Secret for a Song Read Online Free PDF

than her demeanor.
    “Welcome,
Saylor.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Do
you want to talk in my office?”
    I
shrugged and got up to follow her, fingering my syringe in my pocket.
    Linda’s
office was littered with papers and manila folders. The fluorescent lights and
nasty industrial carpet made it clear that the spa-like quality of the hospital
didn’t extend to its employees’ quarters. Noticing me taking in the details,
Linda smiled a chagrined sort of smile.
    “Sorry.
I usually meet volunteers at the café downstairs, but I’m expecting a call
today.”
    “No
worries.” I sat in a chair and crossed my ankles under it.
    “So,
Betty said you filled out the application. Any questions so far?”
    “When
can I start?”
    She
smiled. “Eager. I like that. You could start today, if you wanted to. There’s
just one thing I feel I have to mention.” The smile slipped off her face and
she searched my eyes apprehensively. Cleared her throat. “About, ah, your...”
    She
was clearly waiting for me to finish the sentence, put her out of her misery.
But I didn’t. I held her gaze. Why? Maybe I just felt like being a bitch. Maybe
it was nice that someone else was feeling the shame of saying the words besides
me for a change.
    “Munch—Munchausen?”
She glanced at a note she had on the front of my file.
    “Yes?”
I touched the needle point of the syringe, let it sink its fang into my skin.
    “Dr.
Stone said you could be allowed downstairs, where we have the support group
meetings, but not into any of the clinical areas. You’ll have a badge that says
‘restricted access.’ Is that okay with you?”
    I
shrugged. “Do I have a choice?”
    She
smiled a little. “No, unfortunately not. But as long as we’re clear on that, I
think we’re good to go.” The phone on her desk rang. “I do need to get this.
But my secretary Shelly will take you to get your badge done right now.”
    As
if she was listening at the door, a thin, reedy-looking white woman in glasses
appeared in the doorway and smiled at me. “Ready?”

Chapter Six
    T he
badge process was quick, and the woman manning the counter didn’t ask me or
Shelly why I had restricted access. She chatted to her coworker about her diet the
whole time she was printing it up, handed it over to me—still warm from the
printer—and then turned her back on us.
    “Okay,
let’s head to the support group area,” Shelly said, opening the door to the stairway.
“It’s in the basement.”
    We
went down one flight of stairs, my nose prickling with the scent of
industrial-strength cleaner and cigarette smoke. Shelly’s soft-soled shoes made
muted shuffling noises, the only sound as we descended into the lowest part of
the building.
    When
she opened another door, I walked through and found myself in the most stylish
building basement I’d ever seen. The floors were a luxurious cream-colored tile
and the hallway I was in opened up to meeting rooms with glass walls and
comfortable couches and armchairs. The one to my immediate right even had a
fireplace and wall-to-wall bookshelves. It didn’t seem like there were any
support groups in progress, from what I could see.
    Shelly
gestured to the fabric-covered bulletin board on the wall to our left. “See
that pink laminated sheet? It lists all the support groups and meeting times
and days. If there’s a holiday or a group won’t be meeting for some reason,
it’s listed at the bottom.”
    I
let my eyes run over the text. “Okay.”
    “Any
questions about that?”
    “Nope.”
    “So
what you’re going to be doing down here, from what Linda said to me, is setting
up the rooms and breaking them down after the members leave. The kitchen is
down this way...”
    She
led me to a little kitchenette and showed me the basics of coffee-making and
how to arrange snacks for hungry members. I was so bored I wanted to yawn. If
this was the kind of bullshit I had to do to eventually gain access to clinical
information or apparatus, though,