Mercy

by Rada Jones

  Men can’t resist a good chase and a fight. You’d think that Alex, at least, would know better than to run after elopers. That’s what security is for. Nope. Now I have four extra patients instead of staff. She sent them all to register to get seen, and went to check on Alex’s patients, hers now.

  Two hours later she came back to find her colleague, Dr. Crump, sitting in her chair. Her heart skipped a beat, then she remembered. We’re friends now. Maybe. Their long cold war had ended.

  “Hi, Emma. I stopped by to finish some charts and I heard you’re having trouble. Should I sign in to help for a couple of hours?”

  “Really?”

  “Why not? I’ll just have to be home by five for our anniversary dinner.”

  “Thanks, Kurt. How’s Sheila?”

  “She’s great. She has gotten younger since we’re looking at adopting. It’s given her a new lease on life.”

  “Wonderful. Good luck.” Emma smiled.

  Why on earth do people want children? Like life isn’t hard enough without them. I should lend them Taylor. They’d get over it real fast.

  10

  Hours later, when her shift was almost over, Emma went to recheck the chest pain in Room 14. She turned the corner and walked into Faith. I need to speak to her about that needle. I may as well do it now.

  “Faith, you have a moment?”

  “Sure…”

  “Let’s go for a walk.”

  They walked out through the EMS entrance in the back. After the raw electric lights in the ER, the sun was a loving caress. The air was soft, the shadows long, the light golden. The scrawny bushes in the parking lot glowed, unfurling raw green leaves. Spring had finally come.

  Emma inhaled the scent of moist, rich earth. Outdoors, she felt free. She looked at Faith and smiled. Faith looked away. She’s worried. She must be busy, and I’m slowing her down. Or maybe she thinks she’s in trouble.

  “Thanks for your help with that patient. I know he wasn’t yours.”

  “Of course. We’re a team. I’m glad to help.”

  “You did. There’s something I need to tell you though.”

  Faith stepped away.

  “I’m concerned about you recapping that needle. Please don’t do that. If you get stuck, you can get HIV, hepatitis, God knows what other diseases that we don’t even know about yet. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Faith sobbed. Emma felt like she’d hit a puppy.

  “I’m sorry, Faith. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just want you to be safe.”

  Tears started down Faith’s cheeks. Emma touched her shoulder. “Faith, are you OK?”

  “Yes.”

  “Something’s troubling you?”

  Faith shook her head, and her silky golden hair surrounded her like an aura.

  “What’s going on, Faith?”

  “I’ve been emotional lately. Ever since I lost my father.”

  “I’m sorry. I heard about that. It must be hard for you.”

  “I was away for a month, taking care of him. It wasn’t a good death. He had cancer.”

  “That must have been awful.”

  “It was. He was in excruciating pain all the time. Day and night. The cancer metastasized to his ribs. They broke. The pain was so bad that he screamed every time he took a breath.”

  “That’s horrific. How come he didn’t get better pain control?”

  “He refused. He didn’t want to die addicted. He said God was trying him before taking him to heaven. He wanted to be worthy.”

  “I’m sorry.” Emma touched Faith’s shoulder.

  “Mother and I, we got to watch him suffer. It was hard for her!”

  “It must have been hard for you, too.”

  “It was. It took him weeks to die.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “I’m getting by,” Faith sobbed.

  Emma looked around for a quiet spot. She remembered the family room, the small private space dedicated to families waiting for news about their critically ill loved ones. She took Faith there. They sat side by side on the cheap vinyl sofa. Emma took Faith’s hand.

  “What’s going on, Faith? You miss your father?”

  Faith laughed.

  “Oh, no. I don’t miss him. Just the opposite. He was a horrible man. He beat me for everything, ever since I was barely old enough to walk. He was not a good man.”

  Emma patted Faith’s arm. What do I say now? I’m glad he’s dead?

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not about my father. It’s about Carlos.”

  “Carlos?”

  “Yes. My fiancé.”

  Of course. Faith and Carlos are an item. They came together from New Hampshire a few months ago. I forgot.

  “Don’t worry, his nose will heal in no time! The new ENT is excellent! He’ll make Carlos even more handsome than before!”

  Faith shook her head. “It’s not that. He left me.”

  “Carlos left you?”

  “Yes. He moved out. After my father died, I came back to an empty place.”

  “That’s awful!” Emma hugged her.

  Faith clung to her, hugging her so tight that she could hardly breathe.

  “He must be stupid to leave you. You’re so beautiful, and so talented. Maybe he just needs time to sort himself out. I bet he’ll be back.”

  Faith let go. She blew her nose.

  “He won’t be back.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have…I have done things that he can’t forgive.”

  “You never know.”

  Faith shook her head.

  “If he came back, would you take him?’

  Faith looked at her with unblinking blue eyes.

  “I don’t know. But he won’t come back.” She headed to the door. “Thank you, Dr. Steele.”

  Emma wished she could help.

  “Faith? How about meeting somewhere for a coffee and a chat?”

  Faith’s face lit up. “When?”

  Too late, Emma wished she’d kept her mouth shut. I need socializing like I need a hole in my head. Shit. I just couldn’t see this nice girl suffer without trying to help.

  “Thursday?”

  Faith nodded. She left smiling.

  Emma sighed. I’m just selfish and lazy. Who knows? It may even be fun!

  11

  Taylor had walked for hours. The rehab building had to be miles behind. She looked back. Nothing. No trace of humanity. Nothing but trees, birds, and bees. All having a good time. All, but her. She shrugged under the weight of her backpack. Her shoulders hurt. She rolled them, but it didn’t help. She was tired, but she didn’t dare come out yet.

  I’m too close. They must be looking for me. If they find me, they’ll drag me back.

  She drank a little water and tightened her waist strap, loading more of the weight on her hips. It was a bright spring morning; warm enough to make her jacket feel like extra weight rather than comfort. She unzipped it to let the breeze in. I’ll walk through the woods for another hour, and then I’ll head to the road.

  She was tired and she hurt. More than anything, she was pissed. Really pissed. Her mother was right. Again.

  “You can’t do that, Taylor. You have to tell him.”

  “Why?”

  “He’ll find out. He’ll feel betrayed and lose trust in you. You can’t build a relationship on lies. It doesn’t work!”

  “Like you know a lot about relationships!”

  Emma took in that quick sharp breath that told Taylor she’d hit the mark. Touched her right where it hurt. Then she smiled.

  “I know more than you do. I know how to make them, and I know how to break them. But this isn’t about me, it’s about you. You need to tell him.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. If I tell him now, he’ll run away. He may never come back. If I wait, he may care enough to want me, no matter what. Plus, I may never need to tell him. Shit happens. He may be nowhere close by the time I start showing.”

  “He�
�s a decent person, Taylor. I don’t think he’ll go away. If he does, he does. That’s life. You can’t pretend to be somebody you’re not. Not for long. He’ll find out, and it will be worse.”

  “I can tell him it’s his.”

  “That’s silly. First of all, he’ll know. He’s a nurse. You’re almost four months pregnant. How are you going to explain a full-term baby born at six months? He’ll know. So will everybody else. Second, the idea itself is appalling. You can’t lie to him like that! Third, the real father knows. What if he comes back?”

  “He won’t come out for a long, long time. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

  “What if the baby isn’t normal?”

  “Eric knows I’m going into rehab. He knows the risks of doing drugs while you’re pregnant.”

  Emma gave up. There was no convincing Taylor. She had made up her mind.

  Until the other night. Eric was so sweet! He looked at her as if she hung the moon. He’d do anything for her. She could tell him the baby was his, and he’d believe her. She could tell him the truth. He may run away. He may not. Not because of the baby. Because of the lie, like her mother said.

  She had looked in his eyes. She’d wanted to tell him: “I’m pregnant. We’ve already started a family.”

  She couldn’t. She ran away instead, looking for a hole to hide in. So she planned her escape.

  She spent a day getting ready. She could either carry some weight, or she could walk far. Not both. She left most of her stuff behind. She took her computer, her jacket and a flashlight, plus water, cookies, and all the dry fruit she could find.

  She left before daybreak. She tiptoed out, then walked to the back fence. She climbed up the leaning oak tree she’d scoped the day before. She dropped her pack over the fence and looked down. The ground was far away.

  She remembered something she had read about African women.

  They abort by jumping off trees. Gravity pulls the placenta away from the uterus, killing the fetus. If I lose this pregnancy, I’d never have to tell him. Then I could have his child instead.

  She looked up. Another branch, six feet higher. That should do it. She started climbing.

  I can’t do this. I just can’t.

  She climbed back down to the lowest branch. She grabbed it, dangling as low as she could. She let go softly, breaking her fall on bent knees. She rolled over to dissipate the energy, like she’d seen in movies.

  She stood up. Her shoulder hurt. She’d caught a rock. She pushed on her belly with her hands. It didn’t hurt. She put on her pack, then she walked, and walked. To where? She wasn’t sure.

  I’d like to go to Grandma. She’ll be happy to have me. But that’s the first place they’ll look. I could go to New York City. They’ll never find me there. But I don’t have much money. Only enough for a few days. Then what? I’ll go to Katie. She won’t tell. I’ll be safe there while I get it together.

  Her back hurt. Her belly started hurting too. A cramp scrunched her over. She stopped to catch her breath. She started again.

  Another one. Longer. She checked her watch.

  I need to walk for another half an hour.

  A third cramp took her breath away.

  She didn’t have another half an hour. She needed a ride. Now.

  To where?

  She sat, hugging her knees. She took slow, even breaths.

  Something’s wrong with the baby. It looks like I’m losing it, after all. Where should I go?

  The pain in her heart hurt more than the cramps in her belly. She took out her phone and checked the map. The road was half a mile to her left. She took another sip of water and headed there.

  A cramp cut her at the knees. She lay down in the young green grass, moist with dew.

  I’ll totally ruin my jacket. Another cramp. She gathered her knees to her chest and lay on her side in the fetal position. She waited. The cramps stopped.

  She got her pack and headed to the road, crushed by the weight, the pain, and her guilt.

  12

  Back in the ER for another shift, Emma was reading Room 5’s EKG when Kurt stopped by.

  “Emma, you have a moment?”

  Resplendent, as always, in his dark suit and tie, he made her feel shabby. Her bleached scrubs were too tight. And dirty. They were clean this morning, she thought, hoping the brown spots on her thigh were coffee rather than somebody’s body fluids. “Sure.”

  “Can you look at a rash?”

  “I’m lousy with rashes, but I’ll do my best.”

  “Room 20. Failure to thrive. She doesn’t look well, and she’s got blisters in her mouth. I’m worried about Stevens-Johnson syndrome.”

  “I haven’t seen that in ages. I hope you’re wrong,” Emma said. Stevens-Johnson, one of the few dermatological emergencies, started with a rash and ended with the skin peeling off in sheets.

  The woman in Room 20 was hard to look at. She was small and frail. Her cracked lips were bloody, her eyes glued shut.

  Emma turned on her flashlight. Blisters. On her neck, on the palate, on the tongue. Herpes? “Does it hurt?”

  “Not much,” the woman slurred.

  “Maybe it’s not herpes then. That sucker hurts like a son of a gun! Kurt, I’d call Infectious Diseases. I’d treat her for sepsis. Fluids, antibiotics, bring her in.”

  “Thanks, Emma.”

  “I hope you feel better soon,” Emma said. She glanced at the old man sitting by the door leaning on his cane. “We’ll do our best to help her.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled, looking behind Emma’s shoulder.

  Her heart sank. He’s blind. How will he manage without her? There’s nothing worse than losing one’s life partner. Except for losing a child.

  She touched his shoulder, wishing she could help, and went back to her patients. Back pain in Room 12.1. Depression in Room 7. Sepsis in Room 10.

  She was just telling the back pain that she can’t give him Percocet if he’s allergic to Tylenol, when the speakers croaked: “Code 99, Emergency Department, Room 20.”

  She went to help. The room was already full. Gail performed CPR. Carlos bagged. Dozens of busy hands placed IVs, attached monitors, pushed meds. Kurt was ready to intubate.

  Emma prepared his tube. She glanced at the patient to choose a tube size. She recognized the bloody dry lips. That’s the patient Kurt had me see. She wasn’t that bad. What happened?

  Kurt ran the code like the pro he was. It made no difference. The patient stayed dead.

  Half an hour later, Kurt called the code. Everybody went back to their work. Everybody, but the blind elderly husband. He sat by the bed holding the blue hand.

  Emma’s heart cried for him. She looked for Kurt.

  “What happened?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I gave her fluids and antibiotics. She looked better. When I went back to check on her, I found her dead.”

  “Weird!”

  Kurt nodded, his lips a tight line.

  “A heart attack maybe? A stroke?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Anaphylactic reaction to antibiotics?”

  “It didn’t look like it. No hives, no swelling, she was bagging all right…It makes no sense,” Kurt said.

  “That’s odd.”

  “It sure is. It will be a coroner’s case.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  Emma didn’t understand what happened, and that drove her crazy. Things don’t happen without a reason. She died out of the blue, only a couple of hours after I saw her. She looked all right. Then Bam! She’s dead. Why? Even worse, she’s not the first one. The first one was the hip fracture in Room 5. Just like this one. OK now, dead an hour later. For no reason. Something isn’t right… But what? A bad batch of medications? The oxygen? Some weird communicable disease we don’t recognize?

  Emma hated things she didn’t understand. She lived to fix people. That was her only skill. I’m a lousy mother, I failed as a wife, I can’t sing or draw or pl
ay sports. The one thing I’m good at is being a doctor. Now I’m failing at that too. I’d better figure it out soon.

  Before it strikes again.

  13

  Angel

  That was easy.

  Poor woman! The rash! Those bloody lips!

  I left to get my fentanyl, when I saw the insulin sitting on the counter. I grabbed it.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Something to make you feel better.”

  “Thank you. Can I have some water?”

  I brought her water. I brought some for her husband too.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Angel.”

  “You are an angel,” he said.

  The poor man is blind. He can’t take care of her. She must be taking care of him. What will he do without her? I hate to separate them, but she needs relief. I wish I could send them together, but I can’t. Two deaths in one room? That’s overkill. Except for carbon monoxide. That would kill them both. I’d have to close the door. But there are detectors. And how do I get carbon monoxide? Not like I can get a car in here.

  Cyanide? Mushrooms? I need to think.

  Next time.

  14

  Emma signed out her last patient and headed upstairs. Her rotten shift was finally over. She couldn’t wait to go home. She had to find Taylor. She needed wine. And a hot bath.

  Instead of that, she went to meet Carlos, like the VPM had asked her to. Carlos wanted Ben fired. He threatened to sue the hospital. Emma was supposed to talk him out of it. Fat chance.

  She stepped in the windowless conference room. Carlos waited, alone but for the dismembered intubating mannequins piled in a corner. Bald heads attached to limbless torsos. Rubber faces with toothless gaping mouths. Glazed eyes staring into nothing.

  But for his arms and legs, Carlos could be one of them.

  Death awaits.

  The thought came out of nowhere. Foreboding poisoned the air. Emma shuddered. She needed to get out.

  “Let’s go to my office.”