was still at the Hillandale Apartments, still with his girlfriend.
The end, she thought.
'I'm at the hospital,' Laura forced out. And had to say it: 'With David. He's eight pounds, two ounces.'
Click: the machine, turning a deaf ear.
Laura, hollowed out, lay on the bed and thought about the future. It was a dangerous place, but it had David in it and so it would be bearable. If that future held Doug or not, she didn't know. She clasped her hands to her empty belly, and she finally drifted away to sleep in the hospital's peaceful womb.
5: Gaunt Old Dude
The voice of God was singing in Mary Terror's apartment, at thirty-three and a third revolutions per minute. She was sitting on the bed, using a dark blue marker on the white size extra-large uniform she'd rented from Costumes Atlanta on Friday afternoon. The uniforms of the nurses on the maternity ward at St. James had dark blue piping around the collars and the breast pockets, and their hats were trimmed with dark blue. This uniform had snaps instead of buttons, as the real uniforms did, but it was all she could find in her size.
It was near seven o'clock on Saturday morning. The wind had picked up outside, scudding gray clouds over the city. The third of February, Mary thought: fifteen days until her meeting at the weeping lady. She was patient and careful at her work, making sure the ink didn't run or smear. She had a jar of white-out nearby in case of mistakes, but her hand was steady. On the table beside her bed was a dark blue plastic name tag with white letters: JANETTE LEISTER, in memory of two fallen comrades. She had gotten it from a place in Norcross that made plastic tags and novelties 'While U Wait.' It was the same colors as the name tags the nurses at St. James wore. Her white shoes – size 10EE – had also come from the costume rental, and she'd bought white stockings at Rich's department store.
She'd gone to the hospital yesterday, changing from her Burger King uniform after work and putting on jeans and a sweater under a baggy windbreaker. Had taken the elevator up to the maternity ward and walked around. Had gone to the big glass window to look at the babies, and she'd been very careful not to make eye contact with any of the nurses but she'd made mental notes of the dark blue piping on the white uniforms, the white-on-blue plastic name tags, and the fact that the elevator opened right onto the nurses' station. There had been no security people in sight on the maternity ward, but Mary had seen a pig with a walkie-talkie in the lobby and another one strolling around in the parking deck. Which meant that the parking deck was a scrub; she'd have to find another place to leave her truck, close enough to walk to and from the hospital. Mary had checked out the stairwells, finding one at either end of the long maternity ward corridor. The one on the building's south wing was next to a supply room, which could make for an unpleasant confrontation; the one on the north wing would have to do. A problem here, though: a sign on the stairwell door said FIRE ESCAPE. ALARM WILL SOUND IF OPENED. She couldn't check out where the stairwell led to, so she had no idea where she would come out. She didn't like that, and it was enough to call the whole thing a scrub until she saw an orderly pop the very same door open with the flat of his hand and walk through. There wasn't a peep. So was the alarm turned off at some times of the day, was the sign a phony, or was there some way to cheat the alarm? Maybe they'd had trouble with it going off, and they'd shut it down. Was it worth the risk?
She'd decided to think about it. As she looked through the window at the babies, some sleeping and some crying soundlessly, Mary knew she could not take a child from this room because it was too close – twenty paces – to the nurses' station. Some of the perambulators were empty, though they were still tagged: the babies were in the rooms with their mothers. The corridor took a curve between the nurses' station and the north stairwell, and on almost every door there was a pink or blue ribbon. The last four doors next to the stairwell were promising: three of the four ribbons were blue. If a nurse went into one of those rooms and found a baby with his mother, what reason might she have for going in? Time to feed the baby. No, the mother would know the feeding times, and what were breasts for? Just need to check the baby for a minute. No, the mother would want something more specific. Time to weigh the baby.
Yes. That would work.
Mary walked to the north stairwell door and back to where the corridor curved again. A woman's laughter trailed from one of the rooms. A baby was crying in another one. She noted the numbers of the three rooms with the blue ribbons: 21, 23, and 24. The door to 21 suddenly opened, and a man walked out. Mary turned away quickly and strode to a nearby water fountain. She watched the man walk in the opposite direction, toward the nurses' station; he had sandy-brown hair, and he wore gray slacks, a white shirt, and a dark blue sweater. Polished black wingtips on his feet. Rich bastard, father of a rich kid, she thought as she took a sip of water and listened to his shoes click on the linoleum. Then she walked back to the stairwell's door and looked at the warning sign. She would have to know where this led if she was going to do it, because she couldn't come up in the elevator. There was no choice.
Mary popped the door open with the flat of her hand, as the orderly had done. No alarm sounded. She saw black electrical tape holding down the door's latch, and she knew somebody had decided it was better to cheat the alarm than wait for the elevator. It was a good sign, she thought. She stepped into the stairwell and closed the door behind her.
She started down. The next door had a big red one on it. The stairwell continued down, and Mary followed it. At the bottom of the stairwell the door was unmarked. Through its glass inset, Mary could see a corridor with white walls. She opened it, slowly and carefully. Again there was no alarm and no sign of warning on the other side. She walked along the hallway, her senses questing. At a crossing of corridors, a sign pointed to different destinations: ELEVATORS, LAUNDRY, and MAINTENANCE. The smell of fresh paint lingered in the air, and pipes clung to the ceiling. Mary kept going, in the direction of the laundry. In another moment she heard someone humming, and then a husky black man with close-cropped white hair came around the corner, wheeling a mop in a bucket-and-wringer attachment. He wore a gray uniform that identified him as a member of the hospital's maintenance crew. Mary instantly put a mask on her face: a tightening of features, a coolness of the eyes. The mask said she was where she was supposed to be, and she had some authority. Surely a maintenance man wouldn't know everyone who worked in the hospital. His humming stopped. He was looking at her as they neared each other. Mary smiled slightly, said, 'Excuse me,' and walked past him as if she were in a hurry to get somewhere – but not too much of a hurry.
'Yes'm,' the maintenance man answered, drawing his bucket out of her path. As she walked on around the corner she heard him start humming again.
Another good sign, she thought as the tension eased from her face. She had learned long ago that you could get into a lot of places you weren't supposed to be if you stared straight ahead and kept going, and if you masked yourself in an aura of authority. In a place this big, there were a lot of chiefs and the Indians were more concerned with the work at hand.
She came upon an area where there were several laundry hampers standing about. The voices of women neared her. Mary figured one woman alone might not ask questions, but someone in a group possibly would. She stepped around another corner and waited, pressed against a door, until the voices had gone. Then she went on, concentrating on her path and how to get back to the stairwell. She passed through a room full of steam presses, washers, and dryers. Three black women were working there, folding linens on a long table, and as they worked they were talking and laughing over the thumping noise of laboring washing machines. Their backs were to Mary, who moved past them with a fast, powerful stride. She came to another door, opened it without hesitation, and found herself standing on a loading dock at the rear of St. James Hospital, two panel trucks pulled up close and a couple of handcarts left untended.
When she closed the door behind her, she heard the click of a lock. A sign read PRESS BUZZER FOR ADMITTANCE. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. She looked at the buzzer's white button beside the door grip. There was a dirty thumbprint on it. Then she walked down a set of concrete steps to the pavement, and she began the long trek around to the parking deck, her gaze alert for security guards.
Joy sang in her heart.
It could be done.
As she worked on the uniform, Mary began to think about her pickup truck. It was fine for around here, but it wasn't going to do for a long trip. She needed something she could pull onto a side road and sleep in. A van of some kind would do. She could find a van at one of the used car dealers and trade her pickup for it. But she'd need
