I WAITED for dinner to arrive. The nurse’s name was Eva, and even though she was in a rush to push the dinner cart to every room along the long hallway, I managed to engage her in conversation a minute. It turned out another nurse, Winny, was on her honeymoon, and Geraldine was sick; and although Luva was supposed to be on call, she had rung to say one of her daughters had caught a stomach bug and was throwing up all night. So she was all alone to cover the floor. “This place is an organizational nightmare. Everyone disappears at once, and one person is left to cover the whole damn place.”
I told her not to worry about me. What was the medication I had to take again?
“One tablet of olanzapine and one of these blue ones before bed. I guess I could leave them for you here. After all, it’s already past eight. . . .”
“Sure, don’t worry. I’ll take them right after dinner so I won’t forget.”
The second Eva closed the door, I jumped out of bed and started getting dressed. Thank God no one thought to take my clothes or shoes home, or that would have nixed my plan. But everything was in a plastic bag in the closet, along with a coat and some extra clothes Judie had brought from my house. When I was ready, I threw the hospital robe on over my clothes and left the room.
I paced up the hallway in no rush whatsoever, looking bored. I peeked in the open doors to see other patients watching television in their rooms, visiting with guests who spoke animatedly as they stared off into the void. With my three-day-old stubble and my dirty, long hair, I looked like just another patient as I paced along in my robe. People looked pityingly at me as I walked by, and I returned their sorrowful gazes.
When I reached the lobby, I found the admissions desk empty.
Outside on the steps to the entrance, a man was smoking. He was a lanky guy with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. I asked him for a cigarette, and he grumbled as he handed it to me.
“Tobacco ain’t cheap, buddy.”
I smoked in silence, waiting for my ill-humored friend to buzz off. Meanwhile, I looked out at the street and saw it was nearly devoid of traffic. How the hell was I going to get to Clenhburran?
The wind picked up and started to howl. I recognized this sound. This furious whistling. Soon, the funnel clouds would arrive with their army of lightning bolts. But there was still time.
“Looks like a nasty storm,” I said, trying to strike up a conversation, but the guy pretended not to hear me. He just kept smoking his cigarette.
A few minutes later, like a gift from the heavens themselves, a taxi appeared over the rise, heading toward the hospital, and stopped right outside the entrance. I still had the robe on, and Mr. Grumpy was still nursing his cigarette. What to do? If I tried to hail the cab in my hospital robe, I was sure to arouse suspicion.
The passengers got out, and the driver looked at us through the window.
“Need a taxi?” he called out.
I was about to say something when my smoking buddy waved him off before I could open my mouth.
The taxi disappeared back to wherever it came from. And just a few minutes later, so did my curmudgeonly companion. I sat alone on the steps, finishing my cigarette. I glanced back inside and noticed the admissions desk was still empty. I decided it was time to act. I whipped off the robe and stashed it under a nearby bench. Finally looking like a normal citizen again, I headed for the road.
There was a bus stop out front. The number 143 bus went from Dungloe to Clenhburran. But there was no telling when it would next be by. Waiting for a bus in Ireland on a Sunday is like waiting for a miracle.
I decided to hitchhike. It was common for people in that part of the country to catch a ride for a few miles. The hospital was close to Dungloe, and almost all the traffic came from that direction. But I figured eventually I’d stumble on someone going in the other direction toward Clenhburran.
Three or four cars sped by as a light drizzle began to fall. I tried smiling, putting on a needy face, even waving my arms as if there were an emergency. But that only made one driver step on the pedal.
A short while later, I saw a car pulling out of the hospital parking lot. I hurried toward it and approached the driver’s window as the car came to a stop at the intersection.
“You headed east by any chance?” I asked pointing my thumb in that direction. “I’ve been waiting for the bus for an hour.”
The driver was a young kid, and an older woman was in the passenger seat.
“Yeah, I’m headed that way. Where are you going?”
“Oh, I know the place. I can take you as far as the gas station.” I figured he meant Andy’s. “It’s just a few miles on foot from there.”
“That would be great, thanks.”
I sat in the back of the old but comfortable Toyota, whose footwells were full of empty soda bottles and old newspapers. The driver was named Kevin and his passenger was his grandma. They had been visiting Kevin’s mother, who was in the hospital with an ovarian tumor.
“And why were you here?”
“Me? Oh, I, uh, was visiting an old friend. He broke his back in an accident. Poor guy’s in a body cast, but other than that he’s okay.”
Kevin’s grandmother asked what I’d said, and he told her again in a loud voice. That’s pretty much how the rest of the drive went: Kevin would ask a question, I’d respond, and he’d repeat it to his grandmother, who seemed happy to be part of the conversation. The Frames’ “Revelate” played on the radio.
Andy’s appeared around a curve. In the distance, the storm was taking shape, like the silhouette of a phantom. The clouds extended like a heavy cloak over the horizon. I figured there was still an hour until it made landfall.
Kevin turned in to the gas station.
“We’d take you all the way home, but we’re in a rush,” he said.
I told him not to worry, that I’d be home before the storm hit. It was only ten minutes into town, and I figured I’d find Judie and the kids there. I thanked Kevin and then his grandmother, in a loud enough voice so she could hear me. The Toyota turned back onto the highway and disappeared around another curve.
Andy’s had one of those little roadside cafés inside, the kind of place where your insides immediately regret having eaten. I’d skipped dinner, and my stomach had started to growl, so I considered going inside to grab a candy bar, but I decided it was better to find Judie and the kids first.
That’s when I noticed a couple of vehicles parked out in front. Vans.
C’mon, Pete, just cross the goddamn street, and let’s find Judie and the kids. . . .
They were probably tourists. There were a lot of visitors to the northern part of the country at this time of year. Probably camping. It was a long way from one town to the next. Maybe they were resting for the night.
One was a plain, white van. But the one next to it . . . I noticed something that made my blood run cold.
An unmistakable GMC badge on the front.
Dark red. Chrome rims.
It couldn’t be. But it was. The van from my nightmares.