The Edge of Death: (Sequel to ADRENALINE)

by John Benedict

  He wheeled over some portable monitors, hooked up his new patient, and took a blood sample for lab values. Chandler’s blood pressure was 64/30. No wonder he had passed out. Several minutes later, the ISTAT machine beeped. Chandler’s hemoglobin was an absurdly low 3 grams/deciliter. That’s impossible, thought Mueller. Must be a machine glitch. No one could walk around with a hemoglobin of three.

  Amazingly, Chandler opened his eyes and looked up at him from the floor. Then he spoke. “I’m not going back to the ICU.”

  “You don’t have much choice,” Mueller said. “You’ve lost an awful lot of blood.”

  “I know.”

  Mueller punched the machine for another blood pressure reading.

  Chandler made a feeble attempt to sit up. “What are you doing?” Mueller said, putting his hand on Chandler’s chest to restrain him. “Lie still. Your neck wounds are severe. And you’re still bleeding.”

  “Fucking dog,” Chandler said.

  Dog? That would explain the bite marks, Mueller thought. The BP machine beeped with its new reading—85/50. The fluid was helping.

  “I feel better,” Chandler said, trying to prop himself up on his elbows.

  “You’re in no shape to go anywhere, my friend. If I hadn’t just given you that fluid, you’d probably be dead.”

  “We need to talk,” Chandler said, pushing Mueller’s hand away. “I must see your notes.”

  “You’re not getting this,” Mueller said. “You practically died—for the second time. Besides, I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

  Chandler just stared at him, his flat eyes boring through him, unreadable.

  Mueller’s curiosity got the best of him. “Why the hell did you kill that girl?”

  “I needed to escape.”

  “You didn’t need to kill her.”

  Now Chandler smiled a bit. “You’re right.”

  “Then why on earth did you?”

  “Would you believe it if I told you I didn’t intend to?”

  “What?” Mueller stammered.

  “I didn’t think so. My arm was much stronger than I realized,” Chandler said matter-of-factly.

  Horror gripped Mueller.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Chandler said.

  “That’s insane,” Mueller replied. “Of course it does.”

  “Anything that stands in my way is fair game,” Chandler said, locking eyes with him.

  Mueller tried again to read Chandler’s expressionless eyes and only then began to sense that he was in the presence of something unique. Evil, perhaps?

  “But what is evil?” Chandler said, his tone mocking.

  Icy tendrils of fear ran down Mueller’s spine and he could only stare wide-eyed at Chandler.

  “I prefer to think of myself as unencumbered,” Chandler continued. “I have true free will.”

  “Rubbish,” Mueller answered weakly, his mind still reeling.

  “Perhaps, you are the one who is evil, Dr. Mueller. After all, this lab is yours.” He swept his hand around the expansive lab. “And you created me.”

  His BP was now 120/75. His neck had stopped bleeding.

  “I didn’t create you. I saved your life,” Mueller retorted.

  Chandler ripped the cuff off his arm and pushed to his feet. He looked over at the woman on the litter across the room. “Who is she?”

  “None of your damn business.”

  “My business is anything I want it to be,” Chandler said, looking back at him. “Now, tell me.”

  “I will not.”

  Chandler walked over to the supply cabinet. “I need more fluid.” He opened another bag of Ringer’s and spiked it on his IV.

  “You need blood,” Mueller countered. “You need that wound closed properly. You need antibiotics. You need to be admitted.”

  Chandler ignored him and walked over to the woman on the stretcher—the woman tethered to the machine that hummed with power. Suddenly Chandler drew in his breath. “It’s her!”

  “Do you know her?”

  “Yes and no,” Chandler said cryptically, and touched her arm. “So cold, though.”

  “So were you,” Mueller said. “Don’t you remember?”

  Chandler stared off into space, apparently lost in thought. Then he turned and locked eyes with Mueller again. “She’s not far enough.”

  “What do you mean?” Mueller asked.

  “She’s not dead enough.”

  “Of course she’s not. I’m trying to keep her alive, you fool.”

  Chandler studied the monitor with its EKG and multiple pressure tracings from the Swan Ganz catheter in her heart. He looked at what drips she was on and then bent down to examine her Foley catheter with her urine. His eyes came to rest for a moment on the surgical tray at her bedside. Several hemostats, scalpels, needle drivers, and suture material were arranged neatly there.

  “You must bleed her some more first,” Chandler said with his back to him.

  “You’re mad.”

  “Am I? How do you think I survived my illness?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Chandler turned and sneered at him. “You smart people are all alike—and you make me sick. You have no fuckin’ clue.”

  “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  “The brain is very powerful—more powerful than I think you can imagine. You scientists are just beginning to scratch the surface of it.” Chandler stopped as if listening to something. “But I see you have considered this possibility. I see your concern over a certain EEG pattern of mine.”

  Mueller recoiled in shock. “How could you possibly know this? Have you read my files?” Adrenaline surged through him and his fear notched up into panic. What the hell is going on?

  “Not yet. But I can see into your thoughts, Dr. Mueller.”

  “That’s impossible.” But Mueller’s analytical mind was beginning to wonder about impossibilities. How could this man before him even be standing, with a hemoglobin of three? How had he survived complete multi-organ system failure? And that wound on his neck looked as if it had come close to removing his head.

  “Is it?” Chandler glanced over at the large, squat heart-lung machine. He concentrated for a moment, staring at the woman on the litter. “Her name is Laura Landry. She was in a terrible biking accident and suffered a tension pneumothorax. While in the OR, she had a massive fat embolus from her crushed femur that came close to killing her. You are trying valiantly to revive her.” Chandler whirled to face him. “And her husband is here now, helping you. And will be back soon.” Chandler glanced about the room. “And you think she is beautiful, too.”

  “Amazing,” Mueller said, the breath escaping from his mouth in a whistle.

  “Do you believe me now?”

  Dr. Mueller’s amazement was cut short as the scalpel blade ripped across his throat. Chandler was somehow standing beside him now, carving up his neck. Mueller barely had time to register surprise before the blackness came.

  C H A P T E R 4 0

  Sunday, 8:30 a.m.

  Kristin walked into her old bedroom and sat down on the bed. She ran her hands over the silky surface of the white quilted bedspread and tried to get a grip on her emotions. It had been tough going back down in the basement—really tough—even with Chip leading the way. She wasn’t sure she would ever go back there again. All she could think of was Smokey and the fact that he wasn’t coming home. She wondered if she would ever be happy again. She wondered if the crying would ever stop. She wrapped her arms around herself, rocked on the bed, and fought back the tears.

  After a time, her thoughts turned to Chip. She felt bad for giving him a hard time about flunking out of med school. That had been uncalled for, downright cruel. What had she been thinking? He had been a real trooper to come over and listen to her and put up with her grief; he was a good friend. And she couldn’t deny that it had been a long time since someone had held her like that—and that it had felt good.

  She glanced around the room and saw that D
ad had left it untouched—everything was just the way she remembered it from when she had moved out two years ago. Even her old pictures were there, framed and neatly arranged on her bookcase.

  There was one from the Homecoming dance, senior year at Halifax High School. Although she hadn’t made the Homecoming Court, Kristin never missed a dance. Her date that night had been “Shorty” Eddie Wachinsky. At six foot six he towered over her, and had looked especially goofy in his formal wear; his long arms stuck out from sleeves that were way too short. Even though Shorty had been the star center on the b-ball team, he was clumsy as an oaf on the dance floor. Nevertheless, the two had a blast that night, and she smiled at the memory.

  Her eyes traveled to the field hockey team shot. She’d played center halfback. The team went undefeated her senior year, but lost in the first round at districts. Her best friend, Karen, who would go with her to radiology school after graduation, was standing right next to her.

  Then there was a shot climbing Mount Washington in New Hampshire on a family summer vacation—she was sixteen and hadn’t adopted her braid back then; her hair was wild and windswept on the summit. Her younger brother, taller than her, stood on one side and her mother on the other—her dad had taken the picture. Her mom had her arm wrapped around Kristin and a big smile on her face. That, of course, had been before the car wreck.

  Finally, there was a more recent one of her and her boyfriend at the time, Andrew. They were kneeling on the wooden porch of a farmhouse with a puppy between them—a black Labrador retriever pup. She didn’t stand a chance against this one. Tears quickly came to her eyes. She recalled that day two years ago when she and Karen had first met little Smokey.

  “He’s adorable!” Kristin exclaimed, already on her knees and stroking the pup’s velvety ears. “What’s his name?”

  “I named him Smokey,” Andrew said, “because he’s mostly coal black, but has streaks of lighter gray running through his fur.”

  “I like it,” Kristin said as Smokey sniffed and licked her ears with abandon.

  “It looks like he likes you, too,” Andrew said, and smiled his perfect smile at her. “Watch out for his little teeth—he’ll nip you.” Andrew knelt down beside her and started petting the little furball.

  “Oh, that’s so cute,” Karen said. “Hang on for a second and I’ll take your picture.”

  Karen fussed with her camera and then clicked away. “Is he yours?” Karen asked Andrew.

  “Well, sort of,” Andrew explained. “He came with the farmhouse I’m renting. I’m minding him for the owner while he’s away.”

  “How cool,” Karen said.

  “Let me show you ladies around,” Andrew said, rising to his feet. “I sure hope you like the place.”

  “How could we not?” Karen said, giggling, eyes fixed on Andrew.

  After the tour, while Karen lounged on the back deck taking in some afternoon sun, Andrew took Kristin in his arms and hugged her tightly. He was much taller than her and it felt good to sink into his strong body and breathe in the nice clean smell of him. Kristin remembered thinking she was in heaven when she was in his arms.

  “So,” Andrew said, “you really think your father will go for you moving in here?”

  “We have been seeing each other for six months,” Kristin said, smiling up at his dark eyes and storybook handsome face. “It doesn’t even matter—I’m twenty-one and can do as I please. No, really—he likes you. Besides, if you can’t trust a doctor, who can you trust?” Kristin quipped.

  “Well, technically, I’m still a med student—”

  “Relax. He’ll be okay with it. And if Karen agrees to move in too, it’ll make things more—I dunno—acceptable. We’ll be splitting the place to save on rent and food while Karen and I get through x-ray tech school. Dad likes that sort of thinking.”

  “So do I,” Andrew said and kissed her.

  Kristin kissed him back and luxuriated in his embrace for a few moments longer. “Besides, once my dad sees your dog, he’ll be sold. He’s a softie for dogs—especially cute little puppies.”

  “Okay then, it’s settled,” he said. “Now we just have to convince Karen to sign the lease.”

  “Look at her,” Kristin said, nodding toward the back deck. “She’s in love with the place already.”

  Three months later, after the new roomies were comfortably settled into the farmhouse, things took a turn for the worse. One day, Kristin found herself late for class because she had spent too much time playing with little Smokey—scratch that—obedience training the dog. Karen and Andrew had already left. “You’re going to be my downfall,” she scolded the pup as she put him back in his crate. He looked up at her with such puppy sad eyes that her irritation evaporated in an instant and all she could do was smile.

  Ten minutes later, Kristin was speeding recklessly down the winding back road, halfway to the med center, when she realized she had forgotten her MRI workbook. “Damn it!” she said and swung her car onto the shoulder, skidding dangerously on the loose gravel. When the coast was clear, she hung a U-turn and raced back toward the farmhouse. She’d definitely be late for class now.

  As she slammed her car to a stop in the driveway, it didn’t register with her that Andrew’s car was also there. She left her engine running and car door open, and barged in through the front door. Smokey sat up in the crate, tail going a mile a minute, panting to beat the band. She trotted back to her bedroom, passing right by Karen’s open bedroom door.

  Staring wide-eyed at her from the bed, in various stages of undress, were Karen and Andrew. She would never forget the expressions of guilt and embarrassment that played across their faces. Kristin’s shock quickly gave way to anger and she ran headlong out of the farmhouse, almost falling down the front porch steps. She ignored Smokey’s distressed barking and forgot all about the MRI notebook. Consumed by feelings of betrayal and hurt, she roared out of the driveway.

  Her bedroom door opened and her father walked in. “Are you okay? I thought I heard something.”

  She wiped her eyes and sniffled a bit. “I’m okay, Daddy.” She pointed to the bookcase and said, “It’s just that picture of Smokey as a puppy . . .” Her voice trailed off as her throat closed up and more tears came.

  “There, there now, pumpkin,” he said, opening his arms to her.

  She welcomed the warmth of his embrace and let her tears break loose, her head bobbing up and down on her father’s flannel shirt. He wrapped one strong arm around her and patted her head with a big hand.

  After ten minutes or so, when she had cried herself out, she gazed up at him. “I miss him so much, Daddy. He saved my life.”

  “I know, pumpkin.” He handed her some Kleenex. “That dog was one in a million.”

  “It hurts badly.” Kristin sat back down on the bed and dabbed at her eyes and wiped her nose. “Will it ever get better?” She looked up into her father’s kind blue eyes and watched his brow crease as he collected his thoughts.

  “Yes and no,” he said slowly. “They say time heals all wounds and that memories fade, but I don’t know about that.” Her father stared across the room, a pained expression crossing his face. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of your mother.”

  “I miss her, too.”

  “It’s been five years since the accident,” he said, “but I remember her like it was yesterday.”

  “Really?”

  “I can still hear her voice and feel her touch,” he said, his voice thickening with emotion. “She’s with me wherever I go.” He tapped his chest over his heart. Kristin felt her tears threatening to return. “I’ve come to accept it,” her dad continued. “She’s in a better place, I’m sure of it.” He looked at her. “I think God called her home early because he missed her, too.”

  Kristin returned her dad’s bittersweet smile and noticed the moistness in his eyes.

  “And,” he said, “I know she wouldn’t have meant for me to live a life full of grief.”

 
; She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Sure,” he said. He shook his head slightly and tried to put on a happier face. “Things will get better, honey.”

  She smiled weakly and looked at the floor

  “Where did you go this morning?” he asked. “When I woke up, you were gone.”

  “I went back to the apartment.”

  He looked surprised. “Did you forget something?”

  “No. I met Chip there to show him something.”

  “Chip?”

  “I work with him at the med center. He was there the night Heather got—” She stopped.

  “Promise me you won’t go back there again until this creep is caught.”

  “I promise.”

  “Is Chip a med student?” her father asked, his voice wary.

  “Not anymore.” Her dad raised his eyebrows at this. “Don’t worry, Dad—I’m not getting involved.”

  “Honey, it’s okay if you do.”

  “I’m not ready.”

  “That’s fine. No one’s pressuring you. You’ve got the rest of your life. You’ll meet the right guy.”

  “Yeah, but how do you know when he’s the right guy? Andrew seemed like the right guy.” She teared up again. “People shouldn’t be allowed to lie, Dad.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Smokey never lied to me—ever.”

  “Dogs are good like that.”

  “It’s scary, not knowing if you can ever trust anyone again.”

  “Right, again. It is scary—and risky, too.” He smiled tenderly and patted her head. “Love is all those things, pumpkin. But it’s more than that. Only by putting yourself out there, becoming vulnerable, giving of yourself without considering what you’ll get in return, can you truly understand love. It’s a mystery and a puzzle for sure, but no question, it’s the best thing going. You’ll see some day.”