The Rabid (Book 2): Addendum

by Urban, Ami

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  L.REYNOLDS:

  Dr. Wood, let me remind you that your reason for being here is to ensure this hospital is up to code. Don’t you think a better use of your time would be to find us working equipment instead of policing our surgeon?

  D.WOOD:

  I wasn’t [crosstalk].

  L.REYNOLDS:

  Please. [Pause] I suggest you keep to your own ongoing investigation instead of worrying about technological issues.

  [Silence]

  L.REYNOLDS:

  Anything else?

  [Silence] [Cough] [Metallic scrape]

  L.REYNOLDS:

  Very well. End of meeting. [Papers shuffling] [Cacophony of voices] Dr. Rutherford, [aside] we have a surgical consult in an hour.

  B.RUTHERFORD:

  Yeah, I’ll be there. Before you go, can you hand me Grey’s Anatomy. [Pause] The book, not the show.

  L.REYNOLDS:

  [Pause] Sure. [Static] [Shuffling] Here.

  B.RUTHERFORD:

  [Quietly] Thanks.

  [Silence] [Pages turning]

  L.REYNOLDS:

  Try not to blame yourself.

  [Footsteps] [Door squeaking] [Muted thud]

  B.RUTHERFORD:

  [Sigh]

  [Pages turning] [Static]

  B.RUTHERFORD:

  There a reason you’re still here, dude?

  [Squeak] [Silence]

  D.WOOD:

  [Quietly] Where did you study medicine, Dr. Rutherford?

  [Muted thud]

  B.RUTHERFORD:

  [Exhale] Johns Hopkins.

  D.WOOD:

  [Pause] Is that the truth or is that the first thing that came to your mind?

  B.RUTHERFORD:

  Stanford. No, wait… Harvard. No, that’s law… Uh…

  [Thud]

  D.WOOD:

  Dr. Rutherford…

  B.RUTHERFORD:

  Look, dude, I don’t know what you want from me. I’m just doing the job I was given.

  D.WOOD:

  Who gave you that job? Because it wasn’t the CDC.

  B.RUTHERFORD:

  [Pause] God?

  D.WOOD:

  [Sigh]

  [Ringing] [Shuffling]

  D.WOOD:

  [Inaudible] shit… Dr. Rutherford, would you please?

  [Chair squeaks] [Shuffling]

  D.WOOD:

  [Forceful] Turn off the recorder!

  B.RUTHERFORD:

  [Pause] Sure thing, dude.

  [Shuffle] [Static] [Tapping]

  B.RUTHERFORD:

  [Playful] There ya go!

  [Footsteps] [Door squeaks] [Door closes]

  D.WOOD:

  [Strong inhale] Yes? [Pause] Yes, this is the correct location. [Pause] Yes, she’s here. Running the hospital like a daycare, but here. [Long pause] And what do I do about the abhorrent way this place is treating their patients? A little girl was killed yesterday because the surgeon is a— [Cutoff] [Pause] [Exhale] What does that have to do with me? I wasn’t in charge of mass distribution. [Pause] Are you saying…? Could this happen again, sir? [Long pause] No, I understand. When can I see my family? [Long pause] [Sharp inhale] [Softly] Carrie? Honey, are you okay? Are they treating you alright? [Pause] [Soft chuckle] That’s good. [Pause] I don’t know, honey. As soon as I’m done here, possibly. But I don’t know how long that’ll be. [Pause] I know, Honey, but you have to be stro— [Cutoff] Hey! [Slam] Let me talk to my baby girl! You bring her back! [Slam] [Pause] What are you doing? Don’t!

  [Chair squeaking] [Clattering to floor] [Faint screaming]

  D.WOOD:

  [Shouting] Stop!

  [Screaming cuts off abruptly] [Silence]

  D.WOOD:

  [Shocked] What… [Pause] What have you done? [Long pause] No… Why? Why?! Where’s my wife?! My son?! [Pause] [Sniffling] [Emotional] Please, don’t hurt anyone else… I’ll do whatever you want. [Pause] I don’t… Why? [Pause] Alright. Yes, sir. I understand, sir.

  [Silence] [Thud] [Sobbing]

  D.WOOD:

  [Softly] What have I done…? I’m sorry, Carrie… Forgive me… Lord, forgive me…

  [Chair scrapes] [Footsteps] [Door creaks and closes]

  [Tape ends after 7 hours, 37 minutes and 12 seconds of silence]

  [END TRANSCRIPT]

  From the desk of Dr. Lisa Reynolds – February 22

  After spending forty-five minutes trying to find Brendon in the large hospital, I gave up and did all the day’s consults myself. Of course, my eight-hour shift transformed into a sixteen-hour shift. Four of which I’d spent practicing psychology again.

  Ms. Stacy Lynch was a young, pretty woman with a soft voice and thin frame. While she remained professional in her appearance, she did not wear makeup to enhance her features. I thought perhaps she could be more approachable to the support group of survivors if she took pride in her appearance. Some may think that’s a sexist view, but time after time, it proved effective in sustaining a trustworthy doctor-patient relationship.

  So, imagine my surprise when I walked into the therapy room and saw her sitting behind her desk, reading a book with a pretty blue bow in her hair. It was strange.

  I made a soft attempt at clearing my throat. She looked up and smiled.

  “Hi, Dr. Reynolds. You’re early today.”

  I nodded, shooting a disapproving glance at her disaster area of a desk. “Yes. I thought we could talk about techniques before you start the group session.”

  Stacy’s brow furrowed, her lips pulling down into a scowl. “Oh.” Her book dropped into her lap. “I thought you were going to run them from now on.”

  Oh, really? Well, that was quite a tall order and something she never cleared with me. I was already working overtime. No way in hell was I going to add a full-time therapy group to my load.

  “There’s no way I’d have time for that.” My ponytail fell over each shoulder as my head turned back and forth. “I’d be willing to help out for a little while, but I couldn’t possibly run the group.”

  Stacy’s brows pulled closer together. She tapped a finger against her chin. “But Scotty asked for you specifically.”

  Taking a deep breath in through my nose, I tucked the charts I brought under one arm. “Then I’ll take him as my patient on a one-on-one basis.”

  Stacy stood from her seat, the book falling from her lap to land on the floor with a soft plop. “I’m sorry.” She stooped to pick it up. “I just thought it’d be easier for you to take it on. I’m not licensed or anything.” When she straightened, her gaze met mine. There was fear behind her eyes for some reason.

  I sighed. “Having a license doesn’t seem to matter anymore, Ms. Lynch. I’ve found that people are capable of picking up skills if they’re passionate enough.” Pausing for a moment, I brushed my ponytail off my shoulder. “I’d like to teach you some skills that may help with your group sessions.”

  Stacy wrung her hands in front of her. “I just don’t feel like I’m qualified to treat PTSD this severe. I mean, these people in this group…they weren’t always…people.”

  My gaze snapped to her in an instant. “I sincerely hope you haven’t told them that.”

  She dropped her arms to her sides, her cheeks flushing with color. “Oh, no! I wouldn’t dream of it. But… Some of them are…very unstable.”

  “Of course, they’re unstable. They have severe Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder from recovering from a horrific illness. I can’t imagine what they’ve been through – driven mad because your brain has swollen and is pushing on your skull.”

  An audible gulp came from across the room. “Right. I understand.”

  “Alright. Then, let’s get started.” I dropped a tote bag full of books onto her desk. Her eyes grew two sizes as she saw the pile pour out in front of her. Sifting through them, I continued. “I think you’ll find the Fundamentals of Psychology to be the most efficient place to start.” I handed a colorful paperback to he
r.

  But she didn’t take it. “Right…”

  Instead, I held my tongue and placed the book on her chair. “There’s also Introduction to Psychology, which you might find has a little more information on support groups.”

  Again, she didn’t make a move to take the book or say anything.

  Pausing, I tapped a finger against my chin. “I know it’s daunting to take something like this on, but I’m confident you can handle it.”

  “You are?”

  I nodded. “PTSD is difficult to treat. There aren’t any truly effective drugs out there. Do you know anything about Cognitive Behavioral Therapy?”

  She shook her head, her cheeks turning pale.

  “Oh, don’t worry!” I snatched another book from the pile. “Here. This one will teach you about how CBT’s can be very effective at minimizing the symptoms of PTSD.”

  Finally, she took the book from my hands. Its hard cover slid through my fingers with a soft whoosh sound. Stacy studied it for a moment. When she looked up at me to say something, the office door creaked open. I spun around just as a few sets of footsteps marched inside.

  Scott Langford was the third person into the room. When his blue-eyed gaze met mine, recognition flashed hot. He smiled, coming to me while the others filed past.

  “Long time, no see, Doc,” he said, thrusting his hand into mine.

  “Indeed.” I tossed him a polite smile of my own. “I hear you’d like private sessions with me?”

  Something in his eyes changed. “Nice way of putting it.”

  “We can meet in my office if you’d like.”

  Scott shook his head, breaking our gaze for the first time. “No freaking way. They gave me the head chef job in the hospital cafeteria. And when I heard you were coming today, I made something special for you.”

  ***

  A steaming plate slid across the laminate table, interrupting me from reading the day’s charts. A fresh block of light pink salmon with a yellow glaze and a beautiful rice pilaf stared at me. My stomach grumbled. I hadn’t even realized I’d been hungry.

  “Dig in.” Scott plopped himself across from me, his elbows on the table. A slow smile spread across his face. “Caught that fish myself.”

  I felt my eyes widen. “Oh.”

  He handed me a fork and I shamelessly dug in. It was a beautiful light, crisp taste. The salmon was just fatty enough to melt like butter. Its flaky texture was divine. Just the right amount of lemon and garlic complimented the dish.

  “My God…” I held a hand over my mouth as I chewed. “This is absolutely delicious.”

  As Scott’s smile grew wider, I swore I could see a tinge of blush creep into his cheeks. “I made it special for you.”

  The first swallow was music to my stomach. “You certainly didn’t have to, but I won’t say I’m not pleased.” I took another bite, the fork sliding between my teeth. “So, tell me, Scott. How are things going with you?”

  The boy stared at my plate, seeming to be lost in thought. “Well…” He met my gaze. “Hard.”

  I nodded, finishing off my second bite. “That’s normal.” I paused for a moment, taking in a new flavor. “I really like the spice you’ve added to this. It’s a very nice, slow warmth. Not quite a burn, but it’s lovely.”

  Scott raised one reddish brown eyebrow. “Red pepper flakes.”

  After another nod, I continued with my meal. “Well, we’ve talked about your late family before. But would you like to—”

  “You wanna know what it was like?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  He stared hard at my plate again. “Turning.” He looked up, some unknown emotion shining behind his bright eyes. “Do you want to know what it was like to turn?”

  I felt my brows pull together. “You don’t have to if you don’t want—”

  “Well, I held it at bay for a long time. Like, almost a month. At first, it was like a fever dream.” His voice took on a slight wistful tone as he continued. “I couldn’t really do much but wander around. But then everything started pissing me off. Like, a small breeze stung any skin I had exposed. The only thing that helped was scratching. I scratched deep.” He extended his arm out onto the table. Curling his fingers around the fabric, he yanked up his sleeve to reveal lumpy, scarred skin. Each line was a faded pink and puffy. He was right – the marks were deep. He paused, sighed, then continued. “Any sound started to be too loud. I punched myself in the ear so often I lost hearing in the right one.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t seem to hear me. “Then I got really thirsty. But any liquid touching my skin felt like razor blades. And you can forget about putting anything in your mouth. Like acid on your tongue. The muscle spasms got to a point where I couldn’t control anything. Then…then my brain went.”

  I’d been awed to silence. Scott’s far away gaze seemed to clear a bit when he looked back at me. My expression must have been surprising, because he gave me a reassuring smile. But then, he looked down at my half-full plate and the smile disappeared. “Finish up.”

  Glancing down, I nodded and picked up my fork again.

  “When your brain goes… It’s a whole other thing. Ever done acid?”

  “Not on purpose.”

  He laughed. “Well, it’s like that, but…everything makes a weird sort of sense. I remember running through some kind of grass. It felt like a thousand bees were stinging my legs. I kept hitting them out of the way and they’d sting my hands and face. I remember there was this big-ass motherfucking wasp that just came out of nowhere.” He gestured wildly with his hands, almost knocking over my glass of water. “It was as big as my head. But I wasn’t scared.” He looked at me. “I wanted to kill it.”

  I took a sip of my drink, quelling a rush of spice. “So, you were angry.”

  To my surprise, he scoffed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Understatement of the year.” He brought up his right hand. “I twisted that thing’s head right off.”

  “I see.”

  “I just grabbed it…” He clenched both fists in the air as though he were clutching some invisible item. “Then…” With a great twisting motion that I swore came with a barely audible snap, he finished his story. “That’s when they found me and brought me in.”

  “And you received the antivirals.” I finished the meal he’d made me, feeling satisfied.

  “Yup.” He nodded. “Couple of days later and I had no more pain. I could drink again.”

  “I’m glad. Is there anything else you’d like to talk about today?”

  His gaze flicked down to my plate again, then back up where he shot me a toothy smile. “Nope. You’ve done more than enough.”

  ***

  It was 12:30 am by the time I’d finished everything on my plate. I’d had to reschedule six surgeries. Most of them were minor, but I still found myself frustrated at the lack of support for the day. After flipping the light switch in my office and glancing at the empty reception desk, I decided to seek him out.

  Harper was sitting at the nurse’s station in the front of the hospital, the monitor of her computer screen bathing her face in a bluish glow. She must not have heard me coming, because when I said her name, she yelped.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Dr. Reynolds.” Placing a hand over her heart, she turned to face me with a smile. “I didn’t see you.” After a pause, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Are you finally able to head home?”

  I sighed. “No.” Unable to hide the frustration in my voice, I said, “Has anyone seen Dr. Rutherford today?”

  Three of the fingers on her right hand drummed against the desk. “Not since rounds.” She swiveled in her chair to face the computer screen again. “I don’t have any messages from him, either.”

  I slid the palms of my hands across the counter, the cold laminate smooth against my skin. “This isn’t acceptable behavior.”

  Harper glanced at me. “It’s really not like him.”

  I wouldn’t know that.
<
br />   I refrained from articulating my thought. Instead, I rounded the nurse’s station until I was within reach of the day’s charts. Then, I rifled through them absently.

  “I suppose I should try and reach him somehow.” I just felt too apathetic to do anything about it. Or perhaps I was too tired. Or I missed my family. I’d hardly seen my husband since he’d come back from the search party. And we hadn’t had sex in a week.

  “I…can try him.” Harper’s words tore me out of my thoughts, cooling the heat in my abdomen. Before I could answer, she’d picked up her desk phone and punched in a few numbers. I avoided her curious gaze as I continued to idly go through charts.

  After a few seconds, she hung up the desk phone, then picked it up again. This time, the number she punched in was longer. A few more seconds passed, then she opened her mouth to inhale. I met her gaze, but she said nothing, just sat there with her mouth open.

  For a moment, I wondered if she’d slipped into a catatonic state. Her eyes weren’t looking at me – they were looking through me. I was about to ask a question when she shut her mouth and nodded. At what? I don’t know. She set the phone down.

  “He’s in the old OR.”

  I tilted my head to the side. “Did he…?” Unsure of what my question was going to be, I trailed off.

  Harper only shrugged. Her expression was a mixture of concern and something foreign. I knew she cared about Brendon. Everyone did. I had no doubt he was sulking about Olivia’s death. It wasn’t his fault. But missing an obligation to save other lives was unacceptable. I’d have to speak to him about that.

  “Thank you, Nurse Harper.”

  She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “You’re welcome. Have a good night, Dr. Reynolds.”

  What a sweet girl. “You, too. Don’t stay too late. Make sure you get plenty of rest.”

  “I will.”

  I tapped the edge of the reception desk once before continuing to the West Wing. My fingers slid off the laminate with a muted squeak, almost matching the ones from the flat soles of my shoes as I walked.

  With plenty of time to think, I was able to work through the tired fog in my brain. Since I wasn’t focusing on anything in particular, I was able to recognize a few anxieties of the day, which I eliminated quickly. The rush of earlier hormones was a bit more difficult to diffuse, so I skipped that for the time being.