She wondered what she would remember of this incident. She hoped, very little. With any luck she would be granted a wondrous and selective amnesia. She hoped the same for all the others who were huddled in the waiting room, watching George fight with his own demons.
And what of George, the shooter? What had his brain pieced together inaccurately, she wondered, to bring him here today?
She raised her hand to her brow, surprised to see it come away bloody. When George had thrown the lamp against the wall, it had shattered, and ceramic and glass shards had gone everywhere. Including, apparently, her temple.
“Let me,” the nurse said—Izzy, that was her name. She pressed a piece of gauze against Olive’s forehead, though they both knew it was nothing more than a scratch. “We have to get out of here,” Izzy murmured. “He’s losing it.”
Olive nodded. “Oh, George,” she said, pasting a wide, dizzy smile on her face. “I hate to be a bother…but…George?” She waited until he looked up. “I’m afraid that my age is getting the best of me. Some parts don’t work as well as they used to.”
He blinked at her, confused.
“I have to pee, dear,” she stated.
At that Izzy turned. “If Olive is going to the restroom then Joy has to go, too. It’s for medical reasons.”
“I have an idea,” Olive said. “Why don’t we all go now? If we get it out of the way, then we won’t be any more trouble.”
At that, George snorted.
A Hobson’s choice, that was what she had to offer George—a choice that wasn’t really a choice at all—like the executioner asking if you’d prefer to have your head severed from your body, or your body from your head. Olive smiled at George. “Would you like me to go first, or Miss Joy?”
George took a step forward. “You think I’m an idiot?” he said. “I’m not letting you go into the bathroom by yourself.”
“Well, I hardly think you’d care towatch,” she replied. She got to her feet. “I don’t really think I can wait much longer for you to decide, dear. The muscles in the urinary tract just aren’t what they used to be—”
“For God’s sake,” George cut her off. He stepped forward, grabbing her arm. “Come on.”
There was a small single-person restroom off the waiting room where they were all sitting. George dragged her toward it and turned on the light, then gave her a rough pat down. “Go,” he said, but when Olive tried to close the door, he pushed it back open. “If you don’t want to do it this way, you don’t get to do it at all.”
Olive considered arguing with him, but in the end she just nudged the door closed a bit. It remained open for all intents and purposes, but she was mostly shielded from the view of everyone.
Think, Olive. Think.She did not have a lot of time. She couldn’t stand on the toilet and try to send a signal through the small window. George would hear her scrambling, and could poke his head in at any time. She pulled up her skirt, wriggled her underpants down, and sat on the toilet seat.
Beside it was a small cart with specimen bottles and labels and a Sharpie, so that you could write your name on the plastic.
Olive grabbed the pen and unspooled the toilet paper.
There are six of us and one of him,she wrote across three of the squares.We need a plan. Thoughts?
She knew that whatever the others plotted, she would be at a disadvantage. But she also knew to look for a signal. And to act.
Olive pulled up her panties and flushed the toilet. She rolled the paper back up, with the writing carefully tucked in a way that it couldn’t be seen until it was unspooled. She washed her hands and opened the door and smiled at George. “There,” she said. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
—
WHENOLIVE CAME OUT OFthe bathroom, Joy stood up, letting herself be manhandled by that crazy asshole before she stepped inside. While she peed, she looked at the pad in her underpants, which was soaked but not soaked through, and this was a good thing since she didn’t have a replacement. Then she pulled the roll of toilet paper to ball it up in her hand.
Except, she didn’t.
She read.
Then she took the Sharpie, and began to write.
—
JANINE HAD HOPED THAT THEshooter would cut her a little slack. Forgo the pat down, or let her close the door. After all, they both believed in the same sanctity of life—even if he had a pretty bad track record with that at present. Instead, he treated her just like one of the other women.
Janine unraveled the toilet paper roll. She looked at the notes in different handwriting. Olive’s first statement, and then Joy:What if we jump him?
