Part 21 (1/2)
”I have been a runway model for twelve years,” she said. ”I can size someone on sight.” She glanced at him as he b.u.t.toned up the s.h.i.+rt. ”It is even simpler when they are not wearing clothes.”
”I've got pants on,” he said. He leaned against the door frame and pulled one of the shoes on. The sneaker had thick Velcro straps instead of laces. It was a perfect fit. He tugged the other one on.
”We should go,” said Karen. ”Now.”
He looked up. The waiting room inhabitants were all staring again. A half dozen of them had climbed to their feet. The sound of chattering teeth echoed in the large room. They staggered toward George and Karen. The little girl was at the front of the small crowd.
Karen led him out the door and across the parking lot. He paused to stuff the bag and packing material in a trash can and then took a few quick steps to catch up with her. ”It would be best if we did not separate,” she said. She held up her keys and a sports car a few yards away chirped. ”Whatever these hallucinations are, it is clear they are more difficult for you to process alone.”
”Why do you say that?”
She looked at him. ”Did you not say you had a meeting with the President?”
He tugged the fleece over his head. ”Yeah, but that really happened.” A spike pushed its way into his head as he spoke.
Her mouth flattened again. It wasn't much more than a line at this point.
”It did,” he insisted. The spike in his head grew long barbs that pushed in every direction. He could feel them against the back of his eyes, his sinuses, scratching the inside of his skull. He ignored them.
Then he paused. ”How did my car get here?”
Karen stood by a Tesla Roadster. It was a convertible, low to the ground and glossy black. It looked fast. ”I beg your pardon?”
George pointed at the Hyundai. It was a few s.p.a.ces down from the Tesla. ”That's my car,” he said. ”Did you get someone to bring it here or something?”
She shook her head.
He walked over to it. He glanced at the back and recognized his license plate and the parking sticker from work. His battered Payless sneakers sat in the s.p.a.ce behind the pa.s.senger seat.
The door was unlocked. He lowered himself into the seat. The ignition was empty. He glanced at the dish under the gear s.h.i.+ft and saw the small collection of coins. He looked in the glove compartment and checked the CD holder strapped onto the sunscreen. ”What do you think the chances are someone stole my car, didn't take anything, and ended up at the same hospital?”
”Unlikely.” Karen studied the Hyundai. She placed a hand on the hood. ”Is it possible you drove yourself here?”
He shook his head. ”Up until about twenty minutes ago I thought I'd been shot and was going to die. I'm pretty sure I was deep in shock.”
”People have driven vehicles under similar situations.”
He got out and walked around to look at her over the hood. ”So where are my car keys?”
She looked back at the hospital. ”If you were in shock, it is not hard to believe you could have dropped your keys somewhere between your car and the entrance.”
He shook his head. ”I was brought in by an ambulance crew.” He got out of the car. ”I'll have to come back and get it later.”
The engine started. It revved twice, hard enough to make the cha.s.sis tremble. The headlights lit up a nearby shrub and a section of cinder-block wall as they flickered on and off.
George and Karen exchanged a glance. ”Are we seeing things?” he asked.
”Perhaps. I believe your car is attempting to communicate in Morse code.”
”What?”
She gestured at the shrub. The headlights blinked in a series of long and short flashes. George watched for a moment before he saw the pattern.
”Is that an SOS?”
”The pattern it is repeating is OSO,” said Karen, ”which is why I said 'attempting.' It is a common mistake for those who do not know Morse code.”
The engine growled and the pattern of flashes changed. The radio switched on and shouted some talk radio at them. Outside the car, with the engine running, it was just distorted squawks.
”Do you think it's going to turn into a giant robot?”
”Doubtful,” Karen said, ”but I am becoming more open to what I would normally consider foolish ideas. I believe we should contact Madelyn Sorensen. I would like to hear more of her insights into this other world we are glimpsing.”
”That could be a little difficult,” said George. ”She's probably in a jail cell right now.”
”Why?”
”She's the one who shot me.”
Karen shook her head. ”As of one hour ago no arrests had been made and no suspects named. Your next-door neighbor across the hall heard gunfire and called the police. She claimed she did not see the shooter.”
”So she's still out there somewhere?”
”I believe she did not intend to hurt you, George. She believed you would not be harmed and was attempting to prove it.”
”She could've just p.r.i.c.ked me with a thumbtack or something. Next time I may not be so lucky.”
Karen gave him an odd look.
He gestured at his chest. ”Like I told you, it was a million-to-one shot. The next bullet could've-”
”The next bullet did nothing,” said Karen.
”What?”
She stared at him over the car's hood. ”I told you I examined the scene of the shooting,” she said. ”I discovered eleven bullets and sh.e.l.l casings. All were on the floor in the doorway of your apartment, all flattened from impact. Based on estimated range and damage to the surrounding walls, it was clear all of them struck some impenetrable object which had been removed since the shooting occurred.”
George looked down at his chest.
”At this point,” Karen said, ”I believe it was taken away in an ambulance.”
His hand slipped up onto his ribs. Even through the fleece and the crisp new s.h.i.+rt, he could feel the sore spot fading. ”You're lying.”
”All the evidence suggests Madelyn Sorensen fired eleven rounds into your chest. Six while you stood, five more once you were on the ground.”
He rubbed his chest. His head was throbbing again. ”The police would have said-”