The 5th Horseman

Chapter 49

NURSE NODDIE WILKINS was fuming. If she got into her car this minute, she’d still be a half hour late for her date with Rudolpho. This job sucked. It was sucking up her whole life! Plus, the damn hospital was cutting back on her benefits every chance it got. The cheap bastards.

She bumped open the door to room 228 with her hip, careful not to spill the tray. The only light in the room came from the TV. “Hey, Mr. Man,” she called out over the cheers of 49ers fans in an uproar about something stupid and ridiculous.

The nurse angled the tray onto the swinging arm of the bedside table, staying out of her patient’s reach. Mr. Harris was sixty-six and recovering from his gunshot wound; still, she had to move quickly or, legally blind or not, he’d grab her with his good arm. He was nice enough, though, a sweet older guy who sure loved his dog, Midnight.

“I got your dinner, Mr. Harris, and your two ice creams, soon’s I take your blood pressure.”

The nurse turned away from her patient, rolled the blood-pressure machine from the corner toward the bed, expecting to hear his “Sweetheart, fluff my pillow. Thatsa girl.”

Noddie glanced over to the bed. Her stomach dropped the equivalent of half a dozen stories.

Something was wrong.

“Mr. Harris! Mr. Harris!”

She shook the patient’s arm, and his head lolled, coins slipping off his eyes onto the bedding. One of the coins dropped to the floor, rolling to the corner of the room, rattling before it fell flat to the linoleum.

Dear sweet Jesus, it had happened again!

Those horrible coins. On the eyes of Mr. Harris this time.