Читать книгу Lancaster County Target - Kit Wilkinson - Страница 11

TWO

Streams of blinding white light seeped under Abigail’s heavy eyelids. Beeps and buzzes echoed in her ears. Everything around her whirled in a blurred circle. Fatigue. Nausea. Pain. Everywhere pain. Especially her head.

“Ugh.” She lifted a sore arm only to touch a nice hard knot on the front of her head. Ouch. What in the world? Where am I?

She glanced around the small space. Heart monitor. Oxygen supply. Blood-pressure gauge. Blue hospital curtain wrapped around the small bed she lay in. I’m in the Emergency Room!

“Hello.” A tall, sandy-haired man peered around the curtain at her, then stepped inside. He wore a white lab coat over a pressed blue oxford. His stethoscope and Fairview ID badge hung loosely around his opened collar.

“How are you feeling, Abigail?”

“I’m feeling a little confused.” She looked down at her limp body in the hospital bed. “I don’t remember how I got here.... I don’t know you, Doctor, do I?”

“Nope. I’m new. Jamison. Blake Jamison.”

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Jamison.” Her mouth was dry and it hurt to try to sit up.

“Call me Blake. Please.” He smiled. “And take it easy. You’ve had a pretty rough day. Don’t worry if you aren’t remembering everything just yet. You will.”

Her head was foggy and thick, but she tried to focus. An IV drip fed into her left hand. The doctor—Blake—sat on a stool to her right. She was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was a handsome man, with a nice build and a kind face.

“So, why am I here?”

“I was sort of hoping you could tell me that. Maybe once your head clears up.” He took her wrist in his hand. He studied her face as he counted her pulse. A strange and awkward sensation passed over Abby as his fingertips pressed her skin. She was unaccustomed to the touch of a man and especially that of a fancy Englischer.

“I didn’t know Fairview was getting a new E.R. doctor. When did you start?”

“Well...I’m just here temporarily. I’m filling in for Dr. Finley.”

“Oh, right. I remember now reading something about him teaching a course in one of the hospital newsletters. I didn’t realize he would be away from the hospital for that. Do you often fill in for doctors on leave?”

“This is my first time. I have a private practice in New York. I’m just here for a change of scenery. Eight weeks. Then I’ll go back.” He released her arm. His lips pursed, as if he was thinking about something far away. “Seventy-two. Much better. You had me pretty scared there. Never a dull moment at this place.”

He used his stethoscope and listened to her breathing and her heart. Then he whipped the instrument out from his ears and again rested it like an adornment around his neck. The light scent of musky cologne wafted over her.

“Did you say never a dull moment?” She tilted her head and glanced at him sideways. “I am still at Fairview Hospital, right?”

He chuckled and started to respond when an electronic device at his waist began to vibrate. “See what I mean?”

He took the phone into his hands, silenced it, read the message and returned it to his waist. “Not important. So, how’s the head?”

“It’s a little tender.”

“I’ll have Janice bring you some Tylenol. Drink lots of fluids. Get some more rest. I’ll check back in another hour.”

“Wait. I have questions. You can’t leave yet.” She wanted more information than that. “How did I get here? Where did this bruising come from? Why am I hooked up to a heart monitor? How long was I unconscious? And why?”

His phone began to buzz again. He clenched his jaw as he looked at the screen and silenced it. “Sorry. Friends back in New York who think I’m available 24/7. Not important. Again. And that’s a lot of questions. I thought the doctor always asked the questions.”

“You can’t expect me to just lie here and not know what happened.” She met his steady gaze.

“I might if I think that’s what’s best for you.”

What? Who did this doctor think he was? Was he really not going to tell her anything? “At least tell me what day it is.”

“It’s Thursday,” he said, following it up with the date.

“Thursday,” she repeated. She leaned back into her pillow with a frown. It seemed that her memory was only missing most of one day. The damage could have been much worse...and yet it was troubling to think of those lost hours, especially given the injuries she’d sustained.

“You look upset.” He stepped back inside the curtained area. “Worrying about your memory may only block it longer. Try to relax. Think about the things you did early this morning.”

Abby shook her head. “Nothing. I don’t remember a thing. Please, isn’t there anything you can tell me about what happened? At least explain the heart monitor.”

“Well, we aren’t completely certain, but apparently, you took a hefty dose of epinephrine.” His words were slow. His tone kind and compassionate. “Fortunately, you’re strong and your body quickly absorbed much of the excess. We gave you something to calm your heart. It worked just the way it was supposed to—the monitor is just here as a precaution. You’re going to be fine. There will be no long-term effects.”

“Epinephrine?”

“Yes, it almost threw you into cardiac arrest.”

“How? Why would I take epinephrine? That’s crazy. Are you sure?” In a blink, Abby had a flash image of a shaking hand raising a needle to her arm. It was dark, like nighttime.

“You were found with an empty syringe, which we are pretty certain contained a killer amount of epinephrine before having a meeting with your arm.”

“Wait a minute, what else? I—I...” She looked down at her bruised arm. Her pulse started to rise. Someone had held her. So tight. She remembered her arm had felt as if it might break. She also remembered a man so close she could feel his breath on her neck. Abby shivered. “Someone gave me a shot. He was holding me around the arm. But where was I? And how did I get here?”

Blake’s lips pressed together as he seemed to consider how much to tell her. He frowned. “The custodian found you on the third floor. He said you were out cold in the stairwell by that big hall that’s being renovated. He’s the one who brought you down. He saved your life. Now, look, you’re getting too worked up. Try to rest. We can continue this conversation in a bit. You’re very weak.”

The third floor. Cold gray eyes. Abby could feel the tension rising in her, and it wasn’t because of her condition. She locked eyes with the doctor. More images shot through her mind. Gurney. Syringe. Eyes. Icy, fiery eyes. She flung the sheet off her lap and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I need to go back upstairs. Someone’s in trouble. I wasn’t the only one who was injected.”

Blake placed a hand on her shoulder that gently but firmly kept her from moving. “Slow down, Abby. You could still be under the effects of the drugs.”

“No. Really, I’m fine.” She slipped from his reach and stood. Her legs felt like cooked spaghetti. Blake caught her as she leaned back for support.

“It will have to wait, Abby. You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest later.” She pushed the doctor and his restraining arms away.

She didn’t remember all the details of her attack, but she knew someone else had been in danger. She couldn’t wait a minute longer—she might already be too late.

* * *

Blake could hardly believe the beautiful but provoking patient had talked him into letting her out of bed. Of course, when she’d plucked the IV from the back of her hand with a single yank, it was clear she was going to get up to the third floor with or without his approval. Since his shift had ended, he thought it best to accompany her. At least that way he could confine her to a wheelchair and keep an eye on her.

“Janice told me that you were raised Amish,” Blake commented as he wheeled her into the elevator.

She nodded. “It’s true.”

“So why did you decide to stop being Amish? If you don’t mind me asking?”

She laughed. “I don’t mind you asking at all. But I wouldn’t say that I stopped being Amish. I may not wear the clothes, but in here—” she touched her chest where her heart would be “—I will always be Amish. I didn’t take vows to commit myself to the church because I wanted to continue nursing.”

The elevator stopped at the third floor and Blake turned them toward the renovation area, taking in her words, which were more personal to him than she knew. “At the risk of sounding ignorant, I’m going to ask. Nursing isn’t allowed?”

“No, it’s not. It’s Hochmut.” Abby smiled and waved hellos to the few staff members they passed. “The Amish can have shops, build furniture or buildings, and farm. Professions that require higher degrees are not pursued.”

“Hochmut?”

“Ja. Hochmut,” she repeated with a teasing look, correcting his pronunciation.

“I don’t speak Pennsylvania Dutch.” Blake felt himself blush—her unfamiliar words were just another reminder of how little he knew of this place where he had come to find answers about himself.

“It means ‘arrogance.’ It’s what comes with letting the world in, with studying and learning more than needed. By going to school and becoming a nurse, I’ve become too much a part of the world. In many ways, I’m not worthy to take vows. But I have vowed in my own way to take care of people. My people. They need health care that they are comfortable with and I can provide that. I think I made the right decision. One day my family will understand. Some of them already do.”

Blake tried to wrap his head around the Amish culture. After the letter his mother had left him, he’d researched anything and everything Amish. But now that he was there in Lancaster, he realized there was still so much to learn. And there was already one strike against him. Would his biological family think less of him for his medical profession?

“How about you?” She looked back at him with her bright blue eyes. “Why did you leave New York? And how did you pick Fairview Hospital of all places?”

Blake had a stock answer for that question. It was the one he’d given to everyone else who’d asked him, even his closest friends. No one knew the real reason he’d come to Lancaster. He’d told no one that he had recently found out that he’d been adopted, that he’d been born in Lancaster, not in New York City as he’d thought his entire life. He could hardly process the news himself, much less deliver it to others and expect them to understand. It was best to sort it out first. By himself. Yet he found himself on the verge of telling Abby the truth.

“Lots of reasons,” he said in a low voice.

“Dr. Jamison. Dr. Jamison.” The young nurse from Nicolas Hancock’s room raced after him, waving a set of papers. “Here, Doctor. I called Mr. Hancock’s lawyer, but I only spoke with a receptionist. She wouldn’t let me through, nor would she tell me if there was a next of kin to notify.”

“Thank you.” Blake took the papers.

She glanced at the closed doors to the renovation area and easily guessed their intentions. “The renovation area has been locked up after what happened to you, Abby. But if you want to take a look, then we might have a key at the station.” She started back in the direction she’d come. “I have your hermetically sealed IV and tubing, too, Doctor. Would you like to have that, too?”

“Yes, if you could bring the IV, too, I’d appreciate it.”

Abby looked up at him. “Hancock? Did she say your patient’s name was Hancock?”

“Yes. Nicolas Hancock.” He handed Abby the chart so he could steer the wheelchair. “But he wasn’t really my patient. Supposedly, he was a transfer. Somehow my name got on that chart. My signature, even—but I never laid eyes on him until I was paged for a Code Blue. I came right away but it was too late. The crash team tried and tried to resuscitate but he didn’t make it.”

Abigail stared down at the front page of the chart in her lap. “I’ve seen this before.”

“Seen what?” Blake thought again about the fact that Hancock and Abby had had elevated adrenaline levels. Had that not been a coincidence?

“This chart. This name. This patient.” Her eyes were wide.

“What? What do you mean? I thought you worked in Maternity.”

Before she could answer, the young nurse returned with a set of keys to unlock the refinished wing. She opened the doors and handed Blake a small sealed plastic bag, which had Hancock printed across the side. He hung it on the back of the chair, thanked the nurse for her help and rolled Abby into the closed-off wing. The farther they got into the hallway, the more the blood had drained from Abby’s face. He stopped the chair and walked in front of her. He took her arm and checked her pulse.

“Your heart is racing and you look really tired, Abby. This is too much. Let’s go back down and rest. As you can see, the hallway is empty. There’s no one else here.”

“That doctor was here.” Abby, white as snow, pushed him aside. She stood and began to move through the dim hallway. “He was here. In this hallway with that patient.” She pointed at the chart. “He gave him an injection. Blake, I saw it. I wasn’t supposed to, but I did. That’s why he injected me, too.”

“What doctor? What are you talking about?” Blake moved quickly around the wheelchair and put a hand under her shoulder to support her. He took the chart from her hands and tossed it back onto the wheelchair so he could take her hand. “I really think this is too much for you right now. Please sit back down. You’re not really making a lot of sense.”

“He tried to tell me that patient had a highly contagious disease, but I knew it wasn’t true. There was no indication of it on his chart.” Her pulse quickened as she pressed against him.

Blake didn’t answer. She was already too worked up. He should never have let her talk him into this stupid excursion. “You need to be resting. Come on.”

Abby continued, ignoring his efforts to make her return to the wheelchair. Her persistence was admirable, he supposed. But as a doctor, he had to object to the way she was putting herself at risk. But she would not stop. She continued down the hallway without his help.

“So how did he die?” She looked back at him.

“Cardiac arrest.”

“Too much epinephrine?”

“Too much adrenaline. Yeah. Probably epinephrine. We saved the IV tubing—that’s what’s in the bag that the nurse brought to me. We might be able to get some idea of what the patient was given...but...” He caught up to her, trying to make sense of what she was saying. “Abby, are you saying you saw another doctor inject Hancock with medication? Here? Not in the patient’s room?”

Click.

The doors behind them, the ones they’d come through, closed tight. The lock popped and the sound of it echoed down the dead, dark corridor. It was pitch-black.

Abby shuddered against Blake’s supportive arm.

“Let’s get you back. I think you’ve remembered enough for now.” Blake started to redirect them the way that they’d come. “I’m sure someone will hear us if we knock.”

But Abby pulled against him. “We are much closer to the stairwell. You said that’s where the custodian found me, right?”

“Right.” Blake shook his head, following behind her in the darkness. “Really, please, let me get you back to that wheelchair.... Are all Amish women this stubborn?”

“Most are much worse.” She pushed open the door of the stairwell. There was some dim lighting.

“I’ll keep that in mind in case I have any more Amish patients.” Blake linked an arm gently under hers, supporting most of her weight. He led her carefully down the stairs. Shadows seemed to dance above them in the dim lighting. Twice she stopped and looked up.

“Do you...?” Were his eyes playing tricks on him? He could have sworn he saw someone above them. A shadow. A movement. Someone dressed in white.

“Yes,” Abby said. “I see little...”

Blake frowned at her words. She was seeing it, too. He wasn’t imagining them. A shadow passed over the wall beside them. “Lights? Shadows?”

She nodded. They continued a few more steps.

He tried to hurry her down to the ground floor. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I guess our eyes are not adjusting to the bad lighting.”

A loud clanging sounded overhead. Abby, startled by the sound, slipped on the next step. Blake helped straighten and steady her. He had to get her back to bed. She was about to collapse.

Clang. Metal against metal. Louder and louder. Something was falling. The sound echoed through the space, coming closer and closer.

He looked up, as did Abby, who was growing faint. He could feel her legs buckling. Blake wrapped himself around her and pushed them both under the cover of the second-floor landing. Something was coming down in a hurry and they had to move or get hit.

A magnificent crash sounded behind him.

A stainless-steel surgical tray landed in the very spot where they’d stood, complete with an assortment of sharp scalpels and other surgical instruments, which rattled down around them like a metal rainstorm.

Once the stairs were quiet, Blake lifted his hands to Abby’s shoulders. “You okay?”

“No. I’m not.” Her body trembled under his hands as she shook her head from side to side. “I think someone is trying to kill me.”