The Warden Page 4

  “Hello? Jocelyn? Was it the tuna fish at lunch? Lord, I swear it was off. Mine tasted fishy. Well, bad fishy, not tuna fishy like it ought to. You need the toilet?”

  Jocelyn shook her head, her mouth dry and tasteless. “No. Just . . . Yeah, maybe I do need a moment.”

  “Told ya. Cafeteria tuna fish will get you every damn time. I got the rest of this, you scoot your boot out of here. I just bought these shoes and you are not dousing them in something foul.”

  The water on her face felt like the cold slap of reality. Even if it brought her out of her daze momentarily, it didn’t change how the face staring back at her in the mirror was almost unrecognizable. Two days of minimal sleep and maximum stress had turned her usually glossy strawberry-colored hair dull and limp. The skin under her eyes was thin and bluish, veins visible through the unhealthy pallor.

  Jocelyn pulled at her cheeks, moving the flesh along her face until the pressing and prodding hurt. It wasn’t the tuna making her feel ill, she knew, she had hardly touched her food since arriving. She braced her hands on the cold, white sink and sighed. It had to change.

  Pushing away from the sink, she let the spark of an idea catch fire and spread. It was risky, sure, maybe even stupid, but Jocelyn refused to be helpless. She had agreed to help Warden Crawford, but that didn’t mean she was above trying a few unorthodox methods of her own.

  She stormed out of the bathroom and back down the hall, passing Tanner the orderly as she went. That changed her idea slightly, but only for the better. She skidded to a halt on her practical heels and spun, managing to hook her hand around his elbow.

  He had been checking off the list of rooms to be aired out and cleaned, and his head jerked up at her hand latching on to him. “Hey. Whoa. Need something?”

  Jocelyn nodded, shooting a quick look down the hall to make sure they weren’t being watched. There was nothing but the soft murmur of patients in their rooms farther down the corridor to her left and Madge’s idle whistling from the nurses’ station to the right.

  “Can you get access to a wheelchair?”

  “I . . . think so, yes. Why do you ask?” He studied her over his thick-rimmed glasses, lips quirked to the side.

  “Would you get one for me even if I said I couldn’t explain right away?”

  That made him take a longer pause.

  “It’s for Madge, too,” she said.

  And that did the trick.

  “All right. All right, sure, why not? Do you need it now?” he asked, lowering his clipboard.

  “Meet us at the top of the stairwell around the corner, the one that goes to the basement. We’ll be right back, I promise!” With that she took off at a swift clip, keeping an eye out for Nurse Kramer or any of the doctors on staff. And especially for Warden Crawford. She poked her head into the nurses’ station, finding Madge bopping along to her own whistling rendition of Top 40 songs.

  “Hey! I’ve got an idea. Come with me. . . .”

  “Where are we going?” Madge asked, but she was clearly game, her yellow curls bouncing along as she hurried after Jocelyn toward the lobby and the connecting hall.

  Jocelyn pressed her finger to her lips, tiptoeing past Warden Crawford’s office. His silhouette was visible, pacing within. She took Madge by the wrist and carefully pulled her along, cautiously opening the door to the basement stairwell before dashing down the first set of stairs.

  “Ugh. Crawford took me down here this morning,” Madge muttered, sticking out her tongue. “Beyond gross.”

  “Did he take you to see Lucy?” she whispered.

  “What? No. Who’s that? He took me to this patient Dennis. Kept talking about the White Mountains. ‘White Mountains, so beautiful, so still. The White Mountains, you would look so beautiful in the White Mountains.’ I mean, what do you even say to that?”

  “Was he violent?” Jocelyn asked, checking the way behind them as they reached the landing and then began descending again.

  “Not that I saw, but Crawford wouldn’t let me get too close to him.”

  They reached the basement level, cool, damp air rushing out to meet them from the patient corridor. It felt like a warning. But Jocelyn wasn’t stopping now. She marched Madge along, still holding tight to her wrist.

  “Did you see his chart? His history? Medications?”

  “No, nothing like that,” Madge admitted with a sigh. “Honestly, Joss, the only reason I agreed to this ‘program’ is because you’re doing it.”

  “I didn’t see Lucy’s either.”

  “Didn’t see her what?” Madge asked, hesitating at the archway before the hall.

  “Her history. Not previous procedures or medications. Nothing. It’s giving me the willies, Madge. Why won’t he show us? He’s hiding something.”

  “He has to show us eventually, right?”

  Jocelyn didn’t have an answer for that. The same handful of orderlies Jocelyn had seen last time patrolled the corridor, their interest falling quickly on the two girls. Jocelyn dredged up the lie quickly, hoping it wasn’t too clumsy. The nearest orderly, a tall, thin man with graying hair and a chin that disappeared into his neck, stopped them a few feet past the arch.

  What if only Warden Crawford had keys to the patient rooms? What if the orderlies were just there to keep nosy girls like her away? It was too late not to at least ask, she reasoned, mimicking one of Madge’s most brilliant smiles.

  “Warden Crawford sent us down to fetch Lucy. He wants to examine her in Theater Twelve.”

  The orderly squinted, his beady eyes growing beadier. “I wasn’t told about this.”

  “Last minute . . . last minute adjustment to his schedule. A family canceled their visit,” Jocelyn lied wildly, nudging Madge in the ribs.

  “Yes. Visit,” Madge stammered. “They canceled it. Very sad.”

  Apparently Madge was an even worse liar, if it was possible.

  “Do you want to keep him waiting?” Jocelyn pressed, frowning. “I don’t think you do.”

  The orderly scrunched up his nose, giving them each a long, hard look before spinning on his heel and stomping back toward Lucy’s room. Jocelyn closed her eyes tightly in relief; that had been a close one, and she had little faith that their luck would hold. This would get back to Crawford, and she could only pray that he would be lenient when he found out.

  Or he’ll fire you. Right? That’s the worst thing he could do? “I’m glad we, um, don’t have to keep the warden waiting,” Madge said, trying on a no-nonsense nurse voice that nearly made Jocelyn giggle.

  “I heard ya the first time, lady. I’m going as fast as I can,” the orderly muttered, taking a set of keys from his pocket and flipping through them. “Sheesh.”

  It wasn’t fast enough for Jocelyn, who couldn’t help whipping her head around to make sure Crawford wasn’t there, breathing down their necks. The other orderlies watched them, curious, and her nerves began to twitch again. Why were they staring like that? And why couldn’t this idiot hurry up and just find the right key. . . .

  Her pulse only raced faster as he unlocked Lucy’s door and swung it open. They had come to the part of the plan Jocelyn hadn’t wanted to consider at all. What if Lucy fought them too hard? What if Jocelyn couldn’t get her to leave the room without having another episode?

  But she wouldn’t allow the orderly to see her worry. Instead, she breezed through the door, Madge following, and then slowed when she found Lucy standing in the middle of the room, alert, eyes wide, as if she had been waiting for them.

  “Hello again, Lucy,” Jocelyn said gently. “I’m here to take you upstairs, all right? Will you come along with us?”

  To her surprise, Lucy jumped forward, practically sprinting out of the room. On the way, she took Jocelyn and Madge by the hands, her grip strong for her size and condition.

  “That was easy,” Madge murmured, taking a quick glance back as they hurried down the corridor.

  “Would you want to stay in that cell?” Jocelyn whispered back. “She mu
st be desperate for air.”

  Lucy almost spoiled the plot right after they reached the main level.

  For a moment, Jocelyn was certain Tanner had abandoned them, but then he came around the corner, wheelchair gleaming like a chariot, and Jocelyn felt a spike of hope. Unfortunately, that hope was immediately dashed as they crossed in front of Crawford’s office. Lucy recognized the name or the door, seizing in their grasp, her mouth opening wide in horror.

  Jocelyn anticipated the scream just in time, clapping her hand over Lucy’s mouth and wrestling her down into the wheelchair.

  “No, no, no,” she whispered. “Not him. We’re not going to see him. Tanner, go!”

  “Go where?”

  “The lobby, the doors! Take her outside!”

  “Outside!?” Madge hiss-whispered, trotting after Jocelyn and Tanner. The wheelchair squeaked as they turned it around and raced down the corridor, through the lobby, past the bewildered nurses at the station, and toward the front doors. “You’re going to get us fired, Joss!”

  “Relax, it’s just for a minute, just so she can get some air and see the sky,” Jocelyn replied, sounding much more calm and confident than she felt.

  For her part, Lucy was behaving, sitting quietly, her hands clutching the handles of the wheelchair for dear life but her mouth clamped shut. Good. They might actually make it out the doors without the whole of Brookline being alerted.

  Jocelyn dodged around the wheelchair, breaking into a run and reaching the doors before Tanner could crash into them. Flinging the doors wide, she couldn’t help but smile, absorbing the look of wonder and excitement that broke across Lucy’s face as the sunshine fell in her lap.

  “Is there a point to this?” Madge asked, watching as Tanner wheeled the girl down the walkway and toward a shaded patch just to the right of the hospital. They paused near a bed of tulips, the flowers all bowed from so many nights of rain, but a few petals still clinging on. “Other than getting us all sacked, of course . . .”

  “Isn’t the ‘program’ all about unorthodox treatments?” Jocelyn said with a shrug. “Maybe she just needed some fresh air. It couldn’t hurt.”

  “Yes, it could,” Madge replied. “What if she runs off and we can’t catch her?”

  “There’s a fence.”

  “What if it’s . . . I don’t know, overstimulating or something!? What if she has a deathly allergy to tulips? Or grass? What if she catches pneumonia and dies?”

  “Man, are you always this square?” Tanner teased. He smiled at them, apparently enjoying the little jailbreak, his blue eyes gleaming behind his specs. “We take patients outside all the time for therapeutic walks. It’s not that unusual, Madge.”

  “You do not get to call me square and then pretend we’re on a first-name basis!” she squawked, pacing. Her red, red lips turned down in a pout, but then she stopped, observing Lucy from the side as the girl simply sat in the wheelchair, kicking her gangly legs out, the bottoms of her feet brushing the grass. “Fine, I can admit she looks . . . better.”

  “Not so square then,” Tanner said with a smirk.

  “How do you feel, Lucy?” Jocelyn asked. She ignored the ga-ga looks the other two started giving each other. She couldn’t imagine how anyone found a hospital setting romantic. And she didn’t expect an answer from Lucy, but she asked anyway, going to crouch in front of the wheelchair and look up at the girl.

  Lucy’s big, black eyes swept the unkempt yard, taking in the fence, the trees, the wisps of fog that rolled up toward the grounds from the picturesque town below. It was impossible to tell what she might be thinking, but at least she wasn’t screaming.

  Jocelyn carefully, slowly, put out her hand, waiting to see if Lucy flinched or recoiled. But the girl did nothing, simply watched the nurse’s hand get nearer and nearer, and then she closed her eyes as Jocelyn tucked a piece of lank hair behind the girl’s ear.

  She would call that progress.

  “There now,” Jocelyn said. “I think we can do a lot together, Lucy. I think we can help each other. You don’t have to say anything, all right? Nobody expects you to say anything.”

  “Carnicero.”

  Jocelyn blinked. The other two fell silent, too.

  “The butcher,” Jocelyn said softly, watching Lucy nod. “You . . . you think someone in Brookline is a butcher?”

  “Sí. Usted sabe el carnicero. El carnicero de Brookline.” Her voice was high, prim.

  Jocelyn gradually shifted her eyes to Madge, who swallowed noisily and said, “Yes, you know the butcher. The butcher of Brookline. That’s . . . that’s what she said, Joss.”

  Jocelyn turned back to Lucy to inquire further, but the girl had reached for Jocelyn’s hand, taking it and holding it firmly between her two small, cold palms. Even the sunlight didn’t seem to warm her skin to above freezing.

  “He wants to cut open my head,” the girl told her, her voice lightly accented. “He wants to cut it open and scoop out what’s inside.”

  “Lucy, I really don’t think that’s true,” Jocelyn said. “But I’m glad you’re speaking to me. That’s very brave of you, and I’m really, really proud. Does being outside make you feel better? I know it makes me feel better.”

  Lucy narrowed her eyes, studying Jocelyn as if she were a piteously stupid creature. It made Jocelyn feel small, it made her feel like Lucy was much, much older, impossibly older, a soul that had seen and done things Jocelyn couldn’t even fathom.

  Lucy released her hand, placing her own hands back on the wheelchair armrests. “Don’t let him cut open my head,” she said. “And now I would like to go back inside.”

  An act of rebellion. Perfect. I could hardly devise a better wedge to drive them apart. A minor inconvenience has been smoothed over—my supplies have run low over the years since my initial training, and I feared the supplements might dry up for good. But where there is a will there is a way, and where there is a need there is greed. Trax Corp. will do nicely for now, so long as they prove a discreet and reliable partner.

  More exciting still, the patient I have been waiting for has presented himself. Years of anticipation leading to this moment and I can hardly describe the feeling. Elation. Relief. Patient Zero has surfaced and now my work truly begins.

  —Excerpt from Warden Crawford’s journals—May

  The hammer blow of punishment never fell. Still, Jocelyn waited for it. She waited for days. She went to bed jittery and rose from restless sleep in a fog, so distracted that even Mrs. Small in the grips of her dementia noticed and commented on her demeanor. During breakfast she heard the whispers of the nurses as they gossiped about the now infamous jailbreak, keeping their distance so as not to be implicated, but none of them were ever called to Warden Crawford’s office for discipline.

  When he mentioned it, he simply referred to it as “that little incident” and carried on.

  It made Jocelyn sick with anxiety, and it also made her realize that she really had been trying to get them all fired. It was sabotage of the most obvious kind, and it had gone completely ignored.

  Jocelyn sat on her bed before another full day, braiding her hair into one plait before looping it into a bun and pinning it. The spring rain had started up again, softer now that a few weeks had gone by and May was approaching. Madge stood at her wardrobe, picking out a pair of nylons for the day.

  “This poor little thing,” Jocelyn said, finishing with her hair and reaching over to the bedside table for the cracked Minnie Mouse statue. “Did I tell you? I broke this the first night we were here. You slept right through it.”

  She had even asked Nurse Kramer if she could borrow some of the patient craft supplies to fix the chip, but she was told curtly that “Therapeutic arts and crafts materials are not for frivolous use.”

  Somehow she got the feeling that if any other nurse had asked, the request would have been granted.

  “Mm. I think you told me that.”

  “That’s it? Usually I get an earful for telling you something twi
ce.” She laughed, but it died slowly as she looked from the figurine to her friend. Before, she hadn’t really given a thought to how Madge picked out her nylons, but now she watched more closely, realizing that Madge had picked up each clean pair in succession, held it briefly, and then put it back. She repeated the same odd ritual three more times before Jocelyn finally spoke up.

  “Maybe we should get to bed earlier,” she suggested, putting Minnie back on the table and standing. She smoothed down the front of her uniform. “You’re practically sleepwalking.”

  “Am I?”

  Jocelyn frowned, joining her friend at the wardrobe and picking up a pair of plain, nude nylons. “These are fine. The ones with the seam up the back just seem a little . . . racy. Save those for date night.”

  “Fine,” Madge said, ripping the nylons out of her grasp. “We should get down to breakfast. I’m half-starved.”

  Jocelyn nodded, retreating to the door while her friend finished dressing. She had tried not to notice the change in Madge, who treated Jocelyn so similarly to the way the other nurses treated her now. Taking Lucy on that wheelchair ride had made Jocelyn a pariah, but she never expected to feel it from Madge, too. The change might have been subtle, but she felt it. How could she not? Madge was her only ally in the place. It did seem like it wasn’t just an attitude shift. . . . Madge seemed to be smoking more, popping out for more frequent breaks, and she carried around a little package of lozenges everywhere, chewing them constantly, sometimes so loudly it made Jocelyn want to climb up the walls.

  The one time she asked for one, Madge shot her a glare and flatly refused.

  At least Tanner still spoke to her occasionally.