#Catherine?# I thought sharply, because most medicos are telepath, not
perceptive.
"Catherine is all right," he replied.
#Can I see her?#
"Lord no!" he said quickly. "You'd scare her half to death the way you
look right now."
#How bad off am I?#
"You're a mess, Steve. Broken ribs, compound fracture of the left tibia,
broken humerus. Scars, mars, abrasions, some flashburn and post-accident
shock. And if you're interested, not a trace of Mekstrom's Disease."
#Mekstrom's Disease--?# was my thought of horror.
"Forget it, Steve. I always check for it because it's been my specialty.
Don't worry."
#Okay. So how long have I been here?#
"Eight days."
#Eight days? Couldn't you do the usual job?#
"You were pretty badly ground up, Steve. That's what took the time. Now,
suppose you tell me what happened?"
#Catherine and I were eloping. Just like most other couples do since
Rhine Institute made it difficult to find personal privacy. Then we
cracked up.#
"What did it?" asked the doctor. "Perceptives like you usually sense
danger before you can see it."
#Catherine called my attention to a peculiar road sign, and I sent my
perception back to take another dig. We hit the fallen limb of a tree
and went over and over. You know the rest.#
"Bad," said the doctor. "But what kind of a sign would call your
interest so deep that you didn't at least see the limb, even if you were
perceiving the sign?"
#Peculiar sign,# I thought. Ornamental wrought iron gizmo with curlicues
and a little decorative circle that sort of looks like the Boy Scout
tenderfoot badge suspended on three spokes. One of the spokes were
broken away; I got involved because I was trying to guess whether it had
been shot away by some vandal who missed the central design.
Then--blooie!#
"It's really too bad, Steve. But you'll be all right in a while."
#Thanks, doctor. Doctor? Doctor--?#
"Sorry, Steve. I forget that everybody is not telepath like I am. I'm
James Thorndyke."
Much later I began to wake up again, and with better clarity of mind, I
found that I could extend my esper as far as the wall and through the
door by a few inches. It was strictly hospital all right; sere white and
stainless steel as far as my esper could reach.
In my room was a nurse, rustling in starched white. I tried to speak,
croaked once, and then paused to form my voice.
"Can--I see--How is--? Where is?" I stopped again, because the nurse was
probably as esper as I was and required a full sentence to get the
thought behind it. Only a telepath like the doctor could have followed
my jumbled ideas. But the nurse was good. She tried:
"Mr. Cornell? You're awake!"
"Look--nurse--"
"Take it easy. I'm Miss Farrow. I'll get the doctor."
"No--wait. I've been here eight days--?"
"But you were badly hurt, you know."
"But the doctor. He said that she was here, too."
"Don't worry about it, Mr. Cornell."
"But he said that she was not badly hurt."
"She wasn't."
"Then why was--is--she here so long?"
Miss Farrow laughed cheerfully. "Your Christine is in fine shape. She is
still here because she wouldn't leave until you were well out of danger.
Now stop fretting. You'll see her soon enough."
Her laugh was light but strained. It sounded off-key because it was as
off-key as a ten-yard-strip of baldfaced perjury. She left in a hurry
and I was able to esper as far as outside the door, where she leaned
back against the wood and began to cry. She was hating herself because
she had blown her lines and she knew that I knew it.
And Catherine had never been in this hospital, because if she had been
brought in with me, the nurse would have known the right name.
Not that it mattered to me now, but Miss Farrow was no esper or she'd
have dug my belongings and found Catherine's name on the license. Miss
Farrow was a telepath; I'd not called my girl by name, only by an
affectionate mental image.