turn around the perimeter of the room just to see if there could possibly be someone concealed in a corner somewhere that he could have missed—there wasn’t—Mark moved in closer to hear what she had to say.
“It’s all right, you fell out of bed. We’ll just get you back up and . . .”
“There was . . . a man. He tried to put something in my IV.”
A brief silence greeted this. While Mark frowned—this was emphatically not what he wanted to hear—a couple of the nurses exchanged significant looks. It was clear from their expressions that they didn’t put much stock in what she was telling them.
“I was in here earlier.” The orderly stood up. He was a skinny twentysomething in blue scrubs. Medium brown hair pulled back in a short ponytail. Traces of acne on his chin and cheeks. He held up both hands as if to deflect blame. “But I just checked the fluid level. I didn’t put anything in the bag.”
“He had . . . a needle. He tried . . . to stab me with it.” Jessica’s voice was faint and shaky, and it was clear that speaking cost her considerable effort. But the urgency underlying it carried the ring of truth—as far as Mark was concerned, at least.
Shit. Shit, no.
“Well, that settles it. Definitely not me.” With a humor-the-poor-fool smile, the orderly shook his head.
“I tried to run—I couldn’t move my legs.” Jessica’s voice was shriller now, and stronger. “Why can’t I move my legs?”
Jesus, was she paralyzed?
“You need to try to calm down.” The nurse’s tone was soothing. “Can you roll onto this? No?” There was the briefest of pauses and a kind of shuffling sound. “Okay, everyone, one, two, three.”
A moment later, Jessica was lifted back onto the bed and positioned so that she lay flat on her back. She was shivering violently, Mark saw, as they straightened out her limbs. The green hospital gown covered her from her neck to mid-thigh. Her legs were slender and pale and well-shaped, and her feet were narrow with unpainted toes.
As the orderly positioned her legs carefully side by side, she lifted her head a few inches off the mattress and looked down at them with obvious horror.
“My legs aren’t working.”
She sounded frightened. He couldn’t blame her.
“Could you look straight at me, please? I need to check your pupils.”
The blond nurse leaned over the bed, shining a penlight into each of Jessica’s eyes in turn. For a moment Jessica cooperated, seeming bemused as she stared into the light.
“Looks fine,” the nurse said.
“I need to sit up.” Jessica moved her head restlessly. “Please.”
Someone pressed the remote control, and the head of the bed rose with a whirr until she was in a semireclining position.
“Get her vitals.”
The light was withdrawn, the bed rail snapped back into place, and she was situated more comfortably on the bed, the pillows adjusted under her head, the covers smoothed and tucked into place, all in a flurry of organized movements. As they finished, Jessica lay limply back against the big white pillows, looking absolutely exhausted and about as vigorous as a rag doll.
“Why can’t I move my legs? Why doesn’t anyone care that somebody just attacked me? Are any of you even listening to what I’m saying?” Sounding both frightened and angry, she clenched her fists around folds of the blue blanket as if she was holding on to it for dear life.
As her gaze swept her caretakers, Mark got his first real look at her face: squarish, with a high forehead, high cheekbones, and a determined jaw. A gash over her right eyebrow was closed by a neat line of perhaps six stitches. A purpling bruise darkened on her right cheekbone. Another one angled up her neck to her ear, also on the right side. Otherwise, her skin was white as chalk. A distraught expression widened her eyes. Her hair was chin-length, the color of chocolate syrup, and badly tangled on the right side, where most of her visible injuries were located. He
“It’s all right, you fell out of bed. We’ll just get you back up and . . .”
“There was . . . a man. He tried to put something in my IV.”
A brief silence greeted this. While Mark frowned—this was emphatically not what he wanted to hear—a couple of the nurses exchanged significant looks. It was clear from their expressions that they didn’t put much stock in what she was telling them.
“I was in here earlier.” The orderly stood up. He was a skinny twentysomething in blue scrubs. Medium brown hair pulled back in a short ponytail. Traces of acne on his chin and cheeks. He held up both hands as if to deflect blame. “But I just checked the fluid level. I didn’t put anything in the bag.”
“He had . . . a needle. He tried . . . to stab me with it.” Jessica’s voice was faint and shaky, and it was clear that speaking cost her considerable effort. But the urgency underlying it carried the ring of truth—as far as Mark was concerned, at least.
Shit. Shit, no.
“Well, that settles it. Definitely not me.” With a humor-the-poor-fool smile, the orderly shook his head.
“I tried to run—I couldn’t move my legs.” Jessica’s voice was shriller now, and stronger. “Why can’t I move my legs?”
Jesus, was she paralyzed?
“You need to try to calm down.” The nurse’s tone was soothing. “Can you roll onto this? No?” There was the briefest of pauses and a kind of shuffling sound. “Okay, everyone, one, two, three.”
A moment later, Jessica was lifted back onto the bed and positioned so that she lay flat on her back. She was shivering violently, Mark saw, as they straightened out her limbs. The green hospital gown covered her from her neck to mid-thigh. Her legs were slender and pale and well-shaped, and her feet were narrow with unpainted toes.
As the orderly positioned her legs carefully side by side, she lifted her head a few inches off the mattress and looked down at them with obvious horror.
“My legs aren’t working.”
She sounded frightened. He couldn’t blame her.
“Could you look straight at me, please? I need to check your pupils.”
The blond nurse leaned over the bed, shining a penlight into each of Jessica’s eyes in turn. For a moment Jessica cooperated, seeming bemused as she stared into the light.
“Looks fine,” the nurse said.
“I need to sit up.” Jessica moved her head restlessly. “Please.”
Someone pressed the remote control, and the head of the bed rose with a whirr until she was in a semireclining position.
“Get her vitals.”
The light was withdrawn, the bed rail snapped back into place, and she was situated more comfortably on the bed, the pillows adjusted under her head, the covers smoothed and tucked into place, all in a flurry of organized movements. As they finished, Jessica lay limply back against the big white pillows, looking absolutely exhausted and about as vigorous as a rag doll.
“Why can’t I move my legs? Why doesn’t anyone care that somebody just attacked me? Are any of you even listening to what I’m saying?” Sounding both frightened and angry, she clenched her fists around folds of the blue blanket as if she was holding on to it for dear life.
As her gaze swept her caretakers, Mark got his first real look at her face: squarish, with a high forehead, high cheekbones, and a determined jaw. A gash over her right eyebrow was closed by a neat line of perhaps six stitches. A purpling bruise darkened on her right cheekbone. Another one angled up her neck to her ear, also on the right side. Otherwise, her skin was white as chalk. A distraught expression widened her eyes. Her hair was chin-length, the color of chocolate syrup, and badly tangled on the right side, where most of her visible injuries were located. He
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