The Children's Ward (24 page)

One Hundred

The gods were with him.

He had been across from the children’s ward, trying to get up his nerve, when the nurse came out and disappeared around the side of the building.

He did not know what she was doing, but he knew he didn’t have time to worry about it. He had to act.

He was in the building in an instant.

Tessi was sitting up in bed, stroking her toy animals while she watched TV. There was a curtain drawn around the fourth bed…the boy, and the third bed was empty. In the first bed, the little girl with brown braids looked at him.

He did not speak.

He crossed the room and grabbed Tessi to him. “Come on, baby, we’ve got to go,” he whispered in her ear.

“I knew you’d come, Daddy, I knew you’d come.” Her arms tightened around his neck.

Then he turned and ran, back through the double doors and, taking a deep breath, out of the building.

The nurse was not in sight.

He had seen the security guards but they had worked their way past the ward and were looking in the other direction. He had a path.

He took it.

The truck was parked down the road a bit and he ran, breathing easily. It was like second nature to him, running with his child. She was quiet, as if she knew not to attract attention.

Then they were in the truck.

“Lie down on the seat,” he told her.

He pulled away, careful not to catch his tires in the sodden ground by accelerating too fast.

He did not look down at Tessi until they were on the highway, heading west until they could catch a route south into Mexico.

Tessi was watching him, her eyes filled with tears.

“It’s okay,” he said. “We’re going to be together.”

“Daddy, I was so scared…but I knew you were coming.” She nodded solemnly. “I knew it.”

“How did you know?” He smiled and smoothed her hair, looking back at the road which now stretched to freedom before him.

“I dreamed it,” she said.

One Hundred One

It was twelve-thirty by the time Quinn returned to the hospital.

The police had forced the door to the White residence and their search had located David White. She had examined him quickly to determine if there was anything that could be done for him—there was not—and then had turned her attentions to Tiffany and Courtney.

Her suggestion that Courtney return to the hospital was met with near-hysteria by both mother and child. Not wanting to traumatize either of them further, she had agreed that Courtney could spend the night, at least, with her mother at the motel. Quinn had dressed the child’s torn hands.

But something that Courtney had said still
bothered Quinn.

She had said that she hadn’t told, but Abigail knew. She repeated the statement over and over.

And that was all she would say.

Quinn had given Courtney a mild sedative by injection, and had left two five milligram tablets of Valium for Tiffany to take if she felt that she needed them.

She parked her car and got out, looking around at the parking lot and wondering which of the cars was Ian’s.

Where the hell
was
Ian?

As soon as she got in her office, she would try Joshua’s number again. Too much was happening too quickly.

As she came into the hospital, the PBX operator slid back the glass window that separated the communications office from the lobby.

“Dr. Logan,” the woman called.

“Yes?”

“I’ve got your long distance collect call from Baltimore on the line…do you want to take it at the courtesy phone?”

“No, give me a minute to get to my office and ring it through.”

“Okay.”

Quinn hurried to her office, unlocking the door as the phone began to ring. She sat at her desk, took a breath, and picked up the phone.

“Dr. Logan,” she answered.

There was a hesitation at the end of the line. “This is Emily Ballard, Dr. Logan. I got your message to call.”

“Mrs. Ballard.” Quinn grabbed a pencil and the clipboard she used for making notes on the videotapes, flipping to a clean sheet of paper. “I have a few questions I’d like to ask you about Abigail.”

“I’ve answered questions and answered more questions,” the woman said, a hint of sullenness in her voice. “And I’ve filled out all your forms.”

“Yes, I know. But there’s been a new development. We’ve eliminated the possibility that Abigail has a brain tumor. The magnetic resonance scans of her brain have shown that there is no tumor.”

There was silence at the other end of the phone.

“So…we asked ourselves…how does an eight year old child—”

“Eight and a half,” the woman corrected.

“Yes…how does a child that age mirror the symptoms of a brain tumor?”

“You mean, she was faking?”

“Not exactly…her physiological symptoms were real, but it’s almost like…” she searched for the words, “. . . she
knew
enough about brain tumors that, when she became sick, for whatever reason, her subconscious directed her body on how to react. Her body was responding, in a very realistic fashion, to a brain tumor that wasn’t there.”

“She was faking but didn’t know it,” the woman said, and began to either laugh or cry.

“You could put it that way,” Quinn admitted, failing to see the humor in the situation if the woman was indeed laughing.

She was. “So Abigail made herself sick.”

“Mrs. Ballard…I’ve read the family medical history and I know that Abigail’s grandfather died of a stroke when she was just a baby, and that her mother committed suicide. But was there anyone in the family, or maybe a close family friend, who had a brain tumor? Someone who she might have observed at some length so she would know enough about the symptoms to mimic them?”

“No…no.”

“Are you certain? Maybe the parent of a school friend of hers?”

“Abigail never had many friends,” Emily Ballard said flatly. “She’s a difficult child.”

Quinn’s mind was racing, trying to think of another alternative, another way for Abigail to have acquired enough knowledge to fool doctors and specialists into believing that she had a tumor.

“—never went to anyone’s house,” the woman chattered on.

Books? Could a six-year-old…that was absurd. Even if she could read the words, which was nearly impossible, she would have no way to translate medical jargon into physical fact.

“—except for her father, of course.”

“What? What did you say?”

“Her father died a couple of years ago.”

“I thought the identity of her father was unknown. It says in the history—”

“The history is wrong. I knew who he was.” She snorted angrily. “I knew. I was glad when he died.”

“What did he die of, do you know?”

“It
was
brain cancer,” the woman admitted, “but Abigail would have no way of knowing that. I never told
her
who her father was, and I never told her when he died.”

“But you’re sure it was brain cancer?”

“Of course I’m sure; we had…mutual acquaintances. But like I said, Abigail didn’t know anything about him. I never told her.”

Quinn closed her eyes. “Thank you, Mrs. Ballard. You’ve been very helpful.”

She looked at the notes she had scribbled while talking.

Abigail’s father had died “a couple of years ago,” apparently of brain cancer.

Abigail had developed the symptoms of a brain tumor when she was approximately six.

Abigail was never told the identity of her father or the circumstances of his death.

The rest of the history was negative. No other family members, no friends, no acquaintances. No exposure, then, to the malady which had plagued her.

But about the time her father was dying, she got sick.

Could a child be somehow biologically and psychically aware of an absent parent’s illness? Could a lonely child with no friends and no nurturing person in her life seek out and find…supernaturally…the one other person on earth with whom she shared a blood bond? And if that person died, might not she also wish to die?

There were stories of people who, at the exact moment a loved one was dying thousands of miles away, were somehow aware of that death.

Quinn sat back in the chair, watching as the pages on the clipboard flipped back over.

One Hundred Two

Abigail had not been able to do anything about Courtney or Tessi.

She had known, almost from the first, that her powers where the other children were concerned were limited. She could not physically stop them from doing what they strongly wished to do.

So they were gone.

Russell was still here, but he was closed off from her.

She was weak. What she had done last night had taken most of her strength and she understood more clearly that the power had limitations of distance. But…she had proved it could be done.

That was good because she had some unfinished business.

She looked at the empty beds, a little sad.

She would have taken care of them. She would have protected all of them. She would have made them secure, something she doubted either of them had ever been.

She did not really understand their fear.

It made little difference now.

She turned her mind to other matters: people were coming.

She accepted the fact that the time had come for her to prove herself worthy of the powers that had been given to her.

She knew what she had to do, and she would do it. She liked Dr. Fuller…she could sense him nearing…but she had no other choice. She had to protect the source.

She tried to imagine what it would be like, to live forever in this room. Because it was here where she had to stay, unless she wanted to become like everyone else.

She had been less than everyone else for too long a time. She was only a child but she had known that there was nothing
for
her in this world.

Now they were coming.

She needed to open herself up to the source of her powers. She had to draw in strength and prepare herself for what was to come.

She had to be ready.

It felt like her brain was on fire.

Panting, she opened her eyes.

She was more than she’d ever been.

The nurse walked into the room a moment later and Abigail looked at her through narrowed eyes, concentrating.

And the nurse just…disappeared.

One Hundred Three

“Dr. Fuller.”

Joshua stopped, turning to see who had called his name.

One of the security guards walked up to him, looking slightly agitated. “We haven’t found them yet, but we’ll find them,” the guard said.

“Find who?” Joshua was puzzled.

“The two girls.” He pointed in the direction of the children’s ward. “I thought you knew.”

“Knew what? You’d better…”

“Two of those kids, two little girls, are missing from the ward. Disappeared, one after the other.” He scratched his head. “I thought that lady doctor was going to call you.”

“Dr. Logan? Is she here?”

The guard nodded. “I think she’s in her office, but maybe you’d better come over and talk to the nurse who was on duty…”

“I’ll be over in a minute.” He started toward the hospital on the run.

“Dr. Fuller,” the operator called when he came through the lobby door. “They’re looking for you over at the ward.”

“I know,” he said. “Is Dr. Logan in her office?”

“Yeah…”

“Why don’t you ring me through?” He picked up the courtesy phone.

“Well, her line is busy,” the operator said, looking at her phone console.

“All right then…” Which of the kids were missing? “I’m going over to the ward, but I want you to keep trying to reach Dr. Logan for me…and tell her where I am.” And tell her…

“Sure thing,” the operator said, snapping her gum.

The guard had disappeared.

Joshua ran toward the children’s ward.

Things were going crazy. He had unplugged his phone last night and decided to rely on his beeper, only to find that the batteries had gone dead. Out of touch for a few hours and everything got out of hand.

The nurse was not in the nursing station.

He looked at the closed-circuit monitor. Abigail was sitting up in bed. Tessi and Courtney were gone. The curtain was drawn around Russell’s bed. The nurse was not in there, either.

He went through the double doors.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Abigail said.

It felt like his brain was on fire.

One Hundred Four

It was staring her right in the face.

Unbelievingly, she picked up the clipboard and looked at her notes.

Abigail had been in a catatonic-like state from 11:45 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. on the day— Thursday—when Anne Rossi and Lloyd Marshall were killed.

Quinn could remember the oddity of the child’s state, could see the tiny smiles, twice during her trance.

“Why did you kill them, Abigail, why did you do it?”

Kill them. Were they whom Russell was referring to?

What about David White?

“Wait a minute,” she said out loud, staring at the times written on the sheet.

Courtney had dreams that came true.

Courtney had run away from the hospital, a frightened child.

Courtney had insisted that she hadn’t told Abigail, but Abigail knew.

What did Abigail know?

She got up and found the tapes, looking through them for the one with Abigail’s trance. She inserted it into the video player and turned the set on, rewinding the tape and then watching in fast speed as it neared 11:45 a.m.

Something about the look on Abigail’s face.

Something…evil. A look of malice.

Why hadn’t she seen it before?

There was something about Abigail…

She picked up the phone and dialed Joshua’s number, knowing there would be no answer, but needing to try.

Courtney had told Ian about her dreams and now Ian had disappeared. Was that a coincidence?

“Come on, Joshua,” she said into the phone.

What now? She hung up.

She had to get Russell and Tessi out of the ward.

The phone rang as she was opening the door, ready to leave. Should she answer it? It might be Joshua or…

As much as she desperately wanted to talk to Joshua, she had delayed long enough. If she was right, and it was Abigail, then she had to get Tessi and Russell out of there somehow.

She closed the door on the ringing phone and ran toward the side exit.