Many Rivers to Cross

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38 H odge knew that the chapel was down this corridor somewhere because he'd prayed for Rochelle many times in that quiet little space when her life was slipping away. The chapel had been a cool dark refuge where he could collect his thoughts and ask the Lord for mercy. Now it seemed like a good place to hide out until everything calmed down and he could leave the building without being hunted like a fugitive on the run. He found the door- a small chrome cross, a panel of rose-colored glass-and stepped into the soft violet radiance from a stained glass window behind the altar. It looked as if a service had just ended. The altar was draped by a white tasseled cloth, with tall candles arranged beside an open Bible resting on a stand. But instead of the comforting scent of incense and candle wax, something was fouling the air. His instinct was to back away, but then he saw the bodies lying on the carpet in front of the altar. They were shrouded in white sheets and baby blue blankets. He pulled his T-shirt up over his mouth and nose and ventured down the aisle between pews until he was standing only a few feet from them. Someone had placed the three corpses side by side in an orderly row. An old white man's limbs and lower face were concealed by a sheet, but his long thick white hair was spread across a pillow as if a loving granddaughter had brushed it out for him. A black woman's splayed legs were exposed, as though she'd kicked them free of the sheet in a final desperate spasm of life. The third body was tightly wrapped like a mummy except for an uncovered hand, its wrist ringed by a plastic 10 band. He supposed this was better than stacking them in the stairwelL At least they were in repose in a house of worship. 289 290 Hodge was kneeling down and praying for their souls, feeling the heavy weight of death all around him, when the door banged open and two nurses entered the chapel pushing a gurney. Hodge stood up awkwardly on unsteady legs and stepped aside near the pulpit. They were bringing another sheet-wrapped oody to place next to the oth- '''. "Is that you, Tucker?" It was the Dark Nurse- the one he'd seen in the corridor. When she realized Hodge wasn't a security guard, she said, "What are you doing in here?" He didn't know what to say. "Y'all need some help with that?" he offered. "No, sir, we do not," the nurse said. She was wearing a surgical mask and latex gloves, and so was the smaller nurse pushing the gurney . "You're not authorized to be on this floor. You need to leave immediately." "God bless you," Hodge said, staring at the body strapped to the gurney. A pink blanket- like something from a child's cedar chestwas hiding the face. "I know this cain't be easy." Out in the corridor, searching for the exit to the stairwell, he felt the full tug of his own mortality dragging at his slow legs and weary body. Was he going to end up like these sick old people, netted up in a trap of sheets and laid out on the floor like an ancient leathery terrapin fetched up on a fishing pier? Then what would happen to Dee and his grandchildren? Who would take them back to Opelousas? Duval didn't have the smarts or the intestinal fortitude. He passed door after door, room after room, a long procession of silent bedridden patients too near death to notice him. But then he heard someone crying for help in a room farther down the corridor. It was an old woman, and he stopped at her door and listened to the mournful sounds coming from her small shriveled mouth. Seeing her stirred painful memories of Rochelle. The woman was crying for the nurses and pushing the dead call button. The dark monitors and empty IV stand were little more than clutter around her bed. He could smell the overflowing bedpan in the stuffy heat of the room. Her sheets and hospital gown were soaked in urine. She opened her wet eyes and stared at him. He saw now that she was a woman...