April Shadows by V. C. Andrews Page A

the festivities," Brenda challenged.
"This is outrageous," Ms. Luther said, but I could see that she was weakening. Her shoulders sagged, and her hand loosened its gip on the door. "Mr. Taylor is in a coma and has been for days," she added. "He is off any life support as well, as he dictated in his admittance papers, and before you threaten any lawsuits, I want to assure you, it was all done through an attorney of his choice and properly assessed. That is the only way we accept any of our patients."
"Why do you call them patients?" Brenda asked her. "They're here to die, not to be treated and get well."
"Please," Mama pleaded. "Let us see him. If he is as you say, there is no possible harm done. anyway,"
Ms. Luther turned her attention to Mama, since she had the more reasonable and far less threatening voice and look.
"Very well, I'll make an exception to our rules, but only for now. If you return, you will have to have the trustee go through a proper legal procedure.
She stepped back, and we entered. The lobby was bare. The chairs and sofas looked vintage but rarely used. On the table between them was a brochure of some kind. There was an unlit pole lamp beside one of the chairs. Against the far wall was a desk with nothing on it and a dark cherry-wood grandfather clock against the wall to the right of that. The lobby walls were otherwise bare, except for a sin that read "No Smoking."
Ms. Luther turned to her right to lead us to a door. The floor was black marble with light white streaks that reminded me of the Milky Way. Our footsteps echoed because the building was deathly silent. It was truly like walking into a giant tomb, and it gave me the chills.
"Please be as quiet as possible," she said.
Mama reached back to put her arm around my shoulders to bring me alongside her. Brenda was right on Ms. Luther's heels, her hands clenched, her body poised and arched slightly forward like a bow about to shoot an arrow. Ms. Luther opened the door to a short corridor, at the end of which was a typical- looking nurses' station that you could find in any hospital. The two nurses behind the counters looked our way curiously. The air had the scent of detergents used to scrub floors and walls. Everything looked surgicalroom aseptic.
Ms. Luther stopped at the third door on the left, put her hand on the doorknob, and turned to us.
"I ask only that you respect my situation and don't stay longer than a half hour," she said, and waited for some response before turning the doorknob.
Brenda looked as if she would lunge at her.
"Okay," Mama said quickly.
Ms. Luther opened the door and stepped to the side. The roam also resembled a typical hospital room, the walls a light blue, a set of windows to the right and the left of the motorized hospital bed. There was an intravenous bag on a stand, still with some liquid, detached but still at the side of the bed. A heart monitor beeped on the right. The floor was of the same tile that was in the lobby. It was all Spartan without a painting, a vase of flowers, anything to add color and warmth.
Daddy was slightly propped up, his head lying a bit to the left, his eyes closed. Despite his condition, his complexion was surprisingly robust. I thought. It gave me a surge of optimism. Maybe he had begun a miraculous recuperation.
"What are you doing for him?" Brenda demanded, as if she were thinking the same thing.
Ms. Luther, who remained at the doorway, smirked. "There's nothing more to do for him under the circumstances.' she replied,"I'll give you the contact number for his trustee, and you can have him put you in touch with Dr. Blocker, who administers to our patients."
"Administers what?" Brenda fired back at her.
"Peace and tranquility at a most troubling time," she answered without flinching. "A half hour," she added, and stepped out, closing the door behind her.
"That woman must be a direct descendant of a Nazi commander who ran a concentration camp," Brenda muttered after her.
Mama moved slowly to