The Tao of the Viper: A Kate Pomeroy Mystery (The Kate Pomeroy Gothic Mystery Series Book 2)

by Linda Watkins

  “Dr. Pomeroy?” the rep asked. “Do you have any other concerns?”

  “No,” I finally said. “Thank you. But if it happens again, I want a new machine. I can’t be running a lemon here at the clinic. I need to be able to rely on the results.”

  “Of course. Just call me. If it happens again, I’ll bring a new unit.”

  I smiled. “Thank you. Now, I have patients to see.”

  A few minutes later, the ambulance arrived and the paramedics wheeled the old man in on a gurney. They had him hooked up to an IV as planned.

  “Take him into Patient Room One,” I said. “Steve, once he’s settled, get blood and urine. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Steve nodded, indicating to Mary and Terrance, who had just arrived that they should take seats in the waiting room.

  I finished up with my current patient, then walked into the patient room.

  Quickly, I took the old man’s vitals. He seemed, as Mary had indicated, to be in some sort of coma. His respiratory rate was depressed, as were his other vital signs. He appeared to be barely alive.

  Puzzled by how he presented, I left the room and walked over to where Mary and Terrance were waiting.

  “When did you first notice his condition?” I asked.

  Mary and Terrance looked at each other, then Terrance responded.

  “This morning. He seemed fine last night. A little tired, perhaps, but overall fine. Mary went to wake him for breakfast and he was like this. Unresponsive.”

  “Had he complained of any headaches or vomiting before this happened?”

  Mary shook her head. “No, not that I know of.”

  I thought for a moment, then indicated for them to come with me back to the patient’s room. The old man was lying there looking dead as a doornail. I took his hand and, after examining it, pressed down sharply on his nail bed. As I did this, I watched his eyes closely for a reaction, but there was none.

  “We’re running blood tests now, which may give us a clue as to what’s happening,” I said, dropping the old man’s hand. “With your permission, I’d like to perform a spinal tap.”

  “Why?” asked Terrance.

  “The fluid we get may show us if there’s an infection in his nervous system. I’d also recommend he be transferred to the mainland where they can perform CTs of his brain which will let us know if he suffered a stroke or hemorrhage. If everything comes back negative, they may order an MRI, too.”

  “You can’t do that here?” asked Mary.

  “No, we don’t have that type of specialized equipment. All I can do is keep him comfortable and hydrated.”

  I walked back over to the bed and, once again, picked up the old man’s hand, feeling for a pulse. To my surprise, as soon as I put my fingers on his wrist, he rolled his hand over and gripped mine so tightly I thought my bones might crack.

  “Mr. Morrison,” I said, grimacing. “Welcome back. Do you know who I am?”

  The old man ignored my query, curled his lip in a snarl, and stared at his IV. “Get that goddamn tube out of me!”

  I started to explain to him why it was necessary, but he wasn’t listening. Instead he dropped my hand, reached over, grabbed the IV tubing, and yanked it out of his arm.

  Blood shot from the wound, staining my white coat.

  Shocked by his action, I quickly recovered, grabbed a towel, and applied pressure to stop the bleeding.

  “Terrance,” I commanded. “Please try to calm your grandfather before he does himself any more harm.”

  The old man laughed. “Terrance couldn’t wipe his own ass without help. Now, where am I and why am I here? Grandson, you’ve got some explaining to do!”

  Apparently hearing the commotion from the hallway, Steve entered the room. “Dr. Pomeroy,” he said. “Can I be of any assistance?”

  I turned and looked in his direction, smiling gratefully. “Yes, can you please restrain Mr. Morrison while I take care of the wound he caused by tearing out his IV.”

  Steve nodded, then walked over to the bed. “Mr. Morrison, let Dr. Pomeroy do her job. It will be over in a second. But, if you resist, I’ll have to restrain you.”

  The old man narrowed his eyes, glaring at Steve, then, apparently realizing he was outnumbered, sank back onto the pillow.

  “Let her do her worst,” he said, his voice tinged with venom. “Then, Grandson, get me out of here!”

  “Yes, Grandfather,” Terrance said meekly. “As soon as Kate – I mean Dr. Pomeroy – discharges you. We were very worried.”

  The old man laughed. “Worried, my ass. You just don’t want to miss out on something – something that was promised. Something very special.”

  I quickly bandaged the wound, shocked at the way the old man was acting. When he spoke to his grandson, his voice was full of loathing and disgust. I glanced at Terrance and Mary. They both seemed to have shrunk, cowed into submission by their thoroughly unpleasant grandfather.

  Satisfied I had done all I could, I motioned to Steve and together we exited the room.

  “Mr. Morrison’s clothing is in the closet, Terrance,” I said on the way out the door. “I suggest you get him dressed for the journey home.”

  Outside in the hallway, I turned to Steve.

  “What were the results of his tests? Normal?”

  Steve frowned. “No, and that’s a problem. His CBC looked a lot like Jeremy’s. Values that make no sense. I think we’ve got to call that rep and have him bring us a new machine.”

  “Okay, I’m on it.”

  “And, where is Nadia? I’m having trouble getting into my tablet.”

  “Oh, didn’t you get your new password?”

  “Password?”

  “Yeah, she sent out an email last night. Part of a new protocol to protect our patients’ files. Passwords will be changed on a more frequent basis.”

  I looked quickly at my unread emails. There it was.

  “Okay, I got it. But, in the future, make sure she keeps me in the loop, okay? I’m getting a bit sick of all this password shit.”

  “Will do, boss.”

  I smiled, glancing at the front desk. It was vacant.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  Steve grinned. “On her lunch break. I think she was meeting Tom.”

  I nodded. “Well, I’m all for romance as long as it doesn’t interfere with work. When Nadia gets back, have her put together a bill for Mr. Morrison. Okay, now we’ve got patients backed up because of that old man. Let’s get at it.”

  29

  Kate

  Gaslighting

  WE DIDN’T FINISH up until after seven. Jeremy texted me that he had work to do at home and would see me the next day. When I arrived back at the Carriage House, I was tired. Looking forward to a relaxing evening alone, I stepped inside, locking the door behind me.

  I walked to the living room and stopped. Something wasn’t right. I raised my head and sniffed.

  The room was filled with the lingering odor of cigarette or cigar smoke.

  Frozen in place, my heart began to pound. My eyes darted around the room. Everything looked normal. Suppressing the urge to run, I took a step toward the kitchen where the smell was stronger.

  “Is anybody there?” I called.

  The house remained silent. I glanced around the kitchen.

  It was empty – the counters clean, just like I’d left them. I started to think that maybe I’d imagined the smoky smell, when I saw something out of place.

  A half-empty wine glass was sitting on the edge of the sink.

  I gasped.

  Hadn’t I washed that glass this morning?

  Feeling definitely shaky now, I quickly checked the other rooms in the house, then the back door.

  The place was empty and the door was locked from the inside.

  My palms began to sweat and I recognized that I was experiencing the beginning signs of a panic attack. Taking deep breaths, I sat on the floor, using mediation techniques to stave off its onset.


  After a few minutes, my heart rate returned to normal. My mind cleared and I knew what I had to do. I pulled my cell from my purse and located the outdoor camera app. If anyone had broken into my home, I would have them on tape.

  I looked first at the doorbell camera – everything seemed normal. No one had approached my front door all day except me. The backdoor camera was likewise benign. The only thing recorded was a wild turkey that had passed in front of the door.

  I shook my head, puzzled. Could someone have blocked the cameras somehow, forced open the door without causing any damage, and then sauntered around my house, smoking and drinking wine?

  If that scenario was correct, then I should have evidence of the intruder on the nanny camera.

  Quickly, I opened up that app. I was about to watch the day’s recording when I remembered something. There was one more entryway to my house I had to check. The trapdoor that led to the tunnels.

  I paused the tape, took a deep breath, and threw open my closet door. Everything looked normal. My shoes were lined up like little soldiers along the almost invisible seam at the front of the trapdoor.

  I pushed them aside, and opened it wide.

  The interior security door was in place and locked and I was the only one who had a key.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I sat down on my bed and resumed watching the video.

  Nothing. The camera just showed the room, empty but for me.

  Confused, I shut down my cell and plugged it into its charger. The odor of cigarettes had dissipated and I wondered again if it had ever really been there to start with.

  I leaned back on the pillows, thinking. Had all this been some sort of flashback from the drugs I’d been given last summer?

  I hadn’t heard anything from that professor who specialized in the pharmacology of mind-altering drugs. But then, I hadn’t really checked my email for the past couple of days either.

  I rolled over and grabbed my cell from the charger and quickly perused my inbox.

  There it was, tucked away between ads for medical equipment and pharmaceuticals. His response.

  Quickly, I scanned the email. He confirmed that, for the drugs that were not experimental, there was a possibility of lingering effects. These effects would most likely occur when specific “triggers” were enacted.

  I thought about this. My uncle and Vlad had used my fear of spiders to incapacitate me. Thinking back, I recalled the awful chittering sound that often preceded one of my nightmares or hallucinations. That sound would, I deduced, constitute a “trigger.”

  However, I hadn’t heard anything like that since I found the tape recording my uncle used to induce my nightmares.

  Disappointed, I turned back to the email and read further. Of the two experimental drugs I’d been given, he could tell me very little. One, he said, had been abandoned by the pharmaceutical company because of severe side effects that had occurred in the primate population they used to test the drug. Any further information on this pharmaceutical was being closely guarded by the company. The other one he was still researching and said he hoped he would have additional data in the near future.

  The email went on to express how sorry he was about the death of my father and what had happened to me. He said he thought lingering effects from these drugs would be a long shot and that it was more likely that I was suffering from PTSD. He suggested I seek medical help dealing with it.

  Not happy with this response, I sent him a quick “thank you,” then filed his message away.

  My stomach growled. I was hungry.

  Putting my cell back in the charger, I left the bedroom. I re-checked all the locks and cameras to make sure they were working properly, then, satisfied that everything was secure, went to the kitchen to make dinner.

  After eating, I sat on the sofa recalling the events of the day. It had been a strange one. Everything had started off normal until the emergency call from Mary Morrison.

  I thought about how her grandfather had presented. He’d displayed all the classic signs of coma and I’d taken all the appropriate triage steps. But he’d come out of it in a very atypical manner. No confusion, just anger. And ripping his IV out! That took the cake.

  I leaned back, thinking.

  His bloodwork.

  Steve had said the printout was similar to Jeremy’s. But the company rep had said the unit was working perfectly. What was going on here? Was the rep lying? That didn’t seem right. Most of the time, these guys were more than willing to replace a defective product. They needed to keep us doctors happy. The last thing they wanted was for a dissatisfied customer to go around bad-mouthing their equipment.

  Not sure what exactly I was doing and why, I logged into our medical records module and pulled up copy of the old guy’s bloodwork and the most recent copy of Jeremy’s. I put them in a file I called “Abnormal Blood,” then logged off. I’d review the two in the morning when I had a break. I hoped I’d find a plausible explanation or, possibly, a common denominator.

  I yawned. It had been a long day full of surprises and possible threats. I needed sleep. Checking all the doors and windows one last time, I turned down the lights and went to bed.

  30

  The Old Man

  Back to Sleep

  WHEN THEY ARRIVED back at the house, the old man went directly to his room. He poured himself a drink, downed it, then returned to his bed. The events of the day had angered him beyond belief.

  I was fine, he thought. Restoring myself as planned. But those meddlesome relatives ruined it all. Now I’ll have to start over again from the beginning. It will take another week until I have the strength to finish the transformation.

  Just thinking about Mary and Terrance and what they had done caused his blood to boil and that he couldn’t afford. He’d reamed them out good in the car – admonished them, in no uncertain terms, not to disturb him again. With some effort, he erased their actions from his mind and, slowly, eased himself back into a state of hibernation.

  As he slipped further into a coma, his mind wandered, once again, back to the beginning. He wondered briefly why the events so long past held such a fascination for him now. But he knew the answer. It was because the journey he had embarked on then might now coming to an end…

  31

  The Old Man

  The Enchanter’s Story

  THE ENCHANTER STARED at Ian, grinning.

  “Let me tell ye my story, lad,” he’d said. “For someday ye will be in my place and will be telling this story to the next in line.”

  Ian sat still, waiting as the enchanter cleared his throat, spat on the floor, then continued speaking.

  “As I said, I was born in the city of Constantinople in the year 1003. I was, like you, a sickly lad – born with a withered arm and leg on my right side. I could only walk with the aid of a crutch and earned my keep by begging.”

  Trying not to be intrusive, Ian had studied the man as he spoke. He carefully assessed the right side of the enchanter’s body, noting there was no evidence of deformity. Was the man lying? A puzzled look crossed his face and he was about to speak when the enchanter shook his head.

  “No questions. All will be made clear in time.”

  The old conjurer pulled a flask from his pocket and took a draught, excess liquid spilling down the sides of his mouth onto his beard. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his robe, then locked eyes with Ian and continued.

  “It was late in the sowing season when I was approached by a man. He was a stranger to me and to our village. The man’s skin was black as coal and glistened in the hot afternoon sun. His garments were made of silk and adorned with golden thread. He said his name was Numir and that he had traveled far to find this place. He caught sight of me staring at him and laughed.

  ‘Boy,’ he had commanded. ‘Bring me some water.’

  “Nodding vigorously, I hurried as best I could to obey his command, my useless leg dragging behind me as I moved. This stranger was obviously a man of great wealth and I
hoped to earn a coin or two from him to take home to my father to stave off my nightly beating.

  “After the man had drunk his full, he beckoned me to sit with him under a fig tree. It was there that my life changed.”

  The enchanter paused in his recitation and once again took a drink from the flask. He closed his eyes, as if remembering. Sighing once, he again addressed Ian.

  “As I have told you,” he said. “The man, Numir, related to me wondrous things – things that dealt with magic and sorcery. I sat with him under that tree, spellbound, not realizing that the sun had set and the streets were now empty. We were alone.

  “He then asked me the question I have put to you – do you want to live?”

  The old man smiled grimly at this memory. Yes, he’d wanted to live back then and live he had for five hundred years. And, now, he acknowledged that if he were asked that same question today, his answer would be the same. Yes, he wanted to live and live he would. Rules and regulations be damned.

  32

  Kate

  Moving Right Along

  THE NEXT DAY looked to be an easy one. Only a few patients were scheduled and, barring an emergency, I would have time to catch up on my journal reading and begin a serious examination of the strange blood results on both Jeremy and Mr. Morrison.

  I spent an hour on the Internet reading up on rare blood disorders, but nothing seemed to gel with the values on my printouts.

  Frustrated, I finally just Googled the average of Jeremy’s and Morrison’s WBC values to see what might come up. To my surprise, the list of results all referenced lizards – cold-blooded creatures. Curious, I did the same thing with the RBC and hemoglobin. Again, the results all referenced reptiles.