Petrified by Graham Masterton Page B

focus. He was in a small, unfamiliar bedroom, with magnolia-painted walls and a framed print of ferries on the Delaware River hanging beside his bed. It was only when he saw the sign on the back of the bedroom door saying Cell Phones Must Be Switched Off As They Can Interfere With Vital Equipment that he remembered that he was in one of the relatives’ rooms at Temple University Hospital.
    He climbed out of bed and tugged open the drapes. Outside, he could see a rainy, windswept park, and pedestrians with umbrellas hurrying across a wide intersection. The clouds were ragged and low, and they were brown, more like smoke from a burning building than clouds.
    He hobbled into the bathroom, splashed his face with cold water and combed his hair. He was wearing his T-shirt, his pale blue shorts and his socks, because he hadn’t brought pajamas or a change of clothes with him. He had expected to be home before midnight last night.
    â€˜Braydon,’ he said to himself, ‘what the hell have you done?’
    He lifted his red plaid shirt and his jeans off the back of the chair and got dressed. He was sitting on the end of the bed, lacing up his Timberlands, when there was a knock at the door and a large black nurse appeared.
    â€˜Mr Harris? Good morning to you, Mr Harris. I was hoping to find you awake.’
    â€˜What is it, nurse? How’s my daughter?’
    â€˜Doctor Berman would like to see you and talk to you.’
    â€˜There’s nothing wrong, is there?’
    â€˜You need to talk to Doctor Berman.’
    Braydon followed the nurse along the corridor and down in the elevator to the burns unit. She bustled along so quickly that Braydon found it difficult to keep up with her, and he began to feel that he was dreaming. He passed people wearing clear plastic masks, and people with strangely-stretched faces, and other people with their heads completely wrapped in white bandages, with holes for their eyes, like The Invisible Man .
    When he reached Sukie’s room he found that Miranda was already there, talking to Doctor Berman and a tall Arabic-looking doctor with wavy gray hair. Miranda immediately turned her back to him. That narrow, spiteful back.
    Braydon approached Sukie’s bed. She was sleeping, her face still covered by the Jaloskin mask, and he was relieved to see that her face looked less fiery than it had yesterday. He looked across at Doctor Berman and said, ‘How is she? Everything’s OK, isn’t it?’
    Doctor Berman grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Physically, she’s doing as well as anybody could expect. But she’s had a very disturbed night, in spite of being sedated. In fact we had to restrain her to prevent her from causing herself any further injury. Why don’t you talk to Doctor Mahmood here? He’s in charge of our psychological rehabilitation program for burns victims.’
    Doctor Mahmood came around the bed and laid a reassuring hand on Braydon’s shoulder. When it came to his personal space, Braydon was usually highly defensive; but he wanted to appear cooperative and reasonable, especially with Miranda here, so he forced himself to tolerate Doctor Mahmood touching him. Doctor Mahmood had tangled eyebrows and a hooked nose and his eyes glittered like two black beetles. He stood so close that Braydon could smell his spearmint mouthwash and a spice that could have been fenugreek.
    â€˜Susan’s mother tells me that she has always been prone to having nightmares, ever since she was very small.’
    Braydon looked at Miranda’s back. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘That’s true. And mostly the same nightmare, every time. Scary things flying through the sky, like shadows. She calls them Spooglies.’
    Doctor Mahmood nodded. ‘Of course, she wasn’t able to tell us what she was so frightened of, because she was wearing her oxygen mask, but we could tell from her vital signs that she was in a high state