The Dream Thief, Kari Kilgore [reading well TXT] 📗

pretty face twisted into a grimace, pale blue eyes narrowed. "It's the stealing that does it. Too much, too much, stealing too much. Stealing the night. Everything breaks."

"Nothing like that can happen here, okay?" he said. "Everybody's safe now. I won't let anyone hurt you."

Karl tried to keep his demeanor calm while he was stroking her hand. She didn't look nearly strong enough to be hurting him so badly, but that was how it seemed to work once people ended up in here.

He was usually the best at keeping patients settled down. This one seemed to be getting worse.

She pulled against her thick leather restraints, trying to reach him with her other hand. He wasn't in any danger from her, but letting a new one get too upset threw everyone into an uproar.

"Nothing works when the thief is about. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Everything breaks, no matter what you do. Stealing my bloody sleep away after everything else. Don't. Miss. It. Don't miss it. Dontmissit..."

"I won't miss it, Mrs. Labine, I promise. I'll keep a close eye out. If you let go of my arm, I'll get you something to drink."

He was thinking his own stash of illegal whiskey George got for him, far more effective than the insipid Thunderbolt back at the Gate, might be the best thing for a situation like this.

Starting out with a nice cup full of strong Crumblewater would make more sense. She pulled him closer for a second, staring so hard that it felt like a physical touch. He nodded and smiled. She finally closed her burning eyes and let go.

Karl stood, rubbing his bright red arm, surprised to see no blood. Felt like it would bruise, though. That was exactly what he deserved for not paying attention, especially with someone he didn't know well.

He normally didn't like the other nurses' habit of calling patients heads or blowouts or empties any more than he liked the Directors calling them visitors or guests. Once they checked in, they never checked out. No one here for something as brief as Mending ever made it to Karl’s building in the first place. Mrs. Labine might be closer to a blowout than he wanted to admit.

And whoever left the poor woman in such bad shape without an IV full of Crumble slurry deserved a week of scrubbing bedpans. Karl intended to do whatever it took to make that happen.

"Just another day in paradise," he whispered, walking out into the hall.

Cold or hot water with medical-grade Crumble dissolved in it, so much that not another speck of the gray ash would fit, was such a constant need that it was in every hall of the patient wings. He didn't know this woman well enough to know if hot or cold would work better, or if she’d prefer honey or mint to mask the flavor. Karl filled a metal cup with lukewarm water flavored with both.

He debated adding one of the sedative drops he was newly allowed to carry with him on his rounds, part of his last promotion to lead nurse. He went back to her room instead, hoping this big a dose of Crumble might do the trick until he could get the situation sorted out.

"Mrs. Labine," he whispered, making sure he was out of her reach. "This will make you feel—"

Karl stared at her chart, hanging just far enough over her head that she wouldn't be able to read it. A note written in a looping hand he recognized as his new supervisor's dominated the top of the notes.

Crumble ineffective. DO NOT administer without direct orders.

Karl stepped backward so quickly he nearly tripped over his own feet. Thankfully the woman still hadn't opened her eyes, but he held the cup behind his back just to be safe.

He'd heard of a few rare cases of bad reactions to Crumble, usually children who didn't last long, but this was an adult. He reached up and took the chart, taking care not to make a sound, before he walked back out into the hall.

He started to drink the water down himself before he remembered his plans to meet with George that evening. Maybe he didn't want to be overly calm and tranquil for that meeting after all. He put the cup on the table with the rest of the Crumblewater and walked back toward Mrs. Labine’s room.

"That doesn't make a damned bit of sense," he said under his breath.

Karl looked around to make sure he was still alone. Mrs. Labine had been a Builder. There was no possible way she been off Crumble for any length of time, not with a job like that. Builders had to keep their levels especially high to avoid falling into their own talent and ending up here with depth syndrome. Everyone else needed Crumble to prevent the more common insanity of a terribly disordered and broken mind.

He flipped over to the personal information page to see if there was a note of her having problems in the past. All the air left his chest at once. Mrs. Labine was not anyone he'd ever met before, but she was from his neighborhood. She'd moved there just a few months ago, to a house just one block over from his parents.

One block away from Andy.

"Gilmore! Aren't you supposed to be off shift by now?"

Karl jumped and barely managed not to drop the chart. That could only be his previous boss.

"One more stop, Mr. Willer. Just verifying the orders for this patient."

The scrawny older man was standing with his hands on his hips at the intersection of the next hallway. They'd gotten along just fine until Karl had accepted this latest promotion, before Willer thought he was ready. He decided to take a risk he wasn't willing to with his new supervisor.

"This one is strange," Karl said. "Never heard of a patient taken completely off Crumble. You?"

"I don't make it a habit to question the doctors about their orders, Gilmore." He crossed his arms and lowered his pointy