Mercy

by Rada Jones

  Emma cupped the heel, pulling the foot away towards its normal position. She held it there.

  “Splinting materials. An IV. Morphine. Ortho.”

  Judy took off.

  “A chair for the gentleman.”

  The man holding on to the sink was white as a sheet. Suzy pushed a chair under him and he crumbled.

  Emma watched as she held on to the foot, maintaining its proper alignment. The sobs faded. The foot faded too, first to white, then to pink. The blood flow was back.

  “I’m sorry about this. Your ankle’s broken. I had to reposition it to restore its blood flow. We’ll give you something for pain.”

  “It already feels better.”

  “What happened?”

  “My horse spooked. I fell off and he stepped on my ankle.”

  Emma cringed. “Does anything else hurt?”

  “No. That’s it.”

  That ankle’s shot. The orthopod won’t like it.

  He didn’t. He treated her like she was a moron, as usual, but he took the patient to the OR. Emma went back to her desk to find Alex waiting.

  “You have a minute?”

  “Of course,” she lied, looking at the full board.

  He glanced around. People, everywhere. Room 5 was empty. They went in and closed the door.

  “Emma, something’s happening in our ER. Have you heard about my case, yesterday?”

  “Not yet.”

  “A demented nursing home patient. Old smoker, short of breath, oxygen dependent. I threw the kitchen sink at him: breathing treatments, steroids, antibiotics. Magnesium. Bipap. He’s fighting it, but he’s improving. I go see another patient. I come back. He’s blue. I had to intubate.”

  “That happens. They’re confused. They don’t like the mask. They pull it off. Then Bam! Their oxygen’s down, their CO2 is up, and they’re altered.”

  “He wasn’t that bad. He wasn’t even blue! And he was improving. What’s worse, though, his mask wasn’t pulled off. It was detached from the vent.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “Did you notice that people are dying like flies here? All old and demented.”

  “Except for my back pain.”

  “Yes…that one doesn’t fit. But all the others...”

  “Alex, they are sick. They’re old. Their prognosis is bad to start with. Some die!”

  Alex rolled his eyes. “Emma, you know better…”

  “But there’s been a lot of weird stuff. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Alex nodded. “I think we have a mercy killer.”

  “What about the back pain? Where’s the mercy in that?”

  Alex shrugged. “That one is an outlier. Maybe it’s not in this string.”

  “Or maybe it’s the key. One death that is not like the others. Why?”

  Alex shrugged.

  “I saw this movie. The killer murdered a bunch of people just to cover the one crime he intended.”

  “What if it’s the other way around? What if the back pain is the only one he didn’t mean to kill?”

  “Why kill him, then?”

  “Exactly. Why kill him? That may be the answer we’re looking for.”

  33

  Emma’s shift ended at midnight. The hospital appeared empty as she walked out through the quiet hallways. Her car sat alone in the dark parking lot. Emma remembered February’s bloodbath and she shivered. That debacle is over. Get over it.

  What if I called Zagarian?

  They hadn’t spoken in weeks. Ever since she blocked his calls.

  But now when she needed somebody to run things by, Zagarian was it. He was smart, funny, and good-looking. He was a detective and he knew how to keep his mouth shut.

  Except that she didn’t want to speak to him. She didn’t want to see him either.

  They had dated for a few weeks. Sort of. They ate, drank, and laughed together. And at each other. It was fun. Until he wanted more.

  Emma’s sex life was as extinct as the dinosaurs. There had been a couple of men after Victor. None worth remembering. Then, as she got older, Taylor grew into a full-time job. She consumed all the time and energy Emma had left after work, so she stopped dating.

  She didn’t miss it. Not that much. Sex is overrated. Wine is better, and it doesn’t judge you.

  She was busy. So busy, that taking care of herself fell by the wayside. She gained weight. She was uncomfortable getting naked.

  It didn’t matter, as long as she was strong enough to relocate hips, intubate obese people, and run around the department without getting out of breath. Summer was short in the North Country. Parkas got way more use than bathing suits. Her social life was nil. So, who cared?

  Zagarian did. That night he drove her home, he came in for a nightcap. She couldn’t say no. They drank Grand Marnier and watched the fire. They talked about art, travel, and wine. They laughed.

  He got close. He touched her cheek. He caressed her neck. Warmth spread throughout her body, awakening it. Her heart pounded. Her insides tingled.

  His hand slid to her breast. She panicked. She jumped off the sofa, pretending to feed the fire. She didn’t go back. The conversation died.

  He waited. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “Why, Emma?”

  “I…I work tomorrow. I need to sleep. I’m sorry.”

  He nodded and saw himself out.

  She spent the night twisting and turning.

  Why?

  Because I’m fat. I’m embarrassed to be naked. I don’t want anyone to see my rolls, my wrinkles, my legs. I don’t want anyone to see me.

  That was true. She didn’t want him to see her. But there was more. She wasn’t good enough. She wasn’t worthy. Her mother taught her early that nobody would ever love her for herself. They’d love what she had to offer: money, comfort, status, sex. Then they’d get rid of her. Victor and Taylor proved it.

  I’m not worth loving.

  She couldn’t handle any more rejection. She was fine by herself. She did her best as a doctor, as a mother, as a human, to maintain her self-respect. Love? She didn’t need it. She couldn’t open herself and be vulnerable. And get hurt again. It’s not worth it.

  She hadn’t seen Zagarian after that night. He emailed. She didn’t answer. He called. She didn’t return his calls. He came to see her at work. She escaped through the ambulance door.

  He stopped calling. But now…she had a problem. She needed help. This was professional, not personal. Maybe they could go back to their professional relationship. To being friends, without the physical stuff she didn’t want to think about.

  She called him.

  “Please leave a message.”

  She hung up.

  That evening, she opened one of her better wines. Stratus, a rich, smooth Canadian Red from Niagara on the Lake. Ripe with dark cherry and berry, generous, voluptuous, and smooth. It gave her solace and made her warm inside.

  Not as warm as Zagarian.

  Warm enough.

  34

  Angel

  That was close. I went back to Room 3 to reconnect the vent, so they wouldn’t notice. But they were already in there. I pretended I came to help with the intubation.

  Carlos stared.

  Careful, Angel. You’re making mistakes.

  You have all the time in the world!

  The slower you cook him, the more he’ll hurt!

  Take it easy!

  35

  Sitting behind the flimsy curtain in Room 12.1, Carlos was having trouble getting blood. He had tried twice already with no luck. The woman had lived a rough life. Thanks to a long love affair with drugs, her veins were shot. Track marks everywhere. An egg-sized abscess by her left elbow. That must be a recent injection. She looks ill. She’ll need the whole nine yards. Thank God that her blood pressure’s OK. For now.

  The woman shivered, gathering the flimsy cotton blanket around her.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Like crap,�
� she answered, her teeth chattering.

  Carlos looked again for IV access. I could get a tiny twenty-two in her thumb, but that won’t be enough. I need a bigger vein, but she’s mangled them all.

  A stretcher clanged behind the curtain to Room 12.2.

  An old voice. Shaky. “What are you doing? Stop it! Stop it! I’ll tell Mother.”

  “It’s all right,” Faith said, her voice soft as velvet. “We’ll take care of you, Edna. Just relax.”

  “Mother? Is that you?”

  “You’re OK. I just need to check your blood pressure.”

  “She won’t let you get blood,” another voice said.

  Ben.

  “Mother, are you my mother?”

  “You’re OK, Edna. I’ll take care of you. We just need to get some blood. A tiny prick…”

  “Mother, where were you? They were mean to me.”

  “I’m sorry, Edna. Please let go of my hand.”

  Her soft voice warmed Carlos’s heart. He took his time looking for that vein.

  “Hold her hand. I’ll get the IV,” Ben said.

  “Thanks, Ben. Just a little prick, OK, Edna?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “What a good girl.”

  “Aaargh!”

  “All done. Relax. It’s over. Would you like some juice?”

  “Grape?”

  “You got it. Thanks, Ben.”

  “No problem. I’m always glad to help you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Faith…I have two tickets for the Mellowship. On Friday. Would you like to come?”

  “I…have to check my schedule.”

  “At seven. A cover for The Avengers. We could have dinner on the way.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at four.”

  “I live in the…”

  “I know where you live.”

  “Really? How come?”

  “I know a lot of things about you, Faith.” He laughed a low, dirty laugh.

  “Like what?”

  “I’ve been watching you…”

  “Really? And?”

  “I’ll tell you on Friday.”

  Hands shaking, Carlos blew through the vein.

  His patient screamed.

  “Sorry,” Carlos mumbled, low enough to not be heard next door.

  He sat, holding pressure on the vein he’d blown.

  “There’s your grape juice, Edna.”

  “Thanks, Mommy. Can I have a cookie?”

  36

  The modern new gym was all blinding lights and mirrors. No place to hide. Emma stopped to catch her breath. She wiped the sweat off her face with her towel and sat on a weight bench, watching Faith give the instructor a run for his money. Faith had invited her to try an MMA class. Emma thought that would be fun. Now she knew better.

  Thankfully, it was just them and the instructor. Emma didn’t need any more audience. She looked like a fighting hippopotamus. She’d sprained her hip. She was spent. Now, past trying to keep up, she struggled to keep breathing. Fortunately the instructor, a handsome brown man moving like a hungry tiger, was nice to her and pretended not to notice she had stopped..

  Emma had been kickboxing in her basement for months. both for exercise and self-defense, and she thought she was doing all right. But this class was something else. It kicked her butt. Not Faith’s, though. Faith was a natural. Her feet kicking above her head, her strong body glowing with sweat, she smiled with delight. Emma was glad she wasn’t her opponent.

  Waiting for Faith to be done, she read the orange poster with the MMA rules. She liked “Rule #8: No fingers in the opponent’s orifices.” Putting fingers in orifices—she did that for a living. It wasn’t that much fun.

  After the class, they strolled along the river, enjoying the afternoon sun. They sat on a bench, sipping ice tea, watching the mesmerizing Hudson River heading home, and listening to the birds chirping in secret codes.

  “You’re good! You’re sure you haven’t done this before?” Emma asked.

  Faith laughed. “Not this. But I did other things. Everything you try teaches you something. Life is learning.”

  After all she’s been through, she’s still optimistic and full of joy. I wish it was contagious!

  “How are you doing, Faith?”

  “I’m doing great. Ben just asked me out.”

  “Really?” Last time we met, she was heartbroken about Carlos. That was what? Last week?

  “Ben? Our Ben?”

  “Yes. He invited me to a concert.”

  “But…I thought he was married?”

  “Yes, but they don’t get along. They’ve been talking about separation.”

  “But didn’t they recently have twins?

  “A few months ago.”

  “You think it’s a good idea to date him?”

  “I’m not serious about him. I don’t think he’s serious about me either. He asked me out just to spite Carlos.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “I’m thrilled. I’d be glad to see Carlos mad.”

  “Why does he hate Carlos so much? Because of that elopement incident?”

  “It’s a long story. They knew each other long ago. When we came from New Hampshire, they became fast friends. They were always together. Then something happened. I don’t know what, but I think it had to do with Dr. Umber. Ben was his friend. Carlos hated him. They started hating each other. That fight was just a carry-over.”

  Umber again. Will that man ever stop destroying people’s lives?

  “Ben’s been around a lot lately. Being nice, helping, bringing me coffee. You know, the usual.”

  Emma didn’t. For her, there was no usual. She only drank coffee if she made it. She got help when she asked for it, but she’d never had to wonder if someone was trying to get into her pants.

  “Of course,” she said. “But doesn’t it bother you that he’s married? And has young kids?”

  Faith shrugged.

  “They are his problem. I have enough problems of my own. And I’d love to hurt Carlos.”

  Emma got that. She’d wished all sorts of badness upon Amber—acne, alopecia, scabies, every ugly disease, from A to Z. Still, she wouldn’t date a married man for that.

  “Plus, it’s nice to feel wanted. Even if it’s just to give Carlos a hissy fit.”

  “You think he cares? Even though he left you?”

  “Oh, he cares all right. Just won’t admit to it. Seeing me with Ben will do a number on his liver. How about you, Emma? Is there anybody you’re interested in?”

  Emma laughed. “I’m married to my job. That’s the one thing that interests me.”

  “That’s why you’re so good. I’ve never met a better doctor. But it won’t keep you warm at night.”

  “That’s OK. I have a goose-down comforter.” And wine.

  Faith’s luminous blue eyes bathed her in warmth. She put her hand on Emma’s knee.

  “You can do better.”

  Emma shrunk. She struggled to smile. I’m just not used to people being nice to me. I don’t know how to handle it. She took Faith’s hand to free her knee, then she dropped it, pretending to arrange her hair.

  Friendship is hard!

  37

  Two days later, Emma’s whole body was still hurting from the MMA class. It hurt to sit, it hurt to stand, it hurt to cough. Fortunately, the ER was busy enough to take her mind off her aches and pains. She had no time to worry about anything else but her patients. Like the woman in Room 15. She clearly hadn’t been well in a while. The flesh had melted off her hollow temples, leaving just parchment skin stretched over bones. She grunted, struggling to breathe. She couldn’t speak.

  Emma checked the nursing-home paperwork to get her story. “Two days of fever and low oxygen. Seldom oriented. Needs help with all her activities of daily living.”

  What a sad existence. She can’t walk, can’t use the bathroom, can’t feed herself. She sighed and looke
d for a MOLST, a document that would convey her wishes about her care. No luck. Only a power of attorney for somebody in Florida.

  “I’ll call them. George, let’s go with the sepsis workup. Don’t forget the lactate and the cultures. I’ll ask Sal to start antibiotics.”

  “You want a gas?”

  “Yep. I’ll get respiratory with bipap. I’ll write for steroids and breathing treatments.”

  “That’s not going to do much,” George said. “She’s too far gone. She’ll need intubation.”

  “It may buy us time to find her family. They may agree to comfort care.”

  “Good plan. She’s suffered enough,” he said, his voice cracking.

  He’s thinking about Mary. Her death changed him. He’s still a great nurse, but he’s lost the drive to just do anything to keep them alive.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  She called. No answer. She left a message and went to see her other patients. When she came back to Room 15, a large blonde woman was sitting by the bed. A heavy, sweet perfume choked the room. Emma’s stomach churned.

  “I’m Dr. Steele. You are…?”

  “I’m her daughter. How is she?”

  “I’m afraid that your mother is very sick.”

  “But you’ll make her better. Please, do whatever you need to do to save her,” the woman sobbed.

  There goes comfort care.

  “She’s very ill. I don’t know that anything we can do will make a difference.”

  “Are you saying she’s dying?”

  “She’s old and sick. She hasn’t been well in a long time.”

  “She was fine last time I saw her!”

  “When was that?”

  The woman took out a tissue. She wiped her eyes.

  “This year? Last year?”

  “It doesn’t matter. You must save her! I need to speak to her! I don’t care what you have to do, just do it! I need to tell her it wasn’t my fault!” Her sobs turned into wails. Staff looked in, ready to help. Emma closed the door.