The Arms of Death

by Maggie Foster

  The chaplain spread his hands. “Some things are between him and God. I know from experience that few deathbed confessions are genuine. But if he thinks about the pain he has caused, admits it, and asks forgiveness, that brings him closer, and it helps those left behind.”

  Jim set his mouth in a thin, grim line. “Well, I’m in no mood to make his life, or death, easier on his conscience.”

  The chaplain nodded. “That’s why I’m concerned. Time may be very short and you may not have the luxury of waiting until you are ready.”

  Jim caught his breath. Did this man even know what he was saying?

  “Dr. Mackenzie?”

  Jim looked around to find a nurse hovering.

  “I have your medications and the lab is right behind me.”

  Jim nodded, letting her confirm his identification and take his vital signs before handing him the cup of pills. She had been right. The lab tech was ready when she was through. Jim held out his arm and let the young man collect his blood, carefully labeling the tubes and putting them in his basket.

  “Thank you.”

  Jim looked over at the chaplain to find him frowning hard.

  “You’re right, Chaplain Wallace. I may not have time. He tried to kill me with that virus and we’re still waiting to see if he succeeded.”

  “Dear God!”

  Jim nodded. “So, if you will excuse me, I have work to do.” He stood up and walked back to Hal’s room.

  He paused on the threshold. If he couldn’t defeat this virus, Ginny would need someone else to be trustee. For the moment, though, he preferred to believe they would both live. He strode over to the lawyer.

  “Where do I sign?”

  * * *

  Chapter 48

  Sunday

  Ginny climbed back from the shadowlands of fear. She could tell it was deep night. Something about the silence in the hall outside her door. She pushed herself up and looked around the room. Jim climbed to his feet and came towards her.

  “Hello,” he said.

  She leaned back against the pillows and looked at him. “Have you slept yet?”

  He shook his head. “Why are you awake?”

  She started to push her hair back from her face, then realized it was the dressing over her left ear that was irritating her. “I was dreaming.”

  “Tell me about it?”

  She looked at him. In the half-light he looked younger, the wisps of curls reminding her of a cherub. Ginny shook her head. She had seen him, in her dream, lying in his coffin, his features slack and lifeless, his eyes milky, his skin as pale as her own.

  “It doesn’t matter. Tell me what’s going on.”

  He sighed. “We’re still waiting.”

  “Jim, please? No one will tell me anything.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, then seemed to make up his mind. “What do you want to know?”

  She steeled her nerves. “Viral load, yours and mine.”

  “Neither the rabies nor the norovirus can be isolated from serum so the concept of viral load doesn’t apply.”

  Ginny frowned. “What should I have asked, then?”

  He rubbed his face with both hands and Ginny saw he still wore the nitrile gloves. “That wasn’t very helpful, was it?” he said.

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry. Let me try again.”

  Ginny could feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. In her experience, medical people took refuge in facts when the news was bad.

  He took a deep breath. “The researchers added a radioactive tracer to this virus, so they could follow its progress in the lab animals. It shows on the gamma camera, which means all we need is a scan to see where it is, and whether or not it’s spreading.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment. She’d had two scans done already. He didn’t have to be prompted to continue.

  “You’re clean. There is no trace of virus in your system. We’ve had the first responders come in, too, just to be safe. They’re clean, too.”

  “And you?”

  He shrugged. “Positive for viral infection in my left hand. The good news is that it’s a very small area, not getting bigger, and not moving toward the central nervous system, which is what rabies normally does. It looks like the drugs are working.”

  “How long until you’re out of the woods?”

  “Until I’m sure I’m not going to die?”

  She nodded, her throat tight. “How long?”

  “There are a lot of unknowns. Assuming we beat this, I’ll be the first to survive. There may be neurological deficits, unforeseen complications. Dr. Armstrong is planning to follow me for the rest of my life.”

  He was opening, then closing his left hand, as if to reassure himself it was still functioning.

  “The rabies vaccine works the way they all do, stimulating my body to create antibodies. It’s possible my immune system will clear the virus completely. It’s also possible the virus will hide in the nerves, just like chickenpox, ready to break out again later.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know the answer. The treatments we’re using were developed for existing viruses, not this.”

  “Jim Mackenzie!”

  She saw his quick smile at her exasperated tone of voice.

  “Two, maybe three days.”

  “Three days? I have to wait three more days?”

  Ginny was surprised to hear the tone of her own voice. She was concerned, of course. Who wouldn’t be? And he was in this predicament because of knowing her, of helping her. If they had never been introduced, he’d be safe. But there had been a note of anguish in her cry. He had heard it, too. He looked up quickly.

  “Ginny, listen to me. Healthy individuals exposed to the rabies virus and vaccinated before they develop symptoms have a one hundred percent chance of not contracting rabies. Even though this is not standard rabies, those are good odds.”

  She nodded. Yes, they were.

  “Dr. Armstrong and the CDC recommend, and I concur, that we do more testing than usual and I plan to stay on the antivirals as long as there is even a trace of the virus showing in the scans. If I get three scans twenty-four hours apart with zero virus in them we’ll be cautiously optimistic.”

  She swallowed. “Okay. You have a plan.”

  “Yes.” He took a deep breath. “My turn to ask a question,” he said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “How’s your mother holding up?”

  Ginny shook her head. “She’s locked out of her house until the hazmat team can clean up the spill. She was up here until Dr. Armstrong sent her home. I expect she’ll be back early. She can’t help worrying.”

  “Does she have someone taking care of her?”

  “She’s staying with Himself.” Ginny bit her lower lip. “Have you told him, yet?”

  Jim nodded. “I called as soon as the first scan came back. He needed to know.” He laughed. “He has a very touching faith in my ability as a physician.”

  Ginny lifted a wry eyebrow. “Here’s your chance to prove yourself.”

  “Yes.”

  Their eyes met. Ginny had been avoiding asking what she still needed to know. She swallowed hard. “Hal?”

  She saw Jim’s lips pressed firmly together, then separated by force. “He’s dying, Ginny.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself, remembering the feel of Hal’s arms around her. “Today?”

  “Perhaps tomorrow. We’ve slowed the virus down a lot.”

  She closed her eyes. It was impossibly hard to admit to herself that he had already killed twice before he had taken her in his arms for the first time and looked down into her eyes with his own, those heart-stoppingly beautiful brown eyes that belonged to a murderer.

  “Ginny?”

  She opened her eyes and found Jim much closer. He looked unhappy.

  “You’re sure it was Hal who tampered with my skate?” Hal, laying a trap for her, catching her in it,
visiting her in the hospital to make sure she could not continue to threaten him.

  Jim nodded. “We’ll have to wait for the police report, but I’m sure.”

  Her eyes wandered away from his, her heart aching, her mind trying to understand. Hal, proposing to her with the virus in his pocket. Why had he brought it with him? Suppose she had touched it accidentally? Had he intended to use it on her?

  “He didn’t really love me.”

  “He was using you.”

  Ginny could feel a chasm opening in her breast. She had always prided herself on being a good judge of character. How could she have been so wrong? She dropped her head into her hands and tried not to cry. Crying made her head hurt, and brought on coughing fits. She knew. She’d already done some crying.

  “Ginny, look at me.” Jim sat down on the side of the bed, facing her.

  “I’m so sorry Hal put you through this, but believe me when I say he is an aberration. Most men aren’t cunning and calculating and coldblooded with women. Just stupid. Like me.”

  Ginny found herself almost smiling. “You came to rescue me.”

  He nodded. “I was afraid for you.”

  With good reason, as it turned out. “Thank you.”

  He smiled at her. “You’re welcome.”

  Ginny’s smile faded, the horror of the situation flooding back. She shivered. “How am I supposed to live with this?”

  “One day at a time.” He laid his still gloved right hand on the coverlet, touching her knee through the fabric.

  “You have to remember, he might still be killing people if it hadn’t been for you. It was your research that exposed him. You caught a murderer.”

  Ginny lifted her eyes from his hand. “With your help.”

  He nodded. “We caught him together.”

  “He wouldn’t have tried to kill you if—”

  Jim cut her off. “Oh, yes, he would. I fully intended to take you away from him and he knew it. We were always going to end up with pistols at dawn.”

  Ginny put both of her hands on her stomach, to control the sudden nausea. Was this what it felt like to be fought over?

  Jim’s voice broke through the fog. She looked up to find him frowning, hard.

  “That came out wrong.” He swallowed. “Ginny, listen to me. You are not spoils of war. I still want to get to know you and I’m going to ask you to let me, later, when you feel better. But I know you’re not a possession to be fought over. You’re a woman; capable, knowledgeable, sufficient, all by yourself. I know you don’t need a man, to live.”

  Ginny met his eyes. It was not possible to imagine being with a man, any man, not at the moment. But he was wrong. If she was going to survive this, she needed for this man to live.

  “You should sleep,” she said. So his body could heal.

  “You, too.”

  So her heart could as well.

  * * *

  Chapter 49

  Sunday

  When Dr. Armstrong let himself in just before shift change that morning, he found Jim asleep in Ginny’s room. She put her finger to her lips.

  “It’s the first he’s gotten since this happened.”

  Dr. Armstrong nodded. “All right. I’ll leave him ’til last.” He walked over and stood beside Ginny’s bed. “How are you doing?”

  “They tell me I’m fine, neurologically, and no virus, and the wounds are healing.”

  “But?”

  “My chest aches, and it’s hard to breathe.”

  He put his stethoscope into his ears and bent to listen. “Hmmm.” He straightened up. “We need to strike a balance between the pneumonia and the brain injury.” He studied the monitor over her head, then looked back at her.

  “It’s been almost four days since that crack on your skull. You weren’t bleeding when you came in and I haven’t seen any evidence of a pressure buildup.” He crossed his arms on his chest, his eyebrows drawing together.

  “We need to thin the secretions, make them easy to cough up. Fluids, mucolytics, chest physiotherapy, and a cough suppressant to use between sessions.” He walked her through the neuro exam, then nodded. “Stay hydrated. Stay off your feet, especially that ankle. Sleep as much as they’ll let you. I’ll check back before I leave the hospital.”

  “Thank you.”

  He smiled at her. “I’m also going to transfer you to a regular room. These ICU beds are for sick people.”

  Ginny smiled. “Fine by me.”

  Dr. Armstrong slipped out, leaving Ginny to wonder if he was headed for Hal’s room, and what he would find when he got there. She glanced over at Jim and found his eyes open and on her.

  He rose and came over. “Good morning. Did I hear respiratory treatments mentioned?”

  She nodded.

  “Good.” He gave a bone-cracking yawn and stretched. “What time is it?”

  “Almost seven. I’m guessing you got two whole hours of sleep.”

  “More than enough.” He smiled at her. “I’ll be back.”

  “Go to bed.”

  “I will. Later.” He waved from the doorway and Ginny found herself suddenly alone.

  She threw the covers back and considered her sprained ankle. Some things she could get away with. Falling flat on her face in an attempt to get into the bathroom by herself was not one of them. She put the call light on and waited for the nurse to respond.

  * * *

  “Good morning, darling.” Mrs. Forbes came over and gave her a kiss, then opened her hand to show Ginny what was in it.

  “I thought you might want this. It was on your bedside table.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Ginny slipped the talisman over her head, then tucked it inside her gown.

  “I spoke to Dr. Armstrong a few minutes ago. He told me he’s happy with your progress, but he’s going to keep you for a day or two just to make sure.”

  “In that case, would you bring my computer up to me? I’m going to go stir crazy without something to do.”

  “Certainly, darling.”

  Ginny frowned. “There’s something else.”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “In the kitchen you’ll find roses and chocolates. I don’t think there’s any virus on them, but I’d hate to take the chance. Have the hazmat crew remove them, please.”

  “Yes, dear. Detective Tran tells me she marked all the contaminated areas before she left. I’ll make sure that includes the kitchen.”

  “Good,” Ginny said. “Now, tell me all the news. How was Mrs. Blair’s funeral?”

  Her mother stayed until it was time for her appointment with the hazmat team. When she had gone, Jim Mackenzie sidled back in, carrying a computer and wearing a smile.

  “I have something to show you.” He set the device in Ginny’s lap and brought up two images, aligning them side by side. Both were full body scans. His.

  “Look. You can see here where the virus shows on the earlier scan.” He zoomed the image and showed her the infected region.

  “Now. Look at this one.”

  “Is this the same hand?” Ginny could see nothing.

  “Yes. Taken forty minutes ago.”

  She looked up at him. “It’s gone.”

  “That’s right.”

  “But it’s over here?” She pointed to a spot further up his torso.

  He was still smiling. “What you’re seeing is the virus fragments being carried off by the lymphatic system.”

  “Oh, Jim! That’s wonderful news!”

  He was grinning from ear to ear. “Dr. Armstrong, cautious bastard that he is, warned me not to get careless. As if I would. But he’s letting me go home today on my own recognizance. I am to take my medications on time and in the correct manner and report back for follow up scanning on schedule.”

  “Which you will do.”

  “Which I will do.”

  “I’m very happy for you.” Ginny’s smile faded as she remembered there was another patient fighting that virus.

  Jim must
have read her mind. “He’s still alive.”

  She blinked. “Oh. Thank you.”

  He studied her face. “Do you want to see him?”

  Ginny was silent for a long moment, considering the question. “I don’t know. Should I?”

  “I can’t answer that. Is there someone you’d like to discuss it with?”

  “Yes.” She blinked. “I can’t go to him. Do you think he’d come here?”

  “I’m sure he would. Shall I call him?”

  “Yes, please.”

  * * *

  They moved Ginny before lunch, settling her into a room on the neuro surgical floor. She was promptly visited by the respiratory therapist, bringing engines of torture and foul-tasting medications for her pleasure and amusement.

  After the breathing treatment, the therapist spent the better part of an hour knocking the mucus loose from the inside lining of her lungs with a device like a miniature jackhammer. The percussion moved the secretions out into her airways, causing her to cough. By the time the therapist had collected the sputum specimen and made sure she knew how to use the incentive spirometer, she was exhausted.

  Jim had helped move her, had watched the treatment from the window seat, had made sure she could reach the tissues and inspected the specimen she had produced, before pronouncing it sufficient and allowing the tech to label and dispatch it. He now pulled the oxygen equipment off the wall and set the meter to deliver two liters of supplemental oxygen into her nose via a nasal cannula.

  “I will have them add a bubbler,” he told her, “to make sure the airways stay moist.” He slid the pulse oximeter on her finger, then flipped his stethoscope off his shoulders and bent to listen. Ginny was pretty sure she knew what he was hearing. She could feel the fluid moving in her lungs as she breathed.

  “How’s your head?”

  “Splitting,” Ginny replied.

  He took her through the neuro exam, then smiled down at her.

  “The best thing for you is sleep.”

  She sighed. He was right. If she could sleep, she wouldn’t notice how much she hurt. He closed the curtains and turned off the light, then came over and stood looking down at her.

  “Close your eyes, Ginny.”

  The sounds of the hospital floated into the room, muted by distance and the door. The hiss of the oxygen mixed with the hum of the air conditioning. White noise. Soothing. Calming. Her eyes drifted open and she found him still standing there, still watching her, watching over her.