Death Grip

by Barbara Ebel

  Table of Contents

  DEATH GRIP

  Copyright © 2017 by Barbara Ebel, M.D.

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  FROM THE AUTHOR

  DEATH GRIP

  by Barbara Ebel, M.D.

  Book Four of the Dr. Annabel Tilson Novels

  Book One: Dead Still

  Book Two: Deadly Delusions

  Book Three: Desperate to Die

  Book Four: Death Grip

  Book Five: Downright Dead

  Book Six: Dangerous Doctor

  Copyright © 2017 by Barbara Ebel, M.D.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means – whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic – without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

  Paperback ISBN-13: 978-0-9977225-7-4

  eBook ISBN-13: 978-0-9977225-8-1

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, persons, or locations is coincidental.

  CHAPTER 1

  Medical student Annabel Tilson’s night-on-call with the internal medicine service began with an unexpected chore. It was her own fault. She had practically volunteered herself.

  She closed the door of her Nissan with a sideward shove and trotted towards the submarine sandwich shop. Breaking away from the grind of beeping monitors, the rush to fetch lab results, and the confinement of their cramped office in the hospital wasn’t so bad after all.

  Tonight, she was her medical team’s gopher.

  Her designated purpose was to bring back tastier food for dinner rather than the bland, lumpy food from the hospital cafeteria. The chief resident, the two female residents, and three other students waited for her.

  She stepped up on the curb and extended her arm to pull open the door. Almost as close to the entrance, a toned, earthy-looking man attempted to grab the handle before her, but failed. She kept the door ajar as he made a weak attempt to smile and then followed her in.

  The square tables were dotted with customers and, as she passed the counter displaying sample barbecue sauces and other condiments, a greeter rattled off a welcome. The man prepared take-out orders behind the glass case and a menu of hot and cold subs and salads graced a long board behind him.

  Annabel stopped under the “place orders” sign.

  “What will you have?” a man wearing a “Manager” tag asked.

  “I have an easy and hefty order of seven subs - all beef and cheddar briskets on wheat rolls - four large and three medium. It’s to-go and I don’t need drinks.”

  “Will that be all?”

  “That’s plenty.”

  The man who came in with her stood close. She stole a harder look at him. His jacket was unzipped, his cheeks appeared flushed, and he wiped his forehead. He had full lips and hairy, thick eyebrows; she figured him to be in his mid-thirties.

  “That’ll be $71.19,” the manager said.

  Each member of her team had given her a flat ten-dollar bill, so she pulled out their money, added to it, and passed the correct amount over the counter.

  “You placed a lofty order for a slender lady,” the man next to her said. Even though he spoke softly, his New York accent was distinct. “Are you feeding a basketball team?”

  Annabel snickered. Since she stood five-foot-eight inches, she understood why he mentioned a sport known for tall players.

  “The food is for a group of folks I’m working with tonight.”

  The man jostled a few inches forward to rest his hand and the weight of his upper body on the counter. His posture sagged as well as his eyelids as he gave her a slight nod. She stepped to the nearest table to wait for her order.

  “What can I get you?” the manager asked the man.

  “I’ll be back. I’m not feeling well.”

  Annabel watched the male customer tread on hiking boots over to the men’s room. As she waited, she pulled a few napkins out of the dispenser and noticed the wall picture of a firehouse. Meanwhile, folks were busing red trays to a garbage container, dumping their trash, and placing their trays up top. A mother nearby nodded at her and a couple came in and discussed what to order.

  She glanced over to the bathrooms. The men’s room door gingerly opened and the man who entered the sub shop with her finally made an appearance. Instead of walking back to order at the counter, he slowly made his way to the table next to her. He almost stumbled as he pulled out a chair, eased into it, and rested his head into his hands. His eyes closed.

  Annabel moved her chair sideways and leaned forward. “Sir, are you all right?”

  “I … I don’t think so.” He squeezed his eyes tighter and pressed the palms of his hands on his forehead. “I was sick in there. There’s no way I can order any food.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You can’t help that.”

  “I never suffer from headaches, but my head’s about to explode.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “I don’t know. I better leave.” His attempt to stand was fraught with weakness, so he placed his hands, which were usually strong and robust, on the table.

  “Why don’t you wait here for a moment,” she said, “while I snatch my order and bring it to my car. Then I can walk you out.”

  He nodded, caving in to her suggestion, and sat back down.

  Annabel walked to the area for “pick-ups” and, one at a time, a woman handed her two brown bags. “The first one has the bigger subs,” she said.

  “Thanks.” The contents warmed her hands right through the bag as she headed for her vehicle. The mild winter had only snow-dusted southern Ohio several times so far and, besides a few unfathomably warmer days, now the weather hinted at spring. The early evening was a balmy fifty-six degrees. She opened a back door, placed the meals on the seat, and ran back to the poor man waiting for her inside the sandwich shop.

  “What is your name?” Annabel asked as she stood over him.

  “Jae. Jae Nixon.”

  Annabel nudged an arm close to him. With hesitation, he wrapped his hand around her with a slight grip and they began walking out.

  The manager planted his eyes on them as they passed.

  “I’m walking him out to his vehicle,” Annabel said as an explanation. “His stomach is apparently upset, so he won’t be ordering.”

  “Okay. Come back soon.”

  Annabel and Jae made it out the door. By the looks of him, she figured he felt embarrassed about his present circumstance. He seemed to be a fit male - maybe a hiker or some sort of outdoorsman - and relying on anyone, especially a woman, to walk him somewhere was probably an embarassment.

  “Where’s your car?” she asked.

  “Pickup truck.” He
nodded at the dark Chevy Silverado in the next row of parking spaces and then stopped and stooped over.

  “Are you going to be sick?”

  He dry-heaved and shook his head. “There’s nothing left in my belly to come up.”

  “Are you sure you’re going to be able to drive home?”

  “No to both.”

  Annabel wondered what to do with him; she needed to peel away and depart for the hospital. The students had taken their internal medicine mid-term test that morning and she was now technically in the second half of the rotation. She couldn’t afford to botch up her night-on-call by being late because she had volunteered to be the team’s lackey and procure their dinner. Plus, they were salivating for their hot subs; she was sure of it.

  “I think I need to go see a doctor,” Jae said.

  “There are no doctor office hours now. How about the ER?”

  “That would be better.”

  “Then you’re coming with me.”

  Jae nodded with approval at her suggestion. “Now it’s my turn. What’s your name?”

  “Annabel. Annabel Tilson. I’m a third-year medical student and I’m bringing you in.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The smell of beef brisket wafted through Annabel’s red SUV during the short drive to the hospital. It made her stomach churn with hunger, but it made Jae want to pinch his nostrils and put his head between his knees to quell his nausea.

  “I forgot to ask you,” Annabel said. “We’re going to the V.A. Hospital. Will that work for you?”

  “I served in Afghanistan.” He exerted more pressure against his forehead. “I carry my military card with me.”

  “That’s like your passport to care. I’m taking care of a female patient right now about your age. She was there too. Before rotating at this hospital, I had no idea how many of you served and are living here in Cincinnati. You must be told all the time … thank you for your service.”

  “Yeah … right. I came back and saw people and society differently. Eccentric, overindulgent, wasteful, and ungrateful.”

  “I’m sorry. I also shouldn’t be talking so much. You aren’t up for a conversation and you don’t look like you could drink a cold one or do the cowboy cha cha.”

  “The cowboy cha cha?”

  “I’m from Nashville.”

  “That explains it.”

  Annabel turned into the hospital parking lot but veered directly to the ER front door. She turned off the ignition. “Wait here.” She jumped out, grabbed a wheelchair from behind the automatic doors, and came back.

  Jae eyed the medical prop. “Is that necessary?” He grasped the door frame, rose with difficulty, and plopped into the chair.

  “You are weaker than you think.”

  Annabel wheeled him into the lobby and parked him in front of the admitting window. “I have to run. My team is waiting on me and I have work to do. If I have time later, I’ll check on you.”

  “I can’t thank you enough. I don’t understand why I’m ill.”

  “That’s what you’re here to find out.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Hope you start feeling better.”

  Annabel moved her car to the staff parking area. With the two bags of sandwiches, she hurried into the hospital cafeteria. The area for serving hot food was closed for the night and the dining room was mostly empty. She sat at a table near the window and began texting each member of her medical team. Their office on the medicine ward was cramped for them to spread out and eat, so they had agreed to meet there. She hoped none of them was involved with a patient admission in the ER.

  She texted the three other students, two residents, and her chief resident, Dr. Donn Schott.

  Food’s here!

  It didn’t surprise her when her laid-back chief showed up first.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Dr. Schott said. “What took you so long?”

  In his forties, Donn maintained a chubby appearance along with his early gray hair, beard, and mustache. She kept from chuckling; the sandwich meant more to him than the rest of them.

  “In my defense, I was half-working. A customer fell ill at the submarine sandwich shop.”

  Donn wagged his finger at her. “Dr. Tilson, you’re a magnet for all sorts of events and behavior.”

  She shook her head in disagreement.

  “Besides doctoring,” he said, “you have a history of … shall I tell you?”

  “Being privy to murder cases,” she said. “Crime, bad drugs, a robbery …”

  “A robbery? I didn’t know about that one.”

  Not wanting to explain, she ignored his remark. She opened the heavier bag and slid out the four large subs.

  “Dr. Schott, help yourself.”

  Donn spread open the paper wrapping and his eyes bulged. He had his first bite chewed and swallowed by the time she turned around and headed for an iced tea. When she came back, her other team colleagues were gathered around, diving their hands into the bags.

  As Annabel situated herself in the middle of the table, her best buddy on rotation, Bob Palmer, sat across from her.

  “Thanks for bringing these back,” Bob said, his blue eyes coming alive as he cast a glance at her.

  “They aren’t the only things I brought back. I drove a man who needed medical attention to the ER.”

  “That sounds crazy,” said Jordan, one of the other students. “Why didn’t you call EMS?”

  “My clinical judgment told me he didn’t need that kind of immediate treatment … like CPR or an IV or nitroglycerin. He was young, not even as old as Dr. Schott.”

  Donn peeked up from his sandwich, cheddar cheese sauce clinging to his fingers. “I’m not sure if you complimented me or not.”

  “So why did he latch on for a ride with you?” Bob asked.

  “I detect jealousy in that statement,” Jordan butted in. “Like the other night when Annabel left us at her neighborhood cafe and her sister told us she went to meet some guy. You didn’t seem that happy about it.”

  “What?!” Annabel exclaimed. “I told her not to say anything about that because, otherwise, you all would give me grief about it.” She frowned at the discovery. The students had met for dinner a few days ago at Annabel’s neighborhood coffee and sandwich café. Her sister, Nancy, was visiting for the weekend and promised she wouldn’t tell her fellow students that she was meeting someone later. That someone was a failed date she’d arranged from a social dating app.

  “All right, already,” Dr. Schott inserted. “Annabel, get back to the medical part of the story.”

  “Thank you. Gladly. I didn’t think the man was capable of driving himself. He exhibited lack of coordination and weakness. He probably has the flu.”

  “Then you earned a humanitarian award tonight, but you better start eating like the rest of these vultures or you’ll be sitting here by yourself soon.”

  Annabel and Bob both stared at Dr. Schott’s empty sandwich wrapper and then smiled at each other. The rest of them weren’t as voracious as their big chief.

  “The first medical patient is already in the ER,” Donn said, “and, Dr. Palmer, you’re the student up for the first admission.”

  “I’m ready,” Bob said.

  “Dr. Burg,” Donn said to the resident sitting next to him, “let’s go ahead while Bob is taking his time eating the only sustenance he’ll enjoy until tomorrow.”

  Melody Burg was an internal medicine resident with deep southern roots. She sprang up with enthusiasm to follow Donn, especially since she wasn’t wobbling on high heels like she did on normal days in the hospital. When on-call, she eventually ditched heels for flat clogs – the signature comfort shoes when the in-training residents and students were on overnight call.

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Bob said, and then savored a few more bites as Donn and Melody disappeared from the cafeteria.

  -----

  Annabel and Bob weaved through the hallways to the back section of the ground floor. They passed a patien
t in a squeaky wheelchair pushed by a hospital employee, a visitor looking for the cafeteria, and a couple sitting on a bench glued to their iPhones.

  “Are you sure you want to follow me?” Bob asked.

  “Yes,” she said, “but not for long. I hope your admission is interesting.”

  The ER automatic doors slid open, revealing a night which was fairly busy as Bob split off to find Dr. Schott. The health care workers reading charts or writing orders didn’t make a peep. The noisy, active areas of the room were from physicians and nurses interviewing sick vets, patients in pain, and the cacophony of monitors.

  Annabel headed straight to the wall board with the names of patients, their ER room numbers, and the providers taking care of them. She gazed up, spotted Jae Nixon’s name listed in Room 6, and pondered how to check on him because of patient privacy laws. The best way was the direct way, she thought, and eliminated the idea of prying information out of the ER doctor.

  “Mr. Nixon,” she said, poking her head into his room. “It’s Annabel Tilson, the medical student you met. Are you doing any better? May I come in?”

  Semi-elevated on a stretcher, Jae tilted his head to see her. A sheet partially covered him and he wore a generic hospital gown.

  “Sure,” he mumbled. “If not you, then who? My knight in shining armor. I mean, my fairy princess.”

  Jae centered his head back straight as Annabel approached. His right bicep displayed a magnificent tattoo – an American Indian with a bald eagle to his upper right and an American flag draped behind them.

  It took her a second to peel her gaze away and notice the IV in his hand with fluids dripping in from the bag hung on the pole above. His whole arm was tan, like he wore summer sunshine all year long, and he wore a scissor-sharp haircut. Sure, she thought, he still carries habits from serving time for his country.

  “Then anyone can be a princess,” she said, “if giving someone a ride to the hospital is all it takes. You don’t have to tell me anything because it’s none of my business, but I came to check on you.”

  “No problem. The consensus is that I have the flu. I’m a bit … dehydrated, they said. I’m running a low-grade fever, which explains a lot.”

  The word “flu” registered in Annabel’s brain. It was a lucky guess on her part; she was happy to hear she was on the right track for his diagnosis.