Читать книгу Obsession - Lisa Jackson - Страница 7

Whispering Hills Hospital

The patient rocked slowly back and forth in his chair. His eyes, deep-set and pale blue, stared at the television screen, and though he didn’t speak, his lips moved, as if he were trying to say something to the woman on the small color screen, the cohost of West Coast Morning.

Kaylie, her name was. He had a picture of her. The one they hadn’t found. The one the orderlies had overlooked. It was old and faded, the slickness nearly worn off, but every night he stared at that picture and pretended she was there, with him, in his hospital bed.

She was so beautiful. Her long blond hair shimmered in soft curls around her face, and her eyes were green-blue—like the ocean. He’d seen her once, touched her, felt her quiver against him.

He sucked in his breath at the familiar thought. He could almost smell her perfume.

“Hey! Lee, ol’ buddy. How about some sound?” The orderly, the tall lanky one called Rick, walked to the television and fiddled with the controls. The volume roared, and the singsong jingle for cereal blared in a deafening roar to the patient’s ears.

“Noooo!” the patient cried, clapping his hands to the sides of his head, trying to block out the sound. “No, no, no!”

“Okay, okay. Hey, man, don’t get upset.” Rick held his palms outward before quickly turning down the volume. “Hey, Lee, ya gotta learn to chill out a little. Relax.”

“No noise!” the patient said with an effort, and Rick sighed loudly as he stripped the bed of soiled sheets.

“Yeah, I know, no noise. Just like every day at this time. I don’t get it, you know. All day long you’re fine, until the morning shows come on. Maybe you should watch something else—”

But the patient didn’t hear. The program had resumed, and Kaylie—his Kaylie—was staring into the camera again, smiling. For him. He felt suddenly near tears as her green eyes locked with his and her perfect lips moved in silent words of love. It won’t be long, he thought, his own lips twitching. Reaching deep into his pocket, he rubbed the worn picture between his thumb and forefinger.

Just wait for me. I’ll come to you. Soon.