The Fever Read Online Free Page A
said after a moment or two of silence. 'When my temp spikes, I can't tell the difference between what's real and what isn't. It's like being in another world. A very hot
one."
Satisfied that she wasn't going to stay mad at him, Dylan began sweeping the room, using his considerable bulk to heave the broom sideways in strong, straight strokes.
"Have you seen Jane or Kit?" Duffy asked.
Dylan glanced at his watch. "Too early for visiting hours. You'll have to wait until after lunch. Isn't he working today?"
Dylan said "he" with a noticeable note of resentment in his voice. He and Kit weren't Mends.
Dylan, strong and determined, had been Football. Kit, light and fast, had been Track. Maybe the difference between the two of them was just that simple. Or maybe it went deeper, had something to do with the fact that Dylan was the center of a huge, happy family but had trouble in school, while Kit, who had no family to speak of and lived a lonely, depressing life, had been valedictorian of his graduating class and won scholarships that Dylan would have killed for.
When Dylan talked about Kit, his face suddenly didn't look quite so warm and friendly.
But that only lasted a second. His face cleared quickly as Duffy answered his question.
"I don't know if he's working. I haven't seen him or Jane since I got here. They wouldn't let me have visitors the first day. But it's Saturday. I can't imagine The Grinch Who Stole Kit's Future letting him have a weekend day off. So yeah, he's probably working."
"Kit owed the man," Dylan argued mildly, *^e said so himself. He'll go to college next year."
*They brainwashed him. Dumped guilt on him. He should have gone, anyway." But Kit wasn't like that, and both Duffy and Dylan knew it.
When he had finished his task, Dylan came over to the bed to hold her hand in his briefly. Then he said, "Keep your chin up and do what the doctor says, even when you don't want to, okay? I'll be back later to see how you're doing."
The hushed slap-slap of his rubber-soled shoes echoed in Duffy's ears for a long time after the sound
had faded away. It reminded her . . .
She was being stupid. Of course she'd heard that sound before. As Dylan said, practically everyone in the hospital wore the same kind of shoes.
But if a member of the hospital staff had been in her room last night, why hadn't he or she answered when she called out? Wasn't that what they were there for, to help when help was needed?
What kind of nurse or doctor or orderly or volunteer would ignore a night cry from a patient?
No kind. They wouldn't do that. So Dylan had to be right. She'd been dreaming.
But it had certainly seemed real.
In an effort to clear her mind of the maddening puzzle, Duffy rolled over on her side and tried to doze until lunchtime and then, she hoped, the arrival of Jane and Kit.
Except for an interruption by the nurse Duffy called "Vampira" because she came in only to collect blood from Duffy's already-sore arm, she remained alone, and finally fell asleep.
Chapter 4
When Junior Volunteer Cynthia Boon entered Duffy's room shortly after the dismal lunch tray had blessedly been taken away, the patient was struggling to force a comb through her tangled, cinna-mon-hued waves.
**0h, I give up!" she cried in despair, heaving the comb across the room. It made a sharp, insulted click when it hit the floor tile. Bouncing twice, it landed in a comer.
"Easy, easy," Cynthia cautioned softly. She walked over swiftly and picked up the comb, returning it to Duffy. "You're not supposed to get upset. Your temperature will spike again."
"Oh, what's the difference?" Duffy grumbled. "Fm never going to get out of this awful place, anyway. I'm imprisoned here for Ufe."
Cynthia, her long, straight, sand-colored hair pulled back in a neat but too-severe bun at the back of her neck, smiled. "Oh, Duffy, you've only been here two days. You should be grateful you don't have a chronic illness, like some of the kids in Pe-
diatrics.
one."
Satisfied that she wasn't going to stay mad at him, Dylan began sweeping the room, using his considerable bulk to heave the broom sideways in strong, straight strokes.
"Have you seen Jane or Kit?" Duffy asked.
Dylan glanced at his watch. "Too early for visiting hours. You'll have to wait until after lunch. Isn't he working today?"
Dylan said "he" with a noticeable note of resentment in his voice. He and Kit weren't Mends.
Dylan, strong and determined, had been Football. Kit, light and fast, had been Track. Maybe the difference between the two of them was just that simple. Or maybe it went deeper, had something to do with the fact that Dylan was the center of a huge, happy family but had trouble in school, while Kit, who had no family to speak of and lived a lonely, depressing life, had been valedictorian of his graduating class and won scholarships that Dylan would have killed for.
When Dylan talked about Kit, his face suddenly didn't look quite so warm and friendly.
But that only lasted a second. His face cleared quickly as Duffy answered his question.
"I don't know if he's working. I haven't seen him or Jane since I got here. They wouldn't let me have visitors the first day. But it's Saturday. I can't imagine The Grinch Who Stole Kit's Future letting him have a weekend day off. So yeah, he's probably working."
"Kit owed the man," Dylan argued mildly, *^e said so himself. He'll go to college next year."
*They brainwashed him. Dumped guilt on him. He should have gone, anyway." But Kit wasn't like that, and both Duffy and Dylan knew it.
When he had finished his task, Dylan came over to the bed to hold her hand in his briefly. Then he said, "Keep your chin up and do what the doctor says, even when you don't want to, okay? I'll be back later to see how you're doing."
The hushed slap-slap of his rubber-soled shoes echoed in Duffy's ears for a long time after the sound
had faded away. It reminded her . . .
She was being stupid. Of course she'd heard that sound before. As Dylan said, practically everyone in the hospital wore the same kind of shoes.
But if a member of the hospital staff had been in her room last night, why hadn't he or she answered when she called out? Wasn't that what they were there for, to help when help was needed?
What kind of nurse or doctor or orderly or volunteer would ignore a night cry from a patient?
No kind. They wouldn't do that. So Dylan had to be right. She'd been dreaming.
But it had certainly seemed real.
In an effort to clear her mind of the maddening puzzle, Duffy rolled over on her side and tried to doze until lunchtime and then, she hoped, the arrival of Jane and Kit.
Except for an interruption by the nurse Duffy called "Vampira" because she came in only to collect blood from Duffy's already-sore arm, she remained alone, and finally fell asleep.
Chapter 4
When Junior Volunteer Cynthia Boon entered Duffy's room shortly after the dismal lunch tray had blessedly been taken away, the patient was struggling to force a comb through her tangled, cinna-mon-hued waves.
**0h, I give up!" she cried in despair, heaving the comb across the room. It made a sharp, insulted click when it hit the floor tile. Bouncing twice, it landed in a comer.
"Easy, easy," Cynthia cautioned softly. She walked over swiftly and picked up the comb, returning it to Duffy. "You're not supposed to get upset. Your temperature will spike again."
"Oh, what's the difference?" Duffy grumbled. "Fm never going to get out of this awful place, anyway. I'm imprisoned here for Ufe."
Cynthia, her long, straight, sand-colored hair pulled back in a neat but too-severe bun at the back of her neck, smiled. "Oh, Duffy, you've only been here two days. You should be grateful you don't have a chronic illness, like some of the kids in Pe-
diatrics.
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