Chapter Two
I grabbed the IV pole and stood, careful to conceal that awful opening in the back of my gown. I expected to find my leg muscles as sturdy as pudding, but his life had found its way into them, too.
He saw my undignified writhing to get the gown’s gaps in order but made no move to assist. “A desk job hasn’t been kind to you, has it?”
I followed him down the hall, glaring at his back, the size of a billboard, and shaking my wrist. The Rolex still stayed frozen at a few minutes before 1 a.m.
A nurse pushing a half-awake Crazy Betty wheeled past us. I flattened myself to the wall, bracing for the screams when the two women saw this man.
The nurse didn’t see us.
Crazy Betty did. She began yelling at him, shaking her fingers in fury. “Go back where you belong and leave us alone! Always sneaking around, in and out of rooms whenever you like, always scribbling in your little book!”
I froze.
The Scribe kept walking, pressing a finger to his lips to urge her to be quiet.
The nurse rolled her eyes and shushed Betty. “We’ll get you some tea and get you back in bed,” she comforted her.
Betty was hearing none of it. As she was wheeled away, she turned and screamed at him, “What are you writing, anyway?”
The Scribe kept walking.
“What was all that?” I asked.
He shrugged and kept walking. “Not everyone is happy to see us.”
“She could see you? She’s not crazy?”
“She’s crazy. But she can see us.”
He arrived at the nurses’ station.
Mariskka was there, her tone sharp as she argued with someone on the phone. “I said no. It’s against our policy here, David. I refuse to give her hope when we both know she’s going to die.”
Mariskka didn’t miss anything, especially when wealthy patients were nearing death but still lucid enough to update their wills. When she finally whirled around in her chair, she would faint from shock to see me up and walking, never mind with a Jolly Black Giant.
He leaned down behind Marisska. I covered my mouth with my hands and held my breath.
Resting his hands on her shoulders, he whispered into her ear, “You need chocolate. Right now. There’s some in the kitchen.”
“If you show up here, I’ll call the cops,” Mariskka spat as she slammed down the phone. “I think there’s some chocolate calling me.” She kicked back her chair and stomped off, in the direction of the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” I hissed at him, watching him remove her Mac and tuck it under his beefy arm. It was barely visibly in between folds of bicep and elbow.
“Borrowing her laptop. You need it.”
There were so many reasons this night was all wrong. I could only come up with one to say. “That’s a Mac. I don’t use Macs.”
“Macs don’t need as many miracles,” he said. “I’m an angel, not a genie.”
I stood there, my mouth opening and closing again, trying to say something cruel or anything at all. The jolly freakish giant took off, with strides that outreached mine three to one, heading back to my room.
I should have been out of breath by the time we reached my room, but I was feeling stronger. I was stronger when he was near. When he exhaled it entered my body as a second wind. I edged closer and inhaled as we crossed through the threshold to my room. He turned and smiled, the first smile I had seen. I had almost rather he not do it again. His face was so big that even a smile made me edgy. I’d prefer for a man of this size to have as few emotions as possible.
He went to work plugging the Mac in, moving my bed to find the closest outlet. When it was plugged in, he set it on the edge of the bed and turned to me. My body went bloodless, like fish diving to the deepest refuge, all of my extremities going pale and limp, abandoned. He walked toward me, and my mouth stayed open, with not even the strength to close it. He reached out and took my arm. His warming touch did not hurt, though if I had tried to resist him he could have snapped my arm like a twig. He ran his finger down my arm, resting it on the IV line. Closing his eyes, he opened his hand and gently wiped my arm. The IV line fell to the floor, my arm whole and without a mark.
“It will be easier to work without that,” he said.
Blood began to flow back into my arms and legs, and I made my way to the bed as he propped up a few pillows for me. I climbed in, and he handed me the laptop. I began to type, just to feel the keys under my fingertips. It was like coming home.
I’m dying in the middle of the wildest dream! I typed.
He crossed his arms. I could see his jaw shift and set.
Another voice growled. “You wanted the heir.”
“She’s difficult,” the Scribe replied. He didn’t turn his head to any direction, and I couldn’t tell where the voice came from. “Writing her story for years was easier than living with her for a few minutes.”