Simon Rising Page 6

  After that he went to another waiting area, this one closer to his target. He did not want to spend too much time in any one place. He was just killing time, but he did not want it to appear that way. There was no shortage of waiting spaces in this hospital; each major area had its own. He had been there before, although not recently and not in a professional capacity. He remembered the waiting areas from his last visit, waiting in one area just to have his name called to be sent to the next stupid waiting area. He remembered that more clearly than why he had been there.

  He scoffed again as he picked a magazine from a wooden rack. Ten grand for this. He often got more for killing, often double or more. Then again, he also usually worked a lot harder for it. Snuff out a quadriplegic during the night so it looked close enough to natural nobody would ask questions. Not exactly sporting. But sporting was not his line of work. A few more jobs like this and maybe he could get out of this damned city.

  “Doctor Pierce to recovery. Doctor Pierce to recovery please.”

  Still, the German asshole had no shortage of lackeys and thugs and trigger men, but Müller contacted him specifically. The German made it clear this was an important target, and that it not connect back to him. Nobody said no to Müller. Carl had murdered more than his share of people who said no to Müller.

  When it started getting late he moved to the maternity waiting room. Nobody there would question a single man waiting on a couch, he knew, especially someone who looked like they fell asleep. He wasn’t even the only one there.

  In his head he chastised the prick for not being with his wife. Carl had damned well been there when his girl was born! But not this shithead, thumbing his smartphone. Probably checking work emails more important than the son or daughter the man was about to have. The man just sat there, slouched low into the couch, obsessed—zombie-like—with the glowing screen. Carl sighed and shook his head before thumbing through the car magazine he brought from one of the other waiting rooms.

  Time to pretend to be just another deadbeat dad.

  Carl waited, letting his annoyance slide into the dark pit into which he put so many of his feelings. The other man continued on his phone, oblivious to there being anyone else in the waiting area. The prick gave a frustrated sigh now and then. Some kind of middle management, Carl decided. He tried to ignore the man, pretending to be just as distracted.

  Two-thirty rolled around. By now, he knew, the nurse shift change would be complete, and they would be finishing their first round of vitals. By the time he got to their floor, the nurses should be distracted enough at their computers doing data entry. Nobody should check on his victim for the next couple of hours. Carl would leave well before that.

  He took the stairs back down two floors to the third level. The ding of an elevator might get a nurse’s attention. No need for that, Carl had already decided. The door creaked as he pulled it open. Not enough anyone halfway down the hall would hear or have reason to care about.

  As it was, there was something going on by the nurses’ station that stole all of their attention. It looked like a countertop was being cleaned up under a broken light.

  A haggard looking patient with the scruffy beginnings of a beard shuffled down the hallway with his rolling IV pole. Carl stepped into a room on the other side of the hallway, showing deliberate nonchalance in his movement. The sickly man shambled into the room across the hall.

  “Go to sleep, asshole,” Carl commanded the man under his breath. The fewer people moving about the better. He waited a long few minutes to give the nurses time to finish whatever it was they were attending to.

  When he peeked back out into the hallway, the nurses were back at their computer screens, oblivious enough to the hallway for his needs. He prowled down the hall. He did not need to go as far as they were, which was fortunate.

  A hard, orange plastic chair outside the room, where the police detail would sit during the day, sat empty now. Müller said it would be. He thought about the special pillow in his backpack. They’d never realize what they missed. “Oh, they’re gonna be pissed,” he muttered.

  And there he was, room 310. He slipped inside and paused a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. Not that it was actually dark, but still. He lowered the little pack to his left hand.

  The first bed looked recently used; the covers were rumpled and turned down, but it was empty. There was only supposed to be one person in the room. He moved past the curtain to the second bed. That bed was neatly made and clearly not used.

  He turned back to the first bed.

  The whiteboard for 310A listed the right name on it, Steven Ambrose, the bank robber mastermind guy in the news. Carl didn’t know what the connection to Müller was, or if there even was one. But Müller wanted the guy dead. That was all he needed to know about it.

  He was in the right room. Had Ambrose been taken for some unanticipated late-night scan or test? That seemed unlikely.

  A half-full catheter bag hung under the bed. The clear line from it ran to the floor, leaking a slowly expanding puddle. Nurses or orderlies had not taken him; someone else had.

  “Crap.”

  He checked the hallway and slung the pack back over his shoulder. The nurses were still preoccupied. He slunk out, pulling out his phone on the way back to the stairwell.

  “Is it done?” the voice at the other end said in its slight German accent once he placed the call from the seclusion of the stairwell.

  “We have a problem,” Carl began.

  CHAPTER 6 – GONE

  Steven ended up waiting longer than he wanted, but too many things had to work just right. But he was ready now. He had some idea of how much he could move for how long before getting too exhausted. While he had not yet been out of bed, he believed he could walk around and have it look, while maybe not graceful, at least natural enough to be unremarkable.

  He ‘watched’ the motion of the nurses as the new shift did their sweeps for vitals. Nervous energy buzzed in his brain he felt as a driving need to move things. Yet he left his immediate little part of his world still and motionless. There would be plenty of opportunity soon enough; then he would be free.

  Gloria, one of the cranky nurses, came in and noted his vitals on her clipboard chart, clicking her tongue for each vital she scribbled. He remained still and quiet with his eyes closed, trying to look asleep. He tried to read what she was writing by the motion of her pen, but she wrote more quickly than he could follow.

  As usual, she paid little attention to the actual person hooked up to the monitors, just to the numbers she needed to record. This time it did not bother him. It would be the last time he would see her. That made it easier to ignore her uncaring manner and not take it personally.

  The Night Stroller whose clothes he intended to steal had taken his walk some two hours ago. After that the man had fidgeted for a while, creating little flashes, but had settled since. His breathing had slowed, and his heartbeat somewhat. The man was soundly asleep.

  He shifted the covers off of him and slowly removed the catheter. It was a good thing he could not feel it come out, but watching it slide out of him disturbed him. At least it was him doing it this time, he told himself, and not one of the nurses like when it was changed out a few days ago. But he was glad he had seen her do it so he knew what to do. The far inside end inflated to hold it in place. How much damage might he have caused himself if he had not found out about that?

  He also removed all the sensor leads. He knew from the sponge baths where each one was, but he still had to manipulate his own head to see them, which frustrated and annoyed him. The adhesive pulled at his skin, but did not seem to do any damage coming off.

  He would keep the IV with him for now. The Night Stroller always had his with him, so if a nurse did see him walking the hall he should continue looking the part.

  He shifted his focus to the drawers across the room and watched a drawer slide open at his bidding. He collected four of the diapers and the pack of wipes. Th
ere was a spare garbage bag tucked into the garbage can, and under his attention it drew itself out and wrapped itself around the diaper bundle. He brought that bundle in front of him and kept it there, tying it in place under his gown with a second garbage bag.

  He lifted himself off the bed and over the floor, letting the deadweight of his legs draw them down. Like a puppeteer he moved his own limbs to approximate walking to the door. He meandered, taking the moment to practice and again wishing for a mirror. The swaying movement seemed exaggerated, and he paced across the room and back until he believed the movements looked more natural. He kept one hand wrapped around the IV pole and pulled it around behind him. One of its wheels squeaked.

  As always the door was cracked open a little. That had bothered him so many times in the past, but now it was just as well. It was open enough to peek through at the nurses, so it would be easier to tell where they were or weren’t looking. That was a much harder thing to gauge by movement alone.

  The one chatting with the orderly was looking his way enough to notice him walk out, which would not do. The orderly was between them, facing away, so he was no issue. Pudgy Gloria typed at a computer terminal, also facing away. Still, he would need a distraction. He needed something to get their attention and hold it for at least a few minutes. Something important enough for all three of them to fixate on would be ideal

  He also needed something subtle enough they wouldn’t instead focus on trying to find the cause. The light fixture above them caught his eye. It was over the counter between the chatting nurse and the orderly. He wanted to be able to see it better, but the textured plastic cover prevented him from seeing the bulbs.

  It was okay, that was no barrier to him. He knew what to do. He pushed the middle of the plastic cover up, sudden and hard. It cracked into a dozen pieces and shattered the four long fluorescent tubes beyond.

  Glass and plastic rained down on the orderly and the counter. The glowing rain of falling shards was fascinating and beautiful in that brief moment.

  The orderly and nurses all yelped in surprise, the closer two each jumping back. The nurse’s chair fell over backwards from her backwards lurch and sudden push to a stand.

  Both nurses, swearing and somewhat panicked, tried awkwardly to brush off the patient files sitting on the counter.

  “Don’t touch any of it,” the orderly warned. “Call maintenance to clean it. I need to go get this shit washed out of my hair and change.” The swearing continued as he stomped away down the hall.

  “What the fuck happened?” Gloria griped while the other one shook the chart files over the gray-speckled floor.

  Steven considered following the orderly to see where he changed, but there were too many variables that way. Stick to the plan. He brought the IV pole with him, lifting it just off the ground so the wheels could not squeak, and stepped out into the hallway and in the opposite direction from the orderly. He was clenching his jaw. He tried to relax it but only succeeded a little.

  He avoided eye contact with a visitor in the hallway, a man with a small green backpack, and the man stepped into a patient room across from the Night Stroller’s room. He did not recall noticing nighttime visitors before but dismissed it as not his problem. Maybe the man was sneaking the woman chocolate and avoiding the nurses. That patient was one of the heaviest on the floor and often complained there was never enough chocolate. She was diabetic, he had heard them remind her, and chocolate was not what she needed.

  He slipped inside the room and the visitor shut the door across the hall. Both men in this room were asleep. The obese man in the far bed snored a raspy snore, which made Steven thankful he had had his room to himself. It had been lonely, but it had also been pleasantly quiet and private.

  He nudged the little closet door open and smiled when he saw a set of dark sweats neatly folded at the bottom.

  Then he removed the IV, letting the discarded line drop as he had the catheter.

  He lifted himself off the ground and hovered, levitating a few inches above the floor, his toes pointing downward of their own gravity.

  The hospital gown slid to the floor after he untied it. At a glance the identification band came off his wrist with a louder snap than he expected as it broke and fell to the floor discarded. He paused, holding himself still. Neither man stirred at the noise.

  The clothes moved into position and slid onto him. Part of him admired what he was doing, and part of him was eager to get it done with faster so he could get out. His distraction would only hold them so long. It wasn’t like he could read their thoughts to know how much time he had. The sweatshirt was a little baggy, so it fit over the diaper bundle tied to his waist. The result looked like a rather ordinary beer belly. The sweatpants were a good enough fit he did not have to tie the waistband drawstring, which helped.

  Next came socks and sneakers. It took coordination to tie them, but he had been practicing with the ties to his gown on and off for days to build coordination. He had to do it slowly to make it work; it seemed to take forever. But the laces tied themselves on the first try and the second shoe went faster.

  He lowered himself back to the floor and walked back to the door. He peeked and confirmed the nurses were still preoccupied. He moseyed down the hallway, just another night-time visitor finally headed home. He would feel a lot more comfortable with that illusion once he was off this floor and in an area more accustomed to night visitors. The need to escape and the rational thought he had to look casual if anyone saw him warred with each other. Focus.

  He bypassed the elevators and moved to the stairs. The door creaked, but not enough to attract any attention. If nothing else, the nurses were far enough away they probably would not have heard it anyway. The last thing he wanted to do was stand there waiting for the elevator.

  A door clanked shut somewhere below him and he froze. He found the motion, someone walking away. He let them go a moment before he let the person drop from his awareness.

  He looked at the stairs. So many steps, each one so many distinct movements all at once. “Fuck it.”

  He floated down the stairs like a ghost, slow at first until he was sure it would work. It was easier than walking. He smiled, imagining the reaction if he were to encounter someone on the stairs. He decided at this time of night that was unlikely enough to not be cause for any concern.

  At the second floor the door banged open, and he dropped himself. He barely caught himself before crumpling to the steps. Shit! Natural....He moved his hand to the railing.

  “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” an orderly with lamb-chop sideburns said.

  “It’s okay.” Steven stood still, frozen and lost. The orderly half nodded and half shrugged before walking up past him. The man continued up to four and stepped out. It wasn’t until the door banged shut Steven was ready to move again. Faster, now.

  Out of the stairway on the ground floor it was not hard to find the signs and colored arrows directing him back out. He passed a pair of technicians chatting together as they walked.

  “It makes sense, though. I mean we have been busier since then, so who knows....” One of them looked at him and cocked his head a little, pausing mid-sentence, but continued on. Casual. Nothing to see. “Who knows what else it might be causing. Just ‘cause the government scientists keep insisting it’s harmless....”

  They rounded one corner as Steven rounded another.

  There was a uniformed guard at the entrance desk. He hesitated and caught himself chewing his lip. This man he might have to interact with to get out. This man could sound some kind of alarm if needed. He supposed the man was unlikely to be armed, however, so at this point if he had to bolt for freedom he could, and the man could only do so much to stop him, right?

  He lowered his head a little, trying both to look tired and reduce the chances of the guard seeing his face. He tried to lower his shoulders a little, hoping to pull off a convincing Slouch. Perhaps an unnecessary precaution, but he had already decided to trust his in
stincts. He might not consciously know how to plan a bank heist, but if his subconscious remembered anything he was not going to disregard it.

  The guard looked up at him.

  “Um, ‘scuse me. Where’s your guest sticker?”

  What? Crap, that hadn’t even occurred to him. Even the chocolate smuggler had one. Fuck.

  “Shit. Um...,” he puppeted his hands to pat at his chest as if there had been one there earlier. “I guess it fell off?”

  “Well, let me look you up in the register. Last name?”

  Shit! Steven tried not to stammer, but he had nothing. He had to guess a name? He was tired; he just wanted to get away. Tired. He faked a yawn, hoping it was convincing, to buy a moment to think. Run? Fight him with something?

  A phone rang.

  “Just a sec,” the guard said with a raised finger. “Saint Mary’s Hospital, front desk, how may I help you?”

  That bought more time to think. He saw the list on a clipboard, but not well enough to read names.

  “Let me look that up.” The guard turned to his computer and started typing. Opportunity.

  Steven turned away from the desk and, hoping it looked casual, walked through two sets of sliding glass doors and felt the cool night air on his face at last.

  Across the ambulance lane, he smiled, finally starting to relax the further across the parking lot he got towards some taller buildings. Nobody came running out after him. Nobody called out to him. Once he was on the street, he saw traffic cameras in places he expected to find them. That was comforting—not that they were there, but that he had known to anticipate them. He turned his head just enough and walked past them like any other pedestrian would.

  CHAPTER 7 – RIP OFF THE BAND-AID

  Her cell phone’s ring tone tugged Rachel from her sleep like an insistent child. Her room was dark. Light spilling through around the window shades was conspicuously absent. The room had an east view, so she should have seen some light even the hour or so before sunrise. What time is it? The phone kept chirping at her, whining for her attention.