Текст книги "Illusion"

Автор книги: Фрэнк Перетти

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chapter

36

Finally!

Just before the shaking, Mandy reached for the last place on earth she wanted to go: the hospital. It sprang into her reality and she let herself fall into it, slipping out of the bag and handcuffs, out of the Dumpster, and into a wavering, tilting, tea-stained reality she’d come to loathe, the same hallways, doctors, nurses, signs and labels, medicinal smells, beds, gurneys, wheelchairs, that same, ominous door with the red letters on it. Why did she have to keep coming back here?

Her feet touched down on the linoleum—it felt like a soft rubber mat under her feet—but she didn’t step into this world. She had to get back to the hotel, the garbage truck, the show. She reached, groped, thoughtfor another fold of reality, another curtain she could pull back.

She found an opening, slipped through it …

She was … where? It looked like the inside of a house under construction. It was empty, with no fixtures, just bare walls and the smell of fresh paint. It was almost solid; she could see the ghost of another world through the walls.

No, still wrong, still lost.

“Whoa! Who are you?”

The voice scared her. She almost lost hold of the in-between and fell into this place, but she recovered and held back. She couldn’t get stuck here.

Keep reaching … get back to the hotel …

It was a painter, a friendly sort of guy all in white coveralls with a painter’s cap on his head and a roller in his hand. He was circling her warily, keeping some distance, looking right at her, nearly solid.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“The name’s Ernie. Ernie Myers,” he said. He stared intensely, studying her from different angles. “Are you really there? You look like some kind of Tinkerbell or something.”

He reached with his finger to touch her but she shied back. “No, better not touch me!”

“But how do you do that?”

“I need to get back to the Orpheus Hotel!”

“The Orpheus Hotel! Little girl, you are lost!”

She tried to look beyond him, to see that world, the stage, and the garbage truck. She thought she could hear the truck rumbling … somewhere.

“You sure you’re really there?” he said, and this time he did manage to poke her.

As if he’d been electrocuted he jolted, screamed, twisted, his arms enfolding his pain.

She didn’t see what became of him. The moment he touched her she spun away as if caught in a whirlwind and fell out of there, through space, through blurring lights and sounds. She heard the truck and locked on it.

She was floating above the crowd, still watching the Dumpster hanging upside down above the truck as the driver jerked the levers and shook it.

She’d lost no time!

Somehow—she still didn’t know how; thinking it was the same as doing it—she zipped through the Dumpster, grabbed the coveralls into the in-between and got into them, then aligned herself with the ground so she could step out onto it. She yanked a billed cap from a pocket of the coveralls and put it on. Ready? There wasn’t a moment to spare.

The driver of the garbage truck gave the levers a wiggle, the Dumpster made one final lurch, and the lid dropped open. The bag, limp and empty, and the two pairs of handcuffs dropped into the truck’s container.

That was the moment of misdirection, when all eyes were on the Dumpster. Mandy stepped into the real, solid, present world just behind the driver and touched his shoulder; he ducked under the truck, out of sight. Mandy hopped up on the truck’s running board, let out a whoop to get the crowd’s attention, then took off her cap and waved it at everyone.

The effect worked. She’d vanished from the Dumpster and appeared in the place of the driver.

Great stunt. The crowd loved it.

She ran onto the stage, reached with an unseen hand, and brought the microphone to her. “Thank you!” she said to the crowd, and then toward the heavens. “Thank you!”

For that one fleeting moment onstage, the sorrow lay buried under the moment and the show business. She knew it would be back, but right here, right now, she relished her own little victory, the very pleasant fact that once she was captive, but now she was free. “I am Mandy Whitacre!”

The first time Ernie Myers fell off a ladder and his crewmen brought him into the emergency room with a cracked rib and broken clavicle, Dr. Margo Kessler and her secretive associates were able to send him home the next day with no broken bones and no memory of the accident.

The second time there would be no way to fix his injuries but the conventional way and he was sure to remember everything that happened to him. This inconvenient complication originated in the bowels of the off-limits basement, but it fell to Dr. Kessler, the benign face aboveground, to clear it up. She was steaming, feeling put upon and jeopardized, but she put on the best demeanor she could muster to wring information out of him.

“Silly ladder,” he said, the pain keeping him still as he lay in his hospital bed. “The legs are crooked, so the thing rocks. I should have learned from the first time, right?”

Me, too,she thought. “So no dizziness beforehand? No vision problems, anything like that?”

“No, ma’am.”

“No hallucinations?”

“Hallu–what are you talking about?”

“The guys who brought you in—”

“Jim and Don. My crewmen.”

“Yes. They said that right before the accident they heard you talking to somebody who looked like a … Tinkerbell?”

He winced and wagged his head. “That was my roller. I got names for everything. The roller was getting kinda flighty, leaving gaps, so I was talking to the roller.”

“Talking to your roller.”

“Yeah. I talk to things, talk to myself.”

“So, who was lost and looking for the Orpheus Hotel?”

Now Ernie got a little mad. “What? Those guys don’t have any work to do, they’re just sitting around listening to the boss talk to his roller. What’s up with that?”

She smiled pleasantly, trying to keep him at ease. “I’m just covering all the bases here. I have to make sure there’s no head trauma. You hit your head the last time, remember?”

“Not really.”

She chuckled and nodded. “That’s right, you wouldn’t remember that.” She wrote something down on the chart—made a scribble, actually; she was buying time. “Ernie …” First-name basis. She pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down, closer to eye level, more personal. “You don’t have to be afraid to tell the truth. I’m the doctor, I’m here to make sure you’re okay.”

He seemed to be listening.

“Sometimes when people have had a head injury, they see things, they might see people who aren’t really there. It’s nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about but you see, if you fell and hurt yourself due to a prior head injury, I need to know about it.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly, suggesting she was waiting for his response.

He looked at her for a long moment and she looked back, hoping, expecting …

“I fell off a ladder!” was all he had to say.

Sunday morning, Dane went through the doors of Christian Faith Center, embraced old friends, worshipped, then remained in his pew afterward, joined by friends and Pastor Chuck. Dane told them he was still working through his loss, wondering what to do, trying to resolve lingering issues, and could they pray with him? They nodded and prayed accordingly, even though he meant more than they thought they understood. He just had to hope the Lord would appreciate the spirit of their loving generalities while he silently footnoted the specifics:

That he would not be crazy, that somehow everything would come to rest on a rational explanation he could take home. Preston had a great-sounding theory, but it was so much like everything else he’d been through, simply outlandish, that it could not quell his doubts and fears even as he pursued it.

That he would not do anything really stupid.

That the Lord would help him get over Eloise—he thought it best not to call her Mandy. Whatever this fixation with a twenty-year-old was, it had to be affecting his thinking. It could be the single reason he was back in town, and that was dangerous. However it turned out, whatever he found out, it was to resolve his own issues and get peace of mind, not … well, he didn’t even want to think about it.

But he did pray that God would take care of the girl, keeping her strong and pure, and not let anyone in this town—and that included the likes of that Seamus character—soil her or lead her astray.

Dear Lord, just help her find out who she is and where she belongs.

The prayer huddle took place in the second pew from the front, Dane and Mandy’s favorite spot for the whole fifteen years they attended the church, and where Dane sat for the worship service that day.

She’d dressed up for church, sat near the back, remained just a few minutes to pray a prayer not too different from his. She slipped quietly out, lost in the mix, saying hello to the friendly people, feeling so much better until some heads turned and she heard a lady say, “Doesn’t she look like … ?”

She walked quickly, turning her face away. She didn’t want to hear it.

A few miles down the freeway she finally corralled her emotions and got things at least half sorted out; she was glad she went to church and glad she heard the lady say that. It was a God thing, the good and the sad. God was just being honest and making her face things … ooohh, pun!

Yeah, yeah, she’d been a fool, a teenybopper with just the face and hormones to fall into a fine kettle of fish, right along with Dane. Well, thank God, she could see that now, and there was no need to blame Dane or beat herself up about it. God still loved and forgave her. It was time to grow up and move on.

So, to be grown up about it, silly mistakes aside, she learned a ton from Dane Collins and she should just be thankful for the productive days they had together. Maybe she’d write him a letter—in a few years—and thank him for that part of it.

To be grown up about it, that simple hour and a half spent with other believers in the embrace of God’s presence was real and familiar, like finding land after being adrift. The sweet God things she’d grown up with were still there, unchanged and rock solid under her feet, so there was still a big part of her world she could depend on.

As for the rest of her world, the part that was always smack-dab in front of her, brought her work, and helped her survive, but was so totally out to lunch she had to be nuts, that was another kettle of fish altogether. Any sane person would think it weird and scary, but she was getting used to it so it was becoming less weird, and thatwas scary. Stepping through a veil into another place she’d never been before, making things move by touching them even though she wasn’t, meeting and talking to people she could see through, and seeing herself ahead of herself, all of these were becoming as real as making a sandwich, crossing the street, leaning against a wall. She’d heard that crazy people couldn’t tell the difference between delusion and reality, and she was getting awfully close to that now.

And she sure didn’t want to end up in the hospital again.

So could she tell the difference?

Her little blue Bug had to be real, and the pavement rushing under it at sixty-five miles per hour more than just her imagination. That her hands were on the steering wheel, keeping the machine from veering off and flipping over the guardrail, was a fact she’d better not have doubts about.

Oh, great. Was that her exit? Nuts!See, there was another real thing: she wasn’t paying attention so the real exit in the real world went right by her and she missed it. She wouldn’t have made that up and caught herself off guard like that. She drove on to the next exit and took that one, hanging a left at the bottom to duck under the freeway, where she could hang another left back onto the freeway …

There was no on-ramp here.

Guy!

She kept going straight, lost. She’d have to pull over, look at her map, get her bearings …

She’d been here before.

That mall over there … that Kinko’s. She was seeing them again … for the first time. Wasn’t she?

Turn right at the Kinko’s.

She turned right. She didn’t know why except that it seemed the thing to do. Just like déjà vu, you kind of know which way you’re going to go and what you’re going to see before it happens.

Oh, what was this now? The hospital district. She got nervous. She’d just been thinking about hospitals and it wasn’t pleasant, never was.

Here came a blue sign: HOSPITAL. She’d seen that sign before.

Well, of course she had. There were plenty of signs in plenty of places she’d been that said HOSPITAL. Just like that big red sign that said EMERGENCY VEHICLES ONLY and that little blue one that said ADMITTING and that one that said VISITOR PARKING.

It was the big blue logo on the side of the building that made her slow down, then make a right into the visitor parking lot. Before she even parked in a slot she stopped the car, flung the door open, and leaned out to see it better.

It was a stylish, modern logo in big blue letters against the cream-colored building: CCMC. Beneath the logo was the name of the place: CLARK COUNTY MEDICAL CENTER.

Another car pulled in behind her. She scurried, found a parking slot, killed the engine.

She couldn’t climb out of the Bug fast enough, but once she did, she remained beside it, staring at the building, then the parking areas around it, then the streets, the trees, the multistory parking garage. It was more than déjà vu. It was memory. She’d been here.

“God, is this real?”

As real as the pavement under her feet. As real as the curb she stepped up on, the grass she ran her fingers through, the palm tree she touched. Nothing moved, nothing wavered, nothing shifted into and out of her world. The smells, the feel, the sound and sight, all remained right where they were, exactly the way they were.

Why did she remember this place?

Her eyes came to rest on two young men by the front door under the big breezeway, parking valets in blue shirts. The heavier one on the right; she’d seen him before. She even knew his name: Kerry.

What if he knew her? What if … she didn’t know what if, she only knew she had to get inside that building and check it out.

She crossed the parking lot, went under the breezeway and right up to Kerry.

“Hi,” she said.

He smiled, entirely pleasant, maybe even a little stricken by her looks. “Hi.” His name badge bore his name: Kerry Mathinson.

She gave him time to recognize her.

He only looked puzzled at the silence. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Mandy Whitacre.”

“Oh. Well, it’s great to meet you. This is Mark, I’m Kerry.”

They shook hands and it was all very cordial, just like strangers meeting.

Okay, she ventured the question, “So you’ve never seen me before?”

Kerry checked with Mark, who shrugged. “Afraid not. Believe me, I would have remembered—uh, no offense.”

“None taken. Thanks.”

She went through the doors, they eased shut automatically behind her, and she was enveloped by the sights—daylight through huge windows, marble and mosaic floor, high ceiling—and the sounds—air noise, talking voices nearly lost in the vast space, the clunks, clacks, and taps of shoes on the marble—and the smells—floor cleaner, wood stain, disinfectant—of the hospital lobby. Her steps faltered and slowed until she came to a dead stop right in the middle of the big logo on the floor. She was dumbstruck. Frightened.

Was she back in the madness, in the unreal? She braced herself, tapped her feet to be sure the floor was under her, and took in every detail: the sofa seats along the windows, the big logo she was standing on, the wooden pillars and paneling, the reception desk directly in front of her, the hanging fluorescent light fixtures, the plaques and portraits on the walls.

She was not in a strange, new place. She’d been here countless times before, seen it from many angles at many speeds and distances. It was the biggest, most insistent, most pervasive feature of her madness, always appearing and vying for attention among the other worlds, wavering like a tea-stained mirage, superimposed over clashing layers of light, sound, movement, depth. But now it was clear, in full color, rock solid. No wavering, no shifting, here to stay, right in front of her, daring her to believe her eyes.

She felt weak and consciously strengthened her knees so she wouldn’t crumble. Clark County Medical Center, Las Vegas, Nevada. Thiswas the hospital of her madness, not the one in Spokane. She always thought, assumed, just figured she was having flashbacks, visions of that other place, but—

“May I help you?” The pretty receptionist behind the counter was looking at her as if there was cause for concern.

Mandy stared back. She knew this lady’s name without looking at her name tag. She’d passed by her countless times.

The lady asked, “Are you all right? Should I call for someone?”

“Nancy,” Mandy squeaked, her throat dry and constricted. “You’re Nancy Wright.”

The lady cocked her head and studied her. “Yeah … Who are you?”

“I’m Mandy Whit–”

Her own name caught in her throat. She lurched, body tense and eyes wide as a ghostly vision popped out of nowhere in front of her and became as solid and real as any person.

It was another Mandy, herself, in the same dress, same hair, same everything, happening a few yards apart from her and … it had to be later, she didn’t know how much. The other Mandy was rattled, gasping for breath, crouching like a cat who’d just fought off a pack of wolves, and when she spotted Mandy she froze as if caught in the middle of a terrible act.

Mandy had never come face-to-face with herself and had no idea what to do. She could have asked what in the world just happened but there were people around, and she couldn’t be sure her other self would hear her anyway. Clearly, the other Mandy saw her; she looked ashamed and embarrassed. She straightened, composed, and neatened herself, then told Mandy with a wry chuckle, “Oh, boy, are you in for a ride!”

chapter

37

The other Mandy looked down at the floor and at a couch in a nearby sitting area, then strode up to Mandy and got in her face. “Don’t let ’em do this to you, you hear me?” Then she brushed past Mandy, started for the door, warped, wavered, and vanished.

“Mandy?” Nancy was still watching her and now seemed even more concerned. “Is there anything I can do for you? You okay?”

Mandy tried not to gawk at everything, but everything, down to the texture of the wallpaper and the shape of the light sconces, was spellbinding. She stepped up to the counter. “Um … I’m here to visit someone.” It didn’t matter who, it was true.

“Name?”

“Mandy Whitacre.”

Nancy smiled. “I mean the name of the person you’re visiting.”

Oh, brother. “Uh …” For some reason the name seemed to fit in this place. She took a chance. “Ernie. Ernie Myers.”

Nancy checked the computer. “He’s in room two-oh-two.” He is? Really?“Just go down this hallway to the end, turn right, you’ll see the elevators. Go up to the second floor and someone at the nurses’ station will help you out.”

Mandy headed for the hallway she already knew.

“Oh, Mandy …”

She stopped.

“There’s a gift shop on the left once you get down there in case you want to bring him anything.”

Oh, yeah, the gift shop with those goofy stuffed dogs that doubled as carry bags in the front window. “Thanks.”

She headed down the hallway, past doors and office windows she’d seen before—DIAGNOSTIC IMAGING; OCCUPATIONAL MEDICINE; PAIN MANAGEMENT CENTER—and signs she’d seen before: SHUTTLE PICKUP/DROP-OFF; PHOTO ID REQUIRED FOR ENTRY; PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE YOUR CHILDREN UNATTENDED.

She was familiar with the ceiling lights, the doors on either side, the hand railing that went along the walls, the same intersections with other hallways with more signs: NUTRITION; SLEEP DISORDERS CENTER; FAMILY CARE. She expected to see them and she did. The déjà vu just kept going.

A doctor in blue scrubs, a big guy with blond, curly hair, walked by and she gawked at him. He was right out of her visions: Dr. Kurt Mason, orthopedic surgeon. He met her eyes, nodded hello, kept going. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was the one always looking at X-rays, talking about simples, compounds, linears, transverses, obliques, and then rods and screws. He looked back once. She caught herself staring, averted her eyes, and kept going down the hall.

Being in the real world was weirder than being in the otherone.

She knew the next intersection the moment she approached it. She knew the hallway to the right led to the EMERGENCY ROOM and INTENSIVE CARE UNIT, and the big double doors marked NO ADMITTANCE, AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY were where she expected them, just three doors down that hall. She walked toward the doors, hoping to peek through the windows.

“Offices on the left,” she said to herself as she peered through the glass, and there they were. “One for Dr. Markham”—there it was—“and the other one for Dr. Kessler”—right again.

There was a row of curtained rooms along the left side of the room. Funny, she couldn’t see inside those curtains from here in the real world, but in her visions she’d seen how each space had a bed with beeping, feeding, monitoring hospital gear crammed all around it.

A team of doctors and nurses in blue scrubs and shower caps hurried across the room with a patient on a gurney. She recognized a young surgeon with wire-rim glasses. “Bailey … Baylor … yeah, Baylor. He eats a lot of yogurt in the cafeteria.” She saw a nurse and smiled. “Rosalie. Always laughing.”

Oh-oh. Some personnel—Steve the trauma guy, Rachel the assistant, Julie the nurse—were coming toward the door. She spun on her heels and doubled back to the intersection.

Safely around a corner, she stopped to catch her breath—her runaway mind, actually. She simply could not get over it: it was thishospital she’d been seeing in her visions, every hall, curtain, door, nook, and cranny of it.

Steve, Rachel, and Julie came around the corner. She tried to relax, look normal, and not gawk at them as they passed.

Whoever, whatever all her other selves, hands, arms, minds were, they must have been here, they might be here right now; whenever she was working her magic, this was one of the most frequent places they … what? Came from? Lived? Journeyed to?

And why? She’d never been here before, never lived in Las Vegas. The question shouted louder than every other thought: Why?

Ohhh, that brought her to Ernie—which was just another totally weird coincidence, by the way. If he was the painter she saw, and he was really here and they had really seen each other …

Well now, that was a thought: she’d seen all kinds of places, things, and people in her visions, but only two people who were able to see her: that Tom Hanks–looking guy—hey, he was in a hospital, or that’s what it looked like—and the painter Ernie Myers.

So was the painter Ernie Myers the guy in 202? Man, comparing notes with him in the real world could tell her something; it just had to. Her stomach was tight and she wanted to run but she had to find out, like it or not, scared or not.

She whisked by the gift shop—yep, the goofy stuffed dogs were still there—and went to the elevators. The second floor was just the way she remembered it, though she’d never been there—how was that for weird? She didn’t need to ask the nurse at the nurses’ station where 202 was; she already knew how the rooms were numbered and where they were.

She got there and put on the brakes just outside the door. What if it really was theErnie Myers and he recognized her? She remembered him touching her, then screaming as if he’d gotten hurt. Did sheput him here?

She swallowed her fear. This would be quite a connection, wouldn’t it, between her other world and this one?

She swallowed her fear again. How could he be mad at her? It wasn’t her fault.

She went in quietly, ducking around the privacy screen and calling in a polite tone, “Hello? Mr. Myers?”

“Hello?” he answered, and she might have recognized the voice. Sounds were different between the two worlds.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, who’s there?”

She ventured farther into the room and could see the foot of his bed protruding around the corner. “Uh, it’s just me, Mandy, coming to say hello … I think.”

“Mandy?”

She came past the corner …

Oh, my.It was he, the painter, shoulders in a brace, wearing … wow, it looked so much like the gown she had at the fair that day. By the pale, horrified look that came over his face and the way the ice rattled in the water glass he was holding, she figured he recognized her. “You!”

She gave him a shy, apologetic wave. “Hi.”

“You—you’re Tinkerbell, the pink girl!”

“And you’re Ernie the painter, right?”

His hand went to his call button, and he pressed it like he was reporting a fire.

“I’m sorry about what happened. I hope I didn’t do this.”

“You diddo this!” He almost couldn’t say it, he was gasping so hard. “What are you doing here, you some kind of ghost?”

Oh, man, this was going south in a hurry. “No, no, I’m not a ghost, I’m real. Here, feel my hand—”

“Yahh!”He shied back, which made his injuries hurt, which made him yell in pain. “You get away from me! Get away!”

There was going to be trouble, no way around it.

“Well,” she said, backing out of the room, “I just wanted to say hello. Sorry if I hurt you.”

He was still hollering. “ Nurse!Somebody, help!”

She got out of there.

Where now?Away from the nurses’ station, down the other hallway, back to the elevators—

“Miss!” said a voice. “Excuse me?”

It was a nurse hurrying down the hall. Ernie was still hollering for help.

“Were you bothering that patient?” the nurse demanded.

The nurse was getting close enough to grab her. Mandy thought of smiling, denying, walking away …

She ran—in kitten-heel sandals. The nurse was in sneakers; she was going to win.

“Oh, no you don’t! Stop! Stop right there!”

Mandy gave it her best and it was an all-out chase for several yards until the nurse turned back, probably to check on the patient. “Stop her! Where’s Bill? Call security!”

Mandy clumped, clopped, hobbled, and hopped out of her sandals and took the first right, hoping to circle back to the elevators, but now the alarm was spreading; other sneakers were pitter-pattering in the halls, voices were shouting—but not too loudly. They would hem her in soon enough. Forget the elevators, they’d head her off there.

She found the stairs—right where they’d always been—and took them, bounding down two and three steps at a time, sandals in her hand, to the main floor. She opened the stairway door a crack, made sure the hallway was empty, then stepped into the hallway looking for an EXIT sign. No problem; there was one down the hall to the left. Time to say good-bye to this place. She scurried toward the sign, passed an unmarked elevator …

Stopped. She knew this elevator. She’d been in it, rode it down, down, she didn’t know how far down. There was no button on the wall to press, just an electronic keypad with a card slot.

Somebody was making very good time coming down the stairs.

Could she … ?

She placed her hand on the closed elevator door, closed her eyes, thought of so many visions she’d had of this elevator …

Bill, male nurse, along with Tyler the security guy, thought they saw someone through the window of the stairway door, but by the time they burst into the hall there was no one there.

Bad move, very bad move! The moment her feet left solid ground and she went in-between, something sucked her through the elevator door and she tumbled down the shaft like a particle in a vacuum hose, flailing and groping for control but finding none. At the bottom she made a dizzying, pretzel-bodied ninety-degree turn and shot into another hallway like a leaf from a downspout, afloat above the floor. She groped for the floor to stop herself; the floor rushed around her hand like water. She reached for the wall—her hand passed right through it. She was rushing down the hall in an invisible current, spinning in unseen vortices. One of her other hands, one that might be in this place, contacted the wall …

She landed on the floor with a bump, bruising a knee, banging a hip and an elbow, sliding to a stop on the tile. Clunk-clunk! Her sandals came to rest not far from her. She felt nauseated.

But she made it. She’d seen this hallway before. She remembered the quiet rush of the ventilation system, the hum of the lights, the cool, hard tiles under her, and the hallway’s distinguishing feature, the steel double doors that spanned it just a few yards away. On the wall was a blinking keypad for admittance, and painted across the doors in bold red letters were the words AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

“Well, hi there!” she said.

So she and those doors were meeting in the real world at long last.

She rose wearily from the floor, straightened her dress, and slipped into her sandals. She walked to the doors, extended a tentative hand, and touched them. For the very first instant she wondered if she might try to pass through them, but recent experience killed that idea. As she’d just found out, going in-between in this place was like parachuting into a thunderstorm. Besides that …

Something on the other side of those doors had such power as to send terror through the steel, and she could feel it. She, or part of her, or one of her, had been inside and brought back the memory of electric hums in windowless chambers, senseless numbers blinking and sourceless voices muttering in the dark, the stench of singed hair, the red glow of fire … the half-open eyes of monkeys as they ignited in flames.

She backed away, scared to the point of shaking, remembering how those doors had once sucked her in. Even now, in the solid, real world below Clark County Medical Center, she could feel them pulling, drawing, tempting her. No. She could never go there again.

Did a person need a clearance card to get out of here? The elevator had no keypad or card slot, just a button. She pressed it, then wondered what she’d do if someone else rode the elevator down and they ran into each other.

The steel doors began to open!

The stairway door, behind her! She ducked through it and crouched against the wall. She heard two voices in the hall.