This wait lasted just five minutes before a short, narrow-faced grey haired woman came out to introduce herself. She seemed somewhat pensive, uncertain, like a human ball of string that could begin unwinding at any moment.
I didn’t trust her from the moment I saw her, and I liked even less the idea of Dedra being shuffled from one doctor to the next, with each move seeming to cause her condition to get worse and worse.
“Hello, gentleman I’m Dr. Theresa Stone. I’m the supervising physician for critical care unit. I’ve personally taken over Dedra’s treatment since her move to the 4th floor. I spoke earlier this morning with Congresswoman Mears. If you wish to see Dedra, please follow me.”
Each step I took down the brightly lit hallway of the care center grew heavier. To my left, Alberto rolled his wheelchair slowly, his eyes fixed straight ahead, his emotions well hidden behind the unreadable mask that was his face.
Dedra’s room was halfway down the hall, the single white door on the right marked in black with the number 418. Before opening the door, the doctor turned to us.
“She’s had quite a tough time of it. We didn’t think she’d make it through the night. Now you may be shocked at her appearance. There’s severe edema, primarily from her erratic heart, but her other organs are now shutting down as well, particularly the kidneys. I spoke with her briefly about an hour ago, and then she drifted off again. That’s increasingly common for her now. We have her sedated to keep her comfortable, but at this point, I’m afraid there’s very little to be done. Do you have any questions?”
Yeah lady, I have about a million of ‘em. Where to start?
“How did she go from feeling sick to dying in a matter of days? What the hell were you doing to her?”
I was surprised by how aggressive and accusatory my words came out. Not that they didn’t represent exactly how I was feeling, but that they issued forth so unfiltered. The doctor’s mouth turned downward into a momentary frown before she placed her right hand on my upper arm to try and reassure me.
“Sometimes people react poorly to the treatment. While this particular reaction, its severity, is uncommon, it does happen. I understand your frustration, but I assure you, we are an excellent hospital and Dedra was, and is, receiving the very best care.”
Bullshit. Her body was pumped with poison and now it’s killing her.
Likely sensing the soon to erupt volcano of emotion building inside of me, Alberto reached up to pat me on my lower back, his eyes communicating that this was no time to argue my newly discovered understanding of the dangers of traditional cancer treatment.
“Let’s get inside and see Dedra.”
I simply nodded, and then moved past the doctor, not waiting for her to open the door for us into Dedra’s room.
“Oh my god.”
Alberto made the sign of the cross as both he and I looked at what was once Dedra Donnigan. Perhaps something of her was left inside of the body that had so clearly and viciously betrayed her, but the sight of what lay on that hospital bed then, left us both stunned.
Her face was swollen nearly beyond recognition, the scar tissue on the right side stretched and cracked to the point of creating open sours. Her skin was overly red, like she had been out in the sun much too long. Both forearms and her remaining left hand were an even deeper, swollen red, and covered in thousands of tiny bumps, likely a terrible, chemo induced, hellish rash. The tips of her fingers, like the right side of her face, were also swollen and cracked. Dedra’s prosthetic right hand had been removed, leaving the stump fully exposed. This too suffered from the same swelling, though the tissue at the end of the partially amputated limb was a purplish black color, the scarred remnants of skin breaking open as well.
The woman who had done so much to help introduce me to the T3 Group, and thus give meaning to a before then largely meaningless life, was unmoving, the sound of her breathing issuing forth in a slow series of raspy, death rattle whispers.
While I had been told earlier of Dedra’s condition, had already grappled with the use of the word death in relation to her, standing in that room and looking down at what was left of a once incredibly strong and intelligent woman, left me weak and unprepared for the onslaught of horrible emotion that threatened to overtake me entirely.
The congresswoman was right.
Dedra was dying.
28.
“What are you staring at you old goat?”
Dedra’s voice was no more than a whispered croak, but at that moment, it was the best damn thing I’d heard in a very long time. Her head had moved slightly to the left so she could better see me and Alberto as we stood a few feet from her hospital bed.
“I’m staring at the toughest soldier I ever met.”
Dedra attempted to laugh, but it came out more of wheezing cough. Her left index finger lifted up just enough to point at Alberto.
“He might not agree with that, Mr. Bennington.”
Alberto wheeled himself closer to Dedra and placed his right hand gently on top of her left hand.
“He’s right Dedra – nobody tougher than you. Keep fighting girl.”
Dedra’s weak smile did little to hide the great fatigue in her eyes.
“I’m fighting…but I’m losing.”
The hospital room grew silent again as Dedra’s eyes closed, her face contorting into a pained grimace. After the moment passed, she looked back up at me, her eyes refocusing, her demeanor almost returning to her old self.
“Are you making progress on the fast track legislation Mr. Bennington?”
Now it was my turn to reach out and take Dedra’s hand in my own. I was shocked at how cold her fingers were.
“Yes ma’am. Not as much as I’d hoped by now, but there’s been some contacts made. We have the formulation, the one Father Barnes was using to treat you.”
Dedra frowned, looking confused by what I was telling her.
“Where’s Father Barnes then? Why isn’t he here?”
Alberto glanced up at me as I then looked back down at Dedra.
“We’re not sure. He uh, he was taken this morning.”
Dedra’s confusion grew more pronounced, her brow furrowing.
“Taken? Where?”
I shook my head, still holding onto Dedra’s hand.
“I have an idea, but we haven’t checked it out yet. We came here first.”
Dedra’s confusion changed quickly to anger.
“Mr. Bennington, why are you wasting your time in this hospital? Why aren’t you out there---“
A series of coughs interrupted Dedra’s words, her eyes widening as she struggled for breath.
“Come here.”
Dedra’s voice hissed up at me, demanding I obey. I leaned over the bed, my head just inches from her face.
“Get your tired old ass out of this room, and finish the assignment, Bennington. It’s too late for me, but we can be a part of helping others. Do you understand? Don’t be a disappointment.”
I stood back up to see Dedra glaring at me, waiting for my response.
“I tell you what Dedra, you stay alive, and I’ll keep working on the case. Do we have a deal?”
Dedra nodded, her eyes closing as she whispered a final demand before slipping back into a deep sleep.
“Don’t disappoint me, Frank.”
Alberto and I remained near Dedra’s bed for several more minutes, watching her sleep, taking some measure of solace in the fact she was still with us.
“What now, Bennington?”
I straightened up, having already decided the answer to that question even before entering Dedra’s hospital room.
“I pay Bruce Morehouse a visit.”
Alberto began to interject, but I held up a hand to cut him off.
“Don’t worry, you’ll be there with me. If anything, they’ll think we’re less of a threat if it’s just me and some guy in a wheelchair. No offense.”
Alberto smiled.
“No offense taken. They drop their guard and
you say the word Bennington. I’ll kill ‘em if you want, no questions asked.”
I nodded, then headed toward the door, figuring there was no time like the present to get to it. My determination to confront Morehouse was temporarily forgotten as soon as I stepped back into the hospital’s fourth floor hallway. No more than forty feet away to my right was Magnus Tork, the FDA operative, engaged in an intense conversation with Dr. Stone. Both Tork and the doctor looked up to stare back at me.
A half second of hesitation seemed to stretch much longer before Tork turned and began walking quickly toward the reception area and the awaiting elevator outside.
Why the hell is Magnus Tork standing just outside Dedra’s room talking with the doctor who’s treating her? What reason does someone with the FDA have for being here?
I knew the quickest way to find the answer to those questions was to get them from the FDA operative himself, so I took off running to catch him before he reached the elevator, passing Dr. Stone, whose attempts to stop me resulted in her being pushed against the hallway wall, her angry cry for security only pushing me to move even faster.
Tork was just a few paces from the elevator door when he saw me running toward him. I expected him to look surprised, perhaps even a bit frightened, but instead I was greeted with a hint of a smile, and the look of someone who was entirely comfortable with the potential for a physical confrontation.
Then I saw the gun.
Didn’t expect that.
I had depended too much on Tork’s narrow shouldered, bookish exterior, and had not considered the possibility he would be carrying a gun.
Why is it, in a town that bans handguns, it seems like all the bad guys are carrying them?
“Stop right there Mr. Bennington, I have nothing to say to you.”
To hell with him and his gun, I want answers.
Ignoring the gun pointed at me, I continued to walk toward the FDA official, feeling my rage grow with each step that took me closer to him.
“What the hell are you doing here, Tork? Morehouse send you? Checking in to make sure Dedra is dying? Maybe you had something to do with that too?”
As I said the words, I realized the very real possibility contained within them.
If this bastard had anything to do with Dedra sitting in that hospital bed, I’ll kill him myself, and follow him into hell so I can kill him again.
“Oh please, Mr. Bennington, don’t be ridiculous. I was just here on routine reporting duties, nothing that concerns you.”
I took another step.
“Really? Then why are you pointing a gun at me? That doesn’t strike me as something an innocent man would do.”
“Perhaps, because you appear quite unbalanced. I’m certain security is arriving soon, so I suggest you leave me alone and be on your way.”
The elevator indicated it was heading up from the main lobby, likely carrying hospital security staff with it.
A large droplet of sweat trickled down the government bureaucrat’s left temple. Though his voice remained calm, his eyes betrayed his near panic. Whatever truth Magnus Tork was hiding, he wanted very badly for it to remain hidden.
The elevator was nearly to the fourth floor. When the door began opening, the FDA official hid his gun inside of the dark blue winter jacket he wore, and smiled back at me, once again fully confident in his own safety. Two security officers exited the elevator and looked directly at me as the voice of Dr. Stone called out from behind them.
“That’s Mr. Bennington. Please escort him from the hospital. He is not to be allowed back in.”
I turned to face the doctor. I could see the same panicked guilt I found in Tork’s eyes within hers as well.
“Why? So you can finish killing my friend without interruption? Is that it? What the hell is going on here? WHAT ARE YOU PEOPLE DOING?”
The doctor looked down, and for a brief moment, I believe she may have actually been contemplating telling me something of the truth. The moment soon passed though, and when her head lifted, she simply ordered security to have me removed.
“Get him out of here.”
As the two security officers pushed me past Magnus Tork, I locked eyes with the FDA official.
“I’ll be seeing you again Tork. This isn’t over. I don’t care how many guns you’re hiding in that coat of yours.”
Tork leaned into me close enough I could smell the acrid, sourness of his breath as he hissed back at me.
“Oh, I’m certain you will be seeing me again Mr. Bennington. First things first though – there’s a certain priest I have to confess to.”
29.
While sitting in the back of the cab on the way to the Morehouse estate, I called Congresswoman Mears. There was no time for formalities. Dedra’s condition was imminent.
“What is it?”
“Congresswoman, you have to pull Dedra from that hospital. They’re killing her. Please, whatever it takes, you get her out of there.”
Once the words were out, I knew how crazy they sounded.
Who gives a shit how it sounds? It’s the truth.
The congresswoman didn’t response right away, causing me to glance down at the phone to make sure the call was still connected.
“Are you ok, Mr. Bennington?”
A series of curses exploded inside my head. The congresswoman’s tone suggested she thought I was cracking under the pressure of the assignment. Maybe if I was on her end of the phone I’d be thinking the same thing.
“I’m fine congresswoman, but I’m telling you, there’s something going on in that hospital. Can’t you at least get her transferred somewhere else? Anywhere?”
I could sense Alberto staring at me intensely during my conversation. Maybe he’d never seen anyone talk to the congresswoman like I was at that moment, but hell, I’d worked with politicians most my life, and knew most of them were unworthy of any kind of reverent consideration. And like I said, Dedra’s worsening condition meant there was no time for stupid formalities.
“Where are you, at the hospital?”
“No, we got thrown out. I’m working the case, but Dedra needs to be moved out of that hospital. She’ll die in there.”
“Did you say you were thrown out?”
I glanced outside, noting another hard rain was falling upon D.C., like a precursor to a great flood sent to wash away the capital’s legion of sins and corruptions.
If only…
“Mr. Bennington, I asked you a question.”
I ended the call. If the dumb bitch wasn’t going to listen, saving Dedra was all on me.
“You hung up on her, the congresswoman?”
For the first time since I met him, Alberto appeared nervous.
“Yeah, I hung up on her. She’s playing politics with this shit right now Alberto, and we’re trying to save people’s lives, Dedra’s and the priest’s.”
Private Detective: BENNINGTON P.I.: A thrilling four-novel political murder mystery private detective series... Page 49