“Stand against the wall and let me shield you,” he instructed. “Make yourself as small as possible.”
Torri didn’t know how she was supposed to do that but she put her back to the pale pink wall with her arms at her sides. Vic put his back to her, covering her body as much as possible with his own.
“What—are we just going to stand here?” Torri whispered.
“Be very quiet and stand very still,” he instructed.
And then something strange began to happen—he began to change colors. The boring beige scrubs were suddenly the same pale pink color as the wall. But it wasn’t just his clothing that changed—as Torri watched, his tan skin and black hair also turned pale pink—the exact right color to blend into the wall.
At that moment, one of the caretakers turned the corner and walked towards them. She passed by and went on about her routine, passing Vic and Torri, who was still sheltering behind him, without a second glance.
“Whew!” Torri let out a relieved breath as the caretaker disappeared around another corner and they were alone again. “How did you do that?”
Vic smiled at her as the pale pink drained away, leaving him looking just as he had before.
“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.
Gus glanced down at the TV set as well.
“Oh, it’s the—”
Torri didn’t hear the rest of his sentence. As soon as the security guard’s attention was fixed on the TV set, she skittered out from behind the sign and darted out into the open air.
Freedom! Oh God, it felt so good. She didn’t care that it was freezing cold outside—she took deep breaths of the chilly autumn air, scented with dry leaves, and reveled in the feeling of not being locked up for the first time in three long months.
But as happy as she was, it really was cold out here. She went quickly down the steps, wishing she’d had a chance to change into her scrubs and sweater—they at least would have been warmer than the thin nightdress she was wearing. Also, it would have been good to put some shoes on. But she was in such a hurry to get out, she hadn’t thought of that.
Shivering, she crouched in the bushes that lined the front sidewalk, until Vic as O’Toole, let the door shut behind him and jogged down the steps. He really did an amazing imitation of the dead orderly, Torri thought as she watched him. Not just his outer appearance, but his speech patterns and physical movements too. If she hadn’t known better, she really would have thought it was O’Toole standing there, instead of Vic.