Shock

by Robin Cook

  “We have more traditional cell cultures of oogonia as well,” Cindy said. “I can show you them if you’d like.”

  “Some of these spheres contain two ovaries rather than one,” Deborah said.

  “That’s true, but most are single, as you can see. How about we move on to the oogonia room?”

  “What does it mean when there are two ovaries?” Joanna asked.

  “That’s Dr. Donaldson’s department,” Cindy said. “I’m just one of the many technicians who monitor and take care of them.”

  Joanna and Deborah exchanged one of their signature glances. As familiar as they were with each other, each generally could tell what the other was thinking.

  “I see each sphere is labeled alphanumerically,” Joanna said. “Does that mean you know the origin of each ovary?”

  For the first time during their visit Cindy appeared clearly uncomfortable with the question. She hemmed and hawed and again tried to change the subject back to the oogonia cultures, but Joanna was insistent.

  “We have a vague idea of each ovary’s origin,” Cindy admitted finally.

  “What does vague mean?” Joanna persisted. “If I were to give you a name of an ovarian donor, could you locate the ovary?”

  “I believe so,” Cindy said evasively. She looked at her watch and switched her weight from one foot to the other.

  “The name I’m interested in is Joanna Meissner,” Joanna said.

  “Joanna Meissner,” Cindy repeated. She glanced around the area as if unfamiliar where things were located. “We’d need a computer workstation.”

  “There’s one right behind you,” Joanna said.

  “Oh, indeed!” Cindy said as if surprised. She turned, unlocked the keyboard with her password, then typed in Joanna’s name. The screen flashed back “JM699.” Cindy scribbled the code on a scrap of paper and then set off. The women followed behind. Two rows over and two tanks down she stopped and pointed. JM699 was written on the glass sphere’s surface with an indelible marker.

  Both Joanna and Deborah stared in at the small organ. It was significantly more pockmarked than the first one they’d seen, and Joanna asked about it.

  “It’s one of our older specimens,” Cindy explained. “It’s nearing the end of its useful life.”

  “I have a donor’s name,” Deborah said. “Kristin Overmeyer.”

  “Okay,” Cindy said agreeably, as if reconciled to the situation. She retraced her steps back to the computer workstation having recovered her previous poise. She typed in the name without hesitation, and the computer immediately produced the code: KO432.

  “This way,” Cindy said, waving for the women to follow. She skirted the periphery of the room before turning into the first row. Joanna held Deborah back and whispered: “I know what you are thinking. It’s a good thought!”

  Deborah merely nodded.

  “Here we are,” Cindy said almost proudly, stopping at a specific tank. She pointed at the middle glass sphere. “KO432. It’s a double specimen.”

  “Interesting,” Deborah said after a quick glance. “The specimen has a lower number than the previous one, but looks younger. How can that be?”

  Cindy glanced in at the two ovaries. It was apparent she was flustered again. She stuttered a moment before saying: “That’s something I know nothing about. Maybe it has to do with the way the specimens are taken, but I really don’t know. I’m sure Dr. Donaldson would be able to explain it.”

  “I have one more name,” Deborah said. “Rebecca Corey.”

  “Are you sure you people wouldn’t like to see the oogonia cultures?” Cindy asked. “We feel that’s the arena where we have made the biggest advances. The oogonia cultures are soon going to make these full ovary cultures passé.”

  “This is the last name,” Deborah promised. “Then we’ll move on to the oogonia cultures.”

  After another check of her watch, Cindy repeated the procedure for getting the code number. She then led them to the tank immediately adjacent to the one containing Kristin Overmeyer’s ovaries and pointed at the appropriate sphere. Once again it was a double specimen.

  Both Joanna and Deborah peered in at the ovaries which, like Kristin’s, appeared younger than Joanna’s. Both women trembled with the realization that they were looking at the ovaries of a woman who was supposed to have disappeared along with Kristin Overmeyer after picking up a hitchhiker.

  “The oogonia culture room is immediately adjacent,” Cindy said. “How about we head over there?”

  Joanna and Deborah simultaneously raised their eyes from the ovaries and looked at each other. The horror reflected in their eyes made it instantly apparent they shared the same thoughts. They had uncovered significantly more than they’d envisioned, and it was terrifying as well as horrifying.

  “I think we’ve already taken too much of your time,” Joanna said. She gave Cindy a crooked smile.

  “It’s true,” Deborah chimed in. “It’s been interesting, but it’s time we moved on. Maybe you could point us in the right direction toward the entrance, and we’ll get out of your hair.”

  “I’ve plenty of time,” Cindy said quickly. “It’s no problem, trust me! I’ve enjoyed the break in my routine, and I think you should see the whole setup before you go. Come on! We’ll see the oogonia cultures.” She tried to take Deborah’s arm, but Deborah pulled free.

  “We want to leave,” Deborah said more emphatically.

  “You’ll be missing the most significant part,” Cindy said. “I have to insist!”

  “Like hell you’ll insist!” Deborah spat. “We’re outta here!”

  “We’ll find our own way,” Joanna said. She started back the way they’d come. Although she knew it might not be the shortest route from what Cindy had said earlier, she didn’t care. At least she’d be passing recognizable landmarks.

  “I can’t let you wander in here by yourselves,” Cindy stated. “It’s against the rules.” She grabbed Joanna’s arm with more force than she’d used with Deborah, pulling Joanna to a stop.

  Joanna looked down at the woman’s hand clasped around her arm. “We’re leaving,” she said assertively. “Take your hands off me!”

  “I can’t let you be in here unattended,” Cindy repeated.

  “Then take us to the exit!” Deborah snapped. She snatched Cindy’s hand from Joanna’s arm and pushed the woman back where she stumbled against one of the Plexiglas containers. The slight jolt set off a beeping alarm along with a flashing red light at the tank’s control panel.

  When Cindy reached for the button to disengage the alarm, Joanna and Deborah took off, running as fast as the narrow row between the tanks would allow. When they broke free of the tanks, Deborah’s athleticism came to the fore, and she passed Joanna, urging her on. Behind they could hear Cindy cry out for them to stop.

  “I knew we shouldn’t have come in here!” Joanna panted, trying to keep up with Deborah.

  “Shut up, and run!”

  They ran through the arched tunnel, past the old freight elevator and darkened autopsy pit, and into the series of rooms with the incubators. Suddenly Deborah stopped. Joanna had all she could do to keep from bumping into her.

  “Which way?” Deborah demanded.

  “I think that way,” Joanna said, pointing due south through a succession of archways.

  “I hope you’re right,” Deborah said. They could hear the echoes of Cindy approaching and calling their names, but the echoes made it impossible to tell the direction. A second later she appeared at a run from around an archway and collided with them. She grabbed onto Joanna’s and Deborah’s clothes as best she could.

  “Good God, woman!” Deborah cried. With significant force she ripped herself free of the woman’s grasp only to have the woman use both hands to clench Joanna. Deborah swung around behind Cindy and, grabbing her around the chest, pulled her free from Joanna. Then, with a slight twisting motion, she threw Cindy to the floor where the woman hit up against one of the incubators. The unmi
stakable but muffled sound of breaking glass came from within.

  Without waiting to check on the woman’s condition, Deborah grabbed Joanna’s hand and dashed in the direction Joanna had suggested. To their relief, after they’d passed through several arches they caught sight of the stainless-steel door. Quickly running up to it, Deborah slapped the OPEN/CLOSE panel. The door began its painstaking glide to the left. Both women glanced over their shoulders in fear that Cindy was on her way, and she was. Turning back to the door, Deborah tried vainly to speed its movement with muscle power. The moment the gap was wide enough to squeeze through, Deborah propelled Joanna to the opening so that Deborah could deal with Cindy.

  “Oh no!” Joanna cried as she pulled back after starting through the widening crack of the door.

  Deborah, who’d momentarily turned to check how close Cindy was, spun around to see what had caused Joanna’s cry and halted her progress out of the room. What she saw over Joanna’s shoulder brought an involuntary cry to her own lips. Two large, smirking men dressed in black were coming toward them through the dilapidated but now lighted kitchen. They had handcuffs in one hand, guns in the other. The blond man in the lead, seeing the door opening and seeing the women, had started to run. Deborah recognized him. It was the man who had been leering at her in the dining room and who she assumed was the security chief.

  MAY 10, 2001

  11:24 P.M.

  DEBORAH RESPONDED BY

  instinct, again slapping her hand against the raised OPEN/CLOSE button, closing the heavy steel door in the face of the onrushing men. At the same time she was assaulted by Cindy from behind, who grabbed her around the neck and tried to pull her away from the door. Deborah resisted, keeping the button depressed.

  “Get this banshee off me!” Deborah cried. Cindy was screaming that the door had to be opened.

  Joanna peeled Cindy’s fingers from around Deborah and shoved her stumbling backward. But the woman quickly recovered and lunged back at Deborah.

  “Joanna, hold the damn button,” Deborah yelled while fending Cindy off with one hand.

  As soon as Joanna had the panel depressed, Deborah brought both hands to bear on the persistent technician. Although Deborah had not hit anyone since clocking a bratty male fellow fifth-grader, she hauled off and punched Cindy on the left cheek. After four years of varsity lacrosse, Deborah was significantly stronger and more of an aggressor than she’d been in the fifth grade, and the blow stunned Cindy into sudden silence and immobility. A second later she sagged to the floor in slow motion, first sinking to her knees and then sloshing prostrate like a melting ice cream cone.

  Deborah cried out from the pain in her hand, which she flapped wildly for a moment. Forcing herself to regain control, she grabbed the nearest incubator and rolled it over to the door. Joanna immediately comprehended what Deborah had in mind and helped guide the incubator so that its weight continued to depress the button, which both women recognized was keeping the door closed. To be sure the incubator wouldn’t move, Joanna and Deborah continued to hold on to it to maintain its position.

  “What’s your plan?” Joanna demanded in a panicked, forced whisper.

  “The only way out is the dumbwaiter or the freight elevator! What do you think?”

  “The freight elevator!” Joanna. “We know exactly where it is, and we know we’ll fit.”

  A few paces away, Cindy pushed herself up into a uncertain, semi-sitting position. She had a blank, unfocused expression in her eyes like a boxer hit too many times.

  “All right!” Deborah said after casting one last glance at Cindy, who was now struggling to get to her feet. “Let’s do it!”

  Both let go of the incubator in unison and made a dash back through the maze of rooms. Unfortunately they made a wrong turn and ended up in a blank room. They had to retrace their steps before getting back on track. Behind them they heard the unmistakable sound of an incubator clunking up against another followed by deep-throated shouts by the men.

  “Heaven help us if that freight elevator is not running,” Deborah managed between gasps.

  They rounded the final bend, ran past the doors to the autopsy theater, and literally collided with the freight-elevator doors. A heavy canvas strap protruded through the chest-high horizontal gap. Deborah grabbed it first, but Joanna lent a hand as well. With their combined weight, the doors gave way, with the lower door opening downward while the upper door rose. When the gap between the two doors was large enough, the two women climbed in.

  The elevator itself was a heavy wire-mesh cage eight feet square. To the right at chest height was a control panel with six buttons. The floor was made of rough wooden planking. Above, the supporting cables disappeared up into blackness; the only light was coming from the hallway through the open doors. In the near distance heavy footsteps could be heard running toward them and closing quickly.

  “The doors!” Deborah yelled as she reached up and grabbed the canvas strap attached to the inside edge of the upper door. Joanna reached up and grabbed it as well. Once again with their combined weight the women succeeded in getting the heavy doors to move. Slowly at first and then with increasing speed they began to close, but before they did, the men arrived outside. A hand was thrust between the narrowing gap and grabbed a handful of Deborah’s doctor’s coat, yanking it back through just as the doors came together and thrust the women into blackness. With her hands still grasping the canvas strap, Deborah felt herself roughly hauled against the door.

  “Hit one of the buttons!” Deborah screeched to Joanna without taking her weight off the strap. She could feel someone outside was now trying to open the doors, but to do so they would have to lift Deborah in the process.

  Like a blind person, Joanna groped for the control box she’d caught a glimpse of before the closing doors had extinguished the light.

  “Hurry! God damn it!” Deborah yelled. She could feel herself being lifted off the planking.

  Frantically Joanna widened her blind search over the surface of the wire mesh. Finally her hand knocked against the control box. In the blackness she pushed the first button her fingers encountered.

  A high-pitched screeching sound erupted, like chickens being tortured, and with a lurch, the old freight elevator began to rise.

  Deborah let go of the strap she’d been gripping, and falling to her knees and twisting, she managed to yank her arms free of the doctor’s coat, which was still caught between the closed freight elevator doors. A second later, with an agonizing tearing and crushing sound, Deborah felt the coat disappear into the narrow gap between the front lip of the rising elevator and the stone elevator shaft wall.

  “What the hell was that noise?” Joanna demanded through gasps for breath.

  Deborah shuddered in the darkness. She knew the crushing sound could have been her body had she not gotten out of the coat. She, too, gasped for breath. “It was my flashlight and car keys being crushed in my doctor’s coat.”

  “We’ve lost our car keys?” Joanna moaned with her chest heaving.

  “That’s the least of our worries at the moment,” Deborah managed. “Thank God this elevator worked. Those men almost got us. I mean, that couldn’t have been any closer.”

  Joanna’s flashlight snapped on. She shined it at the control box. The button that was depressed was the third floor.

  “What should we do?” Joanna asked tensely. “We’re heading for the third floor. Should we see if we can change that?”

  “This is hardly a high-speed elevator,” Deborah complained. “The third floor is probably better than certainly the first and maybe even the second. I don’t want to run into those men again.”

  “Obviously,” Joanna said. With her breathing coming under a semblance of control, it was her turn to shudder. “Now we have proof this place is capable of murder, and they probably know we know. And that Cindy bitch knew the men were coming the whole time we were in there. That’s why she was being so nice to us. We should have suspected something was wrong the
minute she offered a tour. What’s wrong with us?”

  “That’s all easy to say now,” Deborah said, still panting. “We were under the delusion they were violating ethics here, not commandments. Murder for eggs makes this a completely different ball game.”

  “We have to get out of here!”

  “True,” Deborah said. “But without car keys we’re not driving anyplace, at least not in our own car. I think our best bet is to get to a telephone in the Wingate Clinic on the first or second floor.”

  “The problem is, that’s probably what they are expecting,” Joanna said. “At least that’s what I would expect if I were them. What do you say about hiding for a time to give ourselves a chance to think what we should do and come up with a plan?”

  “Maybe we should hide until morning,” Deborah suggested. “My guess would be that a very small minority of the people who work here know what they are really doing, and if they did, they’d be as horrified as we are. We could approach someone for help.”

  “My guess is that they are going to search until they find us tonight. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “But how? Those men had guns, for chrissake!”

  “That’s why we have to find someplace to hole up. We have to think. We can’t be rash.”

  “The one thing in our favor is the size of this building and the fact that it’s so cluttered with stuff,” Deborah said. “There’s got to be safe places to hide for a time. Unless they call in a lot of help, it’s going to take them most of the night to search with any thoroughness.”

  “Exactly,” Joanna said. “My guess is that they’ll do a rapid, superficial search, and if that proves futile, they’ll go back for a complete one. By then we have to be out of here or we’ll be caught.”

  Deborah shook her head and took an uncertain breath. “I’m sorry I brought us out here. It’s all my fault.”