station. No reply after five minutes. She didn’t ring it again, reluctant to spoil their Christmas eve down there. If she got thirsty enough there was a bathroom in here, although she knew getting out of bed was discouraged.
She switched through the TV channels. Jimmy Stewart was praising Clarence. A stupid dating game of wall-to-wall innuendoes. On the movie channel, Dances With Wolves, which she’d already seen twice. Peter looked like a prematurely bald Kevin Costner. Dating Peter was dances with werewolves, she reflected.
Searching, she passed channel Eight again, on to channel Nine, but she switched abruptly back.
Was that a person seated in the front pew, on the left?
Devin frowned. Yes, had to be, though the dark shape’s stationary pose didn’t help her much. Some old patient gone into the chapel for a bit of comfort? Must be. It looked as though the person was a woman wearing a kerchief on her head…unless that was a nun’s habit.
Well, this development hardly made channel Eight any more exciting. Devin moved on…
A nurse came in to take Devin’s vitals again. Once more, Devin did not inquire about her baby’s whereabouts. The young woman asked, “Can I get you anything?”
“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Devin said. “Lonely in here tonight, huh?”
“It’s real nice and quiet up here, but I hear there was a horrible scene down in emergency. This young woman was brought in…dead on arrival. Somebody strangled her.”
“Strangled?”
“Yeah. Horrible. They said the cord cut right into her neck. They don’t know who did it. Scary. Glad I don’t live in this town.”
“I guess.”
The nurse left, and Devin frowned at the doorway after her. Strangled. Yes…horrible.
It was now eleven-fifteen, and Devin again grew restless with the meager offerings on TV, jaded as she was by cable. She switched around the dial. In so doing, she grew curious about whether that woman was still praying in the chapel.
There were several figures in the pews now. Three? Four? Devin wasn’t sure in that grainy gloom. But at least two of the newly-seated people seemed also to be nuns. Well, it was St. Andrew’s Hospital. Was there to be a midnight mass, after all?
Even as Devin watched, that indistinct door in the corner opened and a figure moved out of it, a shadow against shadows. It drifted to the altar. The priest, no doubt. But when were they going to put the lights on? Maybe this was yet another nun, judging from the conical look of the head. Well, whatever…Devin lost interest again, flicked forward to Eleven.
The news was on. A space heater fire had killed three children. Merry Christmas. Devin hurried onward. Where was Ernest when you needed him?
A distant baby wailing again. Devin was tempted to get out of bed to go close her door, but she had had an episiotomy to facilitate delivery and the pain-killers had diminished. Soon enough, however, the crying faded away.
God, even the poor offering of channels conspired to narrow her world, aggravate her sense of isolation, of being trapped in this bed. She clicked through the selections, impatiently going in circles. Seven again, Eight…
Pious assholes, she thought; something was indeed up tonight. She watched the silent scene. Where was the sound? What comfort was watching services if you couldn’t hear them? Might a microphone be on but the people in the chapel so quiet that their movements were inaudible?
A few new shadowy forms were gliding out of that vague door in the corner, slipping into the pews. The priest or nun was now sitting at his throne behind the altar, resting perhaps until everyone arrived. Was that the bottom of a great cross above his head? Was it an all-denominations chapel? Devin hoped so; where would Jews, Buddhists, Muslims take their comfort, otherwise? Only because it was Christmas eve and this a hospital founded by Catholics did she assume it was a Christian service.
Devin glared at them, her fingers on the
She switched through the TV channels. Jimmy Stewart was praising Clarence. A stupid dating game of wall-to-wall innuendoes. On the movie channel, Dances With Wolves, which she’d already seen twice. Peter looked like a prematurely bald Kevin Costner. Dating Peter was dances with werewolves, she reflected.
Searching, she passed channel Eight again, on to channel Nine, but she switched abruptly back.
Was that a person seated in the front pew, on the left?
Devin frowned. Yes, had to be, though the dark shape’s stationary pose didn’t help her much. Some old patient gone into the chapel for a bit of comfort? Must be. It looked as though the person was a woman wearing a kerchief on her head…unless that was a nun’s habit.
Well, this development hardly made channel Eight any more exciting. Devin moved on…
A nurse came in to take Devin’s vitals again. Once more, Devin did not inquire about her baby’s whereabouts. The young woman asked, “Can I get you anything?”
“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Devin said. “Lonely in here tonight, huh?”
“It’s real nice and quiet up here, but I hear there was a horrible scene down in emergency. This young woman was brought in…dead on arrival. Somebody strangled her.”
“Strangled?”
“Yeah. Horrible. They said the cord cut right into her neck. They don’t know who did it. Scary. Glad I don’t live in this town.”
“I guess.”
The nurse left, and Devin frowned at the doorway after her. Strangled. Yes…horrible.
It was now eleven-fifteen, and Devin again grew restless with the meager offerings on TV, jaded as she was by cable. She switched around the dial. In so doing, she grew curious about whether that woman was still praying in the chapel.
There were several figures in the pews now. Three? Four? Devin wasn’t sure in that grainy gloom. But at least two of the newly-seated people seemed also to be nuns. Well, it was St. Andrew’s Hospital. Was there to be a midnight mass, after all?
Even as Devin watched, that indistinct door in the corner opened and a figure moved out of it, a shadow against shadows. It drifted to the altar. The priest, no doubt. But when were they going to put the lights on? Maybe this was yet another nun, judging from the conical look of the head. Well, whatever…Devin lost interest again, flicked forward to Eleven.
The news was on. A space heater fire had killed three children. Merry Christmas. Devin hurried onward. Where was Ernest when you needed him?
A distant baby wailing again. Devin was tempted to get out of bed to go close her door, but she had had an episiotomy to facilitate delivery and the pain-killers had diminished. Soon enough, however, the crying faded away.
God, even the poor offering of channels conspired to narrow her world, aggravate her sense of isolation, of being trapped in this bed. She clicked through the selections, impatiently going in circles. Seven again, Eight…
Pious assholes, she thought; something was indeed up tonight. She watched the silent scene. Where was the sound? What comfort was watching services if you couldn’t hear them? Might a microphone be on but the people in the chapel so quiet that their movements were inaudible?
A few new shadowy forms were gliding out of that vague door in the corner, slipping into the pews. The priest or nun was now sitting at his throne behind the altar, resting perhaps until everyone arrived. Was that the bottom of a great cross above his head? Was it an all-denominations chapel? Devin hoped so; where would Jews, Buddhists, Muslims take their comfort, otherwise? Only because it was Christmas eve and this a hospital founded by Catholics did she assume it was a Christian service.
Devin glared at them, her fingers on the
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