“Were you in that house?” I asked. “Do you know Dr. Markel?”
“The laptop.” Her eyes fluttered. I was afraid she was going to pass out, but she rubbed her face, blinked, and when I raised the glow stick between her eyes, her pupils constricted evenly. Good sign.
“Do you know how the fire started?” I asked, as I ran the glow stick farther down her body, checking for any other serious wounds or burns. Her blouse was dotted with blood, and the knees of her gray slacks were soaked with it. “Is there anyone else inside the house?”
“Dr. and Mrs. Markel,” she said, half awake. “They’ve both been shot.”
Shot? The word made my arm hair stand on end.
“Did you see who did it?” No one else was around that I noticed.
“Yes,” she answered. “I don’t know who—” she trailed off. “He gave me a laptop.”
“The shooter?”
She coughed again. “No, Dr. Markel gave it to me.”
The glow stick passed over her right arm. A shard of glass captured the light. She must’ve busted through a window to get out of the house.
“You have glass embedded in your arm,” I said, as I passed the light from her right arm over her left. “Both of them.”
I reached into my pack, took out my first aid kit and popped it open. I wouldn’t have enough bandages and gauze to cover every cut on her arms, but I’d do my best to cover the deepest ones. None of them seemed to be bleeding any more, at least, but I was sure that’d change once I pulled the larger shards of glass out.
“Take my hand,” I said, extending my left to her right. When she gave it to me, I took hold firmly. “This is going to hurt, but that big piece has to come out before you can move. I want you to squeeze my hand with both of yours, okay?”
When she nodded her understanding and gripped my hand, I pulled the glass dagger from her forearm. She bit her lip and pushed her head back against the fender.
“What’s your name?” I ripped open the packaging on the only bandage in my kit, then started wrapping the large cut on her right arm.
“Gabriela Ramos.” She sounded half asleep. She started to sag against the tire, then jolted upright. “The laptop! Get the laptop!”
She grabbed the strap of my bag and pulled me closer. I don’t know where this sudden burst of strength had come from, but it crackled in the whites of her eyes as she stared me down.
“Get the laptop. Do not leave it behind.”
“Okay, ma’am. I just want to make sure you’re stabilized first.” Suddenly, the strap of my bag went slack again. Her hand dropped to her lap, and a wet shimmer appeared in her eyes.
“Please, sir, you have to get the laptop.” A tear cut a clean swath down the soot on her cheek. “It’s for my little girl. She’ll die without it. We can’t leave it here!”
“She’ll die without your laptop?”
“I told you it’s not mine,” she said. “Dr. Markel gave it to me. He said the cure was on it.”
I almost asked her what she was talking about, but odds weren’t great I’d get a coherent answer. Now wasn’t the time to press her.
“Okay, Gabriela, where’s the laptop?”
The tension in her shoulders relaxed.
“Behind my seat,” she said. “Wrapped in a blanket.”
I reached up and grabbed the handle for the rear door, then pulled it open. Sure enough, when I unwrapped a pink and purple comforter with a cartoon character on it, I found a jet-black laptop.
“You got this from the man who lived here?” I asked, while I turned the laptop over and checked it for damage.
“Yes,” she said. “Is it still working?”
“It’s in one piece.” I opened the lid, but the screen didn’t come on. “It’s not turning on.”
“It’s not?” She planted a hand on the driveway, trying to push herself to her feet, but she didn’t have the strength to stand.
I knelt next to her. This laptop seemed to mean everything to her—and if it belonged to Markel, I needed to get it back to Reel Fun regardless. I gently sat it on her lap.
“You hold onto it for now. We’ll get somebody to fix this thing up,” I said. “Don’t worry.”
She smiled at me. “Thank you.”
“Hold your thanks. You’ll hate my guts after I pick you up and move you out of here.”
She didn’t appear concerned. “Are you a doctor, too? And how did you find me?”
“I was in the Air Force—Pararescue,” I answered. “Dr. Markel is wrapped up in some kind of trouble. I hoped to talk to him before—” I looked at the fire. “I guess I was too late.”
“He’s dead now,” she said without any hint of emotion. She was drained. If she were close to Markel, all the grief and mourning would come pouring out once she had some rest and some time to reflect.
I closed up my kit and returned it to the pack on my chest. Then I sized Gabriela up.
“How’s your neck feeling? Stiff? Sore? Can you move it okay?”
She rubbed it, stretched to her left, and grimaced.
“Just try to relax.” I scooped her into my arms.
“What are you doing?” She clutched the laptop to her chest. “You’re hurting me.”
“I said you wouldn’t like me.”
For a moment, I considered going right, across the driveway, and around the same side of the house from where I’d originally come. The tips of flames teased the brush near the house, so going in that direction was the surest way to come out of this without eyebrows.
I went straight—around the part of the house that was little more than hot coals and blackened wood.
Three or four yards from the house, a powerful heat began to push back at me. I went as wide left as I could. I had no desire to bake the insides of my lungs.
Once we came around the back of the house, my next challenge was getting down the path that led to the dock. With Gabriela in my arms, our combined center of gravity would make for an awkward trip down, but I had no choice. I slowly negotiated down the railroad tie steps and made it all the way to the bottom without breaking anyone’s neck.
To find that DJ wasn’t there.
“DJ?” I said into the radio. I waited for a response.
Nothing.
“I’ve got wounded,” I said. “I need a pickup at the dock.”
More silence.
“DJ, where the hell are you?”
“I met a new pal.” I heard the howl of wind whipping past him as he yelled into his radio. “We’re having a little disagreement between friends—don’t get your panties in a twist.”
I carefully laid Gabriela on the dock, then squinted northward, looking across the water.
Then, as a wave dipped or crested, I saw a low, steady cone of light moving left to right in the distance. Reel Fun. DJ was out there with a fishing spotlight.
“Another boat took off from the dock when you were warming your hands by the fire,” he said. “I offered a neighborly hello, but he ain’t too friendly.”
The yacht and the two smaller boats were still tied up in front of me.
“The Cigarette boat?”
“Nobody gets one past you. You’re as sharp an investigator as they come,” DJ answered.
“Let him go,” I said. “There’s no way you can catch up to him, and I need you here.”
I squeezed Gabriela’s hand. “Still comfortable?”
She said nothing. My head went to the worst place—that she’d died here while I waited for DJ, but I felt a pulse. She’d passed out.
“DJ?” I said into the radio.
“All right,” he said. The spotlight cut out. “I’m bringing Reel Fun around.”
Once I got Gabriela comfortable on the boat, I had a decision to make. She needed medical attention but taking her to the hospital would involve a lot of questions that I didn’t have answers to. She was bleeding from several cuts, but I didn’t think it was life threatening and aside from the pain, DJ and I were both trained
in battlefield first aid and could treat the cuts and stop the bleeding.
The other option was to take her back to St. Thomas.
I called Alicia. She had to get out our big medical kit from the hall closet. We had a patient coming over.The next three hours on Reel Fun were spent keeping Gabriela comfortable and awake. DJ had me put her down on the aft settee in the salon, explaining that it would be more comfortable. There, I kept watch on her, giving her fluids, talking to her, making sure she wasn’t in too much pain, and letting her clean her face with a washcloth.
Most people wouldn’t be able to handle a three-hour ride at full throttle like that. DJ had been right; though the ride was rough, looking forward to the master stateroom and how much it was rising and falling in the chop, it was a lot smoother in the back of the boat. Gabriela held up remarkably well, hardly ever complaining when a cut on her arm reopened, or when she went into a coughing fit and hacked up something oozing and black as coal. She was a tough lady, and she had my respect. I’d recovered airmen who had been through less than she and griped about it ten times as much.
When we finally motored into my extra slip at Long Bay, DJ helped me get her off the boat. Alicia was there, parked at the marina office with our car, just like she said she’d be.
She held her non-medical questions until all four of us were back at the house, and Gabriela had been laid on towels spread over the tiled floor in our living room while we cleaned needles and prepped sutures in the kitchen together.
“Where’d you find her?”
“A doctor’s house.” I threaded a needle and laid it on a baking sheet covered with a dish towel on the counter to my left. “I didn’t expect to find her there, but I couldn’t leave her.”
“I know you couldn’t.” Alicia turned to me and whispered, “What’s with the laptop? She’s been holding onto it since I picked you guys up.”
“She says there’s a cure she needs on it,” I answered.
Alicia’s eyes darted back to Gabriela. “Is she sick?”
“Her daughter.”
“That matches up,” Alicia said, looking her over.
She finished prepping the last needle, then put it on the tray. I followed my wife out to the living room, then set the tray down on an end table near the couch.
“All right, Gabriela,” Alicia started, “I’m going to undo some of the dressings on your arms and figure out where exactly we need to put in stitches. Is that okay with you?”
Gabriela looked up at DJ, who was holding her hand.
He clapped her knuckles reassuringly. “Don’t you worry now,” he said. “Alicia’s a good woman, and a hell of a nurse. Next time I lose a leg, I’m gonna make damned sure she’s the one sawing it off.”
He and Alicia laughed, but Gabriela furrowed her brow and shot a pleading look at me.
“We’re not taking any limbs off,” I said. “Don’t worry.”
She nodded; her eyes calmer than I’d seen them all night.
Alicia went to work. I helped with handing her fresh needles, keeping the sutures ready, and passing over syringes full of lidocaine. Of the two of us, I was the more widely trained, but methods on the battlefield put expedience before comfort and a PJ was more a jack-of-all-trades. As an RN, Alicia had better bedside manner and a deeper knowledge of this kind of procedure.
Two hours, and more stitches than I cared to count later, Alicia sat back on her heels, took off her latex gloves, combed a strand of hair behind her ear, and finally wiped her brow.
“You did great, Gabriela,” she said, while I re-dressed Gabriela’s arms with fresh bandages. DJ and I helped her get to her feet, then eased her down onto the sectional nearby. Her cheeks flushed and a lock of her dark hair clung wetly to her forehead. She looked ready to pass out.
“Do you have access to any kind of antibiotic?” Alicia asked her.
She shook her head.
“I think I can get you some topical cephalexin. I’ll make a phone call in the morning.” She turned back to our guest. “For now, how about something to eat?”
“Yes, please, thank God,” Gabriela said.
“I’ll whip something up.” Alicia started toward the kitchen. “I can’t promise gourmet, but it’ll be edible.”
While my wife worked in the kitchen, I reached down and grabbed the laptop off the floor next to the bloodied towels, then sat it on Gabriela’s lap.
Her hands locked around its back edge and pulled it close.
“I heard a rumor Dr. Markel was pushing a cure for cancer,” I said.
She cocked her head at me. “Who told you that?”
“That’s not important. What’s your relationship with Markel?”
“My relationship? He’s a doctor with a treatment that’ll save my daughter’s life. That’s where our relationship begins and ends. Do you think I was participating in something improper with him?” She was getting her hackles up.
I was never good at hiding my skepticism, and she was picking up on it.
“Forgive the deputy,” DJ said, physically cutting between Gabriela and me. “The man doesn’t have a badge no more, but he’s a cop at heart. That makes him an unrepentant asshole. We was both wondering if you could tell us a little about that drug you wanted, and maybe a couple things about the good doctor.”
She licked her lips and nodded. Then she crossed her arms, but immediately uncrossed them, aware of her bandages.
“You have to promise not to tell anyone at work,” she said. “If my bosses knew I was there, they’d fire me.”
“So, you don’t work for Dr. Markel?” I asked, nudging DJ out of the way with a hand on his shoulder.
“Dr. Markel ran a lab contracted by Hildon Pharmaceuticals, which is the company I work for. Over the last year, his lab has been conducting public trials on the drug my daughter needs. I applied, but we didn’t get accepted.”
“What’s this drug called??”
“Anthradone,” she said. “Flor has a rare genetic disease called Li-Fraumeni Syndrome.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
Her hands went to the laptop, tightening around its hinges.
“A person’s body is making cells all the time.” She swallowed hard, then continued. “Sometimes, even in totally healthy people, these cells go bad and turn cancerous. It happens a lot, in fact. A lot more than you may think. The only reason you and your wife and your friend here,” She motioned toward DJ. “The only reason you don’t have cancer is that a normal body makes a certain protein that’s really good at killing cancer cells. Doesn’t always work, but it usually does.”
“People with Li-Fraumeni have a problem with that protein. If it’s there at all, it doesn’t work. And they get…” Gabriela noticeably shuddered. “…tumors.”
Suddenly, tears welled in her eyes. A droplet hit the laptop, then rolled toward her.
“My daughter is twelve years old. She’s had cancer three times in the last three years. I’ve had to watch my precious baby get poison pumped into her, and seen radiation bombarding her little body. I’ve had to put food in her mouth when she was too weak to do it herself, I’ve had to buy her clothes for girls half her age because everything else falls right off her. I’ve picked up clumps of hair from her pillow while she’s moaning in the middle of the night with a chill.”
She stopped and rubbed a knuckle across her eyes. DJ came to her side, picked a tissue from the box on the end table, and gave it to her.
“Thank you.” She smiled through her tears, then blotted at the corners of her eyes.
“After years of going through all that, I hear there’s a cure for Li-Fraumeni, but she can’t have it because I work for the company making it.”
I frowned. I didn’t have any kids, but I wanted them some day, and I could only imagine the depth of her pain.
“What is that?” she asked. “I put my time and effort into helping them make the thing, and when my daughter needs it, suddenly she can’t have it because… why? Aren’t we making
treatments to make people better? Isn’t she a person who needs to be better? And if Hildon isn’t doing that, then what is it doing?
“I knew I wasn’t supposed to contact Dr. Markel,” she said, “but what else was I going to do? Stand around and watch my only child waste away? When I know there’s something out there that can save her?”
Gabriela’s jaw flexed. Her hand balled into a fist, and then she relaxed it and took a breath that seemed to shake her from her core outward. Then, another coughing fit came.
I waited until she was finished.
“Dr. Markel invited you to his house.”
She blinked at me. “How did you know that?”
“You’re not the only one,” I said. “I met another man with terminal brain cancer today. His doctor referred him to Markel, and Markel invited him to his house.”
“Did he go?”
“Sort of,” I answered. “What happened back there, anyway? Did you set fire to his house?”
She began to sob again. One hand gripped the arm of the sectional, barely able to grasp it, the other clung firmly to that laptop.
“Maybe we should give the woman a break.” DJ put a hand on her back. “She could sack out here on the couch for the night, and we can ask her questions in the morning. We all need some sleep.”
I didn’t want to wait. The human mind was too quick to forget things, to confuse one memory with another and change stories. A short man became average height, a white shirt turned yellow. Especially after sleep. She needed to tell me everything she knew as soon as possible.
Gabriela shook her head, and leaned forward, breaking contact with DJ. “I want to talk now, while it’s fresh in my mind.”
Her elbows rested on the top lid of the laptop, her palms upturned, and she gazed at the wrappings on her arms. The whole room stayed silent, except for the sounds of Alicia plating something in the kitchen behind us, and the steady churn of waves outside the house. I smelled coffee percolating.
“I heard them get shot,” she finally said. She knitted her hands and squeezed her fingers together as tightly as they’d go. “Dr. Markel and his wife.”
Wayward Sons Page 17
