The lady asked, “Are you all right? Should I call for someone?”

“Nancy,” Mandy squeaked, her throat dry and constricted. “You’re Nancy Wright.”

The lady cocked her head and studied her. “Yeah … Who are you?”

“I’m Mandy Whit——”

Her own name caught in her throat. She lurched, body tense and eyes wide as a ghostly vision popped out of nowhere in front of her and became as solid and real as any person.

It was another Mandy, herself, in the same dress, same hair, same everything, happening a few yards apart from her and … it had to be later, she didn’t know how much. The other Mandy was rattled, gasping for breath, crouching like a cat who’d just fought off a pack of wolves, and when she spotted Mandy she froze as if caught in the middle of a terrible act.

Mandy had never come face-to-face with herself and had no idea what to do. She could have asked what in the world just happened but there were people around, and she couldn’t be sure her other self would hear her anyway. Clearly, the other Mandy saw her; she looked ashamed and embarrassed. She straightened, composed, and neatened herself, then told Mandy with a wry chuckle, “Oh, boy, are you in for a ride!”

chapter

37

The other Mandy looked down at the floor and at a couch in a nearby sitting area, then strode up to Mandy and got in her face. “Don’t let ’em do this to you, you hear me?” Then she brushed past Mandy, started for the door, warped, wavered, and vanished.

“Mandy?” Nancy was still watching her and now seemed even more concerned. “Is there anything I can do for you? You okay?”

Mandy tried not to gawk at everything, but everything, down to the texture of the wallpaper and the shape of the light sconces, was spellbinding. She stepped up to the counter. “Um … I’m here to visit someone.” It didn’t matter who, it was true.

“Name?”

“Mandy Whitacre.”

Nancy smiled. “I mean the name of the person you’re visiting.”

Oh, brother. “Uh …” For some reason the name seemed to fit in this place. She took a chance. “Ernie. Ernie Myers.”

Nancy checked the computer. “He’s in room two-oh-two.” He is? Really?“Just go down this hallway to the end, turn right, you’ll see the elevators. Go up to the second floor and someone at the nurses’ station will help you out.”

Mandy headed for the hallway she already knew.

“Oh, Mandy …”

She stopped.

“There’s a gift shop on the left once you get down there in case you want to bring him anything.”

Oh, yeah, the gift shop with those goofy stuffed dogs that doubled as carry bags in the front window. “Thanks.”

She headed down the hallway, past doors and office windows she’d seen before—DIAGNOSTIC IMAGING; OCCUPATIONAL MEDICINE; PAIN MANAGEMENT CENTER—and signs she’d seen before: SHUTTLE PICKUP/DROP-OFF; PHOTO ID REQUIRED FOR ENTRY; PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE YOUR CHILDREN UNATTENDED.

She was familiar with the ceiling lights, the doors on either side, the hand railing that went along the walls, the same intersections with other hallways with more signs: NUTRITION; SLEEP DISORDERS CENTER; FAMILY CARE. She expected to see them and she did. The déjà vu just kept going.

A doctor in blue scrubs, a big guy with blond, curly hair, walked by and she gawked at him. He was right out of her visions: Dr. Kurt Mason, orthopedic surgeon. He met her eyes, nodded hello, kept going. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was the one always looking at X-rays, talking about simples, compounds, linears, transverses, obliques, and then rods and screws. He looked back once. She caught herself staring, averted her eyes, and kept going down the hall.

Being in the real world was weirder than being in the otherone.

She knew the next intersection the moment she approached it. She knew the hallway to the right led to the EMERGENCY ROOM and INTENSIVE CARE UNIT, and the big double doors marked NO ADMITTANCE, AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY were where she expected them, just three doors down that hall. She walked toward the doors, hoping to peek through the windows.

“Offices on the left,” she said to herself as she peered through the glass, and there they were. “One for Dr. Markham”—there it was—“and the other one for Dr. Kessler”—right again.

There was a row of curtained rooms along the left side of the room. Funny, she couldn’t see inside those curtains from here in the real world, but in her visions she’d seen how each space had a bed with beeping, feeding, monitoring hospital gear crammed all around it.

A team of doctors and nurses in blue scrubs and shower caps hurried across the room with a patient on a gurney. She recognized a young surgeon with wire-rim glasses. “Bailey … Baylor … yeah, Baylor. He eats a lot of yogurt in the cafeteria.” She saw a nurse and smiled. “Rosalie. Always laughing.”

Oh-oh. Some personnel—Steve the trauma guy, Rachel the assistant, Julie the nurse—were coming toward the door. She spun on her heels and doubled back to the intersection.

Safely around a corner, she stopped to catch her breath—her runaway mind, actually. She simply could not get over it: it was thishospital she’d been seeing in her visions, every hall, curtain, door, nook, and cranny of it.

Steve, Rachel, and Julie came around the corner. She tried to relax, look normal, and not gawk at them as they passed.

Whoever, whatever all her other selves, hands, arms, minds were, they must have been here, they might be here right now; whenever she was working her magic, this was one of the most frequent places they … what? Came from? Lived? Journeyed to?

And why? She’d never been here before, never lived in Las Vegas. The question shouted louder than every other thought: Why?

Ohhh, that brought her to Ernie—which was just another totally weird coincidence, by the way. If he was the painter she saw, and he was really here and they had really seen each other …

Well now, that was a thought: she’d seen all kinds of places, things, and people in her visions, but only two people who were able to see her: that Tom Hanks–looking guy—hey, he was in a hospital, or that’s what it looked like—and the painter Ernie Myers.

So was the painter Ernie Myers the guy in 202? Man, comparing notes with him in the real world could tell her something; it just had to. Her stomach was tight and she wanted to run but she had to find out, like it or not, scared or not.

She whisked by the gift shop—yep, the goofy stuffed dogs were still there—and went to the elevators. The second floor was just the way she remembered it, though she’d never been there—how was that for weird? She didn’t need to ask the nurse at the nurses’ station where 202 was; she already knew how the rooms were numbered and where they were.

She got there and put on the brakes just outside the door. What if it really was theErnie Myers and he recognized her? She remembered him touching her, then screaming as if he’d gotten hurt. Did sheput him here?

She swallowed her fear. This would be quite a connection, wouldn’t it, between her other world and this one?

She swallowed her fear again. How could he be mad at her? It wasn’t her fault.

She went in quietly, ducking around the privacy screen and calling in a polite tone, “Hello? Mr. Myers?”

“Hello?” he answered, and she might have recognized the voice. Sounds were different between the two worlds.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, who’s there?”

She ventured farther into the room and could see the foot of his bed protruding around the corner. “Uh, it’s just me, Mandy, coming to say hello … I think.”

“Mandy?”

She came past the corner …

Oh, my.It was he, the painter, shoulders in a brace, wearing … wow, it looked so much like the gown she had at the fair that day. By the pale, horrified look that came over his face and the way the ice rattled in the water glass he was holding, she figured he recognized her. “You!”