Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 110492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
“I told you—many things are possible now that my positronic net has repaired itself. Come on—let’s go.”
They continued down the hallway, until they got to the main entrance. Sure enough, just as Torri had predicted, the security guard was sitting there in front of a bank of security monitors behind the front desk. He had a bored look on his face but he was wide awake and doing his job, which was watching the monitors that showed the main patient areas and the front door, which was locked at night. There was, however, also a small portable TV playing some sports game sitting on the desk in front of him. He seemed to glance at it at least as often as the monitors.
“How are we going to get past him?” Torri whispered.
“Like this.” Once more, Vic’s body began to change. Only this time, it didn’t turn pink to blend in with the walls. Instead, he got a little shorter and his short black hair became long and carroty-orange. He also grew a long beard the same color.
In just seconds, Mike O’Toole was standing right in front of her.
Torri gasped and put a hand to her mouth. Every detail was perfect from the pale, no-color eyes to the flapping, pale pink scrubs.
“Oh my God,” she whispered shakily. “Vic? Is that still you?”
“It’s still me,” he murmured, reassuring her. “I’m sorry to take this form, but it’s more massive than any of the female caretakers, and so easier for me to replicate.”
“I understand.” Torri nodded shakily. “Do…do what you have to do.”
Vic nodded back.
“What is the security guard’s name? I’m going to say something to distract him—maybe ask him to get something for me. When he looks away, run to the front doors and stand there quietly. I’ll get back in time to hide you.”
“Oh, that’s Gus. Uh…you could ask him to give you the keys to O’Toole’s truck—all the employees leave their keys at the front desk when they start their shifts. Maybe you could say you left something at home and you need to go get it,” Torri suggested.
She knew that O’Toole had a truck—or had had a truck, she reminded herself—because you could see the employee parking lot from the windows in the Patient Lounge and she had always dreaded the night ahead when she saw him driving in.
“Excellent idea.” Vic nodded. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be, I guess,” Torri said.
“Good. I’m going to go distract him.”
Vic walked around the corner into the lobby, where a small museum detailing the history of St. Elizabeth’s was set up. There were models of the older buildings on the property, as well as some large signs telling about how the hospital had been commissioned and built before the Civil War. One of these large signs was just to one side of the entryway—Torri decided to make it her target—she would duck behind it as soon as the security guard was distracted.
“Hi Gus,” Vic said, walking into the lobby in his “O’Toole disguise.” “How are you?”
“Oh, hi, Mike. What can I do for you?” Gus was an elderly man with silver-gray hair and a squint—probably because he didn’t like wearing his glasses, which were almost always folded up in the breast pocket of his uniform shirt.
“There’s some business I need to take care of back home,” Vic said, doing an excellent impression of the now-dead orderly, Torri thought. “Could you get me my keys and buzz me out? It’s pretty important,” he added, looking concerned.
“Oh, well, okay—sure.” Gus nodded and turned around to eye the pegboard of keys behind the desk. He frowned and fumbled to put on his glasses as he hunted for the right set.
Torri watched him, waiting for her chance. She knew from hospital gossip that the “no keys on your person” policy had been added after one of the patients on the Violent Offenders wing had stolen an orderly’s keys and used them to gouge another patient’s eye out.
As soon as the security guard had his back completely turned, Torri darted silently across the lobby and hid behind the big sign she’d been eyeing earlier. It was about three feet tall and two feet wide so she crouched down behind it, hoping that the old security guard wouldn’t notice her bare feet sticking out under the sign’s metal frame.
“Oh—here they are.” At last Gus found the keys to O’Toole’s truck and handed them over to Vic.
“Thanks.” Vic took the keys, nodded, and walked over to the front door, waiting for the guard to “buzz him out.” As soon as Gus did, he opened the door, letting in a gust of chilly Autumn air. He acted as though he was leaving, then turned back, blocking the security guard’s view with his body. “Hey, what game are you watching?” he asked, nodding at the small TV set on the desk.