The funny thing was that after all those nerves, Mrs. Worthmueller looked good. Sitting up in her bed, her Posey neat and clean across her chest, her hands picking at the sheets. Timmie noticed that her cheeks were pink and her vitals stable.

"Can I help you?"

Timmie turned to find the regular unit nurse smiling that "You'd better explain yourself fast" smile at her. Timmie gave her a professional recognition version to negate the picture she presented of a stranger in jeans and Cardinals T-shirt holding a patient chart. "Oh, hi, you must be Gladys."

Gladys, for God's sake, on a thirty-year-old. She even looked like a Gladys, a little tight, a little prim, as neat as hell, and as organized as an accountant. What she wasn't was amused by Timmie's intrusion.

"I am. And you are?"

"Timmie Leary. Joe's daughter from over on unit three. I work down in the ER and got pulled here last night when you were off. When I came in to see Dad I thought I'd make sure little Bertha was okay. She really had me worried."

Gladys's defenses flickered and died in the space of Timmie's speech. "She had us all worried. Isn't she a dear?"

Considering the fact that the only communication Timmie had shared with Bertha the night before had been a bellowed "Bertha?" or two, Timmie couldn't really consider her opinion valid. She smiled harder anyway. "A dear. She looks a lot better tonight. What was wrong, the flu? I have to tell you, this just isn't my gig. I felt like an alligator on ice up here."

Gladys patted Timmie as if she were one of the patients. "Oh, you'll get used to it. I'm sorry I was so defensive. It's just that we have to be very careful to protect our clients."

Timmie nodded enthusiastically. "I can't be more impressed with the care my dad gets over here."

That got a real smile from Gladys as she retrieved the chart Timmie had been perusing. "Well, you must have done something right," she said, turning toward the room. "She's so very much better today. We figure she just had a little upset. It seems all better now, though, DOESN'T IT, BERTHA?"

Timmie checked to see Bertha picking away, oblivious as ever to the sound of her name being brayed. "We've been getting a lot of your old folk lately, it seems," she said to Gladys.

Gladys clutched the chart to her chest like a Bible. "I know."

"It must be hard on you. You get so attached to them."

A nod, a wince of pain that seemed all too real. "Mary Jane keeps saying I'll understand some day. I don't think I will."

"Understand?"

"Why they're so afflicted. Why they have to suffer. Why we lose them..." Gladys actually gasped, tapped Timmie's arm again in odd commiseration. "Oh, I'm sorry. Here I am saying that, with your father here. You know, of course."

"It does worry me a little, Gladys," she said, leaning closer. "I mean, I know what kind of care you give up here, but people in the ER have been questioning... well, all the patients who've been... uh, graduating lately."

Gladys patted her again with a hand that trembled just a mite. "Nothing to worry about, I'm sure. You know how it happens. One of the dears fails, and the others tend to follow. They just want some rest, I think, from their suffering. You aren't worried about your father, are you? Why, he's as hale as a teenager."

Which meant that Gladys wasn't the one yearning to share her outrage. On the other hand, she might be one to watch.

"Thank you," Timmie said, sidling away. "I really appreciate the update. I told Mary Jane she needed more staff up here so you guys didn't keep getting amateurs filling in."

Gladys followed Timmie right to the door. "It would be nice," she agreed. "But I can't say a bad thing about the girls we get from the emergency department. Especially Ellen and the other girl. Our little people just love them."

Timmie nodded. "That sounds like Ellen."

Gladys waved Bertha's chart once like a salute and slid it back in its door slot. "You thank her for me when you see her."

"I will. And you take care of Bertha for me, okay?"

"Of course."

Timmie headed back to unit three to be greeted by the smell of popcorn. It was snack time, and the old folks were making for the kitchen like zombies trolling for fresh blood. All the way across the room, Timmie could see her father's nose twitch and then his head swivel unerringly toward the smell. She couldn't help but grin. He adored popcorn. All his favorite taverns had served it. She was going to have to get him a bowl. And maybe one for herself. Nothing sent a hospital staffer's saliva glands working faster than the smell of fresh popcorn.

Timmie had just turned to take her place in the migration when she heard the commotion behind her. A yell. A clatter. Even through two sets of doors, the clear notes of a distinctive voice screaming, "Oh, no, help! Call a code somebody!"

Oh, hell. That was right behind her, which meant unit five.

Which meant Bertha.

Timmie spun on her heel and crashed back through the doors into unit five in time to see Gladys desperately trying to punch three successive nines into the phone without any luck. Nursing home nurses were wonderful at patience and encouragement and calming. They didn't manage crises quite as well.

Grabbing the phone from Gladys, Timmie punched the numbers. "Code blue, Restcrest, unit five," she announced. "Room four."

"No!" Gladys shrilled, grabbing her arm. "Not Bertha. Alice!"

Timmie stared. "Alice?"

"Code blue, Restcrest," the announcer droned. "Unit five, room four."

Gladys spun for the patient, and Timmie ran for the crash cart. "Alice?" she demanded, incredulous. "Are you sure?"

Alice. No doubt about it. The skinny, cranky doyenne Dr. Davies had been so interested in the night before was in there thrashing on the bed like a landed fish, her eyes rolled, her tongue lolling, her skin mottling to quick purple. And Gladys, her nurse, stood there patting her head as if that would make all the difference.

Timmie checked for pulses, knowing already what she'd find.

"Gladys, does Alice have a gate pass?" Timmie demanded as she pulled out airways and leads.

"What?"

"A gate pass! A 'Do Not Resuscitate' order." As in, Hi, my name is Peter, I'm going to be your guide through the Pearlies this afternoon...

"No. Of course not."

Timmie sighed. The operator's announcement would bring the ER traveling code team. One look at the chaos in room two would send them in the right direction. In the meantime, Timmie guessed she should do something more productive than say, "Alice?"

"Here, Gladys," she instructed, passing over an ambu-bag. "You bag her, I'll compress. Come on, let's go."

Gladys had tears running down her face. "She wasn't even sick!"

Timmie dragged over a step stool to get better leverage. "Well, honey, she is now."

* * *

It was a cluster fuck, but then most codes coming over from Restcrest were. Luckily, Alice didn't know any difference, and the ER crew didn't mind in the least when they arrived to find Timmie balanced over Alice's skinny chest doing CPR. The code attempt made it back to the ER in ten minutes and then lasted another twenty before Barb called it. No matter what they did, Alice didn't respond. And Timmie was left to wonder just what the hell had made Alice a victim.