The Doctor had inquired at the nurse's station in the isolation ward, but the night nurse had not seen Rose. Still, he made a point of peering into each cell to be certain that the real patients were the only inhabitants.
He hurried down to the next floor. Nurse Brownlow was on duty again. She'd heard about Rose's accident and immediately inquired about her well-being.
"She's left the infirmary, and I don't know where she's gone," he replied curtly. "She's not upstairs. You haven't seen her here?"
"No, Doctor, I haven't. But let's check all the room and the dayroom, just in case."
Together they made a rapid search of the floor, but to no avail. The Time Lord descended the stairs two at a time, a distinct sense of foreboding gnawing at his gut. Something was wrong; he could feel it, but it was too vague to identify.
Back on the first floor he asked Nurse Lafitte again if she'd seen Rose.
"No. And Dr. Poile's not in his office or the lounge, either. He didn't check out, so I'm sure he's somewhere in the building."
"Where else is there?"
"If you've been upstairs, there're just the kitchens in the basement."
"I'm going to check the lounge and Poile's office again," he said, dashing down the hall. He didn't like the fact that the psychiatrist had disappeared along with Rose. He'd had a feeling he couldn't trust the man. He should have followed up on it better…
Well, there was nothing for it now. All he could do was continue searching and hope he found Rose before his sense of foreboding could manifest into a real incident.
She felt herself dragged across the stone floor for some distance. Consciousness flickered, winking in and out, permitting Rose to apprehend what was happening but not to fight against it. Her limbs were limp and uncooperative, refusing to obey the commands her fuzzy brain attempted to send.
Finally she stopped moving. Her shoulders were released, and she slumped down once again.
"No, no, that won't do," Nurse Lebou scolded. "Up you come. No one will believe it if you're lying down like that. I don't know why," and now her tone was almost conversational, "they always do it sitting up. Hmm. That's an interesting question I'd never really considered before. Well, no matter. The important thing is that you're in the proper position, so here we go."
She shoved Rose up so that she sat with her back against the wall. The nurse crouched before her.
"Hold out her arm," she instructed.
Rose realized dully that another figure, a larger one, stood slightly off to the side. She recognized the orderly as soon as he bent down. He took her right arm and extended it. She tried to pull it away, but she was too weak, and his grip was too strong.
Nurse Lebou reached into a pocket and pulled out something small and shiny. It dawned on Rose that they were well out of the dark corridor and back near a dimly lit area. She didn't think she'd gone up the stairs, so they must be somewhere in the basement, perhaps near the kitchens.
Those semi-lucid thoughts fled as soon as she realized what the nurse held in her hand. It was a scalpel, and it was moving toward her wrist.
"You stole this from the infirmary," the woman informed Rose in a facetious tone. "Doctor Leeds really should have been more careful. Poor man. I wonder if he'll feel guilty." She chuckled lowly. "Men are so vulnerable when they feel guilty. You know, Rodney, I think I could provide him with some comfort. He's a nice looking fellow, isn't he? Those eyes are rather gorgeous…"
Rose felt only the coldness of the blade as the nurse sliced into her wrist. Blood began to well immediately. Tears prickled at her eyes as she understood fully what the nurse had planned for her. She tried to speak, to form the single word "no," but no sound escaped her.
Rodney took her left arm and held it while Nurse Lebou cut deeply through skin and into the vein. Then she dropped the scalpel near Rose's right hand and stood.
"There. That's done. She won't be found until the morning shift arrives, and it'll be much too late by then. Come along, Rodney. Do you have your key to the back door?"
"Yes," the orderly replied, the only word Rose heard him speak.
"Good. So long, dear." She reached down to ruffle Rose's hair then strode away with Rodney following at her heels like an overgrown dog.
Consciousness was slipping away again. Rose could do nothing more than watch in abject horror as the blood flowed, bright and red and quick, from her open veins.
"She's not here," the Doctor reported to Nurse Lafitte, his frustration and fear growing by leaps and bounds as he finished searching the ground floor. "She must be in the basement."
"Do you want me to go down with you?" the nurse offered.
"No. Stay up here. If you see her, have her wait right here until I come back up."
"Yes, Doctor." Her eyes flicked from his face to the exterior door. "That's odd," she said.
He followed her gaze to see a car driving away from the hospital.
"The day shift all left over an hour ago," she commented. "I can't imagine who that would be. Maybe someone stayed late in the kitchen."
"Someone could have taken her," the Doctor said. "Are you sure Poile cancelled the transport to Montreal?"
"Oh yes, I made the call myself."
Still, the departing car could account for Rose's absence. The Doctor ran to the door and watched the tail lights as they grew dimmer. He could dash after the vehicle or borrow Nurse Lafitte's car…
But something was niggling at him. He needed to check the basement. If Rose wasn't there, he'd try to intercept the car.
"There's only one road back to town, right?" he asked as he walked rapidly toward the stairwell.
"Yes."
"Do me a favor and call the police in St. Adele. Tell them they need to stop that car."
"I'll need a reason—"
"We may have an escaped patient on our hands."
He'd already disappeared through the door by the time she picked up the phone.
He took the stairs two at a time. When he reached the bottom, his eyes swept the scene before him. A large kitchen lay to his right, lights lowered but sufficient illumination to permit him to make a quick search. The area was deserted.
The Doctor returned to the hallway. It branched off in three directions. He walked down the first branch, finding that it ended in a storage area consisting of rows of stocked shelves. He backtracked then entered the next corridor. It was gloomy, its only light that from the kitchen. He looked ahead, squinting through the dimness.
There, toward the end, was something near the floor. As his eyes adjusted quickly, he could make out legs—bare legs beneath a simple, light-colored nightgown.
"Rose!" he cried, rushing forward. The distinct tang of iron tickled his nose.
Rose was slouched against the wall, her head lolling forward. Toussled hair concealed her face. He knelt beside her, lifting her chin. Her eyes were closed; it was clear that she was unconscious. His gaze raked over her even as his hands moved to examine her head, checking for injury, dreading the possibility that he would find the strange marks upon her scalp.
What his anxious eyes found seconds later was much worse. Her arms lay at her sides, palms up as if in silent supplication. In the shadowy light he hadn't immediately seen the darkness pooled beneath her hands, spreading toward her hips…
"Oh Rose, no. No, no, no," he uttered.
His shaking hand pressed against the pulse point in her throat. She was still alive, but her heartbeat was weak and erratic. At first he couldn't understand where the blood was coming from, but then he saw the scalpel near her hand. He wiped away the crimson mess from one wrist to find a deep cut over the radial artery.
He lifted her arms, holding them against her chest, then hoisted her up into his secure embrace. Balancing her body across his forearms, he wrapped his fingers tightly over her wrists to apply pressure as his legs carried him swiftly toward the stairwell. Lowering one of his bloodied hands, he wrenched open the door and stumbled up the stairs.
When he emerged onto the main level, his shoulder shoved the door hard enough to cause it to slam against the wall.
"Help me!" he shouted.
To be continued...