Code Blue

by Janet Lane-Walters

  Several minutes later, she retrieved the wadded paper. At least someone had believed her report about the mugger. Last night, she had feared the police officer had agreed with the security guard and decided Julie had an accident. After smoothing the sheet, she settled on the couch to read the article.

  "Last night, despite increased security measures, the Bradley Memorial parking lot was the scene of yet another mugging. Twenty-three-year-old Julie Gilbert suffered multiple injuries and is listed in satisfactory condition. The quick action of an unidentified nurse prevented this from becoming another tragedy. Where were the police?"

  Susan scanned the rest of the page. Each paragraph ended with a question pointing to police neglect. She frowned. That wasn't how it had happened. Where had the security guard been when Julie had run past his desk. He hadn't been at his station when Susan had arrived either. She put the paper on the table. Had the hospital's publicity department hidden that fact?

  Wait until I see Patrick. Had he noticed the semi-sensational reporting style that had crept into the pages of the News? Was there anything he could do about it? She laughed at herself. What power did the Arts and Leisure Editor have over the front page?

  With a sigh, she lifted the basket of dirty clothes from the floor beside the couch and walked to the basement door. The kitchen radio blared the opinions of a local psychic.

  "I see the face of the killer covered by a shroud. If I could touch an article worn by one of the victims during the attack, the veil would be torn and his aura captured. Though I've informed the police of my willingness to aid in the search for this evil man, they haven't responded to my offer."

  "No wonder," Susan said. She closed the basement door and went down to the laundry room. "And I have my suspicions and no proof."

  After loading the washer, she returned to the kitchen and stood at the counter to make a shopping list that included the extras she needed for Christmas baking. The radio program had now turned to a pair of psychologists who stated their opinions regarding the psychological profile of the killer.

  "A very disturbed man," a deep voice said. "A gray soul who had difficulty expressing his emotions. He sees the hospital as a symbol of authority, as the giver of life and death, and is rebelling against this power. He will present himself to others as the man next door."

  "Disturbed, I agree," a second voice said. "But I disagree with my esteemed colleague's assessment of the killer's character. In my opinion, the killer is the product of sexual abuse. Killing gives him a sense of power and allows him to express his hostility toward women and to his mother in particular."

  Susan snapped off the radio. "What about a greedy doctor who's earning cash on the side by writing prescriptions for addicts." She closed the pantry door and pinned the list to the bulletin board.

  At one thirty, Susan stopped at the deli and bought a sandwich. With Trish and Julie as patients, the unit would be short staffed. A sandwich would be easier eaten on the run than a salad.

  After she pulled into a space on the second tier of the hospital parking lot, she stayed in the car and devised questions to ask Julie and Trish. If these answers confirmed her suspicions, she would call Greg Davies and tell him about De Witt.

  A few minutes later, Susan entered the Intensive Care Unit. She scanned the visible section of the desk that formed a circle around a central core to find her friend, Marge. Her search failed so Susan walked to where she could see the rest of the desk.

  Before she moved five feet, a petite black nurse grabbed her arm. "A float... Thank heavens they got you to come in early. With three patients, we're pushed."

  Susan shook her head. "I'm not a float. I'm here to see Julie Gilbert. We work together on Five Ortho. If I'm lucky, I won't have thirty-six patients tonight, just eighteen. Have you seen Marge Inglasia?"

  "You'll find her somewhere between four and six. Have you ever considered transferring here?"

  "Sometimes, but I think I'd be bored." Susan spotted Marge's black curls and headed for the cubicle where her friend regulated an intravenous. She paused in the doorway.

  Marge turned. "She's in four. Stop on your way out and we'll talk."

  "Will do."

  Susan entered Julie's cubicle. For several minutes, she studied the younger nurse with a professional eye. Julie's eyes were closed. Her skin color was good. The fractured leg remained in a soft cast. The lines on the monitor above the bed showed a normal heart rhythm. Susan exhaled and walked to the bed.

  "Julie, it's Susan."

  The younger nurse's eyes opened. "Hi." Her voice emerged in a hoarse whisper. Her hand moved to touch her throat.

  "It's all right," Susan said. "You don't have to make conversation. You look so much better than you did last night."

  "Thanks."

  "I'm glad I arrived in time."

  Julie smiled. "Me, too. Mom told me." She coughed.

  Susan poured a glass of water and positioned the straw so Julie could sip. "Don't talk. A yes or no will do. Do you remember who attacked you?"

  Julie frowned. "I..." Her eyes closed over a look of frustration. "He...he..." A coughing spasm ended with a hoarse intake of breath.

  Susan squeezed Julie's hand. "Don't let this upset you. You'll remember. Is there anything you need?"

  Julie grinned. "Out of here."

  "Will be awhile." A few minutes later, Susan rose. "I want to see Trish before I head upstairs. I'll try to run down after nine o'clock meds."

  As Susan left the cubicle, Marge motioned. "She's doing great."

  "Why can't she talk?"

  Marge walked to the end of the desk. "Let's go in the break room. I don't want everyone in the world to see how angry I am."

  Susan followed her friend into the small break room. Marge poured a cup of coffee and looked at Susan. She shook her head and leaned against the now closed door. "All right, what's wrong? If you're this angry, there must be something serious going on."

  "Do you know where the guard was?"

  "Not at the desk, that's for sure."

  "Watching TV in the ER waiting room. He figured all the nurses were gone. He should have been there."

  "You're right. What about Julie? Do you think she'll remember who attacked her?"

  Marge shrugged. "She was unconscious for a couple of hours. She doesn't remember anything about last night after giving report."

  Susan frowned. Had Julie forgotten De Witt's storm trooper tactics or was she protecting him? "She sounds like a rusty hinge."

  "From pressure applied to the throat during the attack. For a while, they thought they'd have to do a trach. I'd like to get my hands on the bastard who did this."

  "I wish I had arrived a few minutes earlier."

  "And caught him." Marge's grin was fierce. "We could have had a lynch party. Three of us, Susan. It's not right."

  Susan stared at the floor. And all three knew something about De Witt. Why can't Julie remember? "You're right. It's a nasty situation and everyone's wondering who'll be next." For a moment, she thought about the gifts. Fear swamped her. She inhaled and gained control.

  "Damn guard."

  Susan nodded. "When I yelled about the attack, he came strolling down the hall. It took him an eternity to follow me."

  "If they don't fire him, let's take him into the alley and show him how it feels."

  "Good idea." Susan reached for the doorknob. "What's in store for Julie?"

  "When she's stable, they'll cast her leg. I think they should keep her here until the killer's caught."

  "Maybe she'll be sent to Five Ortho."

  "Maybe you're dreaming."

  "You're right. Our nurse manager has some strange ideas about the presence of friends and relatives as patients on the unit. She's afraid they'll get special attention."

  "Who deserves it more than one of our own?" Marge emptied the remains of her coffee in the sink. "Meg has funny ideas about a lot of things. When is she due back from vacation?"

  "Monday."

 
; "Did you get a good look at the mugger?"

  "I was too far away and I made enough noise to scare a battalion." She stepped into the hall. "I'll try to get down later. Who's on?"

  "No one you know." Marge followed Susan past the desk. "I'll let whoever has Julie know you're coming. Are you sure you didn't get a good look at him?"

  "I was more concerned with stopping the attack."

  As she rode the elevator to the fourth floor, Marge's question echoed in Susan's thoughts. She hadn't seen his face, but she believed she knew who he was. What if she was wrong? She shook her head. Who else needed these deaths? It had to be him.

  Without proof would anyone believe her? Though Julie's amnesia had prevented a confirmation of the attacker's identity, Susan hoped Trish's answer would give her the proof she needed.

  Susan entered the cul-de-sac on Four Med/Surg and walked to the private room beside the patient's lounge. When she knocked, Trish called out. Susan opened the door.

  Trish stood at the window. "A colleague. What an unexpected pleasure." Bitterness tinged her voice.

  "I wanted to get down last evening, but we were short."

  "As usual. Bet you don't get a break tonight either."

  "I guess you've heard about Julie."

  "Is she all right?"

  "Post concussion. Amnesia for the period of the attack. Fractured tib/fib. We're down two RN's until you get back."

  "Don't hold your breath." Trish turned her head but not before Susan saw tears in the other nurse's eyes. "I'm out of here on medical leave. On Monday, I enter a drug rehab program. Mandated."

  Susan touched the thin nurse's arm. "You'll make it."

  "Will I? What do you know about me?" Trish walked to the bed. "Damn him."

  "Who?"

  "De Witt, who else?"

  Susan nodded. "I saw the two of you at the Pub. Is he your supplier?"

  "Not anymore."

  "How long?"

  "Four years. You don't think I followed him out of love. He introduced me to the benefits of amphetamines and then wrote me scrips for a price. Tuesday's were the last. He's gone legit." While Trish talked, she prowled the room. "This isn't the first time he's cut me off. He tried when Barbara found my stash and tried to blackmail him."

  Susan leaned against the wall. "Why did he change his mind?"

  "She died."

  "Why should he stop now?"

  Trish laughed. "His uncle died and now he has a large and lucrative practice. He can't afford shady dealings. Tell Julie what he's about. Maybe my story will open her eyes."

  "She broke off with him Tuesday. She's stopped trusting him. Maybe she knows."

  "I wish everyone did. He's slime."

  "Do you think he's the one who killed Barbara?"

  "De Witt?" Trish laughed. "Wrong. He's too much the coward. He'd never do anything where he couldn't push the blame on someone. If anyone had learned how he was supplying me with drugs, he would tell everyone how he pitied me and he thought he was helping."

  Susan pursed her lips. As angry as Trish was, she sounded as though she believed the things she said.

  "That's not what I wanted to hear."

  "It's all I can say. You'd better go up or you'll be late. Days will panic if they think one of them has to pull a double."

  Susan paused at the door. "Keep in touch. I mean it."

  Instead of waiting for the elevator, Susan ran up the stairs and pushed open the door on five. She waved to the physical therapist helping a patient master crutch walking.

  What if De Witt wasn't the mugger? Then why had he wanted Julie to alibi him? She pushed these questions aside.

  After hanging her coat in the locker room and changing into white oxfords, she headed to the lounge. Kit strode toward her.

  "Bet you went to see Julie," Kit said.

  "How is she?"

  "Improving." Susan edged past the secretary, opened the refrigerator and put her sandwich on the shelf.

  "So who did it?"

  "She doesn't remember the attack."

  "I bet she never dashes out of here alone again." Kit held the door open. "So tell me what happened."

  "She was mugged. That's all I'm going to say."

  "Aren't you tired of witnessing all this violence?"

  Susan poured coffee and walked to the door. "Yes."

  Kit pushed her hair from her face. "Aren't you scared? You found Barbara, stopped at Mendoza's accident, Leila was your best friend and you rescued Julie. You could be next."

  "Of course I'm scared and so are most of the nurses who work evenings. Aren't you scared, too?"

  "Petrified. Who do you think it could be?"

  "I don't know." Once again doubts arose. What if it wasn't De Witt?

  "I bet he recognized you last night. Who was it?"

  Susan bit her lip to keep remarks about De Witt from escaping. "Some coward."

  Kit smiled. "So you do know who he is."

  Susan shook her head. "What else could he be but a coward. He could have stayed and attacked me, too."

  "Come on. Is it someone we know?"

  Without answering, Susan walked to the station. When she saw the pair of part-time nurses at the desk, she smiled.

  "How's Julie?" the blonde asked.

  "Awake and alert but doesn't remember anything."

  Susan became the center of a gathering of nurses. "How does it feel to be a heroine?" Rhonda asked.

  "Did you really interrupt the attack?" the dark-haired evening nurse asked. "Did you recognize him?"

  "I was too far away." Susan reached for the care plan book. "How about report?"

  During report, the many interruptions with questions about Julie and the attacker made Susan want to scream. She was glad to see the day nurses leave and to begin her work. When she left to eat her dinner in the lounge, Kit followed her.

  "Aren't you going to the cafeteria?" Susan asked.

  "Not when I haven't heard the whole story about last night. I called the police and told them about De Witt storming in here and demanding Julie go with him."

  Susan groaned. "Why did you do that?"

  "They needed to know. Now tell me what really happened."

  "You've heard everything I have to say." Susan opened the sandwich.

  "You didn't describe him," Kit said. "Even if you didn't see his face, you must have seen more than you're saying."

  "If I knew who it was, I'd tell the police, not you."

  The lounge door opened and the volunteer entered. "Hi, Mr. Martin," Susan said.

  Kit turned. "Did you know Susan's a heroine? Someone attacked Julie in the parking lot and Susan chased him away."

  "That was very brave." He stood near the bulletin board. "Weren't you afraid of being attacked, too?"

  "I didn't think, I acted."

  "Will Julie be all right?" he asked.

  "Of course."

  Kit walked to the door. "See you later."

  Mr. Martin sat across from Susan. "Does Julie remember anything about her attacker?"

  "Very little, but she will. It wouldn't be fair for him to get away without paying."

  He gasped. One hand grasped his chest and he fumbled in his pocket with the other.

  "Mr. Martin," Susan said.

  Something flew from his hand and rolled across the floor. Susan scrambled after the object. She returned to the table, opened the vial and offered one of the tiny tablets to him. His face contorted with pain. With shaking fingers, he placed the tablet under his tongue. Seconds later, the signs of pain vanished from his face.

  "Let me take you to the ER."

  He shook his head. "The pain's gone. I'll rest a bit and then be out to help you."

  "Are you sure you should work tonight? Maybe you should go home and call your doctor."

  "You might be right. I'll go home." He sighed. "I feel like I'm letting you down."

  She shook her head. "Never. I'll be back to check you in a few minutes. If you don't look better, I'll take you downsta
irs."

  "Thank you."

  At quarter after ten, Susan hurried to the elevator. Med rounds were finished, charts written. There was time to talk to Julie and demand answers. Though Trish had confirmed De Witt's involvement in her addiction that only proved he was unethical. Susan hoped the information about Trish would force Julie to name the leonine doctor as her attacker.

  As she walked past the ICU desk, one of the nurses looked up. "You must be Susan. Marge said you'd be down. She's been sleeping since I came on duty."

  "I won't wake her." Though the thought of a delay didn't suit her plans, she couldn't force the issue.

  Susan entered the glass-walled cubicle. Before she reached the bed, she knew something was wrong. Julie rolled her head from side to side. The rumpled covers added to the picture of restlessness. Susan turned back to call the nurse but no one was at the desk. In two steps, Susan reached the bed.

  "Julie," she called.

  The younger nurse's eyes were wide and staring. Susan began a neurological assessment. The left pupil reacted sluggishly. Julie moaned. The random movements of her head and body increased. A stream of vomitus shot across the room. Susan turned Julie on her side and stabbed the call bell.

  "What's wrong?" The nurse who had spoken to Susan on her arrival appeared in the doorway.

  "I'm not sure. She's restless. No reaction from her right pupil. Projectile vomiting."

  "Can you stay while I call the house doctor and the neurologist?"

  "Yes." Susan wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Julie's arm. With her stethoscope in place, she inflated the cuff and then listened carefully. The results alarmed her. The wide pulse pressure indicated an increased intercranial pressure.

  Within minutes, Susan was no longer alone with Julie. Someone pulled the curtains to screen the cubicle from the ones on either side. Susan stepped back from the bed. Two nurses and the house doctor assessed Julie. The neurologist arrived, listened to the report and snapped orders.

  "Call Boyleston. I want him ten minutes ago. Hang a bottle of Manitol. Call CAT scan stat. I want an enhanced head. Get a trach set. Insert a CVP line and alert respiratory. I want a therapist to go to CAT Scan with her."