A Class Apart

  Chapter 13 – Takeover

  No flame. No heat. Sam was almost relieved that she didn’t have to make the choice. Then Harden pounced, grabbing her left arm. Stannard rushed forward at the same time and with both hands held on to her right wrist. Nurse Winter stood ready with the needle. Sam gathered all her strength to throw off her assailants but everyone stopped when a figure appeared at the doorway. It was Dr Okocha, who, as Sam instantly noticed, did not have a bruise on her head and did not appear to be sleepwalking.

  “What are you doing to that child?” boomed Dr Okocha, striding into the room. “Let her go at once!”

  “Dr Okocha be careful!” warned Sam, but it was too late. Harden released Sam and instead grabbed hold of Dr Okocha. In an instant, he had pinned the woman’s hands behind her back, produced some handcuffs of his own and had placed them on the doctor’s wrists.

  “What the–?” Dr Okocha tried to speak but couldn’t. Harden had his arm around her neck. He turned to Sam.

  “Let the nurse give you the injection or I’ll kill her,” he intoned. Sam could see no emotion on Harden’s face, but she could plainly see the fear in Dr Okocha’s eyes. The woman tried to struggle but couldn’t. She could barely breathe and when she tried talking, she just choked. Sam had no choice. She relaxed the resistance in her right hand and let Stannard hold it down.

  “Why are you doing this?” Sam asked Harden. “What has Emma done to you?”

  The next thing she could feel was the needle going into her arm, and almost instantly a warm fuzzy feeling flooded her body.

  “I hope that needle is clean,” muttered Sam sleepily, and then there was blackness.

  At the same time Sam was sinking into a drug-induced sleep, James was waking up. The first thing that he noticed was that he was moving. At first he thought he was still dreaming.

  He was still in his bed, but he was looking up and watching the ceiling lights flash past. He tried to sit up, but found that he had been restrained by some straps across the bed. He was being pushed along the corridor by two nurses. He looked around. He was fairly sure that he was still on the 17th floor, although all the corridors in the hospital looked the same. The trolley stopped outside the lifts, and one of the nurses pulled the big doors open. The men pushed the trolley inside. James craned his head to see which floor they were heading to. One of the nurses pushed the button for floor 36. The lift shuddered as it started to move. James put his head back, took a deep breath... seconds later he was lying on the floor in the corridor, just outside the lifts. Ha ha! He had no idea what was going on, but if they thought they could kidnap him they could shove it! There was a pain in his stomach though. He was hungry again. He was permanently hungry these days. If he didn’t get something to eat soon he would collapse.

  James picked himself up from the floor. He was still wearing his tattered shirt, and there was a hole in the left knee of his jeans. But his cuts and bruises all seemed to have healed up while he was asleep. He searched for his phone. It wasn’t in his pocket. He jogged back to Uxbridge Ward. None of the hospital staff paid him any attention.

  In his ward his bed was missing, of course, and so was Philip Randerson’s. One other patient was absent, a lad called Jerome Lake. A nurse was fussing over the remaining boys. James walked over to where his bed had been. The bedside locker was empty.

  “Excuse me,” he called over to the nurse. Despite having just escaped a kidnapping, James couldn’t bring himself to be rude to anyone. “Where are my things?”

  The nurse looked up in surprise.

  “I beg your pardon, young man,” she said, in a kindly voice. “I’m afraid it isn’t visiting time, quite yet.”

  There was something odd about the woman. His dad would have used the word ‘dozy’.

  “I’m a patient,” said James, simply. “I was in this ward until about five minutes ago. My bed was here.” He indicated the empty space. The nurse looked at him closely.

  “I’m sorry, young man, I think you must be mistaken. Perhaps you were on a different ward?”

  “No,” insisted James, losing patience. “This ward. I was one of the victims of the car bomb. I’m being treated by Dr Soames. On. This. Ward.”

  “I’m sorry, but I think you must be mistaken,” she said again. “Are you sure you’re a patient? You look quite healthy, although you could do with smartening yourself up a bit, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  James took a deep breath. The woman was either a jobsworth or a bit thick.

  “Look. Can you get Dr Soames? I’m not worried about me, but I’m worried about my sister.”

  “Oh – your sister is a patient?”

  “Yes!”

  “I thought you said you were?”

  “I did. We both are. Look, this is massively important. Someone just tried to kidnap me!”

  The nurse looked worried now.

  “Please young man, don’t get upset.”

  James was upset.

  “Oh for–”. He gave up with the woman and went over to the only conscious patient in the ward, Raj Dasgupta.

  “Raj. Do you know who took my stuff?”

  Raj looked sleepy, and a little uncomfortable at being questioned.

  “Who are you?”

  James stared blankly at Raj. Was he taking the mickey? He had sat next to Raj in chemistry lessons for a whole year.

  “Raj, it’s me, James Blake.”

  Raj just looked at him, then looked at the nurse, and pulled a face to indicate he didn’t know what James was talking about. The nurse reciprocated.

  “Raj, what about Philip? And Jerome? Where are they?”

  “Who?”

  “Awww that’s it!!” James had totally lost patience. He didn’t have time to waste with whatever weird stuff was happening with these people. Too many bad things had occurred since the bombing to prat around with morons. It was more important to make sure Sam was safe. He hurried from the room. He looked back at the nurse. She seemed to have forgotten about him already. Nobody was looking, so he teleported himself down to Sam’s room. Would he ever get tired of doing that?

  He materialised next to where Sam’s bed should have been. Damn! She must have been taken to the 36th floor, James reasoned. That’s where the nurse in the lift had tried to take him. Unless, of course, she’d just been taken to the toilet.

  “Sam!” he called out. No response. He saw her broken mobile phone on the floor and picked it up.

  “Sam!” he bellowed this time, just to see if anybody at all was going to come to investigate. Nobody did. He walked down the corridor towards the lifts. Dr Okocha was talking to a nurse behind a desk. James ran up to her.

  “Dr Okocha! Dr Okocha!” he called out. Okocha turned round and regarded James and his dishevelled appearance with concern.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked James.

  “No, no, I’m fine. But two nurses just tried to kidnap me, and my sister is missing from her room.”

  Dr Okocha looked at the nurse behind the desk with an expression which suggested they might have trouble.

  “First things first. Let’s start at the beginning. What is your name?”

  There was a considerable amount of confusion in the hospital car park. The riot teams were still assembling, while PC Nelson was having a stand-up row with Sergeant Blunt, a CO19 Special Firearms Officer.

  “What about all the ambulances bringing patients into the hospital?” Nelson demanded.

  Blunt shrugged.

  “Chief’s orders. All emergencies have been re-routed to other hospitals. Look, I don’t know why. But I’ve got a job to get on with.” He shouldered past Nelson and began deploying his men around the hospital site.

  Jasmin Sharma had heard enough. It would take the police a while to cover all the entrances and exits to the hospital. She had spent five days at the hospital and knew the geography well enough to know how to easily slip inside.

  “You ready?” Jasmin asked Dave, as he mounted the camera on his shoulder
.

  “You’re loving this,” he said.

  “Not as much as you,” she replied, and they ran off, trampling through the flowers towards the back of the hospital.

  Samantha woke up with a disgusting taste in her mouth. Her head was a little woozy, but it cleared rapidly. She’d had another strange dream. She thought she was in a giant glass hamster ball, propelling herself around the hospital. Every now and then she’d bump up against a wall, or someone would stop her and start tapping on the glass. The ball was opaque, so she could never clearly see who was peering in at her. There was just a fuzzy image of faces pressed up against the glass.

  It was a bit of a surprise to wake up and find she was in another ward. Sam looked around her. The first thing she noticed was that one of the windows was broken. The wind was blowing cold air into the room and she immediately pulled her sheets up tighter around her neck.

  There were four other patients in the ward with her, all of them unconscious, so she couldn’t see who they were. Her bed had been positioned close to the window. She was facing three beds on the other side of the ward. On her side, between her bed and the door, was one other patient. He must be in a very bad way because his head was bandaged and he seemed to be on a life-support machine. Standing next to the bed – handcuffed to it, noted Sam – was Dr Soames. Nurse Winter stood the other side of the patient. She was stroking the bandaged head of the unconscious boy. Nurse Winter ignored Dr Soames, and he ignored her.

  Standing by the door, hands clasped behind his back, looking straight ahead, was a policeman. Sam recognised him as PC O’Brien, the officer who patrolled her floor. He had often looked in on her and asked if she was all right. He was nice. Was. Now he was a sleepwalker. His eyes told the whole story, as did the gash down the side of his head.

  Sam realised Dr Soames was looking at her.

  “Samantha,” he said, carefully. “Are you ok? Do you know who I am?”

  “I’m fine,” she managed. Odd question. She looked at Dr Soames. “Is James here? I heard someone had fallen out of a window.”

  Dr Soames took a deep breath.

  “Your brother is safe. Or he was.”

  “He followed Mr Harden up to the 36th floor because that’s where Emma Venton was. He said he had found them. But then I didn’t get any more texts.”

  “I think Mr Harden might be... unwell,” said Dr Soames. “He brought me up here and handcuffed me to this bed. We’re on the top floor.”

  “What happened to James?” asked Sam, more worried about her brother than Dr Soames.

  “James disappeared from the ward. And when I say disappeared, I mean disappeared. Then a short while later, he seemed to just fall out of the sky and on to his bed. I have no idea how. But he was hurt, and he was exhausted, and he kept saying he was starving. Then he fell into a deep sleep.”

  “Had he been in a fight?”

  “He had some very bad cuts and bruises. But I kept a check on him. Within an hour, they were all healed up. Just like his arm and your burns.” He held Sam’s gaze, and Sam knew it was because he was probing her now.

  Sam didn’t have any answers, and what she did know, she didn’t want to admit to Dr Soames. At least, not until she’d had a chance to talk to her parents.

  “Did James have anything to eat?” Sam asked.

  Dr Soames registered this question as an evasion.

  “We woke him up after an hour and gave him some soup and bread. He ate it and fell back asleep.”

  Food again, thought Sam. James needed the calories to recover from whatever had happened to him. Food was the answer. If she could just get something to eat, she might be able to heal as James had, and help them all get out of here. James had been carrying more body fat than she had at the time of the car bomb, so it made sense that he would recover faster. She cursed herself for the fact that she was underweight, but she couldn’t think about that now.

  “You don’t seem surprised that I was handcuffed by the police,” said Dr Soames.

  “I’m not. I was kidnapped by Mr Harden and Nurse Winter gave me an injection that knocked me unconscious.”

  “Really? An anaesthetic? That couldn’t have been long ago. You recovered very quickly.”

  Sam could see what Dr Soames was thinking. She was worried. What sort of man was Dr Soames? He knew about James being able to teleport and heal quickly, and he would be wondering what she could do to. Would they be taken off to Guantanamo Bay and be experimented on like lab rats? Would they test make up and shampoo on her? She tried to distract him.

  “I think they may have hurt Dr Okocha. She was trying to protect me. Mr Harden nearly broke her neck. What’s wrong with them all?”

  “I’ve been trying to work out if she has been drugged,” Dr Soames nodded at Nurse Winter. “She barely acknowledges me. That’s why I asked if you recognised me. She seems to think everything is normal up here, but she won’t listen to a word I say. It’s like I don’t exist to her. Mind you, my wife is the same.”

  “It’s like the kids in my class who tried to kidnap me the other night. She’s got the same expression. Don’t you think they look like sleepwalkers?”

  “That’s as good a description as anything I can come up with Samantha,” said Dr Soames. He looked at Nurse Winter again, but she just kept stroking the patient’s head.

  “Who is that?” asked Sam.

  “Philip Randerson. I believe he was a close friend of yours?” said Soames, gently.

  Poor Philip, thought Sam. He was enveloped by a series of drips and tubes. His bed was surrounded by a variety of equipment, including a pump which she guessed regulated his breathing, a device which she presumed monitored his brain activity, and something that fed him. The other equipment she couldn’t even guess at. Philip looked almost unrecognisable, so it was no surprise she hadn’t realised it was him. In addition to the bandages on his head, his body looked so frail, like it was wasting away. He looked pale, almost deathlike. She felt very, very sorry for him.

  “He has severe head injuries, and he is in a coma.” Dr Soames looked at Philip, and Sam wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to his patient. “He’s on life support as you can see, but I’m sorry to say that I don’t think he is going to make it.”

  “Oh no,” exclaimed Sam.

  “I’m sorry,” Dr Soames repeated.

  “Is he... brain damaged?” asked Sam, for some reason hating to even ask the question.

  “He has suffered severe head trauma, but there is still significant brain activity. Very significant. But physically he is deteriorating. He should never have been moved. Both he and the life-support machine need constant attention. He needs more fluids and nutrition, but I can’t seem to make anyone understand me.”

  Dr Soames rattled his handcuffs in frustration. He stopped talking, thinking he might be upsetting Sam. “I wonder where his parents are?” he added, as something of an afterthought.

  This made Sam think of her own parents. Had they tried to call her? It wouldn’t be long before they came back to the hospital to find out what was going on. They would raise ‘merry hell’, as her dad was fond of saying. But it worried her that Mr Harden might try and hurt them. She would not let that happen.

  “Someone will come and rescue us,” Dr Soames assured her.

  The ward door opened. Chief Superintendent Harden entered. He looked around. He saw Sam and Dr Soames, but showed no interest in them. He looked at PC O’Brien.

  “O’Brien. Stairs. Security.”

  O’Brien nodded, and lumbered out of the ward.

  Floor 36 was just receiving its latest visitor. Ivan Reddington, Director of Clinical Operations at Brent Valley NHS Trust, was a very worried and very angry man. In the two hours since the media had embarked on a new frenzy over the smashed window on the top floor, he had been constantly on the telephone. He had had to placate senior government officials, NHS directors, private finance partners, the media, and his own mother! He hadn’t even had time to inspect the da
mage for himself, but trusted that Chief Superintendent Harden was dealing with the situation.

  Finally, Reddington had been about to eat his long-postponed lunch – a mozzarella and tomato baguette – when riot police had suddenly descended on his hospital. That had been the limit!

  He had been unable to contact Harden, but one of the fool’s underlings had informed Reddington that Harden was on the top floor. Grabbing his baguette, lest somebody stole it – and it wouldn’t be the first time – Reddington had marched up to floor 36. His own office was on floor 29, so it wasn’t far to walk. Which was just as well, given that the lifts seemed to have stopped working. Probably kids playing about in them. As if he didn’t have enough problems.

  Reddington ducked under the police crime-scene tape and barged through the big wooden doors in the stairwell, where he stood for a few moments in the dim corridor. He was breathing heavily. Reddington was in his fifties, but he played a lot of squash and tennis, and he considered himself fit. So why did stairs always make him feel like an old man? He straightened the jacket of his svelte Kenzo suit.

  A bucket and mop stood propped up against the wall opposite him. Where was the cleaner? He shouldn’t even be up here on a Sunday. Reddington was about to open the door of the ward nearest to the mop, but suddenly caught sight of a policeman walking towards him down the corridor. Well, that was a good sign at least. Harden had his men doing something useful. Although, the way this fellow was walking, if he was any slower he’d be going backwards. Reddington marched towards the man, still resolutely clutching his cling-filmed baguette, and tried not to feel ridiculous.

  “Where is Chief Superintendent Harden?” demanded Reddington.

  “Windsor Ward,” replied O’Brien without even looking at the Director. He just kept on walking.

  Reddington bit his lip. Something else he would bring up with Harden. He strode purposefully towards Windsor Ward and opened the door.

  Jasmin and Dave were inside the hospital. They had slipped in via a side door and found themselves in an empty waiting room. Moments later, police officers arrived at the same door.

  Jasmin and Dave walked calmly and unhurriedly in the opposite direction and lost themselves in the corridors of the hospital. Jasmin lead them up two flights of stairs, just to put some distance between themselves and the police on the ground floor.

  “The place is empty,” noted Dave Sturn, as he began filming.

  “We need to get up to the top floor,” said Jasmin. “That’s where the action is. Also, we need to get some white coats or something.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t you watch films? Put on a white coat in a hospital and you can go anywhere, do anything. No one challenges you. With you carrying that thing around,” she pointed at his camera, “people will be all over us. With a white coat on, people will think we’re official. Second only to a hi-vis jacket. It’s a go-anywhere pass. They’ll think we’re filming for Hospital TV or something.”

  “You’re not normal,” observed Dave Sturn.

  “You love it. What are you doing?”

  Dave had put his camera down and had his mobile phone in his hand.

  “Phoning my wife.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Well, I’m stuck in here for the night now, aren’t I? She’ll worry. The kids will worry.”

  “Whatever,” sighed Jasmin. “You report in to Big Lover. I’ll find us our cunning disguises. Say hi to the children from Aunty Jasmin. They love me.” She smiled cheekily and walked off.

  Not likely, thought Dave, as he watched Jasmin investigate some of the empty rooms off the long corridor. He dialled home.

  Jasmin shivered. The hospital felt very, very wrong. It was the quiet. The emptiness. She peered into a couple of wards. There were a lot of unmade beds, as though patients had been recently and quickly evacuated.

  In one ward she looked in, a nurse was standing next to the bed of an elderly patient who was wired up to goodness knows what. Jasmin shivered at the poor man’s helplessness. The nurse looked up in surprise. He was a guy about Jasmin’s age. Quite fit, she thought.

  “Do you know what’s happening?” the nurse asked, sounding very perturbed. “Is the security alert over? No one has told me anything.”

  “No, it’s still going on,” said Jasmin, feeling sorry for the guy. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know much else myself.”

  She walked back down the corridor. Dave Sturn’s wife was still obviously giving him hell about not coming home tonight and for spending more time with Jasmin. Poor Dave.

  “Can you give me a hand with my nurse’s outfit, Dave?” she called out loudly. Dave covered the phone with his hand and glared at her. Jasmin winked back. That was naughty, she knew. But she needed some jokes and some clowning around. This place gave her the creeps.

  Sam and Dr Soames looked up as the door to the ward opened.

  “Mr Reddington?” cried out Dr Soames with relief.

  “Dr Soames?” Reddington looked aghast as he took in the room: the handcuffed doctor; the distraught Samantha Blake; Chief Superintendent Harden standing in front of him, blank faced; and the fact that there was a functioning ward up here at all! How was this being costed?

  “Harden, what the hell do you think you are doing up here? Have you gone totally mad?”

  “Yes he has,” shouted Dr Soames, rattling his handcuffs. “Look what he’s done. Mr Reddington, please, call the Commissioner immediately and get that man taken off the Force!”

  “Please, Mr Reddington,” added Sam. “Mr Harden is unwell. He’s kidnapped us all.”

  Reddington looked numb. He couldn’t accept what he was seeing and hearing. That Harden had gone on some kind of rampage was unthinkable. Yet there was one of his doctors, chained to a bed, while five patients – children at that – were being held against their will. He had a sudden image of spending the next ten years fighting lawsuits against the Trust. Best to take action as soon as possible. He looked at Harden. He didn’t seem at all bothered. Reddington felt flushed with anger.

  Reddington pulled his phone out of his pocket. He realised he couldn’t dial and hold his baguette at the same time, so he put his lunch down on a nearby table. Before he could press the first button, the phone had been snatched out of his hand by Harden and thrown out of the broken window. Reddington took a step forward.

  “Please don’t hurt him!” cried out Sam, fearing what might come next.

  “What do you mean?” asked Reddington, genuinely frightened. Harden was circling him. Reddington found himself backing away, towards the broken window.

  “No, please,” begged Sam, leaning forward. “Please, Mr Harden, please!”

  Reddington looked around and saw how close he was to the window. He stumbled. Harden gripped him by the shoulder and steadied him.

  “Careful, Mr Reddington,” he said, flatly. “We wouldn’t want you falling to your death, would we?”

  Reddington felt like a rabbit in headlights. Harden was staring at him and he couldn’t avert his gaze. More than that, there was a pounding in his ears. Was it a voice? It was overwhelming. He couldn’t clear his head. It was like the worst headache imaginable. He no longer knew where he was, or even what his name was. He sank to his knees.

  Sam watched helplessly, fearing the worst, but Harden just left Reddington on the floor. Nurse Winter walked around him and came up to Sam’s bed and helped straighten her sheets.

  “Ignore all that silliness,” she said, briskly. “Don’t want you to get cold, do we?” She pulled a blanket up so it covered Sam’s shoulders.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Sam spotted Ivan Reddington’s baguette, still on the table where he had left it. A sudden hunger overcame all her other emotions.

  “Nurse, would it be all right if I had that sandwich?”

  On the 16th floor, James had given up trying to explain who he was to Dr Okocha. He had tried to tell her that Sam had been kidnapped, but she claimed not to even have a patien
t called Samantha Blake. James insisted on taking her to Sam’s room. Dr Okocha walked around, taking in the photos, the trophies and the broken mobile phone.

  “Well I can see there is a patient in this room,” she agreed reasonably. “But not one of mine. But that’s the thing with a big hospital, as I’m sure you will appreciate. I don’t know every patient. If you speak to the day nurse, I’m sure she could tell you who is treating your sister.”

  “What about this?” asked James, his exasperation levels turned up to 100. He pointed at the sign above where Sam’s bed had been. It gave the consulting doctor’s name: Dr Okocha.

  “Administrative error,” dismissed Dr Okocha. “Unfortunately things like that do happen. I’ll make sure it’s changed, and I’m sorry for the mix-up.” She smiled and left the room.

  James found himself laughing in frustration. There was only one thing for it. He would simply go back up to the top floor and rescue Sam himself. If Emma Venton or anyone else was up there and tried to stop him, he’d let them have it! Both barrels!

  James summoned up his energies, and the next second he found himself on the 36th floor, in the stairwell. That was a surprise. He’d been aiming for the ward where he’d had the fight with Emma. Perhaps teleporting was something that needed a bit of practice?

  He suddenly realised that there was a policeman standing a few steps above him. The man was standing as still as a statue. James instantly recognised the look of a sleepwalker.

  “Officer. Officer, please. You’re asleep. Please wake up.”

  James cautiously walked up the first three steps.

  PC O’Brien jerked into life. He looked down at James and started descending the stairs.

  James started backing off. He remembered his battle with Emma Venton and how fast she had moved when she attacked. James stumbled and PC O’Brien sprang at him with surprising speed. James acted on instinct. He raised his hands and felt a force of energy lift O’Brien into the air.

  O’Brien’s momentum carried him forward and he pitched over the stair rail, crashed into the wall and remained there, like a fly splatted with a newspaper.

  James felt a terrible twist in his gut. It was like he was lifting O’Brien with his bare hands. He was suddenly scared at what he had done. He felt the tension leave his stomach, and O’Brien dropped to the floor.

  James was breathing fast, but he soon found he was laughing. The policeman was unconscious. He had dealt with him. He was the man! He’d got better since his fight with Emma. Now, he would prove he was the hero and rescue his sister. On with the show.

  James ran upstairs, walked into the main corridor and headed back in the direction of Windsor Ward. That was where he had fought Emma Venton earlier, so it seemed a good place to start.

  As he approached the T-junction, he heard Harden’s voice in the corridor. James slipped into a nearby empty ward and waited. Harden was talking loudly.

  “The hospital is being secured,” he was saying. “But we’re not safe yet. I’m going to check on the men. The Commissioner won’t be happy. He will probably try and counter my orders. He’s been trying to call me. So I’m going to make sure the men know to only follow my orders. You had better stay here, just in case anybody else comes up.”

  James poked his head around the doorway and saw that Harden was talking to Stannard. “I’ll ensure only one lift is working, and we’ll have control of it,” Harden continued. “That will deter people from coming up here. And remember, watch out for James Blake. He’s no longer welcome. He may try and rescue his sister, so if he shows his face, get rid of him.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Stannard.

  Their footsteps receded down the corridor. James sneaked a look. He watched Harden enter the lift. Stannard pushed open the big wooden doors and disappeared into the stairwell. That meant Stannard would quickly discover the unconscious copper. Would she then reach the conclusion that James had been up here? Or would she just think the policeman was asleep on the job? Either way, best to be quick. If he could just locate Sam, he could probably teleport them both to safety before Stannard could react.

  Sam was holding her breath. Nurse Winter stood at the end of her bed, holding Ivan Reddington’s baguette. She seemed to be hesitating.

  “Thank you, nurse,” said Sam, resisting the temptation to reach out her hand for it. There was no reason why Nurse Winter shouldn’t give her the food, but she didn’t want the woman to see how much she really needed it. Sam smiled. The nurse stepped forward. Maybe something in Sam’s eyes betrayed her, or perhaps it was the loud rumble in Sam’s stomach that broke the spell.

  “No... No, I don’t think so,” Nurse Winter said, moving away. “You can have some food later.” She looked at her watch. “In an hour,” she decided, and then added, “as long as you’re a good girl.”

  Sam flushed with frustration and humiliation. She hated people saying things like that. How incredibly patronising. She wasn’t a child!

  Nurse Winter put the food on a trolley near to Philip Randerson’s bed, although out of reach of Dr Soames.

  Sam slumped back in her bed. She was feeling light-headed and almost sick with hunger. If she was right, then all her strength was being used to heal her broken legs. She had no idea how long that would take. She didn’t even know how she would know when it was done. She tried to flex her leg but it still hurt. Did that mean it was still mending? Even if it was, how was she going to get the cast off? Chew it off with her teeth?

  Nurse Winter remained by Philip Randerson’s bed.

  “You’re a brave young man,” she said to the comatose boy. “We’re all wishing you the best.”

  Sam couldn’t even begin to guess what was driving Nurse Winter’s behaviour.

  “Sam!” came a loud whisper from the doorway. She turned and nearly wept with joy to see her brother. She didn’t know whether to call out or not, but it didn’t really matter. James’s stage whisper had already attracted the attention of Nurse Winter but, although she looked up at him, she did not move. James registered this. He walked slowly into the ward, trying to be casual.

  “You ok, Little Sis?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

  “Ok, Big Bro,” she replied.

  James continued to walk slowly towards Sam. If he could just touch her, he was sure he could teleport them both to safety, but Nurse Winter was still between him and his sister’s bed. A few steps closer and he’d be able to run for Sam’s bed and Nurse Winter wouldn’t have time to intercept. He could also try teleporting over to Sam’s side of the ward, but then what if he missed? Or was unable to make another jump?

  James took another step. Nurse Winter started moving towards him. Typical, thought James wearily.

  “I’m sorry young man, but no visitors,” she said, echoing the nurse from Uxbridge ward.

  “Nurse Winter, it’s me, James Blake,” James tried. “I’m here to see my sister.”

  Nurse Winter was bearing down on him now and James started to back off, trying to round her in a wide circle. She moved too, keeping herself between him and Sam.

  “Careful, James,” said Dr Soames. “She’s not herself.”

  James hadn’t even noticed Dr Soames until now.

  “It’s not just her. It’s Mr Harden and Mrs Stannard,” James explained.

  “Oh, give the boy a medal,” groaned Sam, her hunger making her cranky.

  James didn’t take his eyes off Nurse Winter. It was like they were doing an old-fashioned dance around the room.

  “Emma Venton attacked them earlier,” James explained. “I think she did something to them. I think she knocked them out and now she controls them.”

  “It would explain why most of the ‘sleepwalkers’, as your sister calls them, have bruises on their head,” agreed Dr Soames. “But Nurse Winter hasn’t. I don’t know if she is dangerous, but be careful.”

  “I think you’ll find I called them ‘sleepwalkers’ first,” protested James.

  “James,” called Sam. ??
?Have you eaten?”

  James flicked a look of irritation at his sister. She was always trying to mother him, but for goodness’ sake, asking if he’d eaten at a time like this?

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, looking for a way past Nurse Winter.

  “James. James, this is important. Please think about this. Think about food. Think about what that might mean.” Sam hated being cryptic, but she didn’t want to give too much away in front of potential enemies. “You need food, and so do I. I really, really need some.”

  James wasn’t paying much attention. He and Nurse Winter had moved back and forth around the ward, and it was obvious to James that he wouldn’t be able to dodge past her. He would have to be brave and take the initiative. He wasn’t sure if he was afraid because he feared he might harm Nurse Winter, or because he was remembering being thrown out of the window by Emma Venton. But, whatever, he wasn’t going to be put off.

  “Ok, Nursey,” he said to Nurse Winter. “It’s going down to injury time. Out of my way.”

  “You had your chance to be up here with us, young man,” said Nurse Winter, echoing what he had heard Harden say in the corridor. “And you chose not to. So you’ll be leaving, the same way you did last time.” She smiled.

  James took a deep breath and prepared to stride past her, but a gasp from Sam made him turn around. There were three beds with three patients behind him. He hadn’t paid any regard to them when he had entered the ward, as they all seemed to be asleep. Now one of them sat bolt upright in bed. It was Jerome Lake, the boy who had been missing from James’s ward. Then a second patient performed the same robotic action. It was Anika Ali, Emma Venton’s despicable sidekick. She too sat up straight in her bed, staring at James. Finally, sitting up in one smooth action in the middle bed, was Emma Venton herself.

  Each swung their legs over the side of their bed and advanced on James.