The Tower, Part III

The second level of the tower was bright, bright, bright. It was like walking into a scream. When she was finally able to open her eyes, she saw that the room was full of hospital equipment. Shiny, gripping metals and pale green sheets, people everywhere. It was a stark contrast to the dark and hulking shapes of the Things below. Doctors and nurses scurried by; some she recognized, some she didn’t.

Against one wall she saw her mother, straight-backed in a plastic chair, her eyes wide and staring. Her purse clutched tightly in her lap. Ingrid felt her throat swell, she wanted to run to her mother, let herself be swooped up, but she clung to the curved stone wall. These things were not really here. Her mother was back in the hotel, asleep. Or perhaps wandering the dark streets, calling out for her, worried, afraid? This version of her mother looked wide awake and frozen. Someone in the puppy-printed pajamas the nurses always wore rushed past her. Without thinking, Ingrid reached out a hand. She grabbed a handful of stiff fabric, and the woman whirled around.

“Yes, Ingrid?” she said. She seemed mildly impatient, but Ingrid saw that she had creased, kind eyes.

“Um.” Ingrid had not imagined what she would say. The woman glanced in the direction she had been going.

“I know,” said the woman. She patted Ingrid’s shoulder through the heavy coat. “We’re operating on you right now.”

“You are?”

“Yes. Over there.” She bent to make her eyes level with Ingrid’s and pointed across the vast white space. A circle of doctors stood around something, illuminated by a giant eye of light. “I have to go get them something important. Excuse me, honey.”

“Wait.” She grabbed the nurse’s tunic again, and the nurse wrapped Ingrid’s hand in both of hers. They were soft as grandmother hands.

“It’s all right,” she said. “Just keep going.” She cupped Ingrid’s cheek in her hand for a moment. Then she moved away.

A doctor with a paper mask at his throat was talking with Ingrid’s mother. He had a thick mustache and a deep, rowboat voice. Ingrid couldn’t hear what he was saying.

Ingrid knew she was going to die. Her body was small and sick. The vacation was a plan of distraction, of man-behind-the-curtain illusion. She hadn’t really been afraid until this moment.

She must have been a very bad girl.

She backed away from the surgical carnival. Her hand found the stone, and then a metal staircase. Up.