by J. M. Barlog
Rick could muster no rational reason to cross her off his list, but on the other hand, he was still without any physical evidence linking her to the accident, and his attempt at extracting a confession had failed.
His telephone rang. Rick hesitated until the fourth ring. He really just wanted to go home. Or rather stop to see Bridget. The last thing he wanted now was to get involved in anything else.
“Special Investigations, Walker,” he said, though his eyes and attention remained riveted on the spread of reports in front of him.
“Detective Walker, This is Dr. Morrison, Jenny Garrett's doctor. She’s had another accident.”
Rick shifted his attention to the telephone.
“Warren brought Jenny in an hour ago with bruises and contusions. Says she fell down the stairs. I'm keeping Jenny overnight for observation.”
“Thanks, Doc. Thanks alot.”
Rick's mind churned. He stared out the window for a lingering moment. Jenny fell down the stairs. Could Warren have assisted Jenny's fall? Was this another attempt on her life?
Rick snatched his coat off the back of his chair. When presented with a golden opportunity, he had to take full advantage of it.
****
Rick doused his headlights and rolled to a stop three houses before the Garrett place. Lights illuminated both the first and second stories of the house. He had to hope he had gotten into position in time.
He lowered the volume on his police radio, turned the FM radio volume up and tuned to a classic rock station. Then he settled into his seat for what he hoped would be only a short wait. It boiled down to luck and tenacity now.
Rick's wait dragged on for two hours. But then Warren left the house, roaring out of the garage in his Saab and disappearing around the corner. Rick gave him plenty of distance, but not so much that he might lose him again.
Warren first stopped at the hospital, where like a dutiful husband, he spent an hour with Jenny.
During that time Rick ran in and out of the hospital snack bar, where he purchased a hamburger that he choked down in his car along with a cup of hot coffee. At first, he thought Warren's intent might be to remain overnight with Jenny. But promptly at nine, Warren exited the doors and returned to his vehicle.
26
Jenny eased out of bed, wrapped her fuchsia robe tightly around her waist and began a slow stroll out of her room. This might be the best opportunity she would ever get, so she knew she had to make the most of it. Answers to questions that had plagued her since awakening from the accident could very well be somewhere in this hospital. At the very least, she had to try to find them.
Jenny stopped first at the nurses’ station, leaning slightly against the counter for support, but making it appear as if she were casually waiting rather than holding herself up. Her face hid the pain ripping through her abdomen.
“Can't sleep, Mrs. Garrett?” a sour-looking Filipino nurse asked as she sat in her chair catching up on paperwork, which she then placed in various medical charts. She offered up no more than a sidelong glance, as if to indicate that Jenny’s presence was an intrusion.
“No. I feel fine. I still can't see why Dr. Morrison wanted me overnight.”
“Better to be safe. Insurance pays anyway. Might as well enjoy. Besides, we don't want anything happening to you. Doc Morrison worked too hard putting you back together.”
“You know about me?”
“Know about you? You’re our miracle girl. We're all thoroughly familiar with your case. Morrison briefed us before he left. Did you think the doctor was going to take care of you?”
“No, I just...”
“We know everything about you.”
“I was wondering then...could you tell me something of what happened that night?”
The nurse stopped what she was doing and stared up at Jenny.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean...I don't remember most of what happened to me. I have a black hole in my memory.”
To humor Jenny, the nurse pulled the Garrett chart from the stand beside the telephone.
Jenny shifted, masking her discomfort while the nurse scanned the stack of charts and doctors’ notes that filled her file.
“Not much to tell. You came in with severe head trauma, a number of fractures and internal hemorrhaging.”
“What happened to me...I mean after I got here?”
“Honey, you were initially treated by a third-year resident in Emergency. Morrison was called in almost immediately to do the surgery. You were in bad shape.”
“Why Morrison?”
“Surgeon on call. We keep three surgeons and a complete operating room staff on call twenty-four hours a day.”
“How long was I in the operating room?”
“Honey, you sure ask a lot of questions. Most of the night. Says here you were brought in at ten fifty-one and entered surgery at eleven forty-seven. I guess they had to stabilize you before they could take you up.”
“Would that say if anything unusual happened in the operating room?”
The nurse glanced away from the chart, looking quizzically into Jenny's eyes.
“What do mean, unusual?”
“I don't know. It's just I hear these strange voices in my head. One of them is Dr. Morrison's. I was just wondering if something might have happened in there.”
“What kinds of voices?” the nurse asked, now focused entirely on Jenny.
“There's one that sounds like...’the pressure...we can't...we're losing her.’”
Jenny witnessed a transformation in the nurse's eyes. They betrayed anything the nurse might say to dispute those voices. She knew something by the way her face changed. She had heard of this before. Jenny was certain by the way the nurse reacted.
“There's another one I sometimes hear...it's a woman's voice. She's panicked, yelling that they can't do anything.”
The nurse shrugged and returned to the chart. She flipped through the sheets of doctors’ notes, honing in on those dated the night of the surgery.
“Says here Alma Carter was the nursing supervisor on duty. She monitored you in the operating room. You could talk to her. She'd know exactly happened during your surgery. I'm afraid there isn't anything more in the notes I can tell you.”
“Thank you so much. Do you think she might be on duty now? Maybe I could talk to her while I'm here.”
“I'll call and check.”
Jenny waited. The nurse dialed the surgery station. There seemed to be a change in the nurse after she learned of Jenny's voices. She maintained a more guarded stance toward Jenny’s inquiries. There had to be some meaning behind the voices inside Jenny’s head. But if someone on the hospital knew something, would they ever reveal to her the truth.
“Sorry, Alma's off tonight. Check with hospital administration in the morning. They might be able to help you.”
****
Rick knew in a minute he had latched on to something when Warren turned west instead of east upon leaving the hospital lot. Warren had no intention of returning home. At least not right away. Rick hoped this would be his break.
Warren's route appeared well-planned, as he stopped at a liquor store and then at a drug store before heading across town. But as the surrounding buildings became familiar, Rick began to feel as if his stomach were being sucked down into his intestines. This was not where he wanted to be taken. This was turning bad fast.
Rick had to face what was churning up out of the dark recesses of his mind when the Glen Oaks Apartments came into view. At first, he told himself that this trip was an innocuous one. But little by little, he faced the truth. Rick broke off his surveillance to turn down a side street as Warren slipped into the underground parking garage. Coincidence?
Rick knew better than that. Warren was seeing Bridget. Rick no longer hoped it was strictly an innocuous visit. His mind began churning, reassessing all that he knew about the case. What had he missed? How had he let himself be duped?
Midnight came and went
. Rick was dead tired and dying for a cup of hot coffee. But none of that mattered now. How could he have fallen for her the way he did?
Warren and Bridget. It made sense now. It all made sense now. The odor in her apartment that registered in the back of his mind on his first visit. A stale cigarette odor that, at the time, meant nothing. Yet, if Bridget demonstrated so much concern about her body, why would she pollute it with cigarette smoke? She loathed smoking. Rick realized that the odor could have been left behind by Warren or Kate. He recalled now seeing no ashtray with cigarette butts in her apartment.
Bridget's willingness to offer up incriminating bits and pieces about Warren now made a little bit more sense.
By two in the morning the street was deserted, except for a shaggy mutt scavenging through the dumpsters. All but a few of the apartments in the building were blacked out. It was then that Rick realized Warren was at Bridget's for more than a quickie—this was going to be an all-nighter.
****
The hospital administration refused Jenny's request for the surgical nursing supervisor's number, and even denied her follow-up request for the woman’s next scheduled shift. But after only a few minutes on the telephone, Jenny had both the woman's number and address. Maybe Alma Carter could shed some light on why Jenny was being tormented this way.
Warren arrived shower fresh to find Jenny anxiously waiting to leave. She seemed more alert and excited than she had been over the past days. Jenny insisted they make a stop before going home. Somebody had to help her understand why her life had turned into such a nightmare.
27
Jenny insisted that Warren remain in the car, and noticing the determination in her eyes, he complied without question. He just had to let her run her course and work through whatever had risen anew to disturb her.
“Don't be too long, please!” Warren begged, concerned that the time he was wasting here was going to cost him dearly on the commodities exchange. Each tick of the clock meant money going into someone else’s pocket rather than his own.
A graying Alma Carter with a plain, serious face welcomed Jenny into her living room once she realized exactly who Jenny was. She remembered neither Jenny's name nor her face. But she would never forget the woman in the car wreck and what had to be done that night to save her.
“You look well, considering all you must have gone through that night,” Alma said.
“If only you knew the whole of what I’ve been through,” Jenny mumbled, more to herself than to Alma. And it appeared Alma’s hearing must be fading. Either she didn’t hear Jenny or chose not to respond.
The surgical nursing supervisor was a stout woman with a reluctant smile worn thin over her many years. She could be demanding and cold when the situation called for it, yet sensitive and compassionate as well. There was a moment of hesitation before Alma agreed to talk with Jenny about that night. It seemed to Alma that a Pandora’s box could be opened by discussing what happens in the confines of an operating theater.
Alma first confirmed that she had been in the operating room the entire time. All of the nearly six long and arduous hours, as was every other member of the surgical team. The collective sigh of relief when the operation was finally over proved overwhelming in itself.
“I don't know what I can tell you,” Alma said, sipping tea on her sofa while Jenny sat beside her. She had offered to make tea for Jenny, but Jenny refused, wanting to keep their exchange brief and focused on why she had came to her in the first place.
In minutes, Jenny realized that Alma's voice was another of those trapped inside her head. There was no mistaking that she was the one who seemed to let her panic slip into her voice during moments of crisis.
“I just need to know if anything unusual happened in the operating room.”
“What do you mean, unusual?”
Alma shifted in her chair to put more distance between her and Jenny, setting her tea cup on the table before her. But rather than to face Jenny, Alma stared into the cup.
Jenny sensed her question had dredged up something. Something that Alma knew and hesitated to tell her.
“You have to understand. You were in very bad shape when they wheeled you in. Dr. Morrison took it as a challenge to save your life. That's the worst way to have to perform. What else might you mean by unusual?”
“I don't know what I mean. But I can tell you this: your voice is locked inside my head, and I can't get it out. I was hoping you could tell me...”
“There's nothing I can tell you.”
Alma’s words took on a sudden defensive edge. She refused to meet Jenny’s eyes. She wanted to let sleeping dogs lie. But Jenny wasn’t about to cooperate.
“‘The pressure's dropping too rapidly...’did you say that?”
Alma turned to Jenny. Truth was written in her stare.
“You...”
“Did you say those words?” Jenny demanded.
Alma moved to the sofa, sitting right beside Jenny.
“Yes. Dr. Morrison was barking orders like a mad man. There was internal bleeding all over the place. He was having a hard time stopping it. I was holding a clamp in each hand when we started to lose you. He screamed at the anesthesiologist, but before anyone could react, you flat-lined on us. I was looking back at the BP monitor at the time, and I did say that the pressure was dropping too rapidly.”
Alma needed to pause.
Jenny needed to know more.
She watched Alma’s mind churning behind those dull green eyes, excavating the difficult memories of that night and bringing them to the surface.
“The surgeon did everything he could—your heart had stopped. But Dr. Morrison wouldn't quit. He desperately massaged your heart back to life. Missy, he never once gave up on you. That's why you're here now. He never once gave up on you. Jenny, you were gone for more than eight minutes. We were no longer certain that even if you came back, you'd be normal. You know what I mean?”
“By gone, you mean I was dead?”
“Yes. And usually the risk of damage is very great...but you made it back and you're normal.”
“Normal? My life's a nightmare.”
“I mean you’re still able to function.”
“I’m not a vegetable.”
“Dr. Morrison was yelling orders to everyone, and we were doing the best we could.”
“You're saying that I died on the operating table?”
“For eight minutes. While you were dead, Dr. Morrison fought to keep your heart and brain alive. Nobody thought he'd bring you back. But he did. He got a pulse and your pressure came back. And now you're functioning.”
“I just don't know if he brought all of me back.”
Alma stared at Jenny with the most peculiar expression.
“What do you mean?”
What Jenny thought at that very moment was far too wild for even Alma to be able to understand. And Jenny was living with it now.
Silence hung between them for a long moment; so long that Alma’s mind reacted to the implications of the silence.
“There was no negligence, if that's what you're thinking,” Alma added sharply.
“What? No, certainly not. From what you've told me, the only reason I survived is because of Dr. Morrison's efforts.”
Jenny rose and pulled her coat closer to her. She felt a tightening in her throat. She had crossed over. In that operating room, she had crossed the barrier separating life from death. The chill working through her came not from the drafts in the old brownstone house—it came from what was spreading into every corner of her mind.
“You said you heard other voices?” Alma asked when Jenny seemed to be in a trance.
“Yes. But they're just fragments. Bits and pieces that before now made no sense to me.”
“Jenny, you're saying you can remember what went on in that operating room? Were you conscious during the operation?”
The very thought sent icy shivers up Alma's spine.
“No. I couldn’t have been. I don't know w
hat I'm saying. I only know I have these voices clamoring inside my head, trying to get out.”
“My God.”
Alma Carter said no more.
At the door, Jenny thanked her for her candor, then walked carefully down the steps to return to the car. Something inside her mind had registered what had happened in that operating room when she died.
“Jenny, you okay?” Warren asked, seeing her ashen face.
Jenny just wanted to go home. She had to call Dwight. She had to tell him what she had learned—for eight minutes she had been dead.
****
Dwight sat in a lonely corner of the university library with a copy of the complete case file for Josef Lukenhan. It had been left to molder for the twenty odd years that had passed since Dr. Grayworth initially recorded his observations.
From the myriad of psychiatric jargon, Dwight learned that for more than three of the four years that the boy claimed to be terrorized by the Doppelgänger, no one had given the boy's story the slightest credence. Instead, they attached to his condition every possible variation of psychiatric terms known at the time.
Dwight worked chronologically backwards until he reached the point where the boy had fallen through the thin ice covering a pond on the family’s farm. He was trapped beneath the water for an unknown period before the father pulled him out and revived him. Miraculously the Lukenhan boy suffered no lasting side effects, probably due to the fact that the freezing water reduced his body temperature rapidly. He did, however, exhibit a sudden and dramatic shift in personality.
Once a boy of bold resources and exuberant spirit, Josef turned into a timid shell of his former self, suffering from almost continual depression. It wasn't until a year after the accident, after Josef attempted his first suicide, that Dr. Grayworth began treating the boy.
Dwight scoured each page, dissecting each sentence for clues, even nuances, of similar paranormal encounters. Dwight's own depression set in when he reached the end of the case file without uncovering any information pertinent to his particular case. Luckily, he had yet to reach the last of the case notes.