by Robin Cook
“Turn away!” she commanded.
Jack felt as if his heart had stopped. He looked up the quivering barrel and into Terese’s arctic blue eyes. He was paralyzed, incapable of following her command.
“Damn you!” Terese said through a sudden flood of tears.
Uncocking the gun, she tossed it aside, then rushed back to the couch to bury her head in her hands. She was sobbing.
Richard felt guilty. He knew he shouldn’t have said what he had. Losing her baby and then her husband was his sister’s Achilles’ heel. Meekly he went over to her and sat on the edge of the couch.
“I didn’t mean it,” Richard said, stroking her back gently. “It slipped out. I’m not myself.”
Terese sat up and wiped her eyes. “I’m not myself either,” she admitted. “I can’t believe these tears. I’m a wreck. I feel awful too. Now my throat’s sore.”
“You want another aspirin?” Richard asked.
Terese shook her head. “What do you think Twin meant about giving his word?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Richard said. “That’s why I asked him.”
“Why didn’t you offer him more money?” Terese said.
“He didn’t give me a chance,” Richard said. “He hung up.”
“Well, call him back,” Terese said. “We have to get out of here.”
“How much should I offer?” Richard said. “I don’t have the kind of money you have.”
“Whatever it takes,” Terese said. “At this point money shouldn’t be a limiting factor.”
Richard picked up the phone and dialed. This time when he asked for Twin he was told Twin was out. He wouldn’t be back for an hour. Richard hung up.
“We have to wait,” he said.
“What else is new?” Terese commented.
Terese lay back on the couch and pulled a crocheted afghan over her. She shivered. “Is it getting cold in here or is it just me?” she asked.
“I had a couple of chills myself,” Richard said. He went to the fire and piled on more logs. Then he got a blanket from his bedroom before reclining on his couch. He tried to read, but he couldn’t concentrate. He was intermittently shivering despite the blanket. “I just thought of a new worry,” he said.
“What now?” Terese asked. Her eyes were closed.
“Jack’s been sneezing and coughing. You don’t think he was exposed to my flu strain, the one I put in the humidifier?”
With the blanket wrapped around him, Richard got up and went into the kitchen and asked Jack about it. Jack didn’t answer.
“Come on, Doc,” Richard urged. “Don’t make me have to hit you again.”
“What difference does it make?” Terese called from the couch.
“It makes a lot of difference,” Richard said. “There’s a good chance my strain was the strain that caused the great flu epidemic of 1918. I got it in Alaska from a couple of frozen Eskimos who died of pneumonia. The time frame was right.”
Terese joined him in the kitchen. “Now you’re getting me worried,” she said. “Do you think he has it and has exposed us?”
“It’s possible,” Richard said.
“That’s terrifying!” She looked down at Jack. “Well?” she demanded. “Were you exposed?”
Jack wasn’t sure if he should admit to his exposure or not. He didn’t know which would anger them more. The truth or his silence.
“I don’t like it that he’s not answering,” Richard said.
“He’s a medical examiner,” Terese said. “He had to have been exposed. They brought the dead people to him. He told me on the phone.”
“I’m not afraid of that,” Richard said. “The exposure to worry about is to a living, breathing, sneezing, coughing person, not a dead body.”
“Medical examiners don’t take care of live people,” Terese said. “All their patients are dead.”
“That’s true,” Richard admitted.
“Besides,” Terese said, “Jack is hardly sick. He’s got a cold. Big deal. Wouldn’t he be really ill by now if he’d contracted your flu bug?”
“You’re right,” Richard said. “I’m not thinking straight; if he had the 1918 flu bug he’d be flat out by now.”
Brother and sister returned to their couches and collapsed.
“I can’t take much more of this,” Terese said. “Especially the way I feel.”
At five-fifteen, exactly one hour after the previous call, Richard phoned Twin. This time Twin himself picked up.
“What the hell are you pestering me for?” Twin asked.
“I want to offer more money,” Richard said. “Obviously a thousand wasn’t enough. I understand. It’s a long drive up here. How much are you looking for?”
“You didn’t understand me, did you?” Twin said irritably. “I told you I couldn’t do it. That’s it. Game’s over.”
“Two thousand,” Richard said. He looked over at Terese. She nodded.
“Hey, man, are you deaf or what?” Twin said. “How many times…”
“Three thousand,” Richard said, and Terese again nodded.
“Three thousand bucks?” Twin repeated.
“That’s correct,” Richard said.
“You are sounding desperate,” Twin said.
“We’re willing to pay three thousand dollars,” Richard said. “That should speak for itself.”
“Hmmm,” Twin said. “And you say you have the doc handcuffed.”
“Exactly,” Richard said. “It will be a piece of cake.”
“I tell you what,” Twin said. “I’ll send someone up there tomorrow morning.”
“You’re not going to do what you did this morning, are you?” Richard asked.
“No,” Twin said. “I guarantee I’ll have someone up there to take care of things.”
“For three thousand,” Richard said. He wanted to be sure they understood each other.
“Three thousand will be just fine,” Twin said.
Richard replaced the receiver and looked over at Terese.
“Do you believe him?” she asked.
“This time he guaranteed it,” Richard said. “And when Twin guarantees something, it happens. He’ll be here in the morning. I’m confident.”
Terese sighed. “Thank God for small favors,” she said.
Jack wasn’t so relieved. His panic rekindled, he determined he had to find a way to escape that night. Morning would bring the apocalypse.
Afternoon dragged into evening. Terese and Richard fell asleep. Unattended, the fire died down. A chill came with the darkness. Jack wracked his brains for ideas of escape, but unless he was freed from the drainpipe, he didn’t see how he could get away.
Around seven both Richard and Terese began to cough in their sleep. At first they seemed more to be clearing their throats than coughing, but soon the hacking became more forceful and productive. Jack considered the development significant. It gave support to a concern he’d been harboring since they both began complaining of chills: namely, that they had caught the dreaded flu from him just as Richard suspected.
Thinking back to the long car ride from the city, Jack realized it would have been hard for them not to have contracted his illness. During the ride Jack’s symptoms were peaking, and symptoms of the flu often peaked with maximum viral production. Each of Jack’s sneezes and coughs had undoubtedly sent millions of the infective virions into the car’s confined space.
Still, Jack couldn’t be sure. Besides, his real worry was facing the Black Kings in the morning. He had more pressing concerns than the health of his captors.
Jack yanked futilely at the drain with the short chain between the handcuffs. All he succeeded in doing was to make a racket and abrade his wrists more than they already were.
“Shut up!” Richard yelled after having been awakened by the clamor. He switched on a table lamp, then was immediately overwhelmed by a fit of coughing.
“What’s happening?” Terese asked groggily.
“The animal is restless,
” Richard rasped. “God, I need some water.” He sat up, waited for a moment, then got to his feet. “I’m dizzy,” he said. “I might even have a fever.”
He walked hesitantly into the kitchen and got a glass. As he was filling it, Jack thought about knocking his legs out from under him. But he decided that would only win him another blow to the head.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Jack said.
“Shut up,” Richard said.
“It’s been a long time,” Jack said. “It’s not as if I’m asking to go for a run in the yard. And if I don’t go, it’s going to be unpleasant around here.”
Richard shook his head in resignation. After he took a drink of water, he called out to Terese that her services were needed. Then he got the gun from the kitchen table.
Jack heard Richard cock the gun. The move narrowed Jack’s options.
Terese appeared with the key. Jack noticed her eyes had a glazed, feverish look. She bent down under the sink and unlocked one side of the handcuffs without a word. She backed away as Jack got to his feet. As before, the room swam before his eyes. Some escape artist, he thought cynically. He was weak from lack of food, sleep, and liquids. Terese relocked the handcuffs.
Richard marched directly behind Jack with the gun at the ready. There was nothing that Jack could do. When he got to the bathroom he tried to close the door.
“Sorry,” Terese said, using her foot to block it. “You lost that privilege.”
Jack looked from one to the other. He could tell there was no use arguing. He shrugged and turned around to relieve himself. When he was finished he motioned toward the sink. “How about my washing my face,” he asked.
“If you must,” Terese said. She coughed but then held herself in check. It was obvious her throat was sore.
Jack stepped to the sink, which was out of the line of Terese’s sight. After turning on the water, Jack surreptitiously got out his rimantadine and took one of the tablets. In his haste he almost dropped the vial before getting it back into his pocket.
He glanced at himself in the mirror and recoiled. He looked significantly worse than he had that morning, thanks to the new laceration high on his forehead. It was gaping and needed stitches if it was to heal without a scar. Jack laughed at himself. What a time to worry about cosmetics!
The trip back to the spot of Jack’s internment was without incident. There were a few moments when Jack was tempted to try something, but each time his courage failed him. By the time Jack was again locked up under the sink he felt disappointed in himself and correspondingly despondent. He had the disheartening sense that he’d just let his last chance of escape slip by.
“Do you want any soup?” Terese asked Richard.
“I’m really not hungry,” Richard admitted. “All I want is a couple of aspirin. I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
“I’m not hungry either,” Terese said. “This is more than a cold. I’m sure I have a fever too. Do you think we should be worried?”
“Obviously we’ve got what Jack has,” Richard said. “I guess he’s just more stoic. Anyway, we’ll see a doctor tomorrow after Twin’s visit if we think we should. Who knows, maybe a night’s sleep is all we need.”
“Let me have a couple of those aspirins,” Terese said.
After taking their analgesic Terese and Richard returned to the living room. Richard spent a few moments building up the dying fire. Terese made herself as comfortable as possible on her couch. Soon Richard went back to his. They both seemed exhausted.
Jack was surer than ever that both his captors had the deadly strain of the flu. He didn’t know what his ethics dictated he do. The problem was his rimantadine, and the fact that it possibly could thwart the flu’s progress. Jack agonized silently over whether he should tell them of his exposure and talk them into taking the drug to potentially save their lives even though they were totally committed to ending his and were responsible for the deaths of other innocent victims. With that in mind, did he owe Terese and Richard compassion in the face of their callous indifference? Should his oath as a physician prevail?
Jack took no comfort at the notion of poetic justice being done. Yet if he shared the rimantadine with them, they might deny it to him. After all, they weren’t choosy about the way he died as long as it wasn’t directly by their hand.
Jack sighed. It was an impossible decision. He couldn’t choose. But not making a decision was, in effect, a decision. Jack understood its ramifications.
By nine o’clock Terese’s and Richard’s breathing had become stertorous, punctuated by frequent coughing episodes. Terese’s condition seemed worse than Richard’s. Around ten a markedly violent fit of coughing woke Terese up, and she moaned for Richard.
“What’s the matter?” Richard questioned lethargically.
“I’m feeling worse,” Terese said. “I need some water and another aspirin.”
Richard got up and woozily made his way into the kitchen. He gave Jack a halfhearted kick to move him out of the way. Needing little encouragement, Jack scrambled to the side as much as his shackled hands would allow. Richard filled a glass with water and stumbled back to Terese.
Terese sat up to take the aspirin and the water, while Richard helped support the glass. When she was finished with the water, she pushed the glass away and wiped her mouth with her hand. Her movements were jerky. “With the way I’m feeling, do you think we should head back to the city tonight?” she questioned.
“We have to wait for morning,” Richard said. “As soon as Twin comes we’ll be off. Besides, I’m too sleepy to drive now anyway.”
“You’re right,” Terese said as she flopped back. “At the moment I don’t think I could stand the drive either. Not with this cough. It’s hard to catch my breath.”
“Sleep it off,” Richard said. “I’ll leave the rest of the water right here next to you.” He put the glass on the coffee table.
“Thanks,” Terese murmured.
Richard made his way back to his couch and collapsed. He drew the blanket up around his neck and sighed loudly.
Time dragged, and with it Terese and Richard’s congested breathing slowly got worse. By ten-thirty Jack noticed that Terese’s respiration was labored. Even from as far away as the kitchen he could see that her lips had become dusky. He was amazed she’d not awakened. He guessed the aspirin had brought her fever down.
In spite of his ambivalence, Jack was finally moved to say something. He called out to Richard and told him Terese didn’t sound or look good.
“Shut up!” Richard yelled back between coughs.
Jack stayed silent for another half hour. By then he was convinced he could hear faint popping noises at the end of each of Terese’s inspirations that sounded like moist rales. If they were, it was an ominous sign, suggesting to Jack that Terese was slipping into acute respiratory distress.
“Richard!” Jack called out, despite Richard’s warning to stay quiet. “Terese is getting worse.”
There was no response.
“Richard!” Jack called louder.
“What?” Richard answered sluggishly.
“I think your sister needs to be in an intensive care unit,” Jack said.
Richard didn’t respond.
“I’m warning you,” Jack called. “I’m a doctor, after all, and I should know. If you don’t do something it’s going to be your fault.”
Jack had hit a nerve, and to his surprise Richard leaped off the couch in a fit of rage. “My fault?” he snarled. “It’s your fault for giving us whatever we have!” Frantically he looked for the gun, but he couldn’t remember what he’d done with it after Jack’s last visit to the bathroom.
The search for the pistol only lasted for a few seconds. Richard suddenly grabbed his head with both hands and moaned about his headache. Then he swayed before collapsing back onto the couch.
Jack sighed with relief. Touching off a fit of rage in Richard had not been expected. He tried not to imagine what might have happened
had the gun been handy.
Jack resigned himself to the horror of witnessing the spectacle of a virulently pathogenic influenza wreaking its havoc. With Terese’s and Richard’s rapidly worsening clinical state, he recalled stories that had been told about the terrible influenza pandemic of 1918-19. People were said to have boarded a subway in Brooklyn with mild symptoms, only to be dead by the time they’d reached their destination in Manhattan. When Jack had heard such stories he’d assumed they had been exaggerations. But now that he was being forced to observe Terese and Richard, he no longer thought so. Their swift deterioration was a frightening display of the power of contagion.
By one A.M. Richard’s breathing was as labored as Terese’s had been. Terese was now frankly cyanotic and barely breathing. By four Richard was cyanotic, and Terese was dead. At six A.M. Richard made a few feeble gurgling sounds and then stopped breathing.
35
FRIDAY, 8:00 A.M., MARCH 29, 1996
Morning came slowly. At first pale fingers of sunlight tentatively limned the edge of the porcelain sink. From where Jack was sitting he could see a spiderweb of leafless tree branches against the gradually brightening sky. He hadn’t slept a wink.
When the room was completely filled with morning light, Jack hazarded a look over his shoulder. It was not a pretty scene. Terese and Richard were both dead, with bloody froth exuding from their dusky blue lips. Both had started to bloat slightly, particularly Terese. Jack assumed it was from the heat of the fire, which was now reduced to mere embers.
Jack looked back despairingly at the drainpipe that so effectively nailed him to his spot. It was an inconceivable predicament. Twin and his Black Kings were probably now on their way. Even without the three thousand dollars, the gang had ample reason to kill him given his role in two of their members’ deaths.
Throwing back his head, Jack screamed at the top of his voice for help. He knew it was futile and soon stopped when he was out of breath. He rattled the handcuffs against the brass pipe, and even put his head in under the sink to examine the lead seal where the brass pipe joined the cast-iron pipe below the trap. With a fingernail he tried to dig into the lead, but without result.