Come And Find Me Part 15

Chapter Twenty-Two.

Apartment door left open? Purse left on the backseat of her car? Diana burst into the apartment. A quick glance told her Ashley wasn't in the living room or kitchen.

She closed the door and attached the chain lock. Ran to the closed bedroom door and pushed it open. Inside, it was dark and smelled like steamed gym socks. She could just make out the bedcovers mounded over what looked like a body.

"Ashley?" she said, creeping closer.

Ashley's blond hair was all that was visible. Her BlackBerry was on the floor by the bed, still on, apparently where she'd dropped it. A pile of clothes was on the floor.

Thank G.o.d! Diana fell to her knees by the bed, overcome with relief. She'd been girding herself for another impossible loss.

She turned on the bedside lamp. Ashley winced. She was pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Diana slid her hand under the covers and pulled out Ashley's arm. She pressed her fingers against Ashley's wrist. The pulse was strong and steady.

"Ouch!" Ashley pulled her hand away.

"Sorry, hon," Diana said.

Ashley opened one eye. Then the other. She shrieked.

"What?" Diana said.

Ashley just pointed at Diana's head. It took a moment for Diana to realize what she was going on about.

"So? I'm a blonde."

"I guess. You cut it yourself?" Ashley's eyes widened farther still. "You're here? How . . . ?"

"Don't you remember? We talked on the phone. Fifteen minutes ago. I said I'd come over."

"You drove?"

"I can, you know," Diana said. "I even have a driver's license."

"Sure you do."

Diana ignored the sarcasm. "Are you okay? I've been so worried."

"My head." Ashley touched her forehead and grimaced. "Jesus, this feels like the mother of all hangovers."

The old Superman theme started playing.

"What the h.e.l.l is that?" Ashley asked.

"It's a bird, it's a plane . . ." Diana said, offering Ashley her BlackBerry. "It's your phone."

Slowly, painfully Ashley raised herself on one elbow and stared at the cell phone, which was lighting up neon blue.

"Don't you remember?" Diana raised the cell phone the way the improv partic.i.p.ants had saluted the hotel. "Copley Square?" She looked at the readout. "Lucky you. It's Mom."

"Don't answer it. I'll call her Monday."

"Ashley, that's next week. It's Tuesday already."

Deep furrows formed in Ashley's forehead as her eyebrows came together.

The phone rang again. Diana answered. "Hi, Ma."

"Diana?" A pause. "Did I call you? Because if I did, I didn't mean to."

"You called Ashley. I answered the phone. She's"-Ashley shook her head a little too vigorously and winced-"not feeling too well. She's hungover." Ashley rolled her eyes. "Or something."

"Or something?"

"She's fine. Really. She'll call you back, okay? Tomorrow?"

After a few more back-and-forths, Diana managed to get her mother off the phone. By then, Ashley was sitting up in bed.

"It's Tuesday?" she said. "How could that be? Where have I been?" Diana heard the distinct note of panic in her sister's voice.

She took Ashley's hand. It felt cool and dry. "I don't know. I've been trying to reach you. I was here yesterday and it looked as if you'd come back. Do you remember coming back to your apartment? Picking up your mail? Changing your clothes?"

Ashley shook her head and raised her hand to wipe away a tear that trickled down her cheek.

"Hey, don't cry." That's when Diana noticed the mottled bruise on the back of Ashley's hand. "What's this?"

"How'd I get that?" Ashley asked.

Diana ran her fingers gently over the tender spot, right where veins branched. "I don't know."

"I . . . I don't know either." Ashley shook her head and winced again.

Diana stood. She handed Ashley her purse. "I found this in the backseat of your car. You parked in one of the visitor spots in front of the building."

"I didn't. I never park there."

"Well, someone parked your car there." She set the purse in Ashley's lap. Ashley just stared at it. "You want to check that everything's still there?"

Ashley pushed herself up and rummaged through the bag. Found her wallet and checked the billfold. Sifted through the magazines and file folders. She drew out an oversize mailing envelope.

Ashley looked baffled. She tore open the seal and pulled out some papers. The top page was a form labeled IN-PATIENT RELEASE.

"Can I see that?" Diana said. She recognized the mother-and-child logo of Neponset Hospital. It had been one of Gamelan's earliest clients.

Ashley handed her the sheaf of papers. The form on top began: Patient Name: Ashley Highsmith Ashley had been released from the hospital in this condition? What had the doctors been thinking? And why hadn't someone called her? She was Ashley's emergency contact.

Diana scanned the rest of the page. "According to this, you were checked in to the hospital on Friday night after eleven. Checked out yesterday morning."

Ashley's eyes widened. "Was I sick?" She rummaged in her purse again and came up with a compact. She opened it and looked in the mirror. "Am I sick?"

"You look fine," Diana said, even though Ashley looked far from it.

She examined the rest of the hospital doc.u.ments, trying to penetrate the thicket of charges. "They gave you blood tests. A CT scan. Echocardiogram. Intravenous therapy."

Ashley stroked the bruise on the back of her hand. "So this-maybe it's from an IV?"

"Here's a doctor's card. You can probably call and find out." Diana showed her a business card stapled to one of the sheets of paper. "And look, this is an FAQ on trypanosomiasis."

"What?" Ashley's hand flew to her throat.

Diana read down. "It's a kind of sleeping sickness."

"Sleeping sickness? But how . . . ? Isn't that something people get in Africa?"

"You weren't in Africa."

"Duh." Ashley felt under her chin, like she was looking for swollen lymph nodes. Then she let her head fall back onto the pillow. "I may look okay but I feel terrible. Like my head is packed with wet wool."

"Apparently you had the nonlethal variety. This says you might be somewhat disoriented for a few days. Your sleep can be disrupted for up to two weeks. It's important not to get dehydrated." Diana went into the bathroom, filled a gla.s.s with water, and brought it back. She handed Ashley the gla.s.s. "How on earth did you manage to contract sleeping sickness?"

Ashley sat up and took a sip. "How? Well-" She set the gla.s.s down and sat up taller. "Maybe from a hotel guest? I ran a wedding at the hotel. Last weekend. The bride was from Nigeria or South Africa, I can't remember which. Or . . . on the plane? I read about how airplanes harbor all kinds of lethal stowaways. Rats with bubonic plague." That thought seemed to perk her up considerably. "Disease-infected spiders. All it takes is one, hiding in one of those blankets."

"There are no more blankets."

"There are in business cla.s.s." Ashley finished off the water.

"Ashley, what's the last thing you remember?"

Ashley sank back against the pillows and squeezed her eyes shut. "I remember . . ." She opened her eyes. "Dumping Aaron." She smiled.

"He called to apologize."

The smile grew broader. "He did?"

"Do you remember Superman?"

Ashley's brow wrinkled. "Coming out of the hotel window. And a man came up to me."

"Ashley, this is important. Did you recognize him?"

Ashley looked confused. "His face was kind of covered."

"Do you think it could have been Aaron?"

"Aaron?" Ashley considered it. "No way. I'd have recognized him. This man, he acted like we were old friends. He thought I was-" She broke off the thought, her jaw dropping as realization kicked in. "He called me Nadia."

"Of course. You were registered as my avatar. Ashley, do you have any idea what happened next? I've looked at videos taken during the improv event and it looks as if you walked off with that guy who approached you. You might have gotten into a car with him."

"All I remember is being downtown. Superman's in the air. That guy's got his arm around me, which is kind of freaking me out. Then . . ." Ashley touched her upper arm. "Then . . . then nothing. It's like the movie just stops. Except for nightmares."

"What kind of nightmares?"

Ashley shuddered. "A long worm tracking slime up my arm. Headless talking Ken dolls."

"So you don't remember being in the hospital? Getting a CT scan? Getting released this morning? Driving your car back?"

"None of it." Ashley picked up the sheaf of hospital forms and shook them at Diana. "Four days, I was out of it. Sleeping sickness! Go figure."

A half page of paper fluttered to the bed. Diana picked it up. "You've got a script for Ambien here."

"More sleep. Just what I need." Ashley put her hand to her chest. Then her stomach. "Know what? I think I'm hungry. Starving, in fact. And what is that smell?" She sniffed her own armpit and made a face. "You think I can take a shower?"

"You feel up to it?"

Ashley swung her legs out of bed and Diana helped her stand.

"Whoa," Ashley said, holding on to Diana's shoulder.

"Want me to go in with you?"

Ashley gave her a horrified look. "Just give me a minute."

Ashley steadied herself. Finally she pushed Diana away and headed for the bathroom. Diana started after her but Ashley put up her hand. "I'm okay. Really, I'm okay." She left the room, crossed the hall, and shut the bathroom door behind her.

Diana put the hospital forms together and straightened the pile. She clipped the prescription to the top. Its letterhead read COMPa.s.sIONATE CARE MEDICAL, P.C. with an address in Boston's Back Bay. The list of physicians included Dr. William Kennedy-the doctor whose business card they had. But the physician's signature scrawled at the bottom was not Dr. Kennedy's. Instead, it began with what looked like initial caps P and D, followed by B and an indecipherable wavy line with squiggles. Diana skimmed to the top of the page where the partners names were printed. The only name the signature even vaguely resembled was Pamela David-Braverman, MD, known to her friends in OtherWorld as PWNED.

Chapter Twenty-Three.

While Ashley showered, Diana spread out the hospital forms on the bed. It would take more than paperwork to convince her that Ashley had spent four days in a hospital recovering from an exotic disease.

She pulled out the doctor's business card and dialed his number. The call was picked up without even a single ring.

"Compa.s.sionate Care Medical a.s.sociates," said a woman's recorded voice. "Our hours are weekdays from nine A.M. to five P.M. If this is an emergency . . ." Diana left a message, pretending to be Ashley and asking for the doctor to call. She left her cell-phone number and hung up.