Discworld and Member Articles
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Written by TheJackal
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Sunday, 06 November 2005 |
Nurse Mary Stevens walked slowly down the ward, shining her flashlight on each patient as she passed. She did this monotonous task every night and the outcome was always the same. All were sleeping, and why shouldn’t they be. It was the ward for comatose patients after all.
Ms. Stevens liked this part of the hospital the most. Her patients never talked back, never complained. Most of the unfortunate souls in this ward had been here for years. Nearly all would never awaken from their prolonged sleep. Mary had worked in the hospital for seven years and in that time, only two patients from this ward had recovered. They were the lucky ones, not only because they had stirred from their deep sleep, but also since their families were always rich. You had to be from a wealthy family to afford years of medical treatment. Hospital bills were expensive and few people could manage to pay for a service which may never garner positive results.
Nurse Stevens reached the end of the room, flashing her torch on the room’s last occupant. She gave but a cursory glance and then the screaming began.
-----
John Reynolds was not happy to be awake. The telephone beside his bed was ringing incessantly. If this wasn’t an important call, John would be sure to let the unwanted caller know just how unhappy he was. He looked at his alarm clock: Four a.m.
‘What is it?’ said John sleepily into the mouthpiece.
‘Sorry to ring you in the middle of the night, Sir. This is Ray Buck.’
John tried to place the name. Ray Buck? Ah yes, he worked in the Cryptology Division of the NSA, the same as John himself had.
‘What is it Ray?’ asked John, not bothering with civilities.
‘You’ll never believe this Sir, but Michael Grimes is awake.’
-----
Less then an hour later, John Reynolds had arrived at New York’s Mount Mercy Hospital. He took the elevator to the sixth floor. After taking a wrong turn he realised his mistake, doubled back, and eventually found his way to the hallway where Ray Buck was waiting.
‘Mr. Reynolds,’ greeted Ray with great excitement in his eyes. ‘He’s through here.’
‘Has Michael said anything?’ asked John.
‘After I called you, he started mumbling something over and over. It was hard to hear clearly but we were able to make out the name Pat Kingston. It seemed to me that was who Michael wanted to see.’
‘Pat? He died years ago.’
‘Yes, but Michael would not have known that because they were attacked on the same night. I told Michael that Pat was dead. It didn’t seem to bring out any reaction though. Michael just kept mumbling the name. Then, about ten minutes later, the mumbling changed. He’s now saying the name of Pat’s daughter, Kara Kingston.’
‘I haven’t seen Kara since her father’s funeral. She must be nearly thirty by now.’
‘Yes, something like that,’ said Ray. ‘I hadn’t seen you since the funeral day either. Spoke to her alright a few times, after things died down, but she wasn’t the same. Took Pat’s death really bad.’
‘It was a sad time. I knew you and Michael were close, of course. Is that how you found out Michael was awake?’
‘Well, when I heard that the NSA was going to pay for Michael’s treatment, I put my name down as a contact if anything should happen.’
‘So the hospital phoned you earlier? What time?’
‘Got a call around two a.m. and rushed over. Couldn’t believe it.’
‘Do the doctors think Michael will make a full recovery?’ asked John.
‘They can’t tell yet but it looks very unlikely at this stage. It appears earlier predictions were correct; that Michael would had been brain damaged as a result of the attack eight years ago.’
‘Jesus. So he cannot talk properly at all?’
‘Doesn’t look like it. Kara is on her way here though, so maybe she will get a positive reaction out of him.’
‘Kara knows?’ asked John with a hint of surprise.
‘Yep. The hospital called her before me. She should be here about five a.m., so that will be any minute now. She’s probably as eager to find out about that night as we are.’
-----
Kara Kingston arrived on the sixth floor of Mount Mercy twenty minutes later. She looked tired and her eyes suggested she may have been crying.
‘Kara,’ said John with a big, forced smile.
‘Mr. Reynolds,’ said Kara, shaking his hand.
‘You remember Ray, of course.’
‘Yes. We used to see each other all the time when Ray came to talk to my father.’
Kara shook Ray’s hand with more enthusiasm than as she had John’s.
‘It’s very nice to see you again, Ms. Kingston,’ said Ray. ‘I wish it could have been under more pleasant circumstances.’
‘But this is a pleasant circumstance, Ray. I hope to find out which bastard killed my father.’
‘That may be a problem,’ said Ray.
‘Why?’ asked Kara sternly.
Ray quickly told her the story he had just told John.
‘So he has been saying my name?’ asked Kara somewhat disbelievingly.
‘Yes. Over and over. We were wondering if you could go in and say something to him. Maybe Michael will become more lucid if he sees you.’
‘I’ll try,’ said Kara.
With that, Ray led John and Kara into the room Michael was in. All was as Ray had said. Michael was sitting up in the bed. His eyes followed the three visitors as they entered the room, while all the time mumbling away to himself.
Kara walked slowly over to his bedside.
‘Michael. It’s me, Kara. Can you hear me?’
This brought no response so Kara asked him another question.
‘Are you okay? You’ve been in a coma for eight years. Eight years, Michael. I didn’t think you would ever wake up. I probably look different since you saw me last. Grew up. If you can understand me, give me a sign.’
Kara waited but nothing happened. Feeling rather awkward, she turned to John and Ray who had been listening intently.
‘Doesn’t look like he can hear me,’ said Kara as the three left the room.
‘He has been like this since they found him earlier. We probably won’t get anything else from him tonight,’ said Ray.
‘It might be best if you and Ray go home for now,’ said John. ‘I will let both of you know if anything new should arise.’
Kara and Ray reluctantly acquiesced. Kara returned to the room to get her handbag, which she had left on a table by Michael’s bed. The men waited for her outside.
Just as she was about to pick up her bag, something caught Kara’s eye. A pen, which she was one hundred percent sure had been in her a bag but a minute ago, was now resting on the table. That was strange. Who could have put it there? Her eyes flashed towards Michael. He looked the same as he had done moments earlier.
‘Michael, did you do that?’ Kara whispered. ‘Lift your left shoulder slightly if you can understand me.’
Seconds passed; nothing happened. Kara felt foolish. Then it came: A slight lifting of Michael’s left shoulder. It was nothing that would stand out to anyone, but Kara knew. Michael could understand her.
-----
Kara walked somewhat dazedly from the room. John Reynolds noticed her change in manner.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘Oh…nothing really. I was just thinking that Michael has been in a coma for so long, not being able to tell us what happened, and I don’t feel like I can just go home for the night and forget that he’s finally awake. I’d much rather stay here in case he says something new. Would that be okay?’
‘Well, I suppose so,’ said John eventually. Everyone knew he was in charge now, even though nobody had mentioned it out loud. John outranked Ray in the NSA and Kara was a civilian. John had also been head of the Cryptography Division eight years ago when Pat Kingston, one of his most gifted agents, was murdered. Back then, they hadn’t a clue about who had committed the terrible crime, but John was calling the shots once again this time round.
At least, until Frank Rogers arrived, the current Head of the Cryptography Division. John had contacted Frank Rogers after Ray’s unwelcome wake up call. Frank had been equally displeased with the interruption but had quickly become attentive when John informed him of the news. Ray should have been the one to call Frank Rogers, thought John. Frank was Ray’s boss these days and John could see Rogers having a serious word about that to Ray later on.
‘I’d like to stay as well, Sir,’ stated Ray.
‘I know Michael was…is your friend, but I think it best not to crowd him too soon with visitors. Frank Rogers and his men will be here in a while, and they’ll be traipsing round the place wanting answers.’
Ray agreed, though he was a bit disheartened.
Now John turned squarely at Kara. ‘I’m going to head downstairs to wait for Frank, Ms. Kingston. I will send a man up in a moment to keep an eye on things. If you need anything, or especially if Michael says anything, let my man know. He will be able to see you through the window here.’
With that, Ms. Kingston walked slowly back into Michael’s room. She could barely contain her eagerness for answers. Why was Michael pretending to be in such a sorry condition? Could he tell her who had murdered her father? What had happened that night? What could possibly be important enough to justify attempts at killing two men?
-----
Kara pulled up a chair beside Michael. She was careful to place it so that her back faced the window behind her. John’s man could not be allowed to see her talking to the patient.
‘Okay Michael, the others have gone. We can talk now.’
Kara cocked her head around to check if the coast was still clear. Damn, John’s man had arrived already, and as promised, was watching through the window.
‘Right, this is how we’re going to do things: I will ask you a question. If the answer is yes, then lift your right shoulder slightly, as you did before. If the answer is no, move your head. Got that?’
Michael’s right shoulder moved. He understood.
‘Okay, okay. First up: Are you acting like this because you think you’re in danger?’
Shoulder; yes.
The next question, Kara asked breathlessly. ‘Do you know who killed my father?’
Head; no.
Kara’s head also sagged. Michael did not know; after all this time waiting, he didn’t know. She felt like crying again. No, she would be strong.
‘Do you know who tried to kill you?’ asked Kara.
Head; no.
‘Did you get a good look at him at least?’
Shoulder; yes.
Well, that was something, thought Kara. If the attacker had a criminal record, then the NSA would have his photo on file, allowing Michael to find a positive match.
And then she asked the question Kara had been avoiding. ‘Will I be in danger if I help you?’
Shoulder; yes.
‘I thought as much. Well, it can’t be helped I suppose. You were one of my father’s best friends, and whatever happened back then, you two were in it together. I have to help you.’
Kara tried not to look nervous or scared but inside she was terrified. There was also a tingling of excitement.
‘You look good anyway,’ said Kara changing the subject. It was also a blatant lie. Nobody looked good after an eight-year coma.
‘Well, apart from you being so pale. You’re like me now,’ said Kara the workaholic.
Kara thought she saw a slight smile form on Michael’s mouth but he was a pro at hiding his emotions. Michael had always been a genius, thought Kara. His brain must be working overtime to fool the doctors round here.
‘It really is great to see you again. Thought we’d lost you forever. The NSA kept you here and paid the bills. They will want some serious answers, Michael. Frank Rogers is the new Head of Cryptography. Remember him? He’s on his way and should be here soon. John Reynolds has gone down to the ground floor to meet him. John left after the investigation into my father’s murder failed to discover anything useful. He transferred into another division; I’m not sure which. I think it was a demotion actually because John got blamed for not knowing exactly what was one of his men up to that was so serious.’
Kara continued to tell Michael about some important events he had missed over the years. Such as how the NSA had managed to keep the incident out of the papers; and how she was now a nurse in Cleveland, working around the clock. Kara spoke also of major worldwide and political occurrences, even mentioning that The Patriots had won last year’s Superbowl. Michael loved American football, she remembered. It was right up there with his love for puzzles and deciphers.
Deciphers…that gave her an idea. ‘Did you crack one of my father’s NSA codes? I know he used to sneak some home when they couldn’t solve them.’
Shoulder; yes.
‘Oh my God.’ Kara got excited again.
‘Listen, we’ll have to get you out of here quick. Whatever code you solved must have scared some people really bad and they tried to kill you. They will likely try again if they realise you’re faking.’
Something told Kara that was what Michael had been trying to tell her all along. But how could she get him out of the hospital? John’s goon was outside and more NSA men were on their way. Time was not on their side.
-----
It didn’t take Kara Kingston long to work out a plan. She had inherited her father’s intellect for solving awkward problems. It was immediately apparent to her that she must act right away. Now would probably be the optimal time to mastermind an escape as there was only one guard on duty, compared to perhaps dozens in the morning.
The sole guard outside would need to be distracted or somehow tricked into leaving the hallway for a few minutes. Kara tried to think of how to do it but her ideas were too fantastical to be taken seriously.
That being said, there was another, more violent angle which merited her attention. Kara was reluctant to do it but the idea was her best. She liked simplicity and this plan was easy to carry out, though there would be consequences afterwards. Then again, there would be repercussions no matter what she did to help Michael escape from the NSA, which he clearly believed could not be trusted.
Perhaps someone inside the NSA had been responsible for her father’s death? Had Michael’s deciphering of this mystery code forced the hand of a corrupt agent in the organisation?
She was going to find out. But first, Kara calmly walked out of Michael’s room, nodded at the guard, said she was heading off to the canteen, and would he like some coffee? No, he was fine, thanks. The guard turned his attention back to watching Michael through the window. Kara stopped, turned around, picked up a chair, and hurled it squarely at the guard’s head. He slumped forwards like a rag doll.
‘Come on. We’re getting out of here,’ said Kara running back into the room.
‘Nice work,’ replied Michael, speaking for the first time, and in a chesty voice unaccustomed to use for eight whole years. He tried to swing his legs out of the bed but his leg muscles were too weak just yet. Kara nearly panicked when she realised this but then recalled seeing a wheelchair near the lift when she had gotten off earlier.
Sprinting down the empty hallway, she quickly espied the wheelchair she was looking for. When Kara returned, Michael was sitting at the bed’s edge. She gently helped lower him into the chair, and they were off.
But off to where? They couldn’t just take the lift to the ground floor and go out the main entrance. Think, think, Kara told herself. But Michael had already thought of the answer.
‘Where is the nearest entrance to the hospital car park?’ he asked.
‘I think there’s one on every floor but my car is parked on the second.’
‘Well, we can’t use the stairs with this chair, so we’ll have to risk the elevator. Best we move now before the others arrive.’
With that, Kara was half pushing, half running down the hallway. After pressing the call button, it felt like an eternity before the elevator made its way up to their floor. Kara prayed that no-one would be in the lift when it opened. It seemed they were in luck because it was indeed empty, though this perhaps was not too surprising considering it was the middle of the night.
Thirty seconds later and they were on the second floor, moving for the exit. They passed some staff in the hallway but they thought nothing of Kara and her wheelchair bound patient. She kindly asked a nurse where the car park entrance was and followed the directions with care.
And now they were through, into the car park, with its dingy lighting and cool air. The temperature dropped noticeably but Kara was still quite hot from pushing Michael.
Her car was not too far away and it took them only another minute or so to reach it. Opening up the passenger side, Kara lifted Michael up and inside the car. Running to the other side, she glanced at her watch. The others would be on the sixth floor any second now and the alarm would be raised.
The keys. Where were her damn keys? Ah, there they were. Right, key in ignition. Reverse back. Go, go, go.
Round and round she went, down onto the first floor, and then to the ground level. Now here was the exit barrier. Oh God, she’d forgotten to pay for her ticket. How could she be so stupid? Should she reverse? No wait, this was one of the car parks where you could pay at the exit. Loads of people must forget to pay beforehand, she thought hysterically, bursting into relief laughter.
Put card into machine; pay; forget the change, it doesn’t matter; lift up barrier, damn you. Yes. Move out. Open road. Go, go, go.
Moving quickly from first gear to second along New York’s roads, Karen almost cried. She was feeling so many emotions rights now: excitement, fear, relief, confusion. But perhaps the most endearing sentiment right now was uncertainty. Here she was, Kara Kingston, daughter of a murdered NSA cryptographer, after breaking out a man who’d just spent eight years in a coma, and now on the run from the NSA.
What did the future have in store? Racing through an amber traffic light, Kara knew she would soon find out.
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