by R L Dunn
Anxiety flooded her as she downed a broad bowl glass of pinot noir and poured a second. Bath salts scented the steamy water flowing into a deep soaking tub. Naked, she climbed inside the warm cocoon. Her limbs tingled from the rapid breaths as the wine failed to settle her jangling nerves. Her chin trembled, and her body quaked with sobs.
“Marty.” Martin Bailey, the only man she ever wanted, was back in her life. Those gorgeous gray eyes were filled with such anger, hatred, and pain. Their child, the baby he never knew about, the child she killed, compelled her to keep the distance between them. One look at his face and her heart told her he would never forgive her.
Hyperventilating, her body protected itself, and she lost consciousness. The glass tumbled from her fingertips, shattering against the tile floor as she slipped beneath the water. Moments later, coughing and sputtering, water overflowed to the white porcelain as she pulled herself up.
After dressing and cleaning up the broken glass and spilled wine, she dragged a metal box from her bedroom closet. The note from the refined pink envelope discovered six months ago made everything worse. Written in frail handwriting by her dying mother was a confession, the words now memorized:
This is my repentance to you. The box contains your letters and Marty's. One day, you would have them. With my death, I am released from my deepest fear, losing you. Your father will face his own lies. Please find your happiness, my beautiful girl. Please take what is inside and find the love we denied you. Marty never abandoned you. He loved you with all his heart. Momma.
She recited the last paragraph aloud. "I broke my promise to him too. Our love died with our baby girl."
The clock read 3:30. She returned the picture of a beautiful newborn with thick blonde ringlets to the wrapper. Curled up, her eyes closing from exhaustion, the letter drifted behind the bed.
Chapter Six
"Corcoran, move.” Corrections Officer Tim Lampton shoved the inmate down the corridor of the Silverton jail.
"Yes, CO." The thirty-five-year-old inmate moved without pause. The guard opened a steel sliding door before it slammed behind them.
Once inside the windowless, camera-free space, he spun the prisoner around. "You do this right."
"There isn't a choice?" Corcoran lowered his head. Lampton handed him five balloons and a small tube of water-soluble gel. "Pass this trial, I gonna sample some freedom? Right? Can you turn around?" He dropped his pants.
"Like hell, fish." Evil eyes studied the captive as he secreted the balloons inside his body. "Don't fuck this up, and you'll receive your reward." The CO jammed his flashlight hard into prisoner's gut. He bent over in pain. "Remember who has the keys."
Moments later, Corcoran was returned to his cell.
"Hey, bro? Can you pick up the munchies for Thursday's game?" Lampton stood next to Sergeant Alden McAllister.
"Got it." The sergeant smiled as another CO walked by. "Call everyone; there’s another problem."
The undercover FBI agent masquerading as Gene Corcoran was going to learn firsthand what happened to problems.
At 07:00, Elizabeth clutched a tall cup of iced coffee. She greeted the intensivist sitting at the nurse's station with a smile.
"No offense, Beth, but you look like crap," Miles Gerba said.
"No offense taken. How are my patients?" The computer screen lit up with her sign-in.
"Got to give you credit, Sergeant Bailey is still here," he said while she read through his latest results.
"He gets the credit. He’s young and, until now, healthy."
"Someone shot him with an automatic weapon. Heart, lungs, liver, spleen, kidneys, small intestine, large bowel, and his bladder. Accept the rarity this is."
"Let's have this conversation in a week."
"The patient from the penitentiary is stable and comfortable. Randy's mad at you."
"Woohoo. Screw Knox and his hissy fits."
"Beth, he's making waves."
"Let him. Worse case, they let me go, not like I won't find another job."
"Drink, Dr. Grouchy." He slid her coffee in front of her. "Mrs. Whelan is responding to treatment, but she withdrew the protection order on her husband—again. He's going to kill her."
Memories chilled her. "I'll talk to her. Until she's ready, nothing will help."
"How's Mr. McLaren?"
"Much better. Can we move him from the floor?" Miles reported on her other patients.
"Yes. All done?"
A haggard breath echoed. "One more. Randy listed you and Steve as covering. He's off today and unavailable." Miles imitated Knox's voice. "Appendectomy. Sixteen-year-old gymnast, Hal Dufour's daughter. She's septic. The bigger problem: peek at her ultrasound."
"How the hell did he miss an ectopic?" The life-threatening ultrasound flashed in front of them. "This can't wait until Randy’s on again. Did you call him? Did you tell her?"
"I left messages on all Randy's numbers. The clerk is still trying. I don't think she understands. The residents are scared."
"They should be. Was the pregnancy test negative?"
"Cancelled. I ordered the sonogram because I had trouble managing her. The Dufours are on their way, but she's tanking. She has to go back to the OR."
"This is gross negligence. I'll visit Austin first. Keep trying to reach him. By then the Dufours will be here. Can you reserve an OR?”
Martin kept an eye on Austin from the recliner in the dim room. Elizabeth never turned his way; her eyes stayed fixed on her patient. After checking in with the perfusionist monitoring the ECMO, she said, "Hi, Austin, glad to see you."
"He can't answer you." Martin's words dripped with sarcasm.
She jumped. "Marty."
"I thought you realized I was here." His tone remained clipped.
"No, I didn't." Air whooshed from her lungs. "You stayed?"
"Yes, Captain Obvious."
A shaky hand ran over her scrub cap. "I don't want to make this any harder on you or your family. Do you want me to put Austin on my colleague's service?"
"Kind of you to think of sparing us this time." He fired the direct hit to burn a hole in her gut. "No, I talked to the nurses, to Doctors Caine and Gerba, and also did some research. Keep treating him."
"No problem." Elizabeth explained everything she did to Austin and Martin as her skilled hands moved over Austin's battered body.
Tommy Kline, the unit’s head, stepped into the room. "Do you need anything?"
"Thanks, Tommy. He's oozing. Run another set of counts and page hematology. C'mon, Austin, hang in a little more. Also, I'll put in for a repeat x-ray series to scan for any additional shrapnel. Some of the fragments were very small. Infectious disease should be in soon. I'm covering him with antibiotics, but I want another opinion."
"He's on every service except OB," Tommy joked.
"If he requires an OB, I'm screwed.” She chuckled and looked at Austin with glazed-over eyes.
"Beth?" A one-thousand-mile stare caught Tommy's attention. "Beth?"
"I'm sorry, thinking."
"Mr. Bailey, don't be alarmed; Dr. Reed does that," Tommy assured Martin.
"Yeah, she does." The words came out before he could stop himself. The Elizabeth he remembered was a thinker. In class, she stared off into space so often that a teacher once thought she was stoned.
Tommy glanced at them like he was trying to figure out what was going on between them. "So, Doc, what's the plan?"
Elizabeth outlined her expectations for the next forty-eight hours as well as her concerns. "Mr. Walter is coming in today. He will tell you I'm out of the box by keeping him cold and on anticoagulants, but he was down awhile. I want to give his brain a chance for maximum recovery."
"Called ECMO a gutsy move. Chief surgeon at George Washington University, Hunt Montgomery, agrees too." Martin stood and moved to her side. A light floral and vanilla scent tickled his nostrils. His body betrayed him by responding, desiring her in his arms.
"Marty, I saved Austin's vest.
Any idea how close the shooter was?"
"No."
She cocked her head. "We only recovered shards. My guess, either military or law enforcement ordnance. Plus, the location of the shots..." She lifted her arms and turned, pointing to where she found entry wounds. "Your family looks well. You do too."
"Thank you. Sorry about your mom."
"No need to be. I'll be around for another hour if you have any questions."
Martin swiped his face with his hands, returning to sit beside Austin. Her words about the wounds worried him—and Elizabeth—he wanted to hate her, needed to hate her. His will was fading. He would always need her.
Elizabeth spoke with Tommy outside Austin's room. "This is going to be a shit show. I'm gonna take Viola to the OR as soon as I can, but this is a lose/lose."
Tommy nodded. "This isn't your fault."
"This is beyond fault. She's only sixteen."
Elizabeth conferenced with the obstetrical surgeon. "The raging infection will kill her in the OR."
"The ectopic will kill her if we don't."
"Lousy choice. She's too ill to make her own decisions. We need to make sure her parents are informed," Lois conceded. "Call me when they come in."
The monitor at the nurse's station started to flash and alarm. Viola Dufour's heart was fibrillating. "CODE BLUE." Elizabeth rushed to the young girl's room with a crowd. Virginia and Miles followed on her heels.
Elizabeth grabbed the equipment and began her rescue efforts. After time exceeded the hour mark, her colleagues pulled her from the bedside at the sound of the droning alarm. Her blood-spattered yellow gown and a pair of bloody gloves hit the floor in anger. Anguish suffused her expression, and Miles tried to soothe her as her hands swatted at angry tears. Virginia, the other intensivist, remained in the room, and the clergyman walked toward the dead girl, lowering his head in prayer. An aide pulled the curtains.
Martin stood in Austin's doorway.
"Beth, you did what you could, more than anyone should in an ICU room. Her body stopped clotting. The heart fell apart in your hands. Why don't you take the rest of the day? You’re exhausted. You worked twenty hours yesterday," Miles said.
"I need to speak to her parents. Tell them their child is dead. Randy murdered her. The evaluation and procedure were rushed." The words came out loud and furious.
"Beth, take the rest of the day," he pleaded.
"I'll be fine. There are other sick people in the unit. I also need to see the cases on the floor, attend two meetings, round and keep an appointment. All providing a trauma doesn't come in. Then an ME review to go over pediatric deaths. Sleep is for tomorrow."
Reverend Brookfield eavesdropped on Miles and Elizabeth's conversation. "Dr. Reed, Sorry for your loss. I'm checking in to tell you I'm always available." He gave Elizabeth a creepy smile.
"Thank you. All is well," she insisted.
"Well, remember, my dear, you are not alone." Brookfield got up. "Proverbs 21:19: It is better to dwell in the wilderness, than with a contentious and an angry woman."
Elizabeth bit back a response to the Reverend's words. The pastor always left her uneasy. She pulled the lid off and gulped down her cold coffee as the clerk informed her Hal and Cecile Dufour had arrived.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Pressing up from her seat, she approached Viola’s parents. "Mr. and Mrs. Dufour, may I speak with you, please?"
"Elizabeth, we want to see our daughter. Miles called us." Hal Dufour pushed his wife to pass her.
"Mr. and Mrs. Dufour, please." Sad eyes spoke before she did. "Viola died; I am so sorry."
The curtains were pulled, blocking any view of Viola's room. "MY BABY!" Hal Dufour screamed.
Cecile Dufour shook Elizabeth violently by her shoulders and screamed, "You killed our daughter!"
Visitors, including Martin, witnessed the painful public display unfold. Miles Gerba and Reverend Brookfield rushed to help defuse things and escort the Dufours to a more secluded space.
"What happened? She had appendicitis, for the Lord's sake," cried Viola's anguished father.
"Viola suffered from a severe infection caused by the rupture of her appendix during the operation. The infection caused a severe vascular collapse, but there was another complication. Were you aware Viola was six weeks pregnant?"
Cecile Dufour slapped Elizabeth hard across the face. "You bitch, after what Hal did for you, how could you say that about my sweet girl?"
Miles jumped up from his seat. "Out of here, Beth." The conference door reverberated, hitting the wall. "Dr. Caine, make sure Dr. Reed isn't hurt. And then please page security."
"Stop worrying, Miles; she's distraught." She felt no anger toward either of the Dufours. Emotions from the loss of a child were all too familiar to her.
She sat at the nurse’s station, trying to control her own emotions at the senseless loss. Reactive tears from the blow blinded Elizabeth's eyes, and a red palm print was visible on her cheek. A nursing assistant brought her an ice pack to hold against the bruise. Two men from hospital security arrived to take the report, but she refused to say anything other than Cecile Dufour struck her in grief. The only crime was what Randy did to Viola. The couple, the clergyman, and two more doctors walked to Viola's room. Shrieks echoed, piercing Elizabeth’s heart. Martin continued watching from the threshold of Austin's room.
"Please, Dr. Reed." Connor examined her as well and offered to take over her caseload.
"I'm all right," she sniffed.
Chief of Staff Craig Hillinger approached Elizabeth. The handprint evoked a heavy sigh. "What happened?"
"Cecile Dufour struck her." Connor held the pack.
"Dufour's kid is dead?" Craig pulled the resident's hand away to examine Elizabeth himself. "Damn, Beth. What happened?"
"Septic shock and a ruptured ectopic."
"Knox missed it? This opens us up to huge liability." Hillinger was all business.
"Liability? Try murder. A sixteen-year-old kid is dead because Randy's mistakes killed her." Elizabeth tossed the pack into the trashcan. "I have work to do." She walked off in a huff.
Carol Whelan was next. Police reported her husband threw her down a flight of basement steps, fracturing three vertebrae. The woman also had such severe abdominal injuries from being stomped, she required a colostomy. She maintained this was caused by a clumsy fall down the stairs.
"Hi, Carol. How are you doing today?"
"Much better, Dr. Reed. What happened?" She stared at Elizabeth's reddened cheek. "I haven’t introduced you two yet; this is my husband, Karl."
"Not for you to worry about. Karl, you must be happy Carol is doing so much better."
"How soon can she come home?" Karl asked.
Elizabeth forced a smile. "The next step will be if she can tolerate some ice chips."
"What are you saying?" His tone turned mean.
"Mr. Whelan, I'm not saying anything other than to tell you your wife is going to require help for quite some time. The orthopedic surgeon can explain more from his perspective. Social services will contact you to arrange a stay in a rehabilitation facility before she comes home. Why don't I let you two visit? I will come back and examine your wife later." She remained pleasant.
"No, you can examine her with me here. I don't want you putting any more ideas into her head."
"Mr. Whelan, the only ideas I am putting into your wife's head are to make sure she understands she needs time to heal. Activities will be limited for quite some time." She washed her hands at the sink and examined her. "The incision is healing well. Your nurse will bring you some ice chips. Sound fair?"
"Ice was never this exciting," Carol said. Karl scowled at them.
"I'll come back later," Elizabeth said.
Karl grabbed her arm. "I said you needed to say what you’re going to say while I'm here."
Elizabeth shrugged her arm away. "Mr. Whelan, you will not dictate how I practice medicine." She walked out of the room again, bumping into
the always-present minister. "Vile man. Excuse me," she muttered, oblivious to the reverend's sharp gaze.
The prisoner looked better than the previous day, even after the major surgery. "Thank you." He shook her hand.
"I'm happy you’re doing well. Dr. Keller will be in later, and Dr. Keys will be in tomorrow morning."
Ryan McLaren walked with two physical therapists in the hall. The man was in a farm accident and flown in by Life Flight near death. "Ah, my siren." His palms opened to welcome her.
"Mr. McLaren, you're looking good today." She took his offered hands.
"Much better. Oh, honey, what happened? What's going on?"
"A little tired." Elizabeth placed her stethoscope over his heart, lungs, and belly. "First-rate rumbles."
"That mark didn't happen from being tired. Take care of yourself," he prescribed, his worry evident in his tone.
"Promise. I’m happy you’re out for a stroll today. Tomorrow, we will dance like I promised," she grinned.
"Nothing like the present!" The walker was pushed away, and, singing in a voice like Eric Clapton, Ryan McLaren took her hand and started to move to "Wonderful Tonight."
Another nurse rushed into Austin's room. "Tommy, come out here."
"Mr. Bailey, may I use your phone?" Tommy asked.
"Yes. Is something wrong?" Martin pulled out his phone.
"No, I wonder if you would take a few pictures and a video. Everyone should see this, and we're not allowed to use our phones on the floor."
"Sure." He became aware of his own heartbeat as desire took over his emotions.
Illness did not stop McLaren from leading her in a small circle. Elizabeth placed her gentle palm on the man's face, bringing the waltz to an end. Luminous, she stood back and curtsied. He headed into his room with his physical therapists.
"Give me your number, Tommy, and I'll send it to you." Martin couldn’t take his eyes off Elizabeth.
"Thank you. Dr. Reed never shows that side of herself." Tommy moved back to Austin.
"So, she's not seeing anyone?" He tried to mask his curiosity.