Terminal (22 page)

After loading more sets of charts into the copy machine, Sean and Janet walked over to the glass enclosure and looked in. The monitor screen was flashing digits. Sean tried the door. It was open. They went inside.

“Wonder why this is in a glass room?” he asked.

“To protect it,” Janet said. “Big machines like this can be affected by cigarette smoke. There’s probably a handful of smokers in the office.”

They looked at the figures flashing on the screen. They were nine-digit numbers.

“What do you think it’s doing?” Sean asked.

“No idea,” Janet said. “They’re not phone numbers. If they were, there’d be seven or ten digits, not nine. Besides, there’s no way it can be calling phone numbers that rapidly.”

The screen suddenly went blank, then a ten-digit number appeared. Instantly an automatic dialer went into motion, its tones audible above the hum of the air-conditioning fans.

“Now that’s a phone number,” Janet said. “I even recognize the area code. It’s Connecticut.”

The screen went blank again, then resumed flashing more nine-digit numbers. After a minute the list of numbers froze at a specific number and the computer printout device activated. Both Sean and Janet glanced over to the printer in time to see the nine-digit number print out followed by:
Peter Ziegler, age 55, Valley Hospital, Charlotte, North Carolina, Achilles tendon repair, March 11.

Suddenly, an alarm sounded. As the computer reverted to
flashing its nine-digit numbers, Sean and Janet looked at each other, Sean with confusion, Janet with panic.

“What’s happening?” she demanded. The alarm kept ringing.

“I don’t know,” Sean admitted. “But it isn’t a burglar alarm.” He turned to look out into the office just in time to see the door to the hallway opening.

“Down!” he said to Janet, forcing her to her hands and knees. Sean figured that whoever was coming into the room was coming to check the computer. He frantically motioned to Janet to crawl behind the console. In utter terror, Janet did as she was told, fumbling over coiled computer cables. Sean was right behind her. Hardly had they gotten out of sight when the door to the glass enclosure was opened.

From where they were huddled, they could see a pair of legs enter the room. Whoever it was, it was a woman. The alarm that initiated the episode was turned off. The woman picked up a phone and dialed.

“We have another potential donor.” she said. “North Carolina.”

At that moment, the laser printer began printing yet again, and again the alarm sounded for a brief moment.

“Did you hear that?” the woman asked. “What a coincidence. We’re getting another, as we speak.” She paused, waiting for the printer. “Patricia Southerland, age forty-seven, San Jose General, San Jose, California, breast biopsy, March 14. Also sounds good. What do you think?”

There was a pause before she spoke again: “I know the team’s out. But there’s time. Trust me. This is my department.”

The woman hung up. Sean and Janet heard her tear off the sheet that had just printed. Then the woman turned and left.

For a few minutes neither Sean nor Janet spoke.

“What the hell did she mean, a potential donor?” Sean whispered at last.

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Janet whispered back. “I want out of here.”

“Donor?” Sean murmured. “That sounds creepy to me.
What do we have here? A clearinghouse for body parts? Reminds me of a movie I saw once. I tell you, this place is nuts.”

“Is she gone?” Janet asked.

“I’ll check,” Sean said. Slowly he backed out from their hiding place, then peeked over the countertop. The room was empty. “She seems to be gone,” Sean said. “I wonder why she ignored the copy machine.”

Janet backed out and gingerly raised her head. She scanned the room as well.

“Coming in, the computer alarm must have shielded the sound,” Sean said. “But going out, she had to have heard it.”

“Maybe she was too preoccupied,” Janet offered.

Sean nodded. “I think you’re probably right.”

The computer screen that had been flashing the innumerable nine-digit numbers suddenly went blank.

“The program seems to be over,” Sean said.

“Let’s get away from here,” Janet said, her voice quavering.

They ventured out into the room. The copy machine had finished the latest stack of charts and was silent.

“Now we know why she didn’t hear it,” Sean said, going up to the machine and checking it. He loaded the last of the charts.

“I want out of here!” Janet said.

“Not until I have my charts,” Sean said. He pushed the copy button and the copier roared to life. Then he began removing the originals and the copies already done, stapling the copies and reassembling the charts.

At first, Janet watched, terrified that any moment the same woman would reappear. But after she recognized the faster they were finished, the sooner they would leave, she pitched in. With no further interruptions they had all the charts copied and stapled in short order.

Returning to the small elevator, Sean discovered that it was possible to push the button with the door ajar. Then, when the door was closed, the dumbwaiter operated. “Now I don’t have to worry about you forgetting to bring me down,” he said teasingly.

“I’m in no mood for humor,” Janet remarked as she climbed into the hoist. She held out her arms to take as many charts and copies as possible.

Repeating the procedure that had brought them up to the seventh floor, they returned the charts to the vault. To Janet’s chagrin, Sean insisted they take the time to return the charts to their original locations. With that accomplished, they carried the chart copies to the animal room where Sean hid them beneath the cages of his mice.

“I should inject these guys,” Sean said, “but to tell you the truth, I don’t much feel like it.”

Janet was pleased to leave but didn’t start to relax until they were driving out of the parking lot.

“That has to have been one of the worst experiences of my life,” she said as they traversed Little Havana. “I can’t believe that you stayed so calm.”

“My heart rate was up,” Sean admitted. “But it went smoothly except for that little episode in the computer room. And now that it’s over, wasn’t it exciting? Just a little?”

“No!” Janet said emphatically.

They drove in silence until Sean spoke again: “I still can’t figure out what that computer was doing. And I can’t figure out what it has to do with organ donation. They certainly don’t use organs from deceased cancer patients. It’s too risky in relation to transplanting the cancer as well as the organ. Any ideas?”

“I can’t think about anything at this point,” Janet said.

They pulled into the Forbes residence.

“Geez, look at that old Caddy convertible,” Sean said. “What a boat. Barry Dunhegan had one just like it when I was a kid, except his was pink. He was a bookmaker and all us kids thought he was cool.”

Janet cast a cursory glance at the finned monster parked within the shadow of an exotic tree. She marveled how Sean could go through such a wrenching experience, then think about cars.

Sean pulled to a stop and yanked on the emergency brake. They got out of the car and entered the building in silence.
Sean was thinking about how nice it would be to spend the night with Janet. He couldn’t blame the security guard for ogling her. As Sean climbed the stairs behind Janet, he was reminded how fabulous her legs were.

As they came abreast of his door he reached out and drew her to him, enveloping her in his arms. For a moment they merely hugged.

“What about staying together tonight?” Sean forced himself to ask. His voice was hesitant; he feared rejection. Janet didn’t answer immediately, and the longer she delayed, the more optimistic he became. Finally he used his left hand to take out his keys.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said.

“Come on,” Sean urged. He could smell her fragrance from having held her close.

“No!” Janet said with finality after another pause. Although she’d been wavering, she’d made a decision. “I know it would be nice, and I could use the sense of security after this evening, but we have to talk first.”

Sean rolled his eyes in frustration. She could be so impossibly stubborn. “Okay,” he said petulantly, trying another tack. “Have it your way.” He let go of her, opened his door, and stepped inside. Before shutting the door, he glanced at her face. What he wanted to see was sudden concern that he was miffed. Instead he saw irritation. Janet turned and walked away.

After closing his door, Sean felt guilty. He went to his slider, opened it, and stepped out on the balcony. A few doors down he saw Janet’s light in her living room go on. Sean hesitated, not sure what to do.

“M
EN
,” J
ANET
said aloud with ire and exasperation. She hesitated inside her door, going over the conversation outside Sean’s door. There was no reason for him to get angry with her. Hadn’t she gone along with his risky plan? Didn’t she generally defer to his wishes? Why couldn’t he ever even try to understand hers?

Knowing that nothing would be solved that evening, Janet walked into the bedroom and turned on the light. Although she would later remember it, it didn’t completely register that her bathroom door was closed. When Janet was by herself she never closed doors. It had been a habit developed as a child.

Pulling off her tank top and unhooking her bra, Janet tossed them on the armchair by the bed. She undid the clip on the top of her head and shook her hair free. She felt exhausted, irritable, and as one of her roommates at college used to say, fried. Picking up the hair dryer she’d tossed on her bed in haste that morning, Janet opened the bathroom and entered. The moment she turned on the light, she became aware of a hulking presence to her left. Reacting instinctively, Janet’s hand shot out as if to fend off the intruder.

A scream started in Janet’s throat but was stalled before it could get out by the hideousness of the image that confronted her. A man was in her bathroom dressed in baggy dark clothes. A knotted segment of nylon stocking had been drawn over his head so that his features were grotesquely compressed. At shoulder height he clutched a butcher’s knife menacingly.

For an instant, neither of them moved. Janet quiveringly aimed the ineffectual hair dryer at the ghoulish face as if it were a magnum revolver. The intruder stared down the barrel in shocked surprise until he realized he was looking at heating coils, not the innards of a handgun.

He was the first to react, reaching out and snatching the hair dryer from Janet’s hand. In a burst of rage he threw the apparatus aside; it smashed the mirror of the medicine cabinet. The shattering of the glass jolted Janet from her paralysis, and she bolted from the bathroom.

Tom reacted swiftly and managed to grab Janet’s arm, but Janet’s momentum pulled them stumbling into the bedroom. His original intent had been to stab her in the bathroom. The hair dryer had thrown him off guard. He hadn’t planned on her getting out of the bathroom. And he didn’t want her to scream, but she did.

Janet’s first scream had been stifled by shock, but she more than made up for it with a second scream that reverberated in
the confines of her small apartment and penetrated the cheaply built walls. It was probably heard in every apartment in the building, and it sent a shiver of fear down Tom’s spine. As angry as he was, he knew that he was in trouble.

Still holding onto Janet’s arm, Tom whipped her around so that she careened off the wall before falling crossways on the bed. Tom could have killed her there and then, but he didn’t dare take the time. Instead he rushed to the slider. Fumbling with the curtains and then the lock, he yanked the door open and disappeared into the night.

S
EAN HAD
been loitering on the balcony outside Janet’s open living room slider, trying to build up the courage to go in and apologize for trying to make Janet feel guilty. He was embarrassed at his behavior, but since apologies weren’t his strong suit, he was having difficulty motivating himself.

Sean’s hesitation dissolved in an instant at the sound of the shattering mirror. For a moment he struggled with the screen, trying to slide it open. When he heard Janet’s bloodcurdling scream followed by a loud thud, he gave up opening the screen properly and threw himself through it. He ended up on the shag carpet, his legs still bound in the mesh. Struggling to his feet he launched himself through the doorway into the bedroom. He found Janet on the bed, wide-eyed with terror.

“What’s the matter?” Sean demanded.

Janet sat up. Choking back tears, she said, “There was a man with a knife in my bathroom.” Then she pointed to the open bedroom slider. “He went that way.”

Sean flew to the sliding glass door and whipped back the curtain. Instead of one man, there were two. They came through the door in tandem, roughly shoving Sean back into the room prior to everyone recognizing each other. The new-comers were Gary Engels and another resident who’d responded to Janet’s scream just as Sean had.

Frantically explaining that an intruder had just left, Sean led the two men back out onto the balcony. As they reached the handrail they heard the screech of tires coming from the parking
lot behind the building. While Gary and his companion ran for the stairs, Sean returned to Janet.

Janet had recovered to a degree. She’d slipped on a sweatshirt. When Sean entered she was sitting on the edge of the bed finishing an emergency call to the police. Replacing the receiver, she looked up at Sean who was standing above her.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

“I think so,” she said. She was visibly shaking. “God, what a day!”

“I told you you should have stayed with me.” Sean sat next to her and put his arms around her.

In spite of herself, Janet gave a short laugh. Leave it to Sean to try to smooth over any situation with humor. It did feel wonderful to be in his arms.

“I’d heard Miami was a lively city,” she said, taking his lead, “but this is too much.”

“Any idea how the guy got in here?” Sean asked.

“I left the slider in the living room open,” Janet admitted.