Meg Cabot - Sanctuary

The nurse hesitated. Dr. Thompkins continued to stare down at Jim Henderson, disgust mingling with disbelief on his face.

"How about Dr. Takahashi?" the other ER nurse suggested. "Isn't he on duty tonight?"

"Hmmm," I said. "Mr. Henderson doesn't like immigrants very much either. Right, Mr. Henderson?" I bent down so that my face was very close to his. "Gosh, this must be very upsetting to you. Either a black guy, a Jewish guy, or an immigrant is going to end up operating on you. Better hope all those things you've been saying about them are wrong. Well, okay, buh-bye, now."

I waved as the two nurses, along with a dazed Dr. Thompkins, stepped onto the elevator with Jim Henderson. The last thing I saw of him, he was staring at me with those wide, crazy eyes. I can't be sure, but I really do think he was reevaluating his whole belief system.

C H A P T E R

19

Jim Henderson didn't die. Not on the operating table, anyway.

Drs. Levine and Takahashi operated on him, in the end. Dr. Thompkins excused himself. Which was pretty noble of him, actually. I mean, if it had been me, I don't know. I think I would have gone ahead. And let the scalpel slip at a crucial moment.

But Jim Henderson lived through his surgery. He owed his life to two people who came from religious and ethnic groups he'd been teaching his followers to hate. I kind of wondered how he felt about that, but not enough actually to ask him. I had way more important things to worry about.

Primarily, Rob.

It wasn't until the next day that Rob finally woke up. I was sitting right there when he did it. I did go home right after the thing with Jim Henderson—actually, hospital security came along and threw me out, which is a terrible way, if you think about it, to treat a hero. But one of the ER nurses who'd escorted Jim Henderson to surgery apparently finked me out, saying I'd "threatened" a patient.

Which of course I had. But if you ask me, he fully deserved it.

Anyway, I went home with my parents and brothers and Claire, and got a few hours of sleep. I showered and changed and ate and walked Chigger and went a few rounds with my parents over him. They were not too thrilled to have a trained attack dog living under our roof, but after I explained to them that the cops would have sent him to the pound, and that the True Americans were not the world's best pet owners, as far as I can see, they came around. They weren't exactly thrilled with the way Chigger had chewed through an antique rug while we'd all been asleep, but after three or four bowls of Dog Chow, he was fine, so I don't see what the problem is. He was just hungry .

It hadn't been much of a surprise to me that on top of everything else, Jim Henderson and his followers turned out to be lousy pet owners.

Anyway, I was sitting there flipping through a copy of the local paper, which mentioned nothing about me and the important role I'd played in the capture of the dangerous and deranged leader of the largest militia group in the southern half of the state, when Rob started to come round. I put the paper down and ran for his mom, who'd also been waiting for him to wake up. She'd been down the hall getting coffee when he finally opened his eyes. She and I both hurried back to his room. . . .

But at the door, a voice from across the hall called weakly to me. When I turned, I saw Dr. Krantz lying in the bed of the room across from Rob's. Gathered around his bed were a number of people I recognized, including Special Agents Smith and Johnson, who used to be assigned to my case. Until Dr. Krantz fired them from it, that is. It was good to see they could all let bygones be bygones and get along.

"Well, well, well," I said, strolling into the crowded room. "What's this? A debriefing?"

Dr. Krantz laughed. It was a startling sound. I wasn't used to hearing him laugh.

"Jessica," he said. "I'm glad to see you. There are a couple of people here I want you to meet."

And then Dr. Krantz, whose leg was in a long sling, with spikes coming out of a metal thing around the patched-up wound where I'd stuffed my rock, pointed to various people crowded into the small room, and made introductions. One of the people was his wife (she looked exactly like him, except that she had hair). Another was a little old lady called Mrs. Pierce, whose name suited her, since she had very piercing eyes, as blue as the baby bootie she was industriously knitting. The last was a kid about my age, a boy named Malcolm. And of course I already knew Special Agents Johnson and Smith.

"That was quite the invasion of the True Americans' Compound you launched, Jessica," Special Agent Johnson said.

"Thanks," I said, modestly.

"Jessica's always impressed us," Special Agent Smith said, "with her communication skills. She seems to have a real flair for rallying people to her cause … whatever cause that happens to be."

"I couldn't have done it," I said, humbly, "without the help of many, many Grits."

There was an awkward silence after this, probably on account of no one in the room knowing what a Grit was, except for me.

"You'll be happy to know," Dr. Krantz said, "that Seth is going to be fine. The burn should heal without leaving a scar."

"Cool," I said. I wondered what was happening in Rob's room. He and his mom had probably had a nice little reunion by now. When was my turn?

"And the police officer," Dr. Krantz went on, "who was shot should be fine. As should all of your, um, friends. Particularly Mr. Chicken."

"Chick," I corrected him. "But that's great, too."

There was another silence. Malcolm, who was sitting over on the windowsill, playing with a Gameboy, looked up from it briefly, and said, "Jeez, go on. Ask her, already."

Dr. Krantz cleared his throat uncomfortably. Special Agents Johnson and Smith exchanged nervous glances.

"Ask me what?" I knew, though. I already knew.

"Jessica," Special Agent Smith said. "We all seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot with you. I know how you feel about coming to work for us, but I just want you to know, it won't be like it was with … well, the first time. Dr. Krantz has been doing groundbreaking work with … people like yourself. Why, Mrs. Pierce and Malcolm here are part of his team."

Mrs. Pierce smiled at me kindly above the baby bootie. "That's right, dear," she said.

"It just really seems to me," Special Agent Smith said, reaching up to fiddle with her pearl earring, "that you would enjoy the work, Jessica. Especially considering your feelings about Mr. Henderson. Those are the kind of people Dr. Krantz and his team are after, you know. People like Jim Henderson."

I glanced at Dr. Krantz. He looked a lot less intimidating in his hospital gown than he did in his usual garb, a suit and tie.

"It's true, Jessica," he said. "Someone with powers like yours could really be a boon to our team. And we wouldn't require anything from you but a few hours a week of your time."

I eyed him warily. "Really? I wouldn't have to go live in Washington, or anything?"

"Not at all," Dr. Krantz said.

"And I could keep going to school?"

"Of course," Dr. Krantz said.

"And you'd keep it out of the press?" I asked. "I mean, you'd make sure it was a secret?"

"Jessica," Dr. Krantz said. "You saved my life. I owe you that much, at least."

I looked at Malcolm. He was absorbed in his video game, but as if he sensed my gaze on him, he looked up.

"You work for him?" I asked, gruffly. "You like it?"

Malcolm shrugged, " ’s okay," he said. Then he turned back to his game. But I could tell by the way color was spreading over his cheeks that working for Dr. Krantz was more than just okay. It was a chance for this otherwise average-looking kid to make a difference. He'd wanted to seem cool about it in front of the others, but you could totally tell: This kid was way psyched about his job.