Читать книгу Foul Play - Elisabeth Rees - Страница 9
ОглавлениеThe life-support machine beeped away in the darkened hospital room, echoing the reassuring sound of a heartbeat through the air.
Senior nurse Deborah Lewis checked the wires and tubes attached to the body of the tiny baby boy. His parents watched closely, grief and bewilderment evident on their faces. The deterioration of their son had come quickly, and they were unprepared.
Deborah put a hand on the mother’s shoulder. “He’s in good hands here,” she said. “Harborcreek Community Hospital has the best pediatric care in Pennsylvania.”
One of Deborah’s nurse colleagues, Diane White, appeared in the doorway. “Deborah,” Diane called into the room. “Do you have a moment?”
Deborah clipped the medical chart onto the end of the steel bed frame and smiled at the couple. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”
She joined Diane in the corridor and closed the door. The atmosphere in the pediatric unit was somber. Six children had recently fallen gravely ill; three of them were now on life support. It had been a bleak few days for the medical staff of Harborcreek Hospital, which was just a few miles from the lakeside city of Erie.
Diane held a pile of laundered sheets close to her chest, looking around anxiously as she spoke. “Frank Carlisle has been here,” she said in a whisper. “He says he wants to talk to you about something important.”
Deborah stood a little closer to Diane, noticing that her friend’s baby bump was straining against the fabric of her scrubs. The mention of Frank Carlisle caused a ripple of anxiety to flow through Deborah’s body. Frank, the hospital administrator, was responsible for overseeing the smooth running of the entire hospital and was well-known for maintaining a tight ship. News of the sudden spate of emergencies in the pediatric unit had displeased him. Usually she gave Frank Carlisle a wide berth, but in this instance she needed him to listen to her. And to take action. She suspected possible medicine tampering and had raised her concerns with him over a week ago, yet he had done nothing.
“I heard you spoke to him about the number of kids falling sick in the unit,” Diane said. “And I also heard you want him to open an investigation. Are you sure that’s necessary?”
“I’m really worried,” Deborah whispered. “All these sick children are showing signs of renal failure. It just doesn’t make sense. Up until now, we’ve only seen children over ten years old with these symptoms, but now we have a baby with failing kidneys, as well. His body might not cope with the strain.”
A hospital orderly passed by, pushing an expectant mother in a wheelchair, and Deborah ushered Diane to one side. “I’ve never seen anything like it before—six children have been struck down with kidney failure in the space of just three weeks. I’m starting to wonder if someone has been interfering with patient medicine.”
Diane clutched the sheets closer to her chest. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly serious,” replied Deborah. “Frank thinks I’m being ridiculous, but I told him we need more security in our unit to be on the safe side—cameras, barriers, better alarm systems.”
“But there’s no evidence of drug tampering,” Diane said. “Do you really think Frank will spend that kind of money just as a precaution?”
Deborah raised her eyebrows. “Frank would do anything to avoid a public scandal. The good reputation of this hospital is all he lives for.” The pager on the waistband of her pants began to beep. She pulled it off impatiently. “I gotta go to the morgue.” She held the pager in her hand, shaking her head. “Why would the morgue be paging me?” Then a thought struck her and she gasped. “We haven’t had a child die recently, have we?”
“No,” Diane replied. “But maybe a dead child has been brought in and taken straight to the morgue. They might need you to do the family liaison.”
Deborah sighed. She hoped not, but as a pediatric nurse, that job fell to her from time to time. “Maybe,” she said, holding out her hands to take the bedding from Diane’s grip. “You want me to take these somewhere for you on my way?”
Diane shook her head. “I’m fine.”
Deborah put a hand gently on Diane’s growing belly. “Are you sure? If you need a break, please tell me. You’re eight months pregnant. You’re entitled to rest once in a while.”
“I’m okay, honestly,” Diane said as Deborah’s pager began to beep again. “You go.”
Deborah smiled and started to walk quickly down the corridor, feeling her blond curls bounce in rhythm with her sneakered feet. She pressed the button to call the elevator and as soon as she was shut away inside she let the smile fall from her face. Her friend’s pregnancy should be a cause for happiness and joy, yet it only served as a reminder that her own biological clock had started to tick. When she had been young and naive, she had assumed she would be a longtime wife and mom by the time she turned thirty, raising a family in the beautiful surroundings of her hometown of Harborcreek, where she lived close to her mom and dad, and a whole bunch of friends who made her feel loved and blessed. The only thing missing from her imagined vision of the future was the man she’d thought she’d marry—Cole Strachan.
She exited the elevator and began walking to the morgue, concentrating on the sound of her rubber soles squeaking on the tiled floor, trying not to remember the day Cole had ended their relationship. He’d done so shortly after enlisting in the navy, telling her that he was too young to settle down, that he needed to live a little. Come on, Debs, she muttered to herself. Ten years is too long to still be grieving. Get over it.
She fixed her gaze on the end of the long corridor as she walked through the warm sunlight streaming in from the large windows lining the passageway. Cole may have broken her heart but he had not broken her spirit. She was stronger than that.
She walked a little closer to the wall when she saw a man approaching carrying a stepladder. His head was bent over a piece of paper in his hand, no doubt trying to work out his location in this large hospital with its maze of linked corridors. Her pager began to beep again and she yanked it from her waistband, furrowing her brow at the display. The man with the stepladder passed her by, engrossed in studying his scribbled directions, narrowly missing her head with the metal rungs. She considered reprimanding him for his carelessness, but the pager alert had been upgraded to level one. She picked up her pace to seek out the hospital’s autopsy attendant, Dr. Kellerman, in order to ask him why a pediatric nurse would be required so urgently in his department.
The morgue was quiet. The front desk where the clerk normally stood to sign in new admissions was empty. Deborah used her hospital security card to open the door of the morgue, feeling the coolness of the room rush over her face.
“Dr. Kellerman,” she called. “This is Nurse Deborah Lewis from Pediatrics.”
No reply.
“Dr. Kellerman,” she repeated, edging her way through the door. “Are you here?”
She walked into the room, averting her eyes from gurneys where deceased patients were covered with white sheets, feet poking from the ends, paper tags tied around gray skin on big toes. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, creeping between the rows, heading to the room where the steel refrigeration compartments stored the bodies until collection by a funeral home. A creak on the floor caused her body to give a sharp, involuntary jump. She stopped in her tracks and took a deep breath, shaking her mane of curly hair and mentally chastising herself for allowing the presence of death to cause her this level of unease. She was a nurse. Dealing with loss of life was part of her job. Yet this felt different. This felt uncomfortable, as though the dead were watching her invade their resting place. Her eyes lingered on the stillness of the bodies beneath the sheets. She thought she saw a twitch, a faint hint of a movement underneath a shroud. Her heart picked up pace, and she averted her eyes, telling herself not to be absurd. Her mind was simply playing tricks on her.
Deborah pushed open the dividing door that led into the storage room and called out.
“Hello? Is anybody here?”
The hum of the refrigeration units filled the air in the white, windowless room with steel cabinets covering two walls, floor to ceiling. Each unit had a sturdy handle to slide the compartment out for easy access. One of the units had been left open, cold and empty, ready for its next inhabitant. But there was no sign of Dr. Kellerman or any of the morgue staff.
“Well,” she said under her breath. “This was clearly a waste of time.”
She turned back to the door that led into the morgue and a gasp of pure terror left her lips. Looming toward her was a shrouded figure, arms outstretched, rasping noises coming from beneath the sheet. Glancing behind the eerie figure, Deborah spotted an empty space on a gurney from where he had risen.
She was stunned into temporary paralysis, watching as the person came ever closer, looming over her, swaying on his feet like a man just learning to walk.
“No,” she managed to utter as she felt her body being pushed back. The cold, smooth steel of the refrigeration units slid against her back, and strong, clammy fingers closed around her wrists. Within seconds, she was being pulled toward the open compartment. Her sneakers jarred against the floor as she tried to stop herself slipping, but it was no use. She felt as though she’d been transported into a horror film. This wasn’t possible.
Her senses snapped back to full attention, realizing that this scenario truly wasn’t possible, and she began clawing, kicking and fighting with all her strength. This was not a dead man rising. This was a living man masquerading as the dead. And he was trying to hurt her.
Her slight body was no match for the large bulk of the man, and she realized with terror that she was powerless to prevent him from pushing her into the refrigeration unit, then holding her down and sliding the box into its place.
She filled her lungs with air and screamed with all the breath in her body as the light faded away. And she was suddenly surrounded by people who would never hear her cries.
* * *
Cole Strachan hoisted the stepladder onto his shoulder in the hospital corridor and studied the scribbled directions on the paper in his hand. This place was a nightmare to navigate, and he was hopelessly lost, having walked around for at least half an hour. He balanced the ladder against the wall and decided to take a rest. He knew Deborah worked somewhere in the hospital, but that’s just about all he knew. And it was probably all he deserved to know. His belly was a swirl of dread and excitement to think that he might see her again after ten years. Would she have changed? Would she still be beautiful? Would she still have that amazing mane of golden curls? But most important, would she forgive him?
A man in a gray suit turned a corner and came bustling toward him.
“Mr. Strachan from Secure It, I presume?” the man said with an outstretched hand. “I wondered if you might be lost, so I came looking for you.”
Cole shook hands and smiled. “You must be Frank Carlisle, the hospital administrator. Am I right?”
The man nodded. “Follow me, Mr. Strachan, and I’ll take you to the pediatric unit so you can have a look around and give us your expert opinion on our security systems.”
Cole’s heart sank at the mention of pediatrics. The last thing he ever wanted to see again was a sick child. He’d seen enough suffering of innocent children to last a lifetime, and losing his baby son to SIDS two years ago had just about finished him off. That was when he decided to come home to the place he’d been raised. He’d not only left the SEALs in Little Creek, Virginia, he’d left a wife who had divorced him and memories of a son he’d barely had a chance to get to know. Moving back to Harborcreek had been a hard decision, but it felt right. God was leading him back to a place where he belonged. And back to a woman to whom he needed to make amends.
He picked up his ladder and began walking, following the hurried footsteps of Frank Carlisle.
“So you’re looking to give the pediatric unit a security overhaul, huh?” Cole asked.
“Indeed we are,” Frank replied, leading Cole through a network of corridors. “I chose your firm because I figured that an ex–navy SEAL would give us the best security advice.” He stopped and called the elevator. “Your background is very impressive, Mr. Strachan. What brings you to the Erie area?”
“I’m from Harborcreek originally,” Cole replied, stepping into the elevator and gently easing the ladder in alongside him. “I recently came home to set up my own security company. It took off straightaway, and I already have ten employees.”
“It’s nice to have a local man working with us,” Frank said. “Most of the staff in Pediatrics are from Erie, but one of our senior nurses is from Harborcreek. Maybe you know her.”
Cole’s throat seemed to close up and lose its moisture in an instant. “Maybe I do,” he managed to say. “What’s her name?”
“Deborah Lewis.”
The elevator glided to a rolling stop and an army of butterflies began to beat their tiny wings inside Cole’s belly. “Is she a petite woman with a lot of blond curls?”
The doors smoothly opened and Frank led Cole into the corridor, using a swipe card to activate the pediatric unit door. “Yes. That’s her.”
Cole’s eyes darted around as they walked into the unit. The walls were brightly painted with cartoon characters, and he caught an aroma of disinfectant and clean laundry.
“I know her,” Cole said. “Is she here now?”
“She was supposed to be here for this meeting,” Frank said. “But she seems to have gone AWOL, I’m afraid.” Frank stopped a female doctor who was walking past. “Dr. Warren, do you know where Deborah is?”
“She got paged,” the doctor replied. “To the morgue, I think.”
Frank’s eyebrows knitted together. “But the morgue staff are on a training day today. They won’t be back until 5:00 p.m.” He scratched his head. “And why would the morgue page a nurse from Pediatrics?”
Cole detected an edge of concern in the hospital administrator’s voice. “How long has she been gone?” he asked the doctor.
Dr. Warren glanced at a clock on the wall. “About an hour or so.”
Cole saw the look that passed between the doctor and Frank, betraying their anxiety. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Is there something I should know?”
“Not at all,” Frank replied briskly. “I’m sure everything is fine.”
Cole narrowed his eyes. “You don’t sound so sure, if you don’t mind me saying. You sound like you’re trying to hide something.”
“Frank,” Dr. Warren said. “We should go look for her just in case something has happened.”
Cole didn’t like what he was hearing. “Why would something have happened to her?”
Frank fell silent, so it was Dr. Warren who answered. “Deborah’s been asking a lot of questions about sick children in the unit recently,” she said, dropping her voice low. “She thinks somebody may be tampering with patient medicine. That’s why Frank called you in to upgrade our security.”
Frank put his hands on his hips, clearly displeased. “This is all just rumor and suspicion at the moment,” he said. “The security upgrade is simply routine maintenance and nothing more.”
Cole crossed his arms, letting his instincts lead him where they wanted to go. “Even so, I’d rather go check on Deborah, just to make sure she’s okay.”
Frank let out a puff of air. “There really is no need, Mr. Strachan. Let’s not panic unnecessarily. She’ll be back soon enough, I’m sure.”
Cole turned without a word and pressed a button to exit the unit. “Okay. I’ll go find her myself.”
He stepped out into the long corridor that ran alongside the pediatric ward on the fifth floor and pressed the elevator button impatiently. When it failed to arrive immediately, he pushed open the stairwell door and bounded down two at a time. He exited on the first floor, where he remembered seeing a sign for the morgue. He heard Frank’s voice behind him. “Mr. Strachan, please wait.” Frank caught up with Cole as he slowed to find his bearings. “You can’t enter the morgue without an ID card.”
Cole stopped and eyeballed the middle-aged hospital administrator, who was looking sternly at him over the frames of his glasses. Cole cocked his head to the side. “Then it looks like you’ll have to come with me, after all.”
Frank clicked his tongue in exasperation. “Very well.” He extended his hand. “This way.”
Cole followed Frank’s polished shoes, which clipped softly on the floor as he led him yet again through a warren of corridors. As Cole walked, he tried to quell the whirl of emotions stirring deep inside. The thought of stepping inside a morgue was not something that appealed to him. The last time he had been inside a morgue was to collect the body of his precious baby son, Elliot. He had insisted on accompanying the funeral directors while they transported Elliot to their parlor. It was his final job as a doting father. The moment Frank opened the door of the room, Cole recognized the faint but familiar odor of death and he stopped himself from gagging. The memories evoked by smell were often the hardest to bear.
“You see,” Frank said, gesturing around. “There’s nobody here.”
“What about that room?” Cole said, walking to a door at the back.
“That’s the refrigeration room,” Frank replied. “It’s where we store bodies for the longer term. Nobody is in there at the moment.”
“I’d like to take a look.”
Frank sighed. “If it will put your mind at rest, then please look inside.” He walked to the door and turned the handle. “What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Deborah anyway?”
“We were high school sweethearts.”
Frank’s eyebrows shot up high. “Of course,” he exclaimed. “I should’ve recognized the name. You’re the Cole Strachan.”
Cole was taken aback. Had Deborah spoken of him? “Yes, I’m the Cole Strachan. Has she mentioned me?”
Frank gave a wry smile. “A little.” He opened the door. “But trust me, you don’t want to know.”
Cole ignored the comment and walked past Frank into a room with numerous refrigeration compartments. It was empty and quiet, except for a tapping sound coming from behind the wall of steel.
“Someone is trapped in one of these units,” he said, feeling his pulse start to race. “It must be Deborah.”
He rushed to the compartments and began to slide open each one. Body after body greeted him, pale and lifeless. He and Frank worked together until, at last, Cole saw Deborah slide into view. Her delicate features were unchanged, and her hair was still as lustrous and blond as it ever was. Her eyes were closed, and her body was shaking uncontrollably from the low temperature.
“She may be hypothermic,” Cole said, gathering her into his arms, remembering how slender and lithe her limbs were. Her skin felt like ice beneath her thin cotton scrubs.
Her eyes fluttered open. “Cole?” she slurred. “Is that really you? Am I dreaming?”
“Yes, it’s me,” he said, carrying her through the morgue and out into the corridor, searching for a doctor to assess her condition. “This isn’t a dream. I’m right here.”
* * *
Deborah sat up in her hospital bed, looking at the anxious faces around the room. Frank Carlisle stood nervously by the door. Dr. Julie Warren was deep in hushed conversation with her colleague Dr. Toby Cortas, and Diane sat close to the bed, holding Deborah’s limp hand. Finally, her eyes came to rest on a face she never thought she’d see again in her life—Cole Strachan. He was gazing at her as if the past ten years had never happened. His hair was shorter than he used to wear it, speckled with the tiniest hint of gray among the strawberry blond strands, but his face was still as freckled and youthful as she remembered. His green eyes had always been his most striking feature, and clearly they still were, blinking in his usual languid, unhurried way. He sat leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands firmly clasped together as though he were desperately trying to maintain his calm appearance. His clothes were those of a workman: dark T-shirt and blue jeans, tool belt and steel-toed boots. It took her a few moments to realize he was actually here. It had not been a dream or mirage or delusion. Cole was here.
And she wanted him gone.
She fixed him with a stare. “Please leave,” she said, before turning her attention to Frank. “I don’t want him here.”
Diane squeezed her hand. “He saved you from the morgue storage unit,” she said gently. “And he hasn’t left your side since.”
Deborah flicked her eyes to Cole’s and lifted her head. He was looking down at the floor. “Thank you,” she said tersely. “I guess that makes us even.” She heard the hardness in her voice and she didn’t like it. This wasn’t who she was. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m grateful you helped me.” She let her head flop back on the pillows, still fatigued from the low temperatures she had been subjected to.
Frank stepped toward the bed. “I’m so sorry this happened, Deborah. Dr. Kellerman from the morgue insists that he did not page you. We’re looking into it.”
“I’ll tell you what happened,” she said. “Somebody pretended to be dead and then forced me into...” She stopped. The experience clearly had had more of an impact than she’d realized. Cole’s presence in the room made her dizziness worse. Her breathing became more labored. Dr. Warren walked to her side and placed a stethoscope on her chest.
“Calm down, Deborah,” Dr. Warren soothed. “Slow, deep breaths, okay?”
Deborah could take it no longer. She pointed to Cole and addressed the hospital administrator, who was skirting the edges of the room, hands in pockets. “What exactly is he doing here, Frank?”
“Mr. Strachan is here to help us with our security arrangements,” Frank replied. “Just like you asked.”
Deborah frowned. “So you go and hire a navy SEAL?” she asked incredulously. “Is that really necessary?”
Cole spoke. His voice was an octave lower than it used to be. It was rich and velvety and took her by surprise. “I’m not a SEAL anymore, Dee. I retired six months ago.”
Her eyes shot to his and she felt her nostrils flare. His use of her pet name was overstepping, and her glare was intended to let him know exactly where he stood.
Cole produced a business card. “I run a security firm now called Secure It. Frank called me to ask if I could install some extra features to make you all a bit safer.” He leaned over and placed the card on her bedside table. She caught a faint trace of his aftershave in the air. “But I never realized how serious it was until I got here. Whatever happened to you today was probably a deliberate attack, designed to hurt you or scare you, or both. And I want to get to the bottom of it.”
Cole’s strong, commanding voice caused the other four faces in the room to stop and turn in his direction.
“Just hold on a minute,” Frank said. “Have you considered that this might simply be a prank gone wrong? Those guys down at the morgue have a pretty dark sense of humor, you know.”
Dr. Warren exchanged a look of concern with Dr. Cortas. “Frank,” she said. “Another child became sick today with suspected renal failure—a tiny baby boy. That makes a total of six in the last three weeks. Deborah was the one who initially raised the alarm, and she’s the one who’s been pushing for an investigation, as well as extra security on the unit. That certainly would mark her as a target for anyone tampering with patient medicine.”
Frank closed his eyes and put a hand on his forehead. “The toxicology reports have all come back clean on these patients.” He opened his eyes. “There is simply no evidence to suggest foul play.”
Cole stood up. Deborah had forgotten how tall he was. His full height dwarfed everyone around him. “Deborah was attacked,” he said. “That’s evidence enough for me that she’s onto something, and somebody wants to stop her.”
“Let’s wait until an investigation is complete before we jump to conclusions about an attack,” Frank said. “The morgue staff are being interviewed by hospital security guards, and CCTV footage is being analyzed.”
Cole let out a snort of derision. “I met your security guards on my way in here. I very much doubt they could find a GI Joe in a toy store.”
Deborah suddenly felt a tear spring entirely unprompted from her eye and land on her cheek. She tried to brush it away quickly, but Diane saw it and turned to the men in the room. “You’re upsetting Deborah. She doesn’t need this now. She needs time to recover.”
Cole swiveled to look at Deborah. She refused to meet his eye, but in her peripheral vision she saw him rub his fingers roughly over his face, coming to rest on the cleft in his chin. She bowed her head low. Her tears were coming too fast to stop them, and he was the very last person she wanted to see her raw emotions.
“I’m sorry, Deborah,” Cole said. “It’s insensitive of me to argue while you need to rest.” He gesticulated toward the door. “Shall we all leave Deborah in peace for a while?”
“Thank you,” she whispered, watching the staff members leave the room until just Cole remained standing by the door. He opened his mouth to speak but seemed to change his mind. Instead, he looked at her, apparently waiting for her to acknowledge him, and she raised her head, meeting his gaze with steeliness, wiping the wetness from her cheeks.
“Close the door behind you,” she said flatly.
His face was pained as he gave a small nod. After the door clicked into place and she was alone with her thoughts, she picked up the small white card Cole had left on the bedside table. She rubbed her fingers over the gold embossed letters of his name, before taking the card gently between her thumb and forefinger and tearing it into teeny, tiny pieces.
* * *
Cole stood opposite Frank in the corridor with a cold and heavy sensation weighing on his chest. The iciness with which Deborah had looked at him was hard to bear. This woman who had once run through a thunderstorm to tell him how much she loved him now felt nothing but bitterness and regret. And who could blame her? He had broken all his promises. He had abandoned her without warning. But he sure wasn’t going to abandon her again, not when she so clearly needed somebody to protect her. This was the least he could do for her.
“I’d like to start work right away,” Cole said to Frank. “I’ll do a thorough check of all your current security arrangements and compile a list of changes I advise you to make.”
Frank shifted uncomfortably. “What kind of price are we talking about here?”
Cole raised his eyebrows. “What kind of price do you put on the safety of your patients and medical staff, Mr. Carlisle?”
“I would like to stress that these measures are just routine,” Frank said. “Despite the recent uptick in renal problems, we have no proof of drug tampering. It’s likely a coincidence.”
As if to mock the hollowness of his words, the hurried figure of Dr. Warren rounded a corner and pushed past them. “One of the kids has gone into acute renal failure. We need to get him on permanent dialysis before his organs totally shut down.”
“No,” Cole said under his breath, watching the staff rush into a room with a machine that they quickly connected to the body of a young boy, already yellow and jaundiced from the toxins in his blood.
Cole bowed his head and prayed for the life of this child, remembering the lives of many children he had already seen lost on the fateful Dark Skies mission in Afghanistan four years ago. He remembered the life of his own son, taken too soon to reside with his Heavenly Father. God had certainly never shielded Cole from the painful reality that children die, and He clearly wasn’t about to start now.
Cole silently acknowledged that something sinister had brought him back to Harborcreek and back to Deborah. Like the children in this unit, Deborah was in trouble, and whether she liked it or not, he would stick by her side and see her safely through. He couldn’t offer her all the things he had once promised, and she wouldn’t want them from him now anyway. But maybe if he could look after her for a little while, he would be able to somehow atone for the wrong he had done.
