by CJ Lyons
First the extra security and now this Italian Santa lookalike? She never should’ve trusted Lightner. They were going to lock her up behind padded doors while Rob’s killer walked free.
Bianchi took her good hand and squeezed it. He leaned forward, pitched his voice so no one could hear. “I hear you’ve had a rough time of it. Wanna talk about it?”
“You a shrink? This going in my record?”
“No to both. I’m an anesthesiologist. One of my interests is unusual reactions to drugs: pain medications, anesthesia, paralytics. All of which you’ve had in vast quantities since you’ve been here.”
She brightened at that. “You’ve seen this happen before? How do you make it stop?”
Bianchi held up a hand to stop her rush of words. “The brain is an amazing organism, the way it responds to the stress of injury, illness, surgery. Add to that a powerful mix of chemicals, and anything can happen.”
“Great, so fix it already.”
“I have to be honest with you, I’ve never seen anything like what Josh described. But I have read and heard of remarkable things happening, ways people change after a trauma. That’s why I want to hear about your experiences firsthand.”
“Now I get to be a guinea pig. No offense, but all I want is to be left alone.”
“I’m here to help you. Try to stop these episodes if I can.”
Should she trust him? Damned if she did, damned if she didn’t. Feeling drained, she sank back against her pillows and nodded her assent.
“Why did you become a police officer?” Bianchi started, settling comfortably in his seat, crossing one ankle over his knee.
As always, the question brought a smile to her. “My dad. He was a cop, the best. He could do anything.”
“What do you like most about it? The adrenalin rush? The excitement?”
She shook her head, remembering her dad again. “The job’s not about the gun, he always said. It’s about the badge and the people you protect with it. Almost thirty years on the force, and he never once fired his gun in the line.” It felt good to think of Dad. Like he was somehow here with her, sharing his strength to see her through this. “Guess I enjoy the problem solving, helping the little guy.”
“Anyone in your family with any serious medical problems? Seizures? Neurologic problems?”
“No seizures.” She liked his easy way of asking her personal questions. Bianchi would have made a good interrogator. “My dad died in a high speed pursuit. My mom died of ovarian cancer when I was nine.”
“How about you? Any medical problems? Concussion or head trauma?”
Kate would have laughed, but her side hurt too much. “I gave my brother one when I was six,” she said. “Cracked him over the head with a croquet mallet because he was pickin’ on my friend, Tony Martini. He still blames me for his bald spot.”
Bianchi gave her a warm smile, and she continued, “Only time I was hurt, I fell out of a tree, broke my arm. Didn’t hit my head, though.”
She remembered Mom, calm, splinting her wrist, taping a bag of frozen peas to help with the swelling. And Dad, looking so pale, his lips tight as if he felt the pain more than Kate. She had held in her own tears for fear of making him cry. Just as she’d held back so much more after her mom died. Brian O’Hern was a tough as nails cop on the street, but Kate knew his vulnerabilities all too well.
“Anyone with psychic abilities?”
“Now who’s talking crazy?”
“Have you ever had a vision before?”
She scoffed, shaking her head. “No. Of course not.”
“You don’t believe in psychics?”
“Are you joking? I’m a cop. I’ve got all I can handle with what I can see, feel, hear.”
“Haven’t you ever wondered?” He leaned forward. “Did you see anything? When you crossed?”
She slit her eyes at him, wondering if he belonged in the looney bin more than she did. “Sorry to disappoint, doc. But there was no tunnel, no white light. Nothing.”
It was all still fresh, the idea that she’d actually been dead. She remembered warm sunlight, the smell of wild flowers dancing in a spring breeze. Things that felt personal, too private to discuss with Bianchi. Could that have been heaven? Happy, she’d felt so happy—until the moment Lightner tore her back to her living hell.
“You believe in this psychic BS?” she asked Bianchi.
He straightened and chuckled. “I’d like to. Some people say they see their friends and family waiting for them, the ones that have gone before.”
Kate shook her head, wondering at that. She hadn’t seen anyone. Jeezit, she couldn’t even die right.
“It’d be nice to think there was something more. Don’t you think?” Bianchi finished, staring at her as if he knew full well she was holding out on him.
Time to get back to reality. “I think it’d be nice to know that what I’ve got has a reasonable explanation and a cure.”
Or even a name—just give her something she could fight.
Bianchi nodded and continued his list of questions, all of which revealed Kate’s bland lifestyle, free of toxins other than caffeine and adrenalin.
“Never knew how boring I was until now.”
“I wouldn’t call coming back from the dead boring,” Bianchi said off-handedly.
Kate lurched upright, ignoring the pain shooting through her side, and faced him. “Is that why I’m having these visions? Are you telling me I’m brain damaged? That this is permanent?”
Bianchi looked away, didn’t answer her.
“People with brain trauma, they don’t always recover, do they?” she asked, her fingers twisting the sheet into a knot. What if her little fits were only the tip of the iceberg?
“Why don’t you tell me about your visions, and we’ll see what we can figure out,” he suggested in a gentle voice.
What did she have to lose? Kate told him about her visions, everything except imagining the killer there in the ICU a few minutes before Bianchi arrived.
Bianchi listened. Really listened, asked only a few questions to clarify. He kept his hand on hers, comforting her as she struggled through the tough parts, his face sympathetic, not judgmental. Still, she couldn’t help but wish it was Lightner there instead, holding her like he had that morning.
When she finished, they sat in silence for a moment. Then he gave her a small smile. “You’ve been through a lot, more than most people could handle.”
Kate glanced away. “Rob’s the real hero, and Jenn, his widow. She’s got to face life, raising their two kids, without him.” God, she missed her partner. She could talk to Rob about anything, and together they usually found a workable answer. She blinked away the tears and turned back to Bianchi. “I just want to get better, get out of here so I can help catch Rob’s killer. I can’t do that if—”
He squeezed her hand again. “I don’t think you’re crazy, Kate.”
“What can we do?”
“You get some rest,” Bianchi said, making Kate roll her eyes. That was what everyone kept telling her. “I’m going to change some of your medications, I think you’ll find it easier to sleep. And I’m going to stop any that may lower the brain’s seizure threshold—”
“Seizures?” she interrupted him. That would fit, the way she lost time, blacked out during her fits. Still couldn’t be a cop with epilepsy, but at least it wasn’t something the defense attorneys could use against her when they caught Rob’s killer. “There’s medicine you can take for those, right?”
“I’m not sure if it is seizures. Once the drugs are out of your system, an EEG could tell me. But there’s no way to keep that out of your medical record.”
She nodded, glad that they were both on the same wavelength. Bianchi would have to document her visions in order to get the test done and that was the last thing she wanted or needed.
“Let’s see how things go, all right?” He stood to leave. “Hang in there, Kate.”
She watched him leave and sank back,
exhausted. Bianchi had given her little hope, but somehow Kate felt better after talking with him.
Start with the basics, she told herself. Getting better, getting the hell out of here, getting her life back.
Most importantly, getting the bastard who had killed her partner.
Josh wasn’t on call, should have just gone home. Instead he found himself in the SICU, at O’Hern’s bedside. She was asleep, truly asleep, her face unlined with worries, her body relaxed. He resisted the urge to wake her, to ask her—what?
So many questions, but they all depended on her having some kind of crazy psychic ability and him being crazy enough to believe her. It was a coincidence, some kind of bizarre coincidence. Sal would tell him what was really going on, then Josh would fix it.
That was how his world worked: find the problem and fix it. You didn’t need any higher power or nutso gypsy fortune-telling for that. All you needed were steady hands and the courage of your convictions.
His fingers combed through Kate’s short, tousled dark curls. Her creamy complexion highlighted the freckles marching across the bridge of her nose. There were seven of them. Her color was better now, cheeks not as pale, her long eyelashes...
Josh jerked upright, looked around, glad that no one was watching. He’d been close enough to kiss her, felt certain that he would have. Lord knew, he wanted to.
She’s a patient, strictly off limits, he reminded himself, banishing too-vivid images of her waking naked in his arms, the sound of her laughter ringing through his imagination. He had to tread carefully here, stay on his guard.
He brushed his finger over the freckles on her nose and decided they were her best feature. Josh hung his head, wished for a moment that Kate was someone else’s patient, anyone else’s but his. He could handle responsibility over life and death, but this seemed far too much for one man to deal with.
“We need to talk.” Sal Bianchi’s voice jolted Josh. He jerked upright, putting as much distance as possible between himself and O’Hern’s freckles.
Sal’s expression was stern, disapproving. Embarrassment warmed the back of Josh’s neck.
“Outside.”
Josh followed the anesthesiologist away from the SICU and down the hall to the vending machine alcove where they could have some privacy.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Sal asked, his voice sharp.
Josh turned away, pretended to be deciding between a Reese’s cup and a Peppermint Patty. “Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“Then explain what I just saw in there.” Sal shrugged a shoulder back toward the SICU. “I warned you about getting involved with O’Hern.”
“Damnit it, Sal. It’s not like that.” The back of his neck was burning furiously by now. “There’s nothing between O’Hern and me,” he lied. “You talked to her. What’s going on with these crazy visions of hers?”
Now it was Sal’s turn to look chagrined. “I’m not sure. Not yet anyway. But I don’t think she’s crazy.”
“Don’t tell me you buy into this psychic garbage? We need to study them, it needs to go on her chart.”
“It will end her career.”
“Don’t I know it.”
There was silence except the gurgling of the Coke machine. Damn, he despised losing. At anything, but most especially when a patient’s well being was involved. He had to be honest with himself, the main reason he had avoided investigating Kate’s abnormal behavior was he was afraid of what he might discover. Once he started looking, what other parts of Kate’s brain would he find damaged beyond repair?
“You need to transfer her care to someone else,” Sal finally said.
Josh jerked his chin up, shaking his head before Sal finished speaking. “I can’t. She’s my patient, my responsibility.”
Sal stared at him. The discerning stare of a clinician and colleague softened into the concerned expression of a friend. “Be careful.”
Josh swung his foot against one of the machines, hard enough to rattle it. He hung his head, avoiding Sal.
“Don’t force me to report you to the Executive Committee. You know what happened to Kennedy last month.”
Josh knew. Kennedy was an orthopedic surgeon, suspended after a female patient made allegations of sexual harassment. Her lawyers were currently suing both the hospital and Kennedy while the Medical Board had scheduled a hearing to see if Kennedy merited disciplinary action or suspension of his medical license.
Relentless, Sal continued, “Don’t make me be the one to end your career, Josh.”
CHAPTER 10
The next morning, Kate watched Lightner lead his team on rounds through the ICU. They had begun in a counter-clockwise direction, which made her bed space last, giving her ample time to observe their antics.
A gaggle of geese in a v-formation, their white coats flapping behind them, they would home in on a patient, surround his bed, either shake or nod heads as Lightner pontificated, then take off, flying to another patient. Occasionally one or two strayed from the flock, retrieving a chart or supplies, but quickly they would return to their place in the formation.
By the time they reached her space, Kate could almost imagine them spreading their white coats and soaring away.
“Officer O’Hern, top of the morning to you,” Lightner said in a bogus Irish brogue. “You’re looking better this morning, did you get some sleep last night?”
“Like a baby.” After the good night’s sleep, she’d even managed to almost convince herself that her visions had been the by-product of stress, fatigue, and the drugs. Vivid dreams, but only dreams.
“Good, you needed it,” he looked as if he were going to ask something more but instead turned to his junior resident. “Any drainage from the JP?”
“Minimal,” the resident replied as he examined the plastic tubing emerging from her chest.
“Excellent. Let’s transfer her upstairs, and this afternoon we’ll put the chest tube to water seal. Go ahead and take the JP drain out now.”
Kate glared at the two residents who approached her. “Should I charge admission or what?” she asked, grabbing the sheet and holding it down. “How about some privacy?”
The residents looked confused. Lightner laughed. “Now I know you must be feeling better. You guys go ahead. I’ll take care of this myself.” His flock fled, and he pulled the drapes around her bed. “Sometimes we forget that there is such a thing as privacy.”
“This isn’t a Liberty Avenue peep show.”
Kate watched his hands as they deftly cut through the stitches securing the drain. She winced as he pulled the drain out of her body in one swift movement and deposited it in the trash can. He stripped off his gloves and threw them in the trash as well before turning back to her.
“I wanted to talk to you more about what you said yesterday.”
She looked up, hopeful that he and Bianchi had solved the mystery of her disappearing mind. “Oh that, I think you were right and it was only the stress of being here. I didn’t have any dreams last night.”
“I talked to the cardiologists about Mrs. Greenbaum.”
Dread iced her veins. “It happened just like I said it would.”
“Yeah, well.” He was nonchalant, distant as if they weren’t talking about an impossible feat. “I was wondering. Maybe you were remembering tracings you saw on her monitor? Things from earlier that got jumbled in your brain.”
“Maybe,” she hedged, wondering where he was going with this.
He was silent, lips pursed as if trying to break bad news to her. It was very clear he didn’t believe in her visions.
“Dr. Bianchi thought it was the drugs, maybe,” she said, hoping he would confirm the anesthesiologist’s opinion. She cursed the monitor that beeped out her racing pulse, giving lie to the calm facade she was working to preserve.
Lightner didn’t answer, wouldn’t even allow her the small comfort of that dim hope, but instead patted her on the shoulder. “I think you’re going to be fine. I’ve got
to get to the OR.”
Kate watched him leave, more frustrated than ever. Why was he so distant today? Had he finally decided she was crazy, brain damaged, beyond help? Who could blame him?
But her visions, they were so real. What if she could see the future?
A cold sweat broke out over her. She shivered, pulled the sheet up and snugged it close. In her visions, she’d seen Rob’s killer, her blood on his hands. She gagged against the sudden taste of copper. Would that come true as well?
Later that morning, they moved Kate upstairs to the regular floor. What a difference it made having walls instead of merely a flimsy curtain between her and the next person. No nurses keeping her under constant surveillance. She was still on an oxygen monitor and was tied to the bed by her various tubes and catheters, but she was blessedly alone.
Not for long. Before she could do more than appreciate her view of the parking lot, two bulky male figures crowded through the doorway.
“Aren’t you ready to spring this place yet, O’Hern?” Phil Conrad asked with a forced grin.
“Nice to see you too, Sarge.” Both men wore dress blues, wide black bands encircling their arms. “Is the funeral today, then?”
Conrad and Hernandez looked at each other. “We just came from there,” Juan finally said.
Kate closed her eyes for a moment, remembering how Rob had joked with her. Right before he got shot. “How are Jenn and the kids?”
“Jenn took it pretty tough,” Conrad said. “But she did okay. Came to the funeral alone, though. Said she wouldn’t put her babies through that even if it was tradition. Said she didn’t want that to be their last memory of their dad.”
Kate felt guilty about lying here in this nice comfortable bed. Damn it, it was her job to be there for Rob’s family right now, to help them through this awful thing. Her partner’s family, they were her family as well. Even Turner, the old goat.
They were all silent for a moment. Cops never spoke of it, but they shared a feeling of invulnerability that came with wearing the uniform. They had to or none of them could venture out to face the streets.