Interference

by S. L. LUCK

  “Pacemaker’s working.” Ed laughed uneasily. “I’m all right; you folks? Chester?”

  “He came out of nowhere!” Chester took his hands from the wheel to fix the hair that slid from his bald head, patting it gently back into place and then swivelled to look at the three spooked women. “Good thing I got winter tires, or Eddie’s face might’ve wrecked my dash.” He patted the glove compartment and started forward again. “I tell you, there’s some mighty strange things going on these days. Bus crashing, animals charging, and they’ve got some girl in the hospital spitting electricity. You hear about that?”

  “Nonsense,” Hattie swiped her hand out. “You’re just telling tales.”

  “No shit,” Chester told her.

  “Glenda’s front windows were broken by squirrels two days ago,” Dorothy said of her daughter. “I didn’t know that squirrels could do that.”

  “They can’t,” Evie said. “But anything is possible if the good Lord wills it.”

  “You said a girl is … what now?” Dorothy asked.

  “Electric, at least that’s what Morley’s daughter told Jeremy’s wife. He was helping some docs with a machine or something in the ICU, and I guess a patient zapped him.”

  “You mean a machine zapped him,” Ed said.

  “No, no. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It was the patient. Something about her skin being charged, I guess. The story’s wild, but Morley’s been in the hospital ever since. They made Alison sign a confidentiality agreement, but she told their daughter and their daughter told Jeremy’s wife. Think it’s the apocalypse?”

  “Don’t go scaring people, Chester,” Ed warned.

  Chester turned to Ed. “Would I lie about something like this?”

  “Maybe you heard wrong,” Hattie offered helpfully.

  “My ears may be old, but they’re not plugged. I’m telling you exactly what I heard, I swear.”

  “Well, there’s got to be some other explanation for it.” Dorothy fidgeted with the clasp of her purse and pulled a roll of mints out, doling them to Hattie and Evie, then two to Ed, who passed both to Chester. She said, “You know as well as I do that death scrambles the senses. Did Morley or Alison know of anyone who died on that bus? Maybe the family’s having a moment? Grief can make people say some pretty strange things. When Bob died, I wasn’t myself for a long time. Took the grandkids out to the animal farm near London maybe two months after, and wouldn’t I be damned if a sheep sounded exactly like him? There it was, four legs, tail, chewing weeds, covered in wool, and I swore right then and there it was Bob. They had to tear me away from that place. Of course, I knew it wasn’t him, I knew that, but I wanted to believe he was still with me. Grief is the best imaginator.”

  “Not sure about that,” Chester said dismissively.

  Moments later, the fairgrounds bloomed into view and fresh excitement overcame them. Gravel and new snow dusted up against the car as it left the asphalt and entered the long and winding approach to the pavilion at the far end of the field. Old eyes looked appreciatively at the expanse around them, and they were just nearing the parking area when Chester said, “Hey, did you hear we’re getting another resident next week?”

  “Who?” asked Hattie.

  “Delmer Baker’s widow, Sylvia. She was a crossing guard at the elementary. Remember her?”

  10

  Light flooded Dr. Adhira Tanti’s off-site office as the sun rose behind her desk. In the large picture window, snow brighter than her eyes could handle drifted from the sky and fell on the on the small courtyard where employees of the medical center took their cigarette breaks.

  She turned the blinds to dim the light and pressed her fingers to her temples. It had been another hard night. For the last week, she’d spent every waking hour at the hospital. Not only did she have Annabelle Cheever to contend with, but also an unusual spurt of episodes among patients that she could not explain. Dialysis patients were in and out within an hour, as opposed to the usual four. Adjustments to their machines were fruitless, as the process seemed to operate by its own volition, yet recipient patients appeared unaffected by the speed. Eleven expectant mothers, including three who were several weeks from term, experienced the same progression of contractions at exactly the same time, and gave birth at exactly the same second, sending nurses, doctors, and midwives scrambling to keep up. There were two occurrences of spontaneous remission in pediatric cancer patients, four incidents where victims of unrelated traffic accidents endured horrific psychotic episodes, and a God-awful day in the emergency room when thirteen children were seen for the sudden onset of grand mal seizures. Now, as Adhira rose from the leather couch normally reserved for visitors, she smoothed the front of her blouse and twisted her waist to stretch her spine. She didn’t enjoy sleeping at the office, but neither could she part from it. Especially now.

  Adhira folded the thin throw blanket she used for occasions like this and tucked it neatly against the wall on the back of the couch. Then she slid her tired feet into her shoes and began another day by asking her assistant, Chad, to bring her a latte with a double shot of espresso. She fixed her days-old makeup while she waited, noting with more than a little disgust that the layers did nothing but make her look slightly vulgar. She needed a shower and she needed rest, but neither of those would come for a while; hopefully this evening, if the chaos stopped.

  There was a soft knock at the door and then Chad entered with her coffee. “Morn—” He stopped and surveyed her. “You look like shit, boss babe. Screw the latte, it’s not going to help you. Get an anesthesiologist here to put you to sleep, okay?” He gave her the coffee and put his hands on his hips.

  “If you can find one willing to do that, make the call,” Adhira said, sipping fast.

  “Any luck with Ms. Electric?” he asked.

  “I wish you would stop calling her that,” Adhira scolded him. “And, no, we still don’t know how or why it happened. Have we heard back from NCT?” She asked the question knowing that her former colleagues at the Neurology Center of Toronto were habitually slow to respond to their correspondence, mostly because they despised being taught their own profession by her sophomoric assistant. His confidence mostly played in Adhira’s favor, but the rare occasions when it hindered her, she regretted having such high tolerance for his impertinence.

  Chad shook his head and propped an elbow on the arm wrapped across his chest. He pinched his chin, looking at her with what appeared to be pity. “They haven’t responded to any of your calls, and only one of your emails. I don’t know why you bother with them.”

  Adhira ignored his tone. “Was it Mac?”

  “Who else?”

  “What did he say?” Her eyes swung to the decades-old, framed picture on her shelf where she and Tyler Macklund posed together at a small dinner party to celebrate the completion of their PHDs.

  “He said that he’s empty without you, that he hasn’t had a good lay in years, and he’s left his wife and kids so you can be together.”

  Adhira spat out her coffee. “Not funny,” she said.

  Chad wiped his shirt. “He said he’d look into it. That was literally everything.”

  She took a brush from her purse, smoothed her hair into a low twist, and pinned it into place. “Did he even read my emails? Never mind. Call him again and tell him it’s urgent. And get me another coffee to go.”

  While Chad pivoted back to the reception area, she made her way to her personal washroom where she brushed her teeth and rubbed a wet towel over her armpits, wishing she had insisted on the installation of a shower when she’d leased the space.

  Soon, with another coffee in hand and Chad assaulting her with plumes of cologne he knew he was not allowed to wear, Adhira coughed her way outside. Her car was parked near the side entrance but she walked past it, very much needing the exercise to clear her head. An accumulation of snow made the sidewalk slippery, but Adhira kept to the wind-bared track along the right and presently she felt the cool air rejuvenate
her. She knew it wouldn’t last. It would dissipate three blocks ahead, where chaos awaited in Annabelle Cheever’s hospital room.

  Purposefully she took her time, proceeding from the cluster of pharmacies, orthotic supply stores, and various diagnostic buildings, past a quick-service coffee shop, and into a 7-11 where she bought a pack of cigarettes that she would try not to smoke. She was almost at the entrance to the hospital when, behind her, a horn honked. Adhira turned and saw Sylvia Baker’s son, Troy, waving from the window of a black sports car. Even with her impressive salary, Adhira knew that she couldn’t afford a car like Troy’s, so she couldn’t help but marvel at his profession as she waved back at him. “Morning!” she called cheerfully.

  He pulled aside and stopped at the curb. “I’d offer you a ride, but it looks like we’re both here already,” he said when she caught up to his car.

  “Thanks anyway.” Adhira smiled, feeling a blush rise from her neck and into her cheeks. At least they were outside, where she could blame it on the weather. “I’m sure your mother will be glad to see you today,” she said.

  “I’m not so sure about that. She really doesn’t want to go to Southbridge,” he said, and then Adhira remembered that she was to sign Sylvia’s discharge papers this morning. Besides her photographic memory, Adhira never forgot a face or an appointment in her entire career—a propensity which sustained her through eight years of university—so the realization she’d almost missed something brought a wave of anxiety that stung her nerves. She made a mental note to confirm her schedule with Chad once she got to her office at the hospital while she waited for Troy to park. A moment later, his tall silhouette rose into view. He wore a similar dark suit to the other she’d seen and a crisp white shirt underneath. A long jacket flapped above his knees as he walked, carrying a cup of coffee in a gloved hand. Where Adhira’s breath was visible in the chilly morning air, Troy’s exhalations were clear but for a slight fog near his lips when he spoke. “I’m glad I caught up with you. The incident the other night … I was expecting more information.”

  Adhira’s memory flashed to their exchange of phone numbers in Sylvia’s room but at once replaced this with the recollection of the directive to inform patient families about the cats. She had called Troy to explain the situation because, well, she did have his number and though it was not the use she’d actually intended it for, she felt their previous connection might inoculate the hospital against unwanted action. As they walked, she said, “Yes, that. Let me apologize again, Mr. Baker.”

  “Troy, please,” he insisted.

  “Troy,” she acquiesced quickly. “I know it’s little consolation since Sylvia is being released today, but I can assure you that we take patient safety very seriously. We’ve never had an incident like this, and I’d be the first to resign if we ever do again. We still don’t know what possessed them to attack like that. Our security footage has them entering through several doors. I could maybe understand one getting into the building, if there was some smell that attracted it or if it were being chased, but not so many at various points of entry at the same time. There simply isn’t anything to explain it.” He held the door open for her as they entered the hospital, where they paused near the information desk. Adhira turned to face him. “We’re working with law and animal enforcement as well as our security team to try and understand how and why this happened so we can prevent similar occurrences in the future. I’m so sorry about the scare your mother had, I really am.”

  He stared down at her. “I appreciate your honesty, Doctor—”

  “It’s Adhira,” she said.

  “Adhira,” he pronounced in three overdrawn syllables. “I do appreciate your honesty and I don’t question whether my mother was in good hands, but I suspect there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Adhira blinked. “I don’t understand.”

  Troy’s eyes swung around the atrium, from the small gift and flower shop to the cafeteria, then to the inner balconies, up, up, up, to the top floor. “I heard about your patient,” he admitted, and then his blue eyes narrowed on hers.

  “Why don’t we talk in my office?” she offered. He turned away to put his coffee cup in a can near the elevators and she followed, feeling slightly stung that he’d held his knowledge back until now.

  When he faced her again, the sharp angles of his face were softened by the lowering of his chin. “You misunderstand my intention, Adhira. I’m offering my support. I’ll be in the city for some time helping my mother manage her affairs. Since I’m here and since you have a situation that could put you in legal jeopardy, I’d like to offer you confidential advice, gratis of course.”

  Garett General already had a very capable team of lawyers, as most medical facilities did, and though the hospital’s CEO Cliff Henderson would be the lead on legal proceedings, Adhira considered Troy’s offer with a twinge of elation. She could first find out what he knew, offer just enough to optically display restraint, and then maybe parlay the informal consultation into something more personal, if only for a short while. Adhira was okay with that. In her line of work, relationships with non-medical partners were fraught with the frustration of work days that never ended and work nights that superseded all other commitments. She said, “I appreciate your offer. We already have legal counsel, as I’m sure you’re aware, but an off-the-record conversation couldn’t hurt. Maybe over dinner?” She tried to sound casual, but in the tired and greasy state she was in, she realized her invitation might appear desperate to him.

  The side of Troy’s mouth slanted upward. “I could do that.”

  Three hours later, Adhira had discharged four patients (Sylvia among them), consulted on the potential recovery of a near-drowning victim, visited two Alzheimer’s and three pediatric patients and though it was already noon, she still hadn’t eaten breakfast. Sighing, she slumped into her chair, removed her shoes, and closed her eyes. She was used to being busy, but the weight of the last week had drained her usual stamina, so she was snoring in minutes. Then dreams about to materialize were shucked away by a knock on her door. Go away, she thought, nauseous with exhaustion. The soft flesh of her eyelids curtained down once more, but the knock came again before she could ignore it. “Yes?” she groaned.

  Abe Nkosi turned the handle and entered with Greg Huxley in tow. Both men looked like she felt. Their faces were blighted with the hollows typical of end-stage cancer patients, and even Dr. Nkosi’s dark skin appeared sallow and pale. The whites of Huxley’s eyes were a disturbing shade of red and neither man had used a razor for some time.

  “Tell me one of you has won the lottery and chartered a plane to Jamaica for us.”

  “Next best thing,” Abe replied, setting an oil-stained paper bag on her desk.

  She didn’t need to open the bag to know Abe had brought her a croissant from his wife’s bakery. The doctors took the two seats in front of her desk and sat quietly as Adhira tore the bag open and ate the pastry too quickly to taste it. “If you ever leave your wife, let me know,” Adhira eventually said.

  “You can have her whenever her mother comes to visit.” Abe shrugged.

  The pastry hit Adhira’s stomach, waking it and making her even more hungry, but instead she sipped from her water bottle while the other doctors sat silent. “You want something from me,” she said.

  Leaning his elbows on the edge of Adhira’s desk, Huxley drew in a long breath through his nose. His lips tightened. “We have a solution for Anabelle Cheever that we want to run by you.”

  “Go ahead,” Adhira replied. She hadn’t forgotten about Anabelle Cheever, nor would she ever; she just hadn’t got to that dilemma today.

  “It’s been almost a week now, and we’re at the point where we have no choice but to move her. We simply have to. We’ve done what we could to ease the pressure on her body by changing the elevations of the bed. One of Morley’s guys rigged it so we could slant it and ease lateral pressures, but we can’t be sure she doesn’t have dozens of bedsores under there
. She needs to be cleaned, I need to check her incision, her IV line needs to be changed, her parents are wild with anxiety. They’re threatening legal action if we don’t figure this out.”

  “Have you reached out to Public Health yet?” Adhira asked carefully.

  Huxley said, “I’ve given enough to cover our asses but not enough for them to come running. If our idea doesn’t work, I’ve really got no choice but let them take over.”

  “Cliff is insisting on it,” Abe said of the CEO when Adhira raised her eyebrows.

  She looked at the two of them—the way they bit their lower lips and fiddled with their hands and worked their jaw muscles—and knew that she wouldn’t like whatever it was they were about to suggest. “What’s your plan?”

  “Have you ever had a dead battery in your car?” The question came from Abe.

  “Who hasn’t?” Adhira scoffed.

  “Ever had to jumpstart it with booster cables?” Huxley joined in.

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

  Abe cleared his throat and settled his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together as he spoke. “We consulted with our electrical engineers and they compared it to us like a dead battery, only Anabelle’s battery is the working one. She is the working car with a full charge and right now, her cables—essentially her whole body—are live with nowhere to go. Electricity always wants to get to the ground, and we need to help it get there. I know it’s going to sound ridiculous, but we need to ground her. The engineers suggest—bear with me now—they suggest hooking her up to booster cables and directing her charge to a bank of batteries.”

  “What?”

  Huxley padded his palms on Adhira’s desk before she could object. “It’s our only option right now. The engineering team reached out to all the auto wreckers in town to obtain old batteries. They’ve secured a station outside with a few hundred of them, and they’re ready to try it. The only thing is, we can’t be sure if the batteries can handle it. They might be fine. Or they might explode.”