DNA sequencers. The other surprise was how few people were in the mammoth room.
"Where is everybody?" Deborah asked.
"The doctors are all doing various clinical procedures at the moment," Claire answered.
Deborah strolled along a long countertop supporting more dissecting microscopes than she'd seen in any one place before. They were also more powerful than the microscopes Deborah had had the pleasure of using.
"An army could work in here," Deborah said..
"We're always looking for qualified people," Claire said.
Deborah came to the end of the lab bench and glanced out the window. It faced out the back of the building and offered an impressive view. It was particularly expansive because the building sat on the spine of a hill, with lawn sloping away in both the front and the back. Northward through a tangle of orange oaks and red maples Deborah could make out stone buildings similar to the gatehouse but with white trim.
"Are those buildings part of the farm?" Deborah asked.
"No, those are some of the living quarters," Claire explained. Pointing off to the right in a southeastern direction to where the property sloped down even more dramatically than elsewhere, she directed Deborah's attention to a shimmering of light just visible through old-growth pines. "That sparkle is sun reflecting off the surface of the mill pond. The farm buildings are grouped around it."
"What's the story with the brick chimney spewing smoke?"
Deborah questioned, gesturing toward a smokestack rearing up above the trees even farther to the right. "Is that part of Wingate complex as well?" The smoke was white as it left the chimney but faded to a dark purplish-gray as it trailed off in the distance toward the east.
"It certainly is," Claire said. "That's the old power plant for heat and hot water. It's a rather interesting structure. It was also the crematorium for the Cabot Institution."
"Crematorium?" Deborah sputtered. "Why on earth did they have a crematorium out here?"
"Out of necessity, I guess," Claire said. "Back in the olden days I think a lot of the patients were essentially abandoned by their families."
Deborah cringed at the thought of an isolated mental hospital with its own crematorium, but before she could ask another question, Claire's pager went off. The woman checked the LCD window. "That's for you, Miss Cochrane. They're ready for your procedure."
Deborah was pleased. She was eager to get it over with so she and Joanna could be on their way.
FOUR
OCTOBER 15, 1999 9:O5 A.M.
THERE WAS NO TRANSITION period. One minute Joanna was fast asleep, and the next she was fully awake. She found herself staring up at a high, unfamiliar, embossed-tin ceiling.
"Well, well, the sleeping beauty has awakened," a voice said.
Joanna turned in the direction of the voice and found herself looking up into an equally unfamiliar face. At the exact instant she was going to ask where she was, her momentary confusion was replaced by full comprehension of her situation.
"Let's get your blood pressure," the nurse said as he took his stethoscope from around his neck and put the earpieces into his ears. He was an impeccably groomed individual, close to Joanna's age, dressed in surgical scrubs. His name tag said MYRON HANNA. He began inflating a blood pressure cuff already present around Joanna's left upper arm.
Joanna watched the man's face. His eyes were glued to the pressure gauge while he pressed the stethoscope's bell against the crook of her elbow. As the cuff deflated she felt her pulse surge through her arm. The man smiled and removed the apparatus.
"Your blood pressure is fine," he said. He then reached for her wrist to time her pulse.
Joanna waited until he was through. "What about my procedure?" she asked.
"Your procedure is all done," Myron said as he recorded his findings on a clipboard.
"You're joking," Joanna said. She had no appreciation of the passage of time.
"Nope, you're all done," Myron repeated. "And it was successful, I
"Where is everybody?" Deborah asked.
"The doctors are all doing various clinical procedures at the moment," Claire answered.
Deborah strolled along a long countertop supporting more dissecting microscopes than she'd seen in any one place before. They were also more powerful than the microscopes Deborah had had the pleasure of using.
"An army could work in here," Deborah said..
"We're always looking for qualified people," Claire said.
Deborah came to the end of the lab bench and glanced out the window. It faced out the back of the building and offered an impressive view. It was particularly expansive because the building sat on the spine of a hill, with lawn sloping away in both the front and the back. Northward through a tangle of orange oaks and red maples Deborah could make out stone buildings similar to the gatehouse but with white trim.
"Are those buildings part of the farm?" Deborah asked.
"No, those are some of the living quarters," Claire explained. Pointing off to the right in a southeastern direction to where the property sloped down even more dramatically than elsewhere, she directed Deborah's attention to a shimmering of light just visible through old-growth pines. "That sparkle is sun reflecting off the surface of the mill pond. The farm buildings are grouped around it."
"What's the story with the brick chimney spewing smoke?"
Deborah questioned, gesturing toward a smokestack rearing up above the trees even farther to the right. "Is that part of Wingate complex as well?" The smoke was white as it left the chimney but faded to a dark purplish-gray as it trailed off in the distance toward the east.
"It certainly is," Claire said. "That's the old power plant for heat and hot water. It's a rather interesting structure. It was also the crematorium for the Cabot Institution."
"Crematorium?" Deborah sputtered. "Why on earth did they have a crematorium out here?"
"Out of necessity, I guess," Claire said. "Back in the olden days I think a lot of the patients were essentially abandoned by their families."
Deborah cringed at the thought of an isolated mental hospital with its own crematorium, but before she could ask another question, Claire's pager went off. The woman checked the LCD window. "That's for you, Miss Cochrane. They're ready for your procedure."
Deborah was pleased. She was eager to get it over with so she and Joanna could be on their way.
FOUR
OCTOBER 15, 1999 9:O5 A.M.
THERE WAS NO TRANSITION period. One minute Joanna was fast asleep, and the next she was fully awake. She found herself staring up at a high, unfamiliar, embossed-tin ceiling.
"Well, well, the sleeping beauty has awakened," a voice said.
Joanna turned in the direction of the voice and found herself looking up into an equally unfamiliar face. At the exact instant she was going to ask where she was, her momentary confusion was replaced by full comprehension of her situation.
"Let's get your blood pressure," the nurse said as he took his stethoscope from around his neck and put the earpieces into his ears. He was an impeccably groomed individual, close to Joanna's age, dressed in surgical scrubs. His name tag said MYRON HANNA. He began inflating a blood pressure cuff already present around Joanna's left upper arm.
Joanna watched the man's face. His eyes were glued to the pressure gauge while he pressed the stethoscope's bell against the crook of her elbow. As the cuff deflated she felt her pulse surge through her arm. The man smiled and removed the apparatus.
"Your blood pressure is fine," he said. He then reached for her wrist to time her pulse.
Joanna waited until he was through. "What about my procedure?" she asked.
"Your procedure is all done," Myron said as he recorded his findings on a clipboard.
"You're joking," Joanna said. She had no appreciation of the passage of time.
"Nope, you're all done," Myron repeated. "And it was successful, I
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