by Ian Fox
PROMISE ME ETERNITY
by
Ian Fox
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Ian Fox
Promise Me Eternity
Copyright 2011 by Ian Fox
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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If you love life, don’t waste time,
because time is what life is made of.
—Benjamin Franklin
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Chapter 1
_________________________
Heavy gray clouds gathered and the wind blew in short, powerful gusts. Beneath the swaying tree branches, the light was faint. A tall figure, sharply outlined by the thin light, stepped from the car, into the cold, dismal evening. Dr. Patterson stood there a few moments waiting for his eyes to adjust to the twilight, and then headed toward the road. The thoughts churning in his head seared his brain and filled him with inexpressible fear. His heart pounded in his chest, deafening him. It was all too terrible to believe.
Even before reaching the side of the road, he turned and looked back. He wanted to make sure he remembered how to return to his car.
In the dim light the doctor stumbled over a thick, twisted tree root sticking out of the ground. Losing his balance he fell against a leafy branch that brushed his face with hundreds of tiny dewdrops. At once he wiped his face and moved on quickly.
But still he kept his right hand clenched deep in the pocket of his blue velvet sports jacket, where he had placed a thin hypodermic needle that contained a large dose of insulin.
Murderer! The word echoed in his head.
Clenching his jaw, Dr. Patterson shook his head once and continued walking. I have to do this. This is for Christine and me. I have to save her.
Murderer!
No. That’s not true! Please, just leave me alone.
You’ll be punished for what you’re about to do.
He stopped. A thorny plant had caught on his pant leg. I know what I’m doing. This will solve all my problems. There’s no other way. He pulled his leg free.
To get rid of the troubling voice, he focused his attention on the horrific situation he was in. The all-too-familiar dull ache spread like a weed through his gut and left a bitter taste in his mouth—an ache that signaled his fear about what was going to happen. I’ll go to prison. If I don’t do anything, I’ll go to prison. I have to do this.
For a moment, the voice grew still ….
I’ll be accused of a murder I didn’t do. This is the only way to prove to them that I am not the one who did it.
… Again, silence.
Dr. Patterson looked at the sky strewn with gray clouds and peered for a few seconds at the half-moon, which draped the woods in a faint silvery curtain of light. The tall pines and broadleaf trees swayed gently, as if whispering to themselves. He lowered his eyes and stumbled onward. The closer he came to the road, the more his legs shook.
He stood still, wanting to think it through one more time. I have to stand at the side of the road and wait for him. Christine said he would definitely stop. Once I’m in his car, I’ll inject him with the insulin. After that, nobody can help him. It will all be very simple.
A gust of wind blew in his face, ruffling his hair. The doctor could hear a hollow rustling in the distance … thousands of leaves quivering on their branches. He knew this evening would be imprinted in his memory for as long as he lived.
The narrow road where he waited was empty and dark, without a single light. Every now and then a car went by. Hungrily, he took a few deep breaths of damp air.
The doctor checked his watch. If what Christine said is true, then Carlo should be driving by sometime in the next half-hour.
He walked along the edge of the road and noted the overgrowth of dense bushes.
He thought about Helen and felt sorry for his wife. Why did I have to cheat on her? I should not have done it. He wondered if it was really God inflicting this wretched punishment on him. Who is behind it?
For almost a minute no car drove past. He was trembling now and his teeth were chattering. Never before had he felt so much fear. Never before had he been in a situation where he had to kill someone.
He slipped his hand beneath his undershirt and pressed it against his stomach, which had been protesting all the while. He felt a little better as the pain eased for a moment.
The lone figure saw lights in the road that were rapidly approaching. He quickly pulled back his right hand and stuck it in his pocket. He stared into the blinding distance, listening to the sound of the engine and trying to guess what make of car it was. The booming wind in the surrounding woods only made him more nervous.
The next moment, white beams of intense light dazzled him. He felt as if he were floating in empty space. He wanted to look away but couldn’t. The light, which was growing stronger and stronger, held him transfixed.
He heard a noise behind his back. Terrified, he jerked his head to see what it was, afraid it might be a wild animal.
Seeing nothing unusual, Dr. Patterson looked back toward the road. The sharp light had disappeared, replaced by the roar of an engine as a car rushed past, leaving a cloud of dust hovering over the road.
Murderer.
I am not a murderer, damn it! Stop judging me. I’m going to do something good.
Go home!
I won’t go home. I won’t let you scare me. Leave me alone. This is the only way I can fix all my problems. God will thank me for this.
Again he saw lights slicing the darkness and wondered if this could be Carlo Vucci. Dread contorted his face and he felt sick with fear. He strained his eyes as he peered into the light, praying that everything would work out.
The light became whiter and more intense. It burned his eyes but he did not want to look down. He knew this was the only way.
The car slowed.
Oh my God. This must be Carlo. What should I do?
The roar of the engine overtook his senses. Seconds later the car slowly came to a halt.
Dr. Patterson knew he had to see it through to the end. He had to kill this person.
Murderer!
Chapter 2
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Dr. Simon Patterson was a man of average looks, forty-two years old, with round horn-rimmed glasses and dark-brown hair, thinning a bit on top, which gave him a high forehead. He was five-foot-eleven, with a slender, firm build. The lack of excess fat was only because he often got so caught up in his work that he forgot to eat.
He had just hurried into OR 26, where the entire team was waiting for him, ready to begin the operation.
“As far as I’m concerned, you can go ahead with the anesthesia,” he told Dr. Anita Carter, the chief anesthesiologist, upon entering the operating room. “I’ll check the X-rays one more time, then we can begin.”
An elderly man was lying on his back on the narrow metal operating table. The CT scan and MRI showed he had a brain tumor, but that it was not malignant.
Dr. Patterson rubbed his hands together as if trying to warm them, and examined the X-rays. “I don’t think this should be a complicated procedure. What do you say, Jerry?”
Dr. Jerry Duncan, Dr. Patterson’s assistant, was almost always present when he operated. He was thirty-three, with short, dark h
air and a narrow, masculine chin. Girls always turned their heads to look at him.
“I agree,” Jerry said.
Dr. Patterson scrubbed his hands thoroughly at the sink. Nurse Esther Green helped him with his surgical gown and thin latex-free gloves. Dr. Duncan had donned the same gear a few minutes earlier.
Then Dr. Patterson sat on a stool at the patient’s head and smiled at the team. This easygoing smile of his signaled that the operation was about to start. “May I start cutting?” he asked the chief anesthesiologist.
Dr. Anita Carter replied, “Hold on a moment. I have to deepen the anesthesia slightly. It’ll only take another minute.”
“Fine. Then I’ll tell you what happened to me yesterday.”
They were all listening.
“I was walking downtown, looking for a new pair of shoes. And you won’t believe it, but this young punk runs right into me, there in front of the Sunrise Café. It all happened so fast I nearly ended up on the sidewalk. Then the kid grabs hold of his arm and I’m afraid he’s hurt himself. So I try to help him, but he pushes me away and runs off.”
Dr. Leon Whitman, the assistant anesthesiologist, said, “I bet you anything the kid was trying to rob you.”
“You’re absolutely right. Later, when I went to pay for my shoes, I couldn’t find my wallet. It was really embarrassing. If I ever get my hands on that little jerk …”
Everyone laughed except Dr. Carter, who merely said, “You can start now, Dr. Patterson. The patient is ready.”
Simon nodded and positioned his right hand. Nurse Rosanna Adler, the head instrument nurse, knew exactly what he wanted and handed him the black marker.
“Thank you,” he said, and marked out the cut he was about to make on the patient’s shaved scalp. He handed back the marker and was given the scalpel. He wrinkled his nose a few times—it was obviously itching—and raised his head slightly.
He carefully cut into the skin. With the aspirator, Dr. Jerry Duncan sucked up the blood trickling from the incision. Dr. Patterson returned the scalpel and, with a coagulation clamp, stopped the bleeding. This took about three minutes.
He spent the next ten minutes using a surgical saw and drill to remove part of the skull so he could get to the dura. When he had cut through this outer membrane as well, a yellowish tinge could be clearly seen on part of the brain. “Like I said, the tumor’s not too big,” the surgeon commented.
Then, with scalpel and forceps, he proceeded to separate the unhealthy from the healthy tissue. It took twenty minutes. Meanwhile, Dr. Duncan continued to rinse and aspirate the opening.
The operation lasted another half-hour, during which time it was necessary to stop the bleeding, stitch up the dura, reset the bone in place, and sew up the scalp.
Drs. Patterson and Duncan were the first to leave the OR. The chief anesthesiologist and her assistant made sure the patient woke up peacefully, then took him to Intensive Care. The two instrument nurses cleaned up the operating room and got it ready for the next operation.
Walking with his colleague from the OR wing, Jerry Duncan observed, “That all went well. The patient took the operation well, don’t you think?”
Dr. Patterson responded with a serious face. “You didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary?”
Jerry hesitated. “No, not really.”
He looked over at him reproachfully. “The patient was bleeding more than he should. I had to work hard to stop it. I can only hope the bleeding won’t start up again.”
“I see. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”
“Indeed. We’ll have another scan of the patient’s head taken tomorrow after ten. Could you bring the results to my office?”
“Sure. No problem.” He pointed with his chin. “Want to get some coffee?”
“No thanks, Jerry. One coffee in the morning is enough for me. I have to go get some files, but then let’s meet in the third-floor hall.”
Jerry watched him walk away and wondered if Dr. Patterson was entirely satisfied with him.
Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Patterson was asking a patient, Dean Farris, “How are you feeling?”
On the bed lay a young man in his early twenties who had been seriously injured in a traffic accident. It hurt as he opened his mouth. “A-a-a-ah.” He tried again. “O-o-o-oh.”
Dr. Patterson placed a hand on his shoulder. “You mustn’t exert yourself too much. It seems your speech center has been affected. Do you remember what happened to you?”
The boy slowly moved his head to the left.
“You had a bad accident on your motorbike. Your head went through the windshield of a car, and this caused bleeding in your brain. Are you following me?”
The boy tried to say something: “A-a-a-a-ah.”
“That’s OK, don’t exert yourself. Your speech will eventually come back. Right now the most important thing is for you to rest. You should be able to go home in a week or two.” At least he hoped this was the case. “You were brought to the hospital after the accident. We operated on you right away and removed the coagulated blood.”
Dr. Jerry Duncan added, “The important thing is that you survived the accident. You could easily have died.”
Dr. Patterson asked the boy, “Does your head hurt?”
The boy shook his head.
“Good. You see? Everything is coming along fine. Like I said, rest and try not to think too much.”
The two doctors moved on to the next patient.
A woman in her late fifties was scowling at them as they approached. She grumbled, “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Malone. How’s your arm today?” Dr. Patterson asked.
“Same as yesterday and the day before. Part of it is numb and I can’t feel a thing. It’s not at all pleasant. Obviously, the nerve operation you did didn’t work.”
“Now, there’s no need to be so pessimistic. Operating on a nerve is always a very delicate matter. It’s true, you may need to have a second operation, but first we’ll have to run a few more tests. There is really no need to worry so much. We’ll get that arm of yours back to working order. You can be sure of it.”
The woman pressed her cracked lips together and huffed in anger. “You operated on my neighbor, Dr. Patterson. She had a minor tumor. And the poor woman died not long ago.”
“Really? What was your neighbor’s name?”
“Mrs. Bleiweis. German background.”
Dr. Patterson remembered this patient. He had operated on her about a year earlier. “What was the cause of her death?”
“The cause of her death? She was always complaining about her headaches. And then a week ago they found her dead on the floor. What do you think it was?”
Now Dr. Patterson was the angry one. “As far as I can remember, I only saw Mrs. Bleiweis once after the operation. There’s not much I can do if I don’t see the patient.”
The woman made a face. “In any case, without my right arm I’m useless. What will my husband say if I can’t do the housework?”
Dr. Duncan said in a soothing tone, “You really mustn’t jump to any negative conclusions. When we operate on a nerve, you don’t see the results right away. You have to wait a few more days, or weeks, or even months. If it’s not better by then, we’ll do another operation. But until it’s healed, you certainly will not be doing any housework.”
“Good-bye for now, Mrs. Malone,” Dr. Patterson said, feeling a little peeved.
Jerry Duncan also said good-bye. The woman said nothing in return.
The next patient had had a spinal operation. She had been suffering from severe lower-back pain, and it had been necessary to remove an intervertebral disc.
Dr. Duncan was the first to greet her. “Good morning, Mrs. Scott. How are you feeling today?”
Dr. Patterson picked up her hospital chart and greeted her as well.
The woman, who was in her seventies, could barely respond. She had dark-blue circles under her eyes and looked worn out. Nevertheless, she managed
a faint smile. “Not too bad, Doctor. I’m glad I’m still alive.”
“Of course you’re still alive, and you’re going to stay that way. Did you sleep alright?”
She shook her head. “My back was hurting me. I didn’t sleep a wink.”
Both doctors nodded sympathetically. Dr. Patterson wrote something on her hospital chart and said, “I’m prescribing additional medication for the pain, so it should be easier for you to sleep. Don’t worry, it will all be fine.”
She looked at him gratefully.
They then visited two more patients, who had both had operations for malignant tumors. Finally, Dr. Patterson went to his office and Dr. Duncan set off for the cafeteria.
Chapter 3
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In the crowded hospital canteen, Anita Carter placed her tray on an empty table in a far corner of the room and sat down for lunch. She looked around to make sure she hadn’t missed saying hello to any of her colleagues. With the tips of her elegantly manicured fingers she arranged her long black hair that was softly falling to her shoulders. She had delicate features, nicely shaped lips, and bright, penetrating gray eyes. She was thirty-seven.
Jerry also put his tray down and sat opposite Anita. A mere glance at her told him she was tense: her lively eyes glistened.
His thoughts were confirmed when she quickly asked, “Did you talk to him?”
“Who?”
“Patterson, of course. You know, what we were talking about last night. It’s high time you got a promotion. You should have become an associate neurosurgeon a long time ago.”
“I didn’t talk to him. He wasn’t in a very good mood today. You saw that yourself. He seemed a little tense to me.”