CHIVEY

The corridor drifted along in its drowsy routine; patients passed without hurry, staff moved on their way somewhere, everyone occupied with their own affairs.

Emmy stretched out on the padded bench.

Boring. So boring... This stupid bench is so lame... Why do all hospital seats have that nasty pleather? Either sit here or sweat here. No in-between. Oh... Should've grabbed the blanket from the car...

Tiny little things crawled across her leg — the fly settled comfortably on her knee, basking in the sunlight. It looked up at her, shifting from foot to foot.

No. No... No! Get off me...

Emmy flicked the pest away in disgust. It wouldn't quit; hopping from spot to spot, twitching its wings and rubbing its front legs together. She jumped to her feet, pulled the cardigan off her shoulders and started swinging it, driving the fly back. It disappeared from view.

She scanned the area, searching for the little menace — she spotted it on a book display, sitting on a book. Emmy crept slowly toward the stand. She shot her hand out and cupped it over the fly, pressing her palm carefully against the book.

Damn. The stupid thing got away. Clingy, just like that Mrs. Jackson.

She lifted her palm slowly. From the cover, a small white mouse looked up at her.

"Tommy," she read aloud.

Emmy picked up the book and went back to the bench, then looked around — no sign of the fly. She let out a slow breath through her lips. She turned the book over in her hands, picked at the plastic wrap with her finger and peeled it off, then crumpled the cellophane in her fist and quietly tucked it under the bench. Opening the book, she ran her eyes over the first page.

"The heat weighed down on the meadow like a heavy paw, driving Tommy toward the river. The little degu settled into the shade of a thick bush growing by the cool water. Paws busily groomed white fur. Prickly burdock seeds stung skin, sending an unbearable itch along the back.

Where did all of you come from? Oh, here’s another one stuck in the tuft of the tail…

He yawned and swallowed. The sweet smell of strawberries drifted through the air, teasing him, moistening his mouth.

The little one remembered his father’s rule against sweets perfectly well. But the strawberry bushes were so close he could see ruby berries gleaming above the dark leaves. He imagined the sweet-tart burst on his tongue — and that was enough to tip the scales.

Keeping low, he darted across the worn path and vanished into the green shadow of the bushes. He devoured everything within reach — fruit, stems, leaves, even small distracted insects. Sticky juice splashed and ran down his dusty snout and paws.

A loud burp escaped him. He froze."

Emmy snapped the book shut.

Oh, this is for little kids. A mouse, a strawberry... Strawberries... I could go for some strawberries right now. The little sweet ones. Though... a degu. What's a degu, anyway? Just a mouse with a tassel on its tail. They could've just called it a mouse. When was the last time I even read a little kids' book…?

She set the book down on the bench beside her.

Her leg had gone numb. An unpleasant tingling spread through it. Emmy rubbed her leg with her palms, then stood and walked back and forth beside the bench.

Suddenly, on one of the ceramic floor tiles, she slipped, caught herself at the last moment and stayed on her feet. She looked down.

Where did this water come from? A water pipe must’ve burst somewhere... Or maybe not... If a pipe had burst, water would be all over the place.

She stepped on the tile. It gave smoothly downward and sprang back up. Clear water splashed out from underneath. Emmy reached into her cardigan pocket and pulled out a nail file. She crouched down, wedged the file under the edge of the tile and lifted it, moving it aside. The smell of rotted wood hit her nostrils. Sunlight slanted in through the gap, driving the shadows back.

The blackened wooden floor was covered in a thin layer of water. In a deep hollow lay a shiny white shell dotted with red.

Emmy dipped her fingers in the water and pulled the shell out. Its sharp edges pressed into the pads of her fingers, its ridges masking the dampness. She got to her feet and walked to the window, set the shell on the sill.

How did it get here? Who put that poor little shell on the floor...? Whose dumb idea was that?

A sharp ringing in her ear made her double over in pain. She squeezed her eyes shut, mouth opening in a silent cry.

The ringing stopped. Emmy opened her eyes. The shell was gone. In its place on the windowsill lay a cotton pad speckled with dried blood. She looked back at the floor. There was no trace of the wooden boards or the water. She prodded the tile with the toe of her boot, but not one of them moved, fixed solid to the floor. Emmy rubbed her eyes with her fingers.

That was strange... Very strange...

She went back to the bench. Looked at the floor once more, tapped her heel against the nearest tiles.

Nothing there. Fine.

She went back to her reading.

"He squeezed his eyes shut. A heavy wave rolled through his stomach, and the sweet scent of strawberries suddenly turned sour.

“Tommy! Tooommy! Where are you, you naughty boy?” Father’s voice rang out in the distance.

Caught off guard, Tommy bolted. He dropped low into the grass and darted toward the river. He had no desire to dip his paws into the cool water, but berry juice gleamed in bright stains against his white fur. The water didn’t help — the juice had already soaked in, leaving pale pink streaks behind.

Father’s voice drew closer.

His heart began to race. He slipped into the thick sedge and froze. A plan formed quickly. He bit off a few young stems, gathered them in an armful, and pressed them to his chest.

“Tommy, where are you?” Father’s voice sounded tired.

“Dad, I’m here!” Tommy called, stepping out of the sedge. He moved slowly toward Father, hiding his pink-stained muzzle behind the bundle of grass..."

Something snapped inside her.

Stupid story.

She threw the book behind the bench. Leaned forward on her knees and buried her face in her hands.

"I'm feeding you and that brat, don't you forget it! Remember who's in charge here!"

The smell of alcohol hit her in the face. Emmy pushed the memory away. Leaning back, she reached down behind the bench, felt around for the book and pulled it out.

It's not your fault… Really, not your fault…

She set the book down beside her.

Relax... Just relax. Everything's fine... It's completely fine.

The sun was warm. Emmy lay down on the bench, placed her palms on her stomach. Her fingers laced into a tight knot.

If I lie in the sun I won't be so pale. I'll get a tan. Definitely. My skin will become tanned as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon… Did she really memorize the Bible? The whole thing? And no one made her...

She closed her eyes. Small legs skittered across her face, worked their way toward the corner of her eye.

Oh, you again...

Emmy waved her palm in front of her face. The legs moved up onto her bare head.

How many times do I have to— you are so annoying.

She sat up sharply, grabbed the cardigan and threw it over her head. Left a small gap in front of her face. Swatting at the fly, Emmy settled in to watch the reception desk.

Same as always. Same faces. I know all of them by now. Every time they do the same thing. That one's about to beg for a pen and paper, and that one smiles at everyone and makes small talk.

And there's Carmen. With that same stiff smile and perfect hair. Can't stand her.

Emmy glanced down at the hem of her shirt.

She does have an imagination though. Drew a strawberry...

Emmy’s gaze drifted down the corridor and landed on Chad pushing Mrs. Jackson in her wheelchair. She lifted a hand in greeting, and he smiled back, easy and brief.

At the far end of the hall she noticed a familiar silhouette in a white coat. Sunlight from the windows caught his dark hair and turned it copper at the edges.

That's him. Double-H.

She pulled the cardigan off her head and smoothed herself down—straps, hem, a quick nervous adjustment. Then she paused, cheeks warming without permission.

Dr. Harper was walking toward them, greeting patients and staff as he passed. His smile was clean and bright; when he reached Chad and Mrs. Jackson, he folded himself down almost in half to speak with her.

Emmy lifted her hand again. He didn’t see her.

Something in the corridor shifted. A faint ringing started behind her ears and swelled until it seemed to fill the space between the walls. The ceiling light flickered, flared, and then snapped out with a sharp crack. A scatter of tiny sparks drifted down.

Nothing around her reacted. The corridor kept moving as if it had never happened.

She found him again at the reception desk, speaking with the nurses. One of them held out a folder, talking quickly and pointing to something inside it, then gestured toward Emmy. For a moment his head turned, and his eyes passed over her direction. Emmy waved—smaller this time—and still nothing.

She winced, pressed her lips together, then stood up too quickly and broke into a run.

"Dr. Harper! Dr. Harper!"

The fluorescent lights along the corridor switched on and began flickering wildly, bursting one after another.

The sharp ringing in her ears came back. It swelled and then faded to almost nothing, then swelled again. Emmy stopped and pressed her palms over her ears. The ringing didn't go away. It grew stronger, filling everything around her.

A hard shove knocked Emmy off her feet. She hit the floor, the tile slick with water that had come from nowhere.