The Fever (4 page)

"Poor Kit," Duffy murmured. She was bitterly disappointed. She was glad to see Jane, but she had wanted to talk to Kit about the "dream." She needed his calm, rational input.

Jane nodded. "Anyone else been in to see you?" she asked too casually.

Duffy knew she meant Dylan. Jane had had her

violet eyes on Dylan ever since she*d heard that he and Amy were history.

Duffy knew how lonely Jane was. Her mother had died when Jane was twelve, when Jane*s older brother, Dean, had already graduated and gone away to college. Three years later, her father had remarried, but Jane didn't get along with her stepmother.

Popular enough with girls because she was fiiendly and fun, she had less success with boys, in spite of her beauty. At first, when they'd both started dating, Duffy couldn't understand it. Jane was so gorgeous.

But after watching Jane several times on double dates, Duffy had decided that Jane's problem with boys had to do with her obvious neediness. Jane wanted so desperately to have someone in her life . . . someone who loved her, who thought she was special. The way she latched onto a boy on the very first date, as if they'd known each other forever, as if they were destined to march through life together, was very scary to Duffy.

And obviously very scary to the boys as well.

Duffy had tried talking to Jane about it. **You don't need to go so fast," she had said gently. "You're so gorgeous, Jane, if you'd just relax and take it easy, some neat guy would come along and fall head over heels for you."

But Jane couldn't help it. She was so lonely.

"Yes," Duffy answered, "Dylan was here." And then cringed as disappointment shadowed Jane's face. Because it didn't seem to her that Dylan

Rourke was interested in Jane Sabatini. It seemed to her that Dylan Rourke was interested in Duffy Quinn. That could be a serious problem between two best friends.

But Duffy couldn't think about that now. She had more important things to think about. "Dylan thinks I'm losing it," she told Jane. Then she repeated for Jane her story about the night sounds. "Dylan thinks I was hearing things, because of my fever. Think that's possible?"

Jane shook her head. Several clumps of dark, curly hair escaped the big bow. "It was probably one of those hunks out there in white sneaking in here with a date. I mean, you were probably zonked out, dead to the world, right? All they'd have to do is pull the curtain and they'd have instant privacy. Possible?"

The thought hadn't occurred to Duffy. Since she'd fallen ill, she felt so isolated from the real world. Things like romance and dating and having fun seemed foreign, unreal, as if they existed only on another planet.

But Jane's idea made sense. Two people grabbing a couple^of minutes of privacy. She was sure it was against the rules, using a patient's room that way. That would explain why there'd been no answer when she called out. Whoever it was, they wouldn't want to admit they were there.

"I miss you, Duffy," Jane said sadly. "I hate it that you're sick. I know I shouldn't be thinking of myself, but I can't help it. My dad and Susan are busy, my brother's all wrapped up in his wife and

kids and his job at the lab, and Kit is being held prisoner by his horrible uncle." Hope edged into her voice. "You do look a tiny bit better. Think you might be coming home soon?"

Duffy could do nothing but shrug.

Disappointment again filled Jane's face.

She stayed a long time, most of the afternoon. It was nice to have company, but Duffy, her fever up as it had been the two previous afternoons, tired quickly. When the nurse came in at three-thirty to take her temperature, she sent Jane home. "This girl needs her rest," she said briskly. "Off with you, now!"

It wasn't until Jane, reluctant to leave, had gone that Duffy remembered something that didn't fit Jane's theory about what she'd heard the night before. The whispered protest — had that been the voice of someone nervous about breaking the rules, afraid of being caught?

It hadn't sounded like that. It had sounded much more fearful. . . terrified. There had been so much urgency in that whispered, "No, no, don't!"

What would put such fear into a voice?

Only something very scary. Something terrifying.

Dylan had said she was "safer" here than at home. But the person last night — if there had been someone there — hadn't felt safe.

So maybe Dylan was wrong.

Maybe she wasn't safe here at all.

S7

Chapter 5

The nurse who came in to take Duffy's temperature shortly after another dinner of thin soup frowned as she pulled the thermometer from her patient's mouth and peered down at it. "Doctor isn't going to like this. You're up a whole degree. You haven't been resting like Doctor told you," she accused.

She must think she's in Pediatrics, Duffy thought resentfully, talking to me as if I had a pacifier in my mouth. "I have, too," she replied defiantly, sounding exactly like a two-year-old. That angered her further and she added, "I need to get some exercise, that's all. Anyone would be feverish lying in this stupid bed all day! Why can't I get up?"

"Because you have a fever," the nurse answered patiently. "If you would just do what Doctor says ..." Then, Duffy's chart under her arm, she turned and left the room.

I've been doing what "Doctor" said, Duffy thought, and where has it got me? Nowhere, that's where! What I really need is to get out of this stupid

bed, move around, so that my body knows it's still alive. Then it will start acting like it's alive.

Having made up her mind, Duffy decided to wait until after visiting horn's for an excursion. The gift shop would be uncrowded then. She'd take the elevator down to the first floor and go buy a magazine and some shampoo. That wouldn't be too much exercise. It would be just enough to get her juices flowing again. Maybe it would even lower her temperature. Then she could go home.

Visiting hours came and went. Apparently sensing that Duffy would rather spend valuable visiting time with her friends, her parents didn't stay long.

But while they were there, she tried once again to talk them into taking her home. "I'm not getting better here," she begged, "and there are all these weird noises when I'm trying to sleep. ..."

"Sweetheart," her mother said patiently, "Dr. Morgan will tell us when you can go home. It won't be until he's positive that you're well enough. He knows what's best."

And her father added, "You know, Duffy, you scared us half to death . . . our healthy, busy girl lying on the sofa like that, not moving a muscle, your face all flushed with fever. We're not taking any chances by letting you come home too soon."

Crently warning her not to "give the staff a hard time" (they knew her so well), her parents left.

Shortly after they left, Jane arrived, alone. Without Kit. Duffy was filled with disappointment. But before she had a chance to ask Jane where he was.

Cynthia and Amy, now off duty, joined Duffy and Jane. Cynthia looked tired, but Amy seemed as perky as she had earlier in the day.

"I can*t stay long," Cynthia confessed, sinking into a wooden chair near the foot of Duffy's bed. "Fve got a chem test tomorrow. I'll probably be up all night."

*Tou work too hard," Amy said gently, settling down beside Duffy on the bed. 'Why do you volunteer here when you've got a double load of school-work? I know why Dylan does it. He needs the contacts here. But youTl slide right into medical school, Cynthia, so why do you spend so much time here?"

Cynthia smiled wearily. "To learn more. Besides, they need the help. They're so understaffed. Especially now, with this awful flu."

Just as Cynthia finished speaking. Smith poked his head in the doorway. "Hey, what's going on? A party? And you didn't invite me?" Without waiting for an answer, he ambled into the room, saying, "Rourke's on his way, too," nodding toward the hall. "He's hot on my heels. All we need now to make this a real party is a couple more guys to even things out."

Ignoring him, Duffy turned to Jane. "Speaking of guys, I thought you'd bring Kit with you."

"I stopped in the shoe store on my way home from here this afternoon, but he wasn't there. His uncle was spitting nails, so I guess they had another fight and Kit didn't show up for work. I don't blame him."

**You talking about Rappaport?" Dylan asked as he arrived, still in his green garb. "He split."

Duffy frowned. "Split?"

**Yeah. Took a hike. Left town. Piled up his car with all his junk and headed for sunny California."

Duffy stared at him. No. No! Dylan was wrong. He had to be. Kit wouldn't take off, just like that. Not without saying good-bye, without explaining. **When? When did he leave?" she cried.

Hearing the distress in her voice, Dylan looked guilty. "Gee, maybe I shouldn't have said anything. I guess I just figured you knew already. I don't know exactly when he left. I ran into him last night. He said he was taking off, leaving. Said he couldn't take his uncle anymore."

"He wouldn't go without telling me good-bye," Duffy said in a soft, bewildered voice. "Not Kit." Then, hope replacing shock, she added, "Maybe he hasn't left yet."

"He's gone, all right," Dylan told her. "His uncle called my dad this morning." Dylan's father was a lawyer. "Said he wanted to cut Kit out of his will. He's not leaving him a penny. He said he didn't see why he should after Kit 'abandoned' him. What an old grouch! Why are you so surprised?" he asked Duffy, his voice kind. "We all knew he couldn't stick it out in that shoe store forever. Who could? Old Man Rappaport's a royal pain. You said so yourself, more than once."

Yes, she had said that. And she'd meant it. She knew the past six months had been rough on Kit. He and his uncle disagreed constantly. And his re-

cuperating aunt was an expert at dishing out guilt. Duffy admired Kit for sticking it out as long as he had, because she knew she never could have done it. In the same circumstances, she would have been throwing dishes, smashing furniture, and screaming her lungs out. And although Kit had seemed to be biding his time with incredible patience, she'd always known that he might bolt at any time.

And now he had.

She didn't blame him. Not the tiniest bit.

But she was sick with disappointment. Not to get a chance to tell him good-bye ... to wish him luck. . . .

Reading her mind, Cynthia said gently, "Duffy, I'm sure Kit came to tell you good-bye. But you were so out of it, he wouldn't have been allowed to see you. It wasn't his fault. He'll call you when he gets settled, you know he will."

A wave of sadness hit Duffy. Kit. . . gone? She had spent Sunday afternoon with him, in a boat out on the lake. It had been warm when they started out, but then the clouds hid the sim and it became cold and drizzly very quickly. Her mother was convinced it was that outing that had brought on her illness.

Duffy could only hope that if Kit had called the house to see how she was, her mother hadn't accused him of making her sick. He would have felt so guilty.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Realizing it was because she was being so obvious about her feelings, Duffy made an effort to put the

bad news aside for the moment. "He*ll call me when he's settled in California," she said, blinking back tears. "Cynthia's right. Meanwhile," taking a deep breath, "I've got to get out of this bed. I'm going for a walk the minute the halls are empty tonight. Fm sick of being sick." Then she added in a low voice, "If I hadn't been sick. Kit would have told me good-bye and I could have wished him luck."

As Duffy had expected, both Cynthia and Amy argued with her. She wasn't well enough to leave her room, they said. She'd send her fever soaring, Cynthia pointed out, and Amy said quietly that it wasn't smart to disobey the doctor's orders.

Duffy ignored them. She was getting out of her horrible little room and nothing anyone said would change her mind.

Cynthia and Amy eventually gave up and left. But Jane, anxious to have her friend back at her side, said, "I think it's a great idea. Just don't overdo it."

Although she could tell that Dylan and Smith both disapproved of her plan, they knew better than to argue with her, and shaking their heads, they left with Jane.

When Duffy first sat up and swung her legs over the edge of her bed, the room turned bright pink and swayed around her. That passed. When her vision had cleared, she slipped her feet into white terrycloth slippers and wrapped herself in a matching robe. Then she stood up.

Red waves of heat slapped at her, blurring her vision again. One step ... if she could just take one

step without falling . . . tentatively, she put a foot forward, gripping her IV pole for support.

She was still standing. Another step, then another, and soon she was at the door.

Peering out, she found with satisfaction that the hallway was deserted. Silent and empty. No nurses, no visitors, no orderlies, no patients. She had the hall all to herself.

It was great being out of bed, although she felt like a toddler taking its first steps. Her legs threatened to cave in at any moment. But she was too eager to be free of her prison, and moved slowly and carefully out into the long, narrow hall.

"You don't like being cooped up, do you?" Smith Lewis asked her softly as he appeared out of nowhere.

She jumped, startled, and slammed into the wall. Her plastic IV bag slapped against the metal pole. "Don*t do that!" she hissed, furious.

"I don't blame you," he said, ignoring her anger. "Being cooped up would make me crazy, too."

Crazy? Sensitive to the word because of her confusion about last night's strange sounds, she snapped, "I'm not crazy! Being cooped up isn't making me crazy, and neither is my fever."

Smith raised his hands in front of him in mock defense. ^Whoa! Easy, girl. Chill out." And shaking his head, he moved forward to take her elbow. "I just wanted to make sure you could handle this little hike. You look pretty shaky to me. Your legs going to hold up?"

Duffy was ashamed of herself for biting his head

U

off. Being so unsure about what had really happened the night before was making her crazy. But she didn't want Smith to know that.