bringing the knife in his right hand up beneath Susan’s chin.
Just as suddenly and roughly as he had originally seized Susan’s throat, the man released his hold, causing Susan to stumble forward. Her assailant backhanded her brutally, and she pitched to her hands and knees, with her lip split and numerous small capillaries broken over her left cheekbone.
Hooking his foot under Susan’s shoulder, the man forced Susan to rise up on her knees. Then with a callous kick he dumped Susan backward against the wall, where she lay with one arm lewdly draped over the toilet. A trickle of blood ran down from the corner of her mouth and dropped onto a pale breast. The image of the man momentarily swam before her. When he came in focus she could see his pockmarked face crack in a fiendish grin. He was obviously relishing the thought of ravishing her. She felt numb and unable to respond.
“Too bad I’m only authorized on this visit to talk to you, or as we say in my business, to make a preliminary contact The message is simple.
There’s a lot of people who are very, very unhappy with the way you have been spending your time lately. Unless you get back to your usual activities and stop getting people mad, I’ll have to come back to see you again.”
The man paused to let his message sink in. Then he continued: “And just to encourage you a little more, this boy will also get to meet me and maybe even have an unexpected, serious, and probably fatal accident.”
The man flipped a picture onto Susan’s lap. In slow motion she picked it up.
“And I’m sure you don’t want your brother, James, down there in Coopers, Maryland, to suffer from your hobbies. And I don’t have to tell you that our little meeting here is just between us. If you go to the cops, the punishment is the same.”
Without another word, the man slipped from the bathroom. Susan heard the outside door to her room open and then close quietly. The only sound was a slight buzz from the fluorescent light over the mirror. She did not move for several minutes, uncertain whether her attacker had really left. Her arm was still draped over the toilet.
As the terror subsided, confusion and emotion mounted. Tears welled up in her eyes, forming a bulging meniscus. She lifted the picture of her younger brother with his bike, smiling in front of her parents’ home.
“Christ,” said Susan, shaking her head and closing her eyes tightly. As her eyes closed, the tears overflowed from her lids, running down her cheeks in profusion. There was no doubt that the photograph was authentic.
Footsteps in the hall made Susan suddenly alert, and she pushed herself up onto her feet. The footsteps passed her room and receded down the hall. Susan staggered into her bedroom and rebolted the door. Turning, she scanned her room. Everything seemed undisturbed. Then she realized she felt wet. With her hand she felt herself and couldn’t believe it. She had urinated in her panic.
The confusion began to metamorphose into analytical thought, and the thought brought the tears rapidly in check. There had been a host of unexplained episodes in the last couple of days, but one thing began to take definite form in Susan’s consciousness. She was now more sure than ever that she had stumbled onto something,
