A Class Apart

  Chapter 9 – Floor 36

  “So what’s wrong with us?” asked Samantha Blake, gratefully accepting the fruit cake offered by her mother.

  “Do you know about us then?” asked James Blake. “It’s like you already know we’ve turned into freaks.”

  “You’re not freaks, sweetheart,” assured Yvonne Blake. “There’s nothing wrong with you. But there is a lot to tell you.”

  “Can you do the things we can do?” asked Sam.

  Yvonne and Roger looked at each other.

  “They’re doing it again, Sam,” groaned James. “Their looking-at-each-other-meaningfully thing. We’re in trouble.”

  “Sorry, Son,” soothed Roger. “It’s just this is actually a bit unexpected, to say the least, and something we wish we could talk to you about at home. Not here.”

  “Why?” asked Sam.

  “Think about it, sweetheart,” said Yvonne. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but think of what you can already do. And there could be a lot more.”

  “You used the word ‘freaks’, James. And that is exactly what I’m not letting anyone turn either of you into.” Roger Blake considered for a second. He was about to speak when Dr Soames and Dr Okocha returned to the room. Dr Soames had been looking for Harden, when Dr Okocha insisted he go and look at James Blake.

  “I cannot begin to imagine how this is possible,” Dr Soames marvelled as he entered the room. He walked straight up to James and examined the newly healthy arm.

  Roger Blake breathed deeply. This was the last thing they needed. He didn’t want Dr Okocha examining Sam’s healed burns either. He had already made up his mind.

  “Doctors, I’ve decided to take Samantha and James out of the hospital. Out of London.”

  It took Dr Soames several seconds before he registered Roger’s statement.

  “What? Why?” He looked more disappointed than concerned.

  “I don’t think it is safe for either of the children to be here any longer. It’s not a reflection on either of you as doctors but, given what happened last night, I want them out of here.”

  “Please, Mr and Mrs Blake,” Dr Okocha stepped in. “I do understand your concerns, but I think it might be dangerous to have either Samantha or James moved. I could not possibly sign Samantha’s release.”

  “Too bad. They’re not staying,” said Roger, bluntly.

  Chief Superintendent Harden burst into the room.

  “Dr Soames! Emma Venton has disappeared!”

  “I beg your pardon?” Dr Soames was starting to wonder if he shouldn’t leave London too. This was getting too much.

  Harden was fuming. “She just got up out of her bed and walked past the dopey nurse who didn’t see a thing. Like your other sleepwalking angels who wander the corridors at night. Do you have a problem with staff stealing from the medicine cupboard in this hospital?”

  Dr Soames glowered.

  “Well, that just puts the tin hat on it!” declared Roger Blake. “This isn’t a hospital – it’s a game show. Well, I’m taking my children out of here before they disappear too. Dr Okocha, I want you to make arrangements to have Samantha discharged. Mr Harden, I would be grateful if you lend any authority you can to that request.”

  Roger was expecting a fight from Harden but, to his surprise, he just nodded. Harden had no idea what the hell was going on in this madhouse, but the twins seemed to be in more danger than the other patients. Getting them out of this hospital might be the safest option.

  “I agree. But I want them moved in secret. No one is to know, especially the media. As far as the world is concerned, they are still in here.”

  Roger was impressed. He had decided that they would all go and stay with his own parents, who lived in a farmhouse in Suffolk. It would suit them better if they could retain a very low profile and that would be difficult with the media following the story so closely. If they could get to his parents’ house in secret, they would be safe. For many other reasons, which he would explain later to the children, it would be better for them to stay with their grandparents.

  “Very well,” said Dr Okocha. “I’ll begin making the arrangements. But it won’t be possible today. We’ll have Samantha released tomorrow. In the meantime I want to give her X-rays, check her burns and bruises and we’ll do James’s X-rays now. Ahh, Tommy–” she broke off as Tommy appeared at the door, pushing a trolley. “James, you have to go down to X-ray on the trolley, so if you can get on the bed, please.”

  James obliged. Tommy wheeled him away.

  Harden nodded at Roger.

  “Do you know where you are taking them? Not home, I take it?”

  Roger shook his head.

  “All right,” said Harden. “We’ll discuss the details in private. I’ll lay on police protection for you to take her wherever you need to go.” He turned back to Dr Soames. “I need to find Emma Venton, discreetly. I don’t want it to be broadcast on the news. This is a big old building, and I only have a limited number of officers for the search, so you’ll need to put the word out to the staff to keep their eyes peeled.”

  Harden and Soames left the room looking, thought Sam with amusement, like some kind of comedy double act.

  “Right,” said Dr Okocha when they had departed. “Samantha. Let’s take a look at your bandages.”

  Roger took a deep breath. He had no choice but to let her do it.

  On the second floor of the hospital, Detective Constable Bowser sat in the CCTV control room studying the endless hours of footage from the hospital tapes. His eyes felt like they were burned to a crisp. He had been called in at three o’freakin-clock this morning to Brent Valley General. He knew that anything to do with the hospital was a big deal at the moment because of the bomb. But, really. Kids playing hide and seek in a lift? Did that really warrant all this effort? He had studied all the CCTV footage from floors 16 and 17 for the previous 24 hour-period and made his report to DI Stannard. He thought that would mean going back to bed. But no, the guv’ wanted him to review the tapes of every other floor. She also wanted him to interview the nurses whom James Blake had encountered in the corridor the previous night, the so-called ‘sleepwalkers’.

  Nurse Naomi Sandrich sat in the chair next to him, looking awkward. Sandrich was a bit of a stunner, thought Bowser. It was as though Brent Valley General’s employment policy was to hire only attractive nurses. He kept wondering if he was in a ‘Carry On’ film. It was the only thing that made the current job interesting. Trouble was, Nurse Sandrich seemed to know nothing about her encounter with James Blake. Bowser didn’t actually care, he was just trying to think up some questions so he could spend more time talking to Nurse Sandrich and sneaking furtive glances at her legs.

  “I don’t know,” she was saying, as he pretended to listen. “I was so tired last night. Everything has been so manic here and I haven’t been sleeping. Last thing I remember was sitting down–”

  “So, do you have a boyfriend Miss Sandrich?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral so that if she was outraged he could always pretend he was asking on the basis of police business. But she wasn’t listening. She was looking over his shoulder at the bank of CCTV screens.

  “What’s that all about?” she asked, pointing at one of the screens.

  Bowser looked. The monitor indicated that the events they were watching had taken place on floor 36. The time was 15:07, yesterday. The quality was poor and the image only refreshed once every five seconds. But, right before their eyes, they watched in stunned silence as Emma Venton murdered Harry Jacobs.

  DC Bowser got out his phone and rang DI Stannard. No answer. He kept watching the tape. He watched as several other patients, all in bandages, all apparently children, assembled around the dead cleaner’s body. He was so engrossed in the tape that he failed to notice Nurse Sandrich holding her head in her hands, trying to massage her temples and blinking sharply, as though she was trying to stay awake or alleviate a terrible migraine.

  “I’d better get up t
here,” he said, standing.

  Nurse Sandrich got up silently, with an expression like a sleepwalker on her face, and followed him out. Bowser ran to the lifts, still trying to contact Stannard on his phone. Nurse Sandrich walked behind him with steady, measured steps. She caught him up just as the lift arrived. She got in and stood beside him. Bowser was slightly thrilled. Some excitement and a beautiful girl. He felt like James Bond. He pressed the button for floor 36.

  “You don’t have to come–” he was cut off mid-sentence as Nurse Sandrich’s hand clamped around his throat. Bowser was caught totally off guard and was even more surprised to find he could do nothing to loosen her grip. She was unbelievably strong. The last thing he saw, as his strength ebbed away, was the floor indicator counting up towards 36. He was dead before the lift reached the top.

  Jasmin Sharma had been manhandled out of the hospital by a very rough sergeant. She had made her nine o’clock report from the car park. Afterwards she and Dave Sturn had decided to make a tactical retreat to the café that was opposite the hospital and were both seriously tackling an enormous cooked breakfast, complete with toast and a large pot of tea. They ate in silence and felt a massive amount better when they’d finished.

  Jasmin sat back in her chair and undid the top button of her trousers.

  “I think my belly is going to burst. I’ve got an alien inside of me.”

  “The state of you,” Dave Sturn chuckled. “You’re like a snake that’s just eaten a pig. Or rather a pig that’s just eaten a pig. I might need a camera with a wider lens.” He looked at his watch. It was five past ten. Jasmin’s next report wasn’t until twelve-thirty. They could relax.

  Jasmin had telephoned her boss, Ross Brabant, after the nine o’clock broadcast. He was delighted by her two morning reports and was now expecting more from the lunchtime instalment. Apparently, the statistics showed that viewers were tuning to 24/7 for coverage of this story, trumping the BBC, ITV and Sky. Ross wanted more. He always wanted more. Jasmin was always under pressure to deliver bigger and better stories and, despite her personal views on Ross, she was determined never to fail him. But she had a problem. Getting her ‘interview’ with Harden had come at a price. She was barred from even entering the hospital.

  Her mobile phone rang. It was Tommy. He was proving to be an amazing source of information. The conversation was brief. Hanging up, Jasmin recounted Tommy’s tip-off to Dave.

  “Harden thinks the twins are in danger. They’re being shipped out to stay with grandparents in Suffolk first thing tomorrow morning. It’s all hush-hush.”

  “That’s tomorrow’s story then. What about today’s?”

  Jasmin smiled wryly. Dave knew her well.

  “Another patient going missing,” she teased. Dave raised his eyebrows, waiting for the rest of the story. “A girl called Emma Venton. Another one from the school. She’s supposed to be bandaged up like an Egyptian mummy – and she’s wandered off.” Jasmin sipped her tea. “You couldn’t make it up, could you? This is TV gold.”

  “We’d need to get some footage,” said Dave, stealing her toast.

  “I have an idea about that. But we’ll never get it before the twelve-thirty broadcast. So we’ll build it up. Just tease the viewing public with ‘reportedly’ and ‘rumour’ and stuff. But tonight... Dave, my son,” she said, with a gleam in her eye, “ring your wife, you’re spending the night with me.”

  Dave groaned inwardly. His wife, Amanda, hated Jasmin. How was he going to sell the idea of tonight’s venture to her?

  “She hates me, doesn’t she?” said Jasmin, with mocking eyes.

  “Amanda? No, course not,” protested Dave, knowing it sounded hollow.

  “Do you want to ring her now?”

  “No, I’ll tell her later,” said Dave, quickly. He didn’t want to have that conversation in front of Jasmin.

  Jasmin nodded, feeling a little mean but not at all guilty.

  “You want me to pick you up from your house?”

  “No, I’ll meet you here.” He quickly changed the subject. “This is going to be dodgy, isn’t it?”

  “Certainly not. It will be a legitimate, secret, undercover, for-the-benefit-of-humanity, exposé. The public has a right to know.” She grinned, impishly.

  “I knew it. We’re going to get arrested.”

  “We won’t. It’ll be fine. But bring your secret camera. We’re going in disguise. There’s so many people wandering around the hospital that no one will question us. We’re going to see exactly what happens in that hospital at night. So sucks to Harden!”

  Later that day James was back on Uxbridge ward, sitting in bed, trying to reflect on what his mum and dad had told him – or rather, nearly told him. It was 12:25. He had been able to shower and put on his own clothes and he felt a million times better than he had done two days ago. The lunch trolley was doing the rounds and James was eyeing it keenly.

  His X-rays had shown his bones to be totally healed. When he had first been brought in to the hospital on Tuesday night, it was thought he might have problems with his lungs due to smoke inhalation, but that was no longer the case. All his cuts had healed too. In short, he had a clean bill of health, and Dr Soames was very excited. James just wanted to get out of there. Mum and Dad had gone home to make arrangements for the whole family to move in with Nan and Grandad for the remainder of the summer. Dad had promised answers to their questions then. James was impatient.

  Nurse Winter walked past his bed.

  “Are you feeling better now?” asked James. “I heard you were feeling poorly earlier?”

  Nurse Winter smiled. “Yes,” she said, sounding a little distant. “Thank you for asking.”

  She carried on walking. I must be losing my touch, sighed James. Nurse Winter always made time to talk to him, and she was a very pretty nurse.

  The lady with the food trolley, Pat, brought James his lunch. He thanked her and ate heartily.

  Pat smiled at him.

  “Looks like you’re much better, boy. I’m very pleased. Does that mean you’re leaving us today?”

  James looked around nervously, while eating his roast lamb. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. His departure was supposed to be a secret after all.

  “I’d just like to say, what a nice polite lad you are. It’s been a pleasure. Good luck to you.” And with that, Pat continued on her rounds. James ate in silence until he realised that he had yet another visitor. He looked up from his lunch to see Mrs Randerson standing next to his bed.

  “Hello, James isn’t it?” she enquired. James nodded as he popped in another forkful of lamb and potato.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch,” continued Mrs Randerson. “But I wanted to say thank you for being such a good friend to Philip.”

  James looked slightly puzzled, but couldn’t say anything as his mouth was full. He was getting lots of compliments today.

  “I know Philip appreciates you reading to him and talking to him during the day when we’re not here.”

  James idly wondered how she knew about this. He popped in another mouthful to save him having to talk.

  “You’re obviously very good friends,” continued Mrs Randerson in her polite voice that always sounded borderline hysterical. “And I know that Philip and your sister, Samantha, are very close too.”

  James nearly spat his food out. What was the woman on? He wished Dr Soames would come back and rescue him.

  “I hope you’re not leaving us,” said Mrs Randerson, and it sounded more like a command. “Philip would miss you. Wouldn’t it be better if your sister was moved up to this ward? Then Philip, you and Samantha would all be in a ward together.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen are typically kept on separate wards, Mrs Randerson,” came the smooth, reassuring voice of Dr Soames. Thank goodness, thought James, polishing off the last of his dinner and moving seamlessly on to pudding. Apple crumble and custard.

  “But Philip needs his friends around him Doctor,” said Mrs Ra
nderson, obviously not pleased to see him. “And I think Philip and Samantha have a bit of a special thing going. You know what young people are like.”

  Dr Soames caught James’s raised eyebrow and expression that said ‘Nutter!’ Dr Soames had to agree, and wondered whether he should refer the Randersons to the psychiatric department.

  “Well, that’s very nice. But not possible.”

  Mrs Randerson frowned.

  “Not possible? Are they both leaving?” Dr Soames didn’t answer. “Are they?!” demanded Mrs Randerson, her voice rising by nearly an octave.

  Dr Soames tried to placate her but it was to no effect.

  “Dr Soames, that is ridiculous – you can’t take Philip’s friends away from him!”

  “Mrs Randerson, Philip needs to concentrate on his own recovery. We’re very concerned about the level of brain activity that we are monitoring.”

  Chief Superintendent Harden strode back on to the ward, ending one difficult conversation for Dr Soames and initiating another.

  Harden was incandescent now. How on earth could a 14-year-old girl, wrapped up in bandages, supposedly too sick to even move, evade detection in a hospital? Part of the problem, of course, was the sheer scale of the building. It was enormous. It felt like he was looking for a needle in a haystack that extended 36 storeys into the sky. Added to that, he didn’t want to raise a full-scale alert for the girl and risk media attention. It was something of a blessing that the girl’s parents hadn’t bothered to come to the hospital.

  “Dr Soames, is there any word on your... other patient?”

  “No,” said Dr Soames, lowering his voice and taking Harden to one side. “Nothing. Perhaps she’s left the hospital?”

  “I wish she had. A five-foot mummy in a dressing gown might be a bit easier to spot out on the streets than in here, don’t you think?!” Harden was losing his temper again. His phone rang. It was Stannard. This had better be good news!

  “Sir, I think you’d better come up here?” said the voice at the other end of the phone.

  “Where?”

  “Floor 36. I had a voicemail from DC Bowser. Said he was heading up here and I haven’t heard from him since. It’s totally empty. Everything is deserted. I’m by the lifts.”

  “Hold on.” Harden turned to Dr Soames. “Why didn’t you mention floor 36 was deserted?”

  Soames looked a little embarrassed.

  “Ah. Well. The top five floors of the building are... political.”

  “What?”

  “They’re not used. There’s no money for them. We can’t afford to staff them, run them, or even pay for the electricity. It’s the recession. But we can’t exactly advertise that fact.” Soames was virtually whispering. “We do let film crews use it from time to time though,” he added.

  “Well you could have mentioned it to me. We’ve got a patient missing who could be in terrible danger and that’s the most likely place for her to be, given she’s nowhere else in the building. For–” He stopped what he was saying, aware that people might be listening. He looked at James Blake. He appeared to be staring into space.

  Harden spoke into his phone.

  “Stannard, I’m on my way.”

  “Yes Sir. And Sir…” her voice faltered a little. “I think I’ve found her.”

  Harden said nothing. He didn’t share this information with Dr Soames. He stomped out of the room.

  Dr Soames stared thoughtfully after him. When he looked at the Randersons, he saw they were looking at Harden’s departing figure too. There was something about their, almost inhuman, expressions that chilled his blood. He felt very sorry for Philip, having them as parents. He looked back at James Blake or, rather, at his empty bed. James had gone.

  Detective Inspector Stannard felt herself shiver. She put the phone back in her pocket and looked down the corridor. There were no electric lights on. Only the random stabs of daylight from where a ward door was open served to illuminate the long corridor. At the far end, amid the shadows, Stannard could see a figure. A patient. About five foot high, wearing a dressing gown perhaps, and wrapped in lots of bandages. She wasn’t moving, but she was facing Stannard. Stannard couldn’t see the eyes of the person through the bandages because of the low lighting.

  “Emma?” called out Stannard. “Is that Emma? Emma Venton?”

  The girl did not speak. Stannard wasn’t quite sure what to say. The eerie setting, and the almost ghostly story that had been told about Emma, made her nervous. In theory there was nothing that could happen to harm her if she approached Emma, but a million horror films were conjured up in her head which told her to wait for Harden to arrive.

  Could she, in all seriousness, justify herself when he arrived and say that she had been afraid to approach a runaway 14-year-old girl on her own? She’d never live it down. She started walking towards the bandaged figure. What was the worst that could happen?