Bull's Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #3

Chapter 14

"I told them this was a VIP patient," Vince says after returning to the helicopter perched atop the hospital in Stevens Point, St. Michael's.

The hospital is by no means tall. Stevens Point isn't large enough to need more than three floors' worth of putting Humpty Dumpty back together again. It is, however, prone to congestion, given its unusual location on the edge of a residential area. Like many things in Stevens Point, zoning foresight failed to keep up with the traffic.

Or did it? Is it all so arbitrary anymore?

With the rotors quieted, Jo turns to Zandra from the pilot's seat and says, "Hippocratic oath. They have to let you in, even if they don't like you."

"Can you fake an injury?" Vince says.

I can do better than fake it.

Zandra hacks into her sleeve. She peels the fabric apart to show the goo nestled in the crease. "This good enough?"

Vince gags. "Holy shit. You going to make it?"

"Probably not," Zandra says. "Did you find Herman's room?"

"There's a John Doe in room 27. Didn't get a good look at him, though," Vince says and shrugs.

Wasn't that the number Herman carved into that knife? What did he call it? A sigil?

"That's him," Zandra says and shuffles out of the helicopter. "Stay here. I'll be back in an hour or so. Off to join the 27 club."

"And risk you getting in trouble? No way," Vince says as he empties the weapons in his pockets into a canvas duffel bag strapped to the helicopter's interior. Hospital policy didn't matter before, but now he can't take the chance.

It's too late. Zandra is already through the doors leading into the hospital.

St. Michael's isn't set up for VIP patients. It's not large enough in the first place, and the antithesis of Midwestern pragmatism in the second. Celebrities don't receive special treatment, because ego doesn't mean shit when it's 20 below zero. Not that it's winter now, but the sheer duration of the cold season casts a long shadow over the more moderate months.

What St. Michael's is set up for, however, is the criminal element. Pragmatism demands a separate area for those under police custody. It will have to do.

In her most realistic performance to date, Zandra fakes some chest pain for the triage nurse.

"Have you ever had that cough checked out?" the nurse says, looking concerned.

"I look at it every day in my sleeve," Zandra says.

The gallows humor doesn't work well on the nurse, and Zandra is taken for a battery of tests. The looks on the nurses' faces only grow grim with each result.

"We'll need to do more tests, but it looks like you may be facing...," one of the doctors starts to say.

"I don't care," Zandra says, interrupting. She rubs her hands together. "It's the same as how your last patient died, isn't it?"

Can't pass up a chance to freak someone the out.

The doctor looks like someone just shoved a needle up his ass. "Excuse me?"

Zandra isn't familiar with this doctor's patient history, but she doesn't need to be. Assert a guess with enough confidence, and even someone as steeled as a doctor will have to think twice about it. That stumble, even if it's brief, is typically more honest than not. That's where the truth comes out, and it's an opportunity for someone like Zandra to exploit.