Sentence The Onehundredandsixtysecond
“Where is she,” Tammy suddenly asked, aware that she sounded ratty, but not caring what The Man might do to her, desperately needing, as she was, to know that her Lover was safe; “your friend?” he stared into her frightened eyes, and she found herself disconcerted because of the Mask, and only nodded; “honestly,” he continued, in a slightly gentler voice, “I have no idea – I was as surprised as you when her bed was empty, she obviously couldn't have walked out on her own steam, when I saw
her in the morning she was still in a coma and that frozen-faced Sister with the Croydon Facelift, or as I understand, you Edinbuggers call it The Gorgie Grip, and she said there was no change anticipated for the next 48 hours at least, though brain activity was surprisingly lively, as if she was having a particularly exciting dream, according to the Neurologist"; “you've been to see her?” and she couldn't keep the surprise, astonishment, out of her voice – this Man must have nerves of steel and ice in his blood, “when?” and he kept eye contact with her; “every day, usually in the morning, when the shifts are changing, night staff going off-duty, people are tired, let their guard down, and they know me there anyway,” and Tammy felt faint, “are you really a Doctor?” she asked, feeling her whole world tilting slightly, because in her world, Doctors were meant to help people, not try to kill them; “no, I'm not a Doctor, and when I say they know me, I really mean they think they know me – if you look as though you belong, it just involves a modicum of play-acting, people accept you, especially in a hierarchical world like a Hospital, with so many different grades of staff milling about – from Domestics and Porters and Nursing Assistants, Staff and Agency Nurses up to Charge Nurses and Consultants, and a new face that acts and sounds as if it's supposed to be there – especially if you look senior enough, is never challenged; a stethoscope, sometimes a white coat, but not necessarily, primarily an air of authority; it's just that I always know where I'm going and never have to ask for directions, the same as when I followed you yesterday,” he paused, and Tammy asked: “were you the man in front of me when I was walking? before I took a Taxi, but how did you know where I was going?” and she fancied he smiled, behind the smiling mask, he certainly sounded smug when he replied: “at first I didn't, but following someone from the front is an art – you should ask your mother sometime, she's good at it, much better than me,” and Tammy butted in: “you know my mother? does she know you?” but he shook his head, “if she did, I'd hardly be telling you any of this, would I, Tammy? that would be putting my head on the block,” and she realised that she had been trying to catch him out, not consciously, but in the same way that Tabby could trick information from her, “so do you have any idea where Bernie might be?” she realised that she was pleading, with this Man – the very one who had slashed her life with the same blade that had almost killed Bernie, might yet, she reminded herself; “no, Tammy, but I'm trying to draw in a few debts – someone must have seen where she went – the Police have taken the CCTV tapes from the Hospital and are checking them all, but that will take a bit of time – even for Isa Urquhart – especially as the key ones, from Intensive Care are missing;” and Tammy looked up sharply: “you've got them?” but she already knew the answer, “do they show her leaving?” and this time he turned away, before answering: “it's a time-lapse circuit, for some reason, I don't know whose idea, sheer stupidity, or cupidity probably, one of those situations where if you time it rightly – like catching all the green lights on a drive through the City – you can get out of the Unit without being picked up, and that's what's happened: it must be by design, no-one could be so lucky; which means that someone very familiar with the system must be in on it; WPC Urquhart, of the Blessed Body and Mind, is cross-checking all the Security Staff, and right up through their chain of command to the Senior Management, both in the Hospital and the Company who provide the hardware and the Personnel, and she'll see through any tommyrot they try to spin her, but I hope to get there first – I do have some clout – I'm sorry, a poor choice of word, in the circumstances;” and Tammy felt a mixture of anger, fear, desperate love for Bernie, but also a realisation that she (and Bernie) probably needed this Man more than any other at present; “please,” she whispered, “please find her for me,” and his hand on her shoulder was kind, rather than threatening, he patted her gently a few times and then withdrew it, as though afraid that it's size and strength might damage her, and she knew that he would try, and that, right now, he was their best chance, their last best hope, and she said: “I can’t forgive you for what you did before, but I'm begging you now to do the right thing for Bernie, you owe it to her,” and she could almost believe that, through the eye-holes in the mask, she saw a glistening in his own eyes, “thank you,” was all she said, and he simply nodded, and left her to her own thoughts – she didn't even hear the door being locked behind him, or his tread, heavy on the downward stairs.
“Where is she,” Tammy suddenly asked, aware that she sounded ratty, but not caring what The Man might do to her, desperately needing, as she was, to know that her Lover was safe; “your friend?” he stared into her frightened eyes, and she found herself disconcerted because of the Mask, and only nodded; “honestly,” he continued, in a slightly gentler voice, “I have no idea – I was as surprised as you when her bed was empty, she obviously couldn't have walked out on her own steam, when I saw
her in the morning she was still in a coma and that frozen-faced Sister with the Croydon Facelift, or as I understand, you Edinbuggers call it The Gorgie Grip, and she said there was no change anticipated for the next 48 hours at least, though brain activity was surprisingly lively, as if she was having a particularly exciting dream, according to the Neurologist"; “you've been to see her?” and she couldn't keep the surprise, astonishment, out of her voice – this Man must have nerves of steel and ice in his blood, “when?” and he kept eye contact with her; “every day, usually in the morning, when the shifts are changing, night staff going off-duty, people are tired, let their guard down, and they know me there anyway,” and Tammy felt faint, “are you really a Doctor?” she asked, feeling her whole world tilting slightly, because in her world, Doctors were meant to help people, not try to kill them; “no, I'm not a Doctor, and when I say they know me, I really mean they think they know me – if you look as though you belong, it just involves a modicum of play-acting, people accept you, especially in a hierarchical world like a Hospital, with so many different grades of staff milling about – from Domestics and Porters and Nursing Assistants, Staff and Agency Nurses up to Charge Nurses and Consultants, and a new face that acts and sounds as if it's supposed to be there – especially if you look senior enough, is never challenged; a stethoscope, sometimes a white coat, but not necessarily, primarily an air of authority; it's just that I always know where I'm going and never have to ask for directions, the same as when I followed you yesterday,” he paused, and Tammy asked: “were you the man in front of me when I was walking? before I took a Taxi, but how did you know where I was going?” and she fancied he smiled, behind the smiling mask, he certainly sounded smug when he replied: “at first I didn't, but following someone from the front is an art – you should ask your mother sometime, she's good at it, much better than me,” and Tammy butted in: “you know my mother? does she know you?” but he shook his head, “if she did, I'd hardly be telling you any of this, would I, Tammy? that would be putting my head on the block,” and she realised that she had been trying to catch him out, not consciously, but in the same way that Tabby could trick information from her, “so do you have any idea where Bernie might be?” she realised that she was pleading, with this Man – the very one who had slashed her life with the same blade that had almost killed Bernie, might yet, she reminded herself; “no, Tammy, but I'm trying to draw in a few debts – someone must have seen where she went – the Police have taken the CCTV tapes from the Hospital and are checking them all, but that will take a bit of time – even for Isa Urquhart – especially as the key ones, from Intensive Care are missing;” and Tammy looked up sharply: “you've got them?” but she already knew the answer, “do they show her leaving?” and this time he turned away, before answering: “it's a time-lapse circuit, for some reason, I don't know whose idea, sheer stupidity, or cupidity probably, one of those situations where if you time it rightly – like catching all the green lights on a drive through the City – you can get out of the Unit without being picked up, and that's what's happened: it must be by design, no-one could be so lucky; which means that someone very familiar with the system must be in on it; WPC Urquhart, of the Blessed Body and Mind, is cross-checking all the Security Staff, and right up through their chain of command to the Senior Management, both in the Hospital and the Company who provide the hardware and the Personnel, and she'll see through any tommyrot they try to spin her, but I hope to get there first – I do have some clout – I'm sorry, a poor choice of word, in the circumstances;” and Tammy felt a mixture of anger, fear, desperate love for Bernie, but also a realisation that she (and Bernie) probably needed this Man more than any other at present; “please,” she whispered, “please find her for me,” and his hand on her shoulder was kind, rather than threatening, he patted her gently a few times and then withdrew it, as though afraid that it's size and strength might damage her, and she knew that he would try, and that, right now, he was their best chance, their last best hope, and she said: “I can’t forgive you for what you did before, but I'm begging you now to do the right thing for Bernie, you owe it to her,” and she could almost believe that, through the eye-holes in the mask, she saw a glistening in his own eyes, “thank you,” was all she said, and he simply nodded, and left her to her own thoughts – she didn't even hear the door being locked behind him, or his tread, heavy on the downward stairs.
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