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Page 39.
Chapter 31.
 Louis Beering raged in frustration as he stood on the dripping lawn of the Beering Clinic. He knew his time was short, getting shorter by the day, perhaps by the hour, and he must keep moving. By now, he was probably on the wanted posters of the hidden observers who maintained order in this inferior future.
Gripping his courage, and touching the Luger in his coat pocket, Louis strode up the stairs. There was no other way to find out.
The guard gave him a suspicious look. "Help you, Sir?"
"Doctor Matterhorn. I'm here to see a patient."
The old man (retired cop? looked like one) licked his thumb and looked through a book. "I'll have to find your name here, and then..."
"It's quite all right," Louis said, and slugged the old man. The man collapsed, and Louis caught him under the arms. He dragged him into the building. He found a hall closet and sat him in there, giving his head another tap to make sure he stayed out.
Louis glided along the silent, gleaming corridors with a sense of urgency. He picked up a stray stethoscope and slung it over his shoulders. He picked up a couple of file folders to look as though he belonged.
An older nurse, a handsome gray-haired woman in white dress and dark blue sweater, sat at a nurse's desk. She looked up and smiled, taking him in. "Hello, Doctor. Are you new?"
Louis smiled. "Just consulting. Say, where is Mrs., er,"(he pretended to look through the files)"er, Cranston."
The nurse pointed with a pencil in a veiny hand. "Room 5 down the hall."
"Great. How is she today?"
"Oh, she's, well, she's slipping away." There was a confidential, professional note in her voice, with a hint of personal kindness.
"How much longer has she got?" Louis's gut panged.
The nurse did not seem taken back. "I'd say a day or two. She's on IV Hyperal with some piggyback meds. Hasn't eaten by mouth in a week. Let's see, what else. If I remember right, blood pressure way down, and the pneumonia just isn't getting any better. She is Mr. Beering's favorite patient, you know."
Louis nodded. "I'll just look in on her for a moment."
"Shall I go with you, Doctor?"
"Oh no," Louis said quickly. "I'm on my way out. Don't bother." He hoped she would stay put, or he'd have to handle her as he had the guard.
She cocked her head slightly, wonderingly, as if she found him somewhat odd after all.
Louis strode down the hall, entered the room, and let the door slide shut. He was taken back by the array of complicated and fragile looking equipment filling the room. It took him a moment to orient himself in the greenish half-light of flickering screens. Several machines beeped slowly and steadily, for reasons Louis could only guess at.
He was shocked. Remembering the tall, vibrant blonde of 1936, he approached her bed. Chagrined, he saw an unrecognizable putty-colored husk, shriveled and motionless on her sheets. Her eyes were closed, sunken in skeletal orbits. Her thin blue lips were parted. Her chin and mouth were upturned as if reaching for a last gasp of air. She looked dead already.
Louis said in a quaking voice: "Oh my God." On trembling legs he stepped next to the bed. "Anna. Can you hear me?" He held a cold, limp hand. "Anna, it's me. Louis. Can you hear me?"
One eye opened lethargically. There was still a flicker of light, of life, of humor there. Her lips moved trying to form a word. It was inaudible, but he thought she had formed his name.
He whispered in her ear: "I made it. I'm here. It worked, Anna. Can you hang on a while?"
Her eyes were both open now, and she seemed to be struggling to speak, to raise her head. Her mouth was moving, trying to form words. He put his ear close and heard her say, faint as a dying breeze: "Go back. Darling. Before it's too late."
Louis was still holding her hand. He looked down upon her. If she died before he got back to 1936, he would disappear, lost like a balloon let go. And yet, he had found an old newspaper obituary that said he, Louis Beering, had died of unspecified cause on the very same day in 1936 on which he had set off for his journey into the future. Staying here was certain death; going back was just as certain death. What could he do to escape his fate?
Her eyes were filled with a memory of old love as she stared up at him. He tried to soften his glance, to make it pleasing to her. "I'm upsetting you," he said gently, but inwardly desperate to get away before she could have a stroke from the shock of seeing him.
She shook her head gently, lovingly. Her limp paw exerted a feeble pressure on his hand. "See how much I love you?" she breathed.
He bent close, offering a desperate lie: "I love you too, Anna. I'll go back and we'll have a swell time together. I'll make it all up to you. I was unfeeling but I see now how much you love me." The truth was, her sour bed smell repulsed him, as did her old age. At least in 1936 when he had been carelessly using her in so many ways, she'd been attractive.
She shook her head. Her voice was faint, but clear. "No time for lies anymore, Louie. I'm happy to see you once more, after all these years, just as you were. That's enough for me. Don't try to change the past. It can't be done." Her eyes closed, and she appeared to drift away again, having exhausted herself.
"Hang in there for mee!" he pleaded. "I'm going back tonight." He patted her hand. "I'll take you out to dinner and a movie as soon as I get back. Things will be different."
She opened her eyes briefly once more. A faint smile flashed on her features, reminding him of her youth. "I'll hang in as long as I can. Promise." She raised an arthritic finger to his lips. Then she faded again, looking like a mummy swirled out of wrinkled putty. She seemed to be making herself comfortable in some inner way, like someone going to sleep.
Louis backed away, feeling horror. He knew now it had been a terrible mistake to come forward. As he backed toward the door, he was overwhelmed by his own mortality. He strode out of the room, down the hall throwing aside files and stethoscope. No time to waste. One last desperate chance to do what he had come to do, before he had to go back into the tunnel and take his chances. Already that steak and movie sounded good. Anna in 1936 was waiting for him, in her unrequited love, and for the moment that was a pleasing prospect. He could almost feel his hands around her long, supple body in bed. Somehow, he would get his mission done in this awful future, and still live to change the past.
As he walked across the lawn and out into the street, he remembered that the name tag had read: "Miss Anna Cranston." Miss. It didn't seem possible. Had that fool wasted her life pining for him? He brushed the thought aside. He had her doing her best to hang in there. With that settled, he could go about settling a score or two before returning home.
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