End of Watch (Bill Hodges Trilogy #3) - Stephen King Page 0,27

past her as if he owns the place. Ruth Scapelli scurries after.

Babineau takes the remote control from the arm of her easy chair, points it at the television, and hits mute. The young men and women continue to run around, but they do so unaccompanied by the mindless patter of the announcer. Scapelli is no longer just uneasy; now she’s afraid. For her job, yes, the position she has worked so hard to attain, but also for herself. There’s a look in his eyes that is really no look at all, only a kind of vacancy.

‘Could I get you something? A soft drink or a cup of—’

‘Listen to me, Nurse Scapelli. And very closely, if you want to keep your position.’

‘I … I …’

‘Nor would it end with losing your job.’ Babineau puts his briefcase on the seat of her easy chair and undoes the cunning gold clasps. They make little thudding sounds as they fly up. ‘You committed an act of assault on a mentally deficient patient today, what might be construed a sexual assault, and followed it with what the law calls criminal threatening.’

‘I … I never …’

She can barely hear herself. She thinks she might faint if she doesn’t sit down, but his briefcase is in her favorite chair. She makes her way across the living room to the sofa, barking her shin on the coffee table en route, almost hard enough to tip it over. She feels a thin trickle of blood sliding down to her ankle, but doesn’t look at it. If she does that, she will faint.

‘You twisted Mr Hartsfield’s nipple. Then you threatened to do the same to his testes.’

‘He made an obscene gesture to me!’ Scapelli bursts out. ‘Showed me his middle finger!’

‘I will see that you never work in the nursing profession again,’ he says, looking into the depths of his briefcase as she half-swoons onto the sofa. His initials are monogrammed on the side of the case. In gold, of course. He drives a new BMW, and that haircut probably cost fifty dollars. Maybe more. He’s an overbearing, domineering boss, and now he’s threatening to ruin her life over one small mistake. One small error in judgment.

She wouldn’t mind if the floor opened up and swallowed her, but her vision is perversely clear. She seems to see every filament on the feather poking out of his hatband, every scarlet thread in his bloodshot eyes, every ugly gray speck of stubble on his cheeks and chin. His hair would be that same rat fur color, she thinks, if he didn’t dye it.

‘I …’ Tears begin to come – hot tears running down her cold cheeks. ‘I … please, Dr Babineau.’ She doesn’t know how he knows, and it doesn’t matter. The fact is, he does. ‘I’ll never do it again. Please. Please.’

Dr Babineau doesn’t bother to answer.

15

Selma Valdez, one of four nurses who work the three-to-eleven shift in the Bucket, gives a perfunctory rap on the door of 217 – perfunctory because the resident never answers – and steps in. Brady is sitting in his chair by the window, looking out into the dark. His bedside lamp is on, showing the golden highlights in his hair. He is still wearing his button reading I WAS SHAVED BY NURSE BARBARA!

She starts to ask if he’s ready for a little help in getting ready for bed (he can’t unbutton his shirt or pants, but he is capable of shuffling out of them once that’s accomplished), but then rethinks the idea. Dr Babineau has added a note to Hartsfield’s chart, one written in imperative red ink: ‘Patient is not to be disturbed when in a semiconscious state. During these periods, his brain may actually be “rebooting” itself in small but appreciable increments. Come back and check at half-hour intervals. Do not ignore this directive.’

Selma doesn’t think Hartsfield is rebooting jack shit, he’s just off in gorkland, but like all the nurses who work in the Bucket, she’s a bit afraid of Babineau, and knows he has a habit of showing up at any time, even in the small hours of the morning, and right now it’s just gone eight P.M.

At some point since she last checked him, Hartsfield has managed to get up and take the three steps to his bedside table where his game gadget is kept. He doesn’t have the manual dexterity needed to play any of the pre-loaded games, but he can turn it on. He enjoys holding it in his