Just get me my clothes.
Dont argue, Mr. Holland. You have to stay.
Why?
Because youve got an IV, thats why! she snapped, as if the plastic tube itself was some sort of irreversible condition.
I want my clothes.
Id have to check with the ER. Nothing of yours came up to the floor.
Then call the ER, damn you! At Miss Redferns disapproving scowl, he added with strained politeness, If you dont mind.
It was another half hour before a woman showed up from the business office to explain what had happened to Victors belongings.
Im afraid we-well, we seem to havelost your clothes, Mr. Holland, she said, fidgeting under his astonished gaze.
What do you mean, lost?
They were- she cleared her throat -er, stolen. From the emergency room. Believe me, this has never happened before. Were really very sorry about this, Mr. Holland, and Im sure well be able to arrange a purchase of replacement clothing
She was too busy trying to make excuses to notice that Victors face had frozen in alarm. That his mind was racing as he tried to remember, through the blur of last nights events, just what had happened to the film canister. He knew hed had it in his pocket during the endless drive to the hospital. He remembered clutching it there, remembered flailing senselessly at the woman when shed tried to pull his hand from his pocket. After that, nothing was clear, nothing was certain. Have I lost it? he thought. Have I lost my only evidence?
While the moneys missing, your credit cards seem to be all there, so I guess thats something to be thankful for.
He looked at her blankly. What?
Your valuables, Mr. Holland. She pointed to the wallet and watch shed just placed on the bedside table. The security guard found them in the trash bin outside the hospital. Looks like the thief only wanted your cash.
And my clothes. Right.
The instant the woman left, Victor pressed the button for Miss Redfern. She walked in carrying a breakfast tray. Eat, Mr. Holland she said. Maybe your behaviors all due to hypoglycemia.
A woman brought me to the ER, he said. Her first name was Catherine. I have to get hold of her.
Oh, look! Eggs and Rice Krispies! Heres your fork-
Miss Redfern, will you forget the damned Rice Krispies!
Miss Redfern slapped down the cereal box. There is no need for profanity!
I have to find that woman!
Without a word, Miss Redfern spun around and marched out of the room. A few minutes later she returned and brusquely handed him a slip of paper. On it was written the name Catherine Weaver followed by a local address.
Youd better eat fast, she said. Theres a policeman coming over to talk to you.
Fine, he grunted, stuffing a forkful of cold, rubbery egg in his mouth.
And some man from the FBI called. Hes on his way, too.
Victors head jerked up in alarm. The FBI? What was his name?
Oh, for heavens sake, how should I know? Something Polish, I think.
Staring at her, Victor slowly put down his fork. Polowski, he said softly.
That sounds like it. Polowski. She turned and headed out of the room. The FBI indeed, she muttered. Wonder what he did to get their attention
Before the door had even swung shut behind her, Victor was out of bed and tearing at his IV. He scarcely felt the sting of the tape wrenching the hair off his arm; he had to concentrate on getting the hell out of this hospital before Polowski showed up. He was certain the FBI agent had set him up for that ambush last night, and he wasnt about to wait around for another attack.
He turned and snapped at his roommate, Lenny, where are your clothes?
Lennys gaze traveled reluctantly to a cabinet near the sink. Dont got no other clothes. Besides, they wouldnt fit you, mister
Victor yanked open the cabinet door and pulled out a frayed cotton shirt and a pair of baggy polyester pants. The pants were too short and about six inches of Victors hairy legs stuck out below the cuffs, but he had no trouble fastening the belt. The real trouble was going to be finding a pair of size twelve shoes. To his relief, he discovered that the cabinet also contained a pair of Lennys thongs. His heels hung at least an inch over the back edge, but at least he wouldnt be barefoot.
Those are mine! protested Lenny.
Here. You can have this. Victor tossed his wristwatch to the old man. You should be able to hock that for a whole new outfit.
Suspicious, Lenny put the watch up against his ear. Piece of junk. Its not ticking.
Its quartz.
Oh. Yeah. I knew that.
Victor pocketed his wallet and went to the door. Opening it just a crack, he peered down the hall toward the nurses station. The coast was clear. He glanced back at Lenny. So long, buddy. Give my regards to Miss Redfern.
Slipping out of the room, Victor headed quietly down the hall, away from the nurses station. The emergency stairwell door was at the far end, marked by the warning painted in red: Alarm Will Sound If Opened. He walked steadily towards it, willing himself not to run, not to attract attention. But just as he neared the door, a familiar voice echoed in the hall.
Mr. Holland! You come back here this instant!
Victor lunged for the door, slammed against the closing bar, and dashed into the stairwell.
His footsteps echoed against the concrete as he pounded down the stairs. By the time he heard Miss Redfern scramble after him into the stairwell, hed already reached the first floor and was pushing through the last door to freedom.
Mr. Holland! yelled Miss Redfern.
Even as he dashed across the parking lot, he could still hear Miss Redferns outraged voice echoing in his ears.
Eight blocks away he turned into a K Mart, and within ten minutes had bought a shirt, blue jeans, underwear, socks and a pair of size-twelve tennis shoes, all of which he paid for with his credit card. He tossed Lennys old clothes into a trash can.
Before emerging back outside, he peered through the store window at the street. It seemed like a perfectly normal mid-December morning in a small town, shoppers strolling beneath a tacky garland of Christmas decorations, a half-dozen cars waiting patiently at a red light. He was just about to step out the door when he spotted the police car creeping down the road. Immediately he ducked behind an undressed mannequin and watched through the nude plastic limbs as the police car made its way slowly past the K Mart and continued in the direction of the hospital. They were obviously searching for someone. Was he the one they wanted?
He couldnt afford to risk a stroll down Main Street. There was no way of knowing who else besides Polowski was involved in the double cross.
It took him at least an hour on foot to reach the outskirts of town, and by then he was so weak and wobbly he could barely stand. The surge of adrenaline that had sent him dashing from the hospital was at last petering out. Too tired to take another step, he sank onto a boulder at the side of the highway and halfheartedly held out his thumb. To his immense relief, the next vehicle to come along-a pickup truck loaded with firewood-pulled over. Victor climbed in and collapsed gratefully on the seat.
The driver spat out the window, then squinted at Victor from beneath an Agway Seeds cap. Goin far?
Just a few miles. Oak Hill Road.
Yep. I go right past it. The driver pulled back onto the road. The truck spewed black exhaust as they roared down the highway, country music blaring from the radio.
Through the plucked strains of guitar music, Victor heard a sound that made him sit up sharply. A siren. Whipping his head around, he saw a patrol car zooming up fast behind them. Thats it, thought Victor. Theyve found me. Theyre going to stop this truck and arrest me
But for what? For walking away from the hospital? For insulting Miss Redfern? Or had Polowski fabricated some charge against him?
With a sense of impending doom, he waited for the patrol car to overtake them and start flashing its signal to pull over. In fact, he was so certain they would be pulled over that when the police car sped right past them and roared off down the highway, he could only stare ahead in amazement.
Must be some kinda trouble, his companion said blandly, nodding at the rapidly vanishing police car.
Victor managed to clear his throat. Trouble?
Yep. Dont get much of a chance to use that siren of theirs but when they do, boy oh boy, do they go to town with it.
With his heart hammering against his ribs, Victor sat back and forced himself to calm down. He had nothing to worry about. The police werent after him, they were busy with some other concern. He wondered what sort of small-town catastrophe could warrant blaring sirens. Probably nothing more exciting than a few kids out on a joyride.
By the time they reached the turnoff to Oak Hill Road, Victors pulse had settled back to normal. He thanked the driver, climbed out, and began the trek to Catherine Weavers house. It was a long walk, and the road wound through a forest of pines. Every so often hed pass a mailbox along the road and, peering through the trees, would spot a house. Catherines address was coming up fast.
What on earth should he say to her? Up till now hed concentrated only on reaching her house. Now that he was almost there, he had to come up with some reasonable explanation for why hed dragged himself out of a hospital bed and trudged all this way to see her. A simple thanks for saving my life just wouldnt do it. He had to find out if she had the film canister. But she, of course, would want to know why the damn thing was so important.
You could tell her the truth.
No, forget that. He could imagine her reaction if he were to launch into his wild tale about viruses and dead scientists and double-crossing FBI agents. The FBI is out to get you? I see. And who else is after you, Mr. Holland? It was so absurdly paranoid he almost felt like laughing. No, he couldnt tell her any of it or hed end up right back in a hospital, and this time in a ward that would make Miss Redferns Three East look like paradise.
She didnt need to know any of it. In fact, she was better off ignorant. The woman had saved his life, and the last thing he wanted to do was put her in any danger. The film was all he wanted from her. After today, shed never see him again.