Suddenly, I am swallowing the urge to gag as I feel a throbbing behind my right shoulder and right leg. A rumbling growl escapes my throat. Move to the water's edge, eyes scanning the tree line, and crouch to drink deeply from the cold, deep water. A sound—my eyes snap to it.

This time, the cat-dream sickness makes me alert and reminds me that I don't know what happened to my bodyguard. Sense someone moving. Open my eyes slightly and see the same nurse facing me across the darkened room. Just as I'm about to close my eyes again, I see that she's pulling a hypodermic needle from a policeman's neck as he sits in a chair, his head slumped forward to his chest.

The girl is standing behind the nurse, her eyes wide.

Awake now, my heart thudding slowly, I wait, eyes almost closed. The nurse caps the hypo, slips it into her pocket and pulls out another. She walks around the bed and approaches my right side, her right shoulder to me.

When she raises her arms to inject my intravenous line, I sit up as I thrust up my right hand up, driving up fast and hard through intense, tearing pain to connect with her chin. Her jaw shuts with a klok. Closing my left hand over the top of her head, I push two fingers deep into her eye sockets. Feels squishy and wet as I twist and pull back. Hear a nasal squeal and a satisfying crunch. Release her to fall with a rustling thump and fall back to the bed, gasping for air. When I can breathe normally, I look for the call button, which is beside my hand. Press it but no response.

Twisting painfully, my eyes follow the call button cord, draped over the television remote control and unplugged from the wall unit. Bitch. Switch on the TV and turn up the volume as far as it will go.

Might be another one guarding the door. Get away. Drop the right bed rail but the effort is too much and I begin to lose consciousness. Fall back gasping again.

The girl begins to step forward but looks at the door and steps back again.

A fat nurse hurries into the room, grasps the switch and turns down the volume. When I offer her the call button, she takes it from my hand and sets it on the bed.

"Lights," I tell her calmly. "Turn on the lights."

"What?" she asks, frowning, beginning to arrange my bedding.

"Turn on the lights."

"It's four o'clock in the morning, ma'am," she says, trying to tuck me in. "You had a bad dream."

Getting people to see and acknowledge the unexpected can be almost impossible. Trained specialists like nurses see only what they expect to see.

Trying a different approach, I ask, "Where's the policeman?"

"Why he's right there," she turns to point and sees the uniform slumped forward in the chair. She pauses to stare at him for a moment, still not getting it.

"Help him," I tell her. "The other nurse gave him a shot in the neck."

She looks at me, frowning. She still sees what she expects to see and not the shit that's gone on in this room. She asks, "What did you say?"

"Turn on the lights. Help him," I tell her. "The other nurse gave him a shot in the neck."

"What other nurse?" she asks.

Truly, there is no one more stupid than a skilled and dedicated worker faced with the unexpected. Routine is her comfort and her salvation.

"Turn on the light," I say deliberately. "Help the policeman."

She stands up straight, blinking at me, probably realizing now that I've repeated the phrase several times. She frowns and walks over to him, shaking him. Of course, he does not respond. She holds two fingers to his neck.

Finally, she sees a problem that she is trained to handle. She hurries to the wall panel, switches on the room lights and then steps to the bed, grasping the call button. When she gets no response, she notices that it is unplugged. She frowns at me, then seems to realize I could not have disconnected it and plugs it into the wall unit.

She hurries into the hallway and calls forcefully for another nurse to call a doctor. When she returns, another policeman is with her.

Here's where things could get ugly, depending on who is paying this uniform. It could be the city, but it could be some wealthy men in New Jersey. I watch him closely as he glances at me and then moves with her to the officer in the chair.

The nurse says, "No pulse, no breathing."

He clutches his radio and calls it in, moving toward me.

Watch him closely, ready to spin away if I must. So far, he looks okay.

"Are you okay, Ms. Price?" he asks, the radio still close to his ear.

"Fine," I tell him. "The other nurse gave him a shot in the neck."

"She keeps saying that," says the fat nurse. "Do you see another nurse?"

Finally, Bruno, someone I can trust, arrives. His bulk seems to fill the room. "What the hell is going on?" he growls, stepping to my side and taking my hand. "You okay, Jill?"

"Fine," I tell him, looking into his eyes. "The other nurse gave the cop a shot in the neck, Bruno."

The fat nurse says, "The officer is dead. She keeps talking about another nurse."

"Over here," I tell Bruno, holding up my left hand with two bloody fingers. "She came at me, so I killed her."

Bruno growls at the officer, "Take a look." The uniformed officer walks around the foot of my bed and says, "Holy shit!" He steps forward, but Bruno barks, "Stop. Don't touch her."

"She might still be alive," says the uniform.

Bruno has his hand inside his jacket, watching the uniform. "Let the nurse check her," he says.

The fat nurse hurries around the bed when a bearded guy walks in, looks like a doc. She calls out, "Check the policeman in the chair, Doctor. No pulse, no breathing." The doc moves to the cop in the chair. After a moment, she says, "Same thing with Nora. Her neck is broken and her eyes are. . . ." She stops and looks at me.

"She gave the officer in the chair a shot in the neck," I tell the doctor.

"And then she tried to give you a shot," says Bruno. He looks at the uniform and says, "Did you call this in?"

"Yes sir," he says.

"Call Don Locaccio now," says Bruno. "He's. . . ."

"Right here," says Don, walking up beside the bed. "The fuck is going on?"

"Dead nurse on the floor over there," says Bruno. He turns to the fat nurse. "You."

"Who? Me?" she asks.

"We're moving Jill into another room. Go arrange it."

"You can't just. . . ."

"Do it, Freddie," says the doc. "This is a crime scene now. We can't leave Ms. Price in here."

The fat nurse, her universe aligned, hurries out of the room.

Bruno and the doctor begin disconnecting stuff and moving my bed. "Got this crime scene, Don?"

Standing up from kneeling beside the dead nurse, Don says, "Got it." Turning to the uniform, he says, "Get downstairs and wait for Joe and the CSI unit. Bring them up here. Go." When the officer is gone, Don steps up beside me and asks, "What happened, Jill?"

"I heard movement and woke up in time to see her pulling a hypo out of his neck. When she came over with another hypo for me, I killed her," I tell him.

"Security around here sucks, Don," says Bruno, pushing the bed into the hallway with the doctor.

"Tell me about it," he says. Don follows us into the hallway as we wait for fat Freddie to find me a room.

Losing track of events. Turn to Don, who seems far away and blurry. "Call Doc's Place?"

He nods. "Talked to Louise Northcutt. Told her that someone had shot you. Said I'd call her Monday with an update."

Nod, feeling groggy. Fat Freddie is talking. Close my eyes and begin to doze when suddenly, I remember. Eyes still closed, I ask, "My bodyguard?"

Don says, "Took two in the back and butt when he covered you. Doc says he'll be flying and rolling in haze. . . ."

Frowning, I fade out, murmuring, "What?"

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