Touching Strangers Page 9

He left the doctor’s office with a clean bill of health, pendinghis appointment with the dermatologist, and walked slowly towork in the cool afternoon sun. It wasn’t until he arrived at thedoors of Faucet Fountain that he realized he’d walked all the waywithout putting his mask on.

  *

  Rosamund Sedgwick had just enjoyed a delicious sushi dinner with her fiancée, Lisa, when she took out her cell phone touse her tip-calculating app, and noticed she had six missed callsfrom Dr. Lionel Ormsby, the chief resident at Toronto EastGeneral hospital.

  “Uh oh,” she said, scrolling through the calls.

  Lisa put down her lychee martini. “I know that tone. What happened?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Roz said, “but I doubt it’s anythinggood. The chief resident at East General has called me every tenminutes for the past hour.”

  “Good thing you had your phone on silent, then.”

  “Har, har.” Roz reached out to touch her fiancée’s hand, butLisa moved it just in time and took a big gulp of her drink, lycheechunk and all.

  “Well,” Lisa said, holding the piece of fruit in her cheek likea gumball. “You going to call back?”

  Roz fastened the top button on her blouse, a small actionthat allowed her to transition mentally from pleasure to business.“It’s my job, Lisa. We’ve talked about this.”

  “Sure, we’ve talked about it. And I told you I didn’t like it.A job can’t be twenty-four seven, Roz. That’s just crazy. I don’twant to marry a workaholic. My father was a workaholic, and hewas the world’s biggest asshole.”

  Roz stood up and straightened her skirt. “Am I an asshole?”

  Lisa smirked. “Not yet.”

  “Listen, it might be nothing.” She made for the door as theirwaiter approached the table.

  Lisa held out her hands. “You can’t make the call at the table?”

  “I need some air,” Roz said, and stepped out into the din ofYonge Street traffic.

  She wanted so badly for the call to be nothing. She’d alreadyhad to cancel plans with Lisa twice this week, and didn’t want todig the hole any deeper. They were supposed to spend the nightat Roz’s place before heading up to Muskoka for a few days, butshe knew that whatever Dr. Ormsby had to say was likely tochange that.

  She called him back, and he answered on the second ring.

  “Dr. Sedgwick! I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “I know. What’s up?”

  He cleared his throat loudly, causing her to pull her phoneaway from her ear. When he started speaking again, his voice wasso quiet and distant that Roz had to plug her free ear with herfinger in order to hear him.

  “We have a sort of, um . . . We have a bit of a situation here.It could be nothing. It’s probably nothing. But I thought I’d b etter call, you know, as a precautionary . . . I don’t know if it’s anything yet—”

  “Spit it out, doctor.”

  “We have three patients here, all male, exhibiting severe flulike symptoms, in addition to some kind of neck and chest rash,and a, um, strange swelling of the tissue under the fingernails.Tests are being done as we speak, but—and this is the part thatconcerns me—it has recently been discovered that two of thepatients live in the same apartment building in the east end.”

  Roz put her wrist to her forehead. This was the kind ofnews she’d expected, though the detail about the proximity oftwo of the cases was a little worrying. She glanced inside therestaurant through the window: Lisa was fiddling with her cellphone, texting or something, and she seemed to have ordereddessert. There was a plate of mochi in front of her, untouched.

  Dr. Ormsby said, “Dr. Sedgwick? You there?”

  Roz turned back to the street and said, “Have the patientsbeen isolated?”

  “Yes and no. We’ve got a full house over here. It was hardenough finding space in ICU for the first two patients, but thethird, the, uh, younger male, was just transferred from emergency to a shared ward. He seems to be holding up better thanthe others.”

  “Well that’s no good. Isolate him as well.”

  “We’ll try.”

  “Don’t try. Just fucking do it.”

  “Dr. Sedgwick, we don’t even know—”

  “I know you don’t know, and that’s why he needs to be isolated. Now, what are the patients saying?”

  Dr. Ormsby coughed. “Saying?”

  “Yes, what are they saying? The two men who live in thesame building probably know each other, but what about theother patient? Were you able to establish any connection?”

  “Dr. Sedgwick . . .” There was a pause. “The patients aren’tsaying anything. They’re all unconscious. They have been sincethey arrived here.”

  It was like a flaming arrow to the chest. Roz could feel herheartbeat in her neck and a headache squirming to life behind hereyes. A car screeched to a halt as a crazy person in a blindfold walked casually into traffic with a three-foot crucifix resting on hisshoulder like a rifle. A scene was about to erupt—you could feelit in the air. She looked back inside the restaurant at Lisa, who wastalking to the waiter and pointing outside in her direction.

  Roz wasn’t looking forward telling her, for the third timethis week, that something had come up and she needed to gotake care of it. Their relationship was as brittle as a dried leaf atthe moment. This could destroy it, or at least put their engagement in serious jeopardy.

  She said to Dr. Ormsby, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes,”and walked back into the restaurant as sirens wailed from alldirections.

  STAGE 4A: DIAGNOSIS

  Luca waited until he was back at his own apartment beforethrowing the broken condom in the garbage.

  Something had started to feel different right around whenSamantha lost interest in the sex. Her vagina suddenly feltwarmer and more slippery, which didn’t make sense. Her mindwas clearly nowhere near what they were doing at that point.She was focussed instead on the people outside. When Lucamade the decision to pull out, more out of embarrassment thananything else, he immediately noticed the large vertical tear atthe tip of the condom. The glans of his penis was fully exposed.He pulled the rubber off quickly and kept it balled in his fistuntil his pants were on, then he stuffed it in the pocket.Samantha continued to spy on the neighbours as though he w asn’t even there; as if she hadn’t just cheated on her boyfriend in the very bed she’d likely be sharing and possibly having sexwith him in later that night. That coldness on her part, in addition to his frustration at having failed to ejaculate, made himdecide not to tell her about the condom malfunction. Then heforgot about it altogether when he saw Mr. Böröcz lying facedown on the lawn.

  He rushed down the stairs to the first floor, not wanting towait for the slow-as-hell elevator, and tried in vain to rouse thesuperintendent. He was out cold.

  With Ms. Haggerty shrieking behind him, Luca rolled Mr.Böröcz over onto his back. He looked like something out ofNight of the Living Dead, only he actually looked dead. The skinon his face was slimy and green, and a disgusting rash—scabbydots that looked like infected insect bites—had broken out allover his neck and collarbone.

  “Call nine-one-one,” he said to Martha Haggerty.

  But she just stood there and did nothing, so he stuck hishands in the pockets of her housecoat, hoping to come up witha cellphone. He did. Ten minutes later the paramedics arrived.When they asked him what had happened, he told them he’dsimply walked into the parking lot and found the superintendentlying unconscious on the grass. They asked him if he wanted toaccompany the patient to the hospital, but he declined.

  Martha Haggerty was long gone by that point. She’d disappeared along with her smelly garbage bag right after he called theambulance.

  As he walked across the lot to his apartment, attempting toprocess the confusion and chaos of the last twenty minutes, helooked up at Samantha’s window. She wasn’t there, or didn’tappear to be.

&nbs
p; Now here he was, looking down at the broken used condomsitting on top of a sandwich wrapper in his kitchen trash bin likediscarded snakeskin. It was probably no big deal. Next time hesaw Samantha he’d ask her if she was on the pill.

  He made himself a quick ham and cheese sandwich, sat infront of the TV, and turned on the local twenty-four hour newschannel. The anchorwoman was saying something about a mysterious flu outbreak popping up in clusters throughout the city,but as he chewed mechanically on his sandwich, he found it hardto concentrate on what she was saying. He thought instead aboutMr. Böröcz. It was only yesterday he’d helped him out with thedead bird and the car alarm. He’d seemed healthy as a bull then.How could someone get so sick so fast?

  His thoughts then drifted to Samantha. Maybe there wassomething sane about being a germophobe. At first he’d thoughtof her as kind of frail; a pale little waif, bundled up in oversizedsweatshirts and garbage bag ponchos. But now that he’d seen hernaked, he knew it was just an illusion. She was actually quitehealthy-looking, with her ivory statue breasts, solid thighs, andround voluptuous ass. She was beautiful too. Those eyes. Thathair!

  Although things with Samantha had ended on an awkwardnote, he hoped they’d get a chance to try again, or at least talk about what had happened. He finished his sandwich, turned offthe TV, and went to the bathroom to run a shower, his brain stillsaturated with the memory of Samantha’s milk-pale body.

  *

  Aaron walked into Faucet Fountain. There was nobodyaround—no customers, no Mr. Vaughn standing with his armscrossed behind the counter, nothing. The only sound was aneerie scratching, like a rat attempting to claw its way throughcardboard, coming from somewhere behind the wall of tile samples. He peeked his head around the corner and saw it was onlyNicole, bent over a shipment of digital scales, her pink thong visible above the waist of her too-small low-rise jeans.

  “Boo!” he said.

  Nicole sprang up and dropped the box-cutter she was holding onto a pile of bubble wrap, unleashing one loud crack!

  “Aaron,” she said, breathing hard. “Jesus.”

  He nudged one of the boxes with his foot, pretended to readthe shipping label and waited for her to calm down.

  “I thought you were one of those pervs from Lips,” she said,holding a hand to her chest. “They’ve been harassing me lately.”

  Aaron looked at her strappy heels, her tight jeans, her sleeveless V-neck top that speared down between her massive breasts.“It might help if you didn’t dress like you’re about to go to aclub. We work at a bathroom store.”

  She gave him a look like she wanted to take off one of herheels and jab the spike in his earhole. “Thanks for your opinion,Reverend Cordic. I supposed you’d like me to get my ass to thekitchen and make you a sandwich?”

  “I’m talking about practicality, Nicole.”

  She growled and went back to opening boxes.

  Aaron yawned. “Where’s Mr. V?”

  “Sick, apparently,” she said, just missing her thumb with areckless swipe of the box-cutter. She seemed to be taking herfrustration out on the cardboard. “His friggin’ wife called me atseven A.M. this morning and asked if I could open the store. She said he was too weak to pick up the phone himself. I thought itwas a dream at first.”

  Aaron swallowed. He felt a sudden urge to put his mask on.“What’s wrong with him?”

  Nicole zipped the box-cutter closed and slammed it onto apile of packing paper. “How the hell should I know? Probablyjust the flu or something. Anyway, you’re here now, so I’mgonna take off.” She stood up and slapped her hands together.“These scales need to be fully received by tomorrow morning fora display, all right?”

  Aaron looked down at the mess and shrugged. “Sure, w hatever.”

  Two minutes later Nicole was gone, leaving a smotheringaroma of candy perfume in her wake. Aaron locked the doorbehind her, stuck a ‘Back in 5 mins’ sign on the door, organizedthe boxes of scales into a neat pyramid, and spent the rest of hisshift in the back room, reading articles about skin cancer frommedical journals on the Internet.

  *

  There were four of them now, all between the ages of twenty-five and fifty. Healthy males with no history of serious illnessor compromised immune systems. Dr. Lionel Ormsby stood inthe hallway with Dr. Ishmael Rottermeyer, head of theDepartment of Immunology and Infectious Diseases, while Dr. Rosamund Sedgwick, in an outfit that looked like a spacesuit,examined the patients who had now been quarantined in a roomthey’d started calling the Canister.

  Dr. Ormsby looked down at the names on his chart.

  Douglas Chisholm 49 yrs.

  Robert Böröcz 42 yrs.

  Odane Johnston 28 yrs.

  Arthur Vaughn 45 yrs.

  He felt a nudge on his shoulder. When he looked up, Dr.Rottermeyer nodded in the direction of the isolation room.“She’s attractive,” he said. “I didn’t expect that.”

  Dr. Ormsby rolled his eyes. “This isn’t Gray’s Anatomy, myfriend. We’ve got four unconscious patients suffering from asevere and possibly lethal strain of avian flu, and you’re thinkingabout hitting on the Chief Medical Officer?” He chuckled andshook his head. “Anyway, you’d be barking up the wrong tree.”

  Dr. Rottermeyer removed a handkerchief from the pocketof his lab coat and dabbed the sweat off his brow. “What do youmean?”

  Dr. Ormsby didn’t know if it was his business to say. “She’s,uh . . . I think she’s engaged.”

  Dr. Rottermeyer rumbled with laughter, his belly jiggling.“Do you have any idea how many engaged and married womenI’ve slept with, especially since I became department head?”

  “Ish. She’s the fucking Chief Medical Officer.”

  “So?”

  Dr. Ormsby shrugged. “Do what you want, I suppose.”

  Just then Dr. Sedgwick came out of the Canister, and immediately Dr. Rottermeyer began helping her remove her protective gear.

  Dr. Sedgwick offered him a guarded smile. “Thank you, doctor . . . ?”

  “Rottermeyer. But call me Ishmael.”

  “Yes, of course.” Dr. Sedgwick shot Dr. Ormsby a look thatsaid, Is this guy for real?

  Dr. Ormsby scratched his nose and said, “So what do youthink? Should we call the press?”

  Dr. Sedgwick stepped away from Dr. Rottermeyer and stoodwith her back against the wall. “Tough one. We don’t want tostart a city-wide panic, but the public needs to be warned. In alllikelihood we can expect to see a flood of patients with the samesymptoms in the next twelve hours, and not just on this side oftown. We may want to pre-empt that with a press conference.Otherwise we could end up with a P.R. disaster on our hands.”

  “I think she’s right,” Dr. Rottermeyer said.

  Dr. Ormsby gestured toward the elevator. “What about Mrs.Vaughn? She’s down in the waiting room. Do we isolate her? Keep her for observation?”

  “She’s definitely at risk. Someone should go talk to her rightnow.” She looked at Dr. Rottermeyer, but he didn’t seem to getthe hint. He stood with his hands jutting forward in his lab coatpockets, nodding like a stooge at everything Dr. Sedgwick said.

  “There was another girl,” Dr. Ormsby said. “The girl whocalled the ambulance to Mr. Johnston’s apartment. She’s beenexposed too. The paramedic said she looked a bit . . . rough.Apparently she was half-naked when they arrived on the scene.”

  Dr. Rottermeyer’s head jerked suddenly from Dr. Sedgwickto Dr. Ormsby.

  “Well, we should try to find her I suppose,” Dr. Sedgwicksaid, sighing deeply. “Send an ambulance and a squad car to Mr.Johnston’s apartment, see if she’s still there. We should also keepan eye on the building Mr. Chisholm and Mr. Böröcz camefrom.”

  “Right.”

  “Meantime, I’ll go speak to Mrs. Vaughn.”

  As they began to disperse, Dr. Rottermeyer hurried after Dr.Sedgwick and said, “Wait. Doesn�
�t anybody think it’s strange thatonly men seem to be affected by this virus so far?”

  Without stopping, Dr. Sedgwick said, “I think that’s whatyou’d call a coincidence, doctor.”

  “Call me Ishmael. Please.”

  But Dr. Sedgwick had already turned the corner and was gone.

  *

  Robert Böröcz lay in a hospital bed, dreaming about eatingchocolate chip pancakes—but suddenly the chocolate chips wereants, marching down his throat and into his body, tickling his ribswith their feelers, munching his liver like cookie dough.

  *

  Samantha lay naked on the living room couch, watching thetwenty-four-hour news and eating straight from a box of Vegetable Thins. She’d eaten all of the whole crackers and wasnow onto the crumbs and broken bits. Soon she’d be tipping thesalty dust into her mouth, and there was another box in the cupboard.

  The news anchor was talking about the stock market, andkept saying the word “NASDAQ”. Samantha didn’t care. Hervagina was itchy.She wondered which STDs Luca was mostlikely to have. Probably gonorrhea. Maybe herpes. She hopedit wasn’t herpes. He’d used a condom, but still. Maybe he hadcrabs.

  She hated herself right now. She hated herself most of thetime, but this was worse than usual. She was disgusted with whatshe’d done, yet she wanted to do it again, to do it properly nexttime, no distractions. She felt like crying again but Aaron wouldbe home soon. She’d already decided not to say anything. If hefigured things out on his own, she wouldn’t deny it. She’d fessup. It was up to him, really. She didn’t feel nervous or guilty, justirritable and sad. Her vagina felt carpet-burned. It was the firsttime in her life she’d had sex twice in one day, never mind withtwo different guys. She’d become a curiosity to her own self. Sheput the empty box of Vegetable Thins on the coffee table and itfell over.

  The news anchor was talking about sports now. The fuckingBlue Jays. Samantha rose shakily and went to the kitchen; washedthe cracker crumbs off her fingers at the sink. Then she went tothe bathroom, retrieved a small jar of zinc oxide cream from themedicine cabinet, and returned to the living room couch withthe intention of spreading the balm all over her crotch and innerthighs, but as soon as she opened the jar she heard Aaron’s keysturning the locks in the door.