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

chin. "I suggest if you want to keep that new job of yours, you don't develop that habit yourself. No matter how many books you've read."

Karl managed to smile, knowing it wouldn't fool Willer or anyone else.

"I'll keep that in mind, sir."

"Wrap it up, then. I doubt Ms. Curtis wants to pay you overtime any more than I did when you worked for me."

"I'm sure you're right," Karl said under his breath as he walked back into the room.

He glanced down to make sure she was still asleep or passed out or whatever it was before he hung the chart back up. The sooner he could compare notes with George, the better. Whatever this was had hit far too close to home already.

Chapter 8

George finally showed up nearly half an hour late, cheeks flushed and hair even messier than usual. Karl was pacing the creaky wooden floor, walking from one common room to the other and back again. Thankfully the rowdy group who'd tried to recruit him into their own variety of trouble had continued on their way.

"Where the hell have you been, Georgie? I'm going nuts in here."

"Sorry, had to duck a couple of other guys wanting to have a few drinks. We might be better off doing that, but I guess it's too late now."

"Yeah, I guess so," Karl said. "We should probably go somewhere else tonight. Too many people wandering in and out."

"Way ahead of you, Karl. There's something I want you to get a look at anyway."

George walked toward the exit door to the lawns, Karl trying his best not to walk on his heels.

"Why are we going outside?" Karl said. "I can get us wherever you need to go through the tunnels or corridors."

George shook his head and kept walking. "Like you said, buddy, too many people wandering around tonight. We'll go through the maintenance doors. No one watching those this time of night with no supplies coming in. What's got you so jumpy? Besides the obvious."

"One of the new patients," Karl said. He'd gotten more unnerved over Mrs. Labine, not less. "She came in with the big bunch a few weeks ago. She lives one block away from my parents, George. One block. And something strange is going on with her. They're not giving her any Crumble at all."

"None?" George slowed enough for Karl to walk beside him, and Karl shook his head as they passed under a bright electric. "What makes you think so?"

"It's on her chart," Karl said. "Crumble ineffective, with orders not to give it. She's restrained, so she's not getting any on her own. Someone that disturbed is generally on high doses of medical Crumble, right into their veins."

George grunted. "That's a good way to make her crazier than she already is. They give too much Crumble around here if anything, not too little. Is she out of it?"

Karl shuddered, remembering the woman's gaze that was almost like a touch.

"She seems to come and go. Just about ripped my arm off this afternoon."

He was surprised when George laughed.

"I'm sorry, Karl, I just can't imagine anyone ripping your arm off, much less a woman. You're big as an ox, man!"

George had a point, since he did stand almost a head shorter than Karl.

"They're stronger than you think once they get inside," Karl said. "Trust me. Have you ever heard of that, denying Crumble to an adult?"

"No, can't say that I have." George slowed to flip through his massive keyring. He handed Karl a folder he hadn't noticed the other man carrying. "That's not what we usually hear much about in my line of work, though. Hey, do you have that master key still? Never mind, here it is."

Another bright bulb lit the bold and intimidating sign on the door. Maintenance Only. Restricted. It cast enough light for Karl to flip through the folder. It was exactly the kind of information he'd been afraid to copy on his own explorations, but it would be a lot harder to understand what this meant. No names or conditions, only dates and what seemed to be a record of damages repaired.

"George, these dates match what I've been seeing."

"Surprised? I'm not."

With a twist and a sharp shoulder to the door, they were inside. The corridor was dimly lit, the flames barely visible in the lamps stretching down the hallway. The walls, floor, and ceiling were the same dingy brick as the passages Karl was more familiar with: the tunnels hidden beneath their feet.

"Did you bring a lamp?" Karl said. "I think they turn these off in an hour or so, don't they?"

"Sure do. I just so happen to know where maintenance keeps the lamps for this building. We won't be in this low-class corridor for long, though."

George grinned back at Karl as he stopped at the fourth door on the right. Sure enough, they stepped into a far better built and maintained stretch of the administration wing. Polished wood gleamed all around them, the brass and glass burnished to a bright sheen.

Karl easily read the letters painted in gold on the window of the door George stopped in front of, though it didn't make a bit of sense to him. Director of Public Relations.

"What could they possibly have in here that can help us?" he said. "I don't even know what public relations would do for a place like this."

"Pipe down," George said. "Let me get the lights on. I was just in here for the first time a couple of months ago, helping finish up the very thing we need."

George lit one of the lamps along the wall, then pulled the shade over the door glass. When he turned the light up higher, Karl gasped.

The room was as neat and tastefully decorated as Karl's family's house, with none of the clutter and disorganization that seemed to be taking over the rest of the Columns. Two sofas and two chairs, all intricately carved and upholstered in finer fabric than Karl had ever seen took