Well Read, Then Dead(107)

            I put on the robe, eased my tootsies into the slippers and glanced at the clock. It was ten after nine at night. Where exactly could I go? Stumped for an answer, I decided there had to be a patient area somewhere on the floor. Maybe I’d find some magazines.

            The hallway was empty and silent except for the murmur of televisions from behind half-closed doors as the other patients settled in for the night. At the end of the long row of patient rooms to my left was a lounge with double glass doors and a vast picture window. A Room with a View.

            Since the nurses’ station was to my right, I should be able to get to the lounge without being noticed. That was a plus since I didn’t think I was allowed to walk around. Still, no one expressly ordered me to stay in bed, or even in my room, so I decided to go for it. I stayed near the walls because the thick metal handrails gave me a sense of security. And I’d be less visible should Nurse Ratched take a fast peek down the hall.

            The second I opened the lounge door, I heard a loud snuffling. A middle-aged man dressed in pajamas and a plush robe sat in a corner chair. A glossy magazine had slipped from his knees and lay spread on the floor at his feet. His head was thrown back, his eyes were shut, his mouth wide open. Every breath in was a wheeze, every breath out was a snore. I wasn’t going to find my quiet change of scenery here. I swiftly rummaged through a pile of magazines on a coffee table. I had no interest in Sports Illustrated or the Economist. I almost yelped with delight when I found a threadbare issue of Cosmo, an old copy of People and, best of all, a magazine I didn’t know existed, Canoe and Kayak. Ever since Bridgy and I went paddling by ourselves from Tony’s dock, I was curious to learn more about the sport.

            I rolled the magazines and tucked them under my arm. I’d never be able to sit and read with the snorer in rare form. Feeling sorry for myself, I lamented that Miguel had gone home. If he were still here I’d have some company. Oh great. Only concerned with myself. I shook off my melancholy and decided to be joyful that Miguel was snug in his own house with the adorable Bow for his companion.

            Skully. I forgot about Skully. I was on the third floor; he was on the second. Generally he wouldn’t be a person I’d want to fritter away spare time with, but ever since he told us the romantic story of his life and Delia’s, I’d softened. I grabbed the Sports Illustrated. I’d stop in, and if he was awake I’d offer him a magazine.

            It took me a minute to remember his room number and then figure out where his room was in relation to mine. I walked past the staircase closest to the lounge. I remembered Skully’s room was nearer the elevator bank, so I walked to the next staircase and opened the door quietly. No point getting caught now that I actually had a plan. I tiptoed downstairs. On the second floor I stood in the stairwell and looked through the diamond-shaped window in the middle of the door. A heavyset nurse wearing flowered scrubs and a shower cap walked past, her quiet steps almost as furtive as mine. I credited that to her thick-soled shoes rather than intentional stealth. When she passed from my line of sight, I opened the door slowly, stuck my head in the hallway, looked back and forth and gave myself the all clear. I shuffled along as quickly as my cardboard slippers would allow.

            Skully’s door was closed. I turned the knob, grateful that it didn’t creak, and pushed it open just far enough for me to slip inside. The ceiling light was on, so I could see Skully’s roommate, curled in a fetal position, sound asleep. When I moved around the door, I was momentarily paralyzed. The nurse with the shower cap was standing in the middle of the room. We were both preoccupied. She was fiddling with some sort of needle while I was trying to find a way to slide out the door without being seen. As I watched she took a step toward Skully, who was dozing peacefully, and the light glinted on a lock of hair that escaped from her cap. It was the color of lilacs in spring.

            “Rowena?” It was out before I realized.

            She turned around.

            “You. I should have finished you off when I had the chance. You are the nosiest . . .” And she rushed at me, viciously stabbing the needle closer and closer to my face.