The Edge of Death: (Sequel to ADRENALINE)

by John Benedict

  “My youngest daughter, Alicia, gets that too—she hates to climb through the plastic tunnel tubes on the playground.” Dodson smiled at the thought, then asked, “Do you guys have kids?”

  “Yes,” Doug said, and smiled tightly. “We have three boys. What about you, Officer Dodson?”

  “Call me Bob,” the big man said, a twinkle coming into his brown eyes. “Yeah, my wife and I have two little girls, five and eight. Hellions, I call ’em,” he added with a toothy smile. “But I wouldn’t trade ’em for the world.”

  “I know what you mean,” Doug said sincerely. It was funny, Doug thought, to see this big, burly man with the square jaw and menacing gun strapped to his waist reduced to sentimental giggling by the mere mention of his two daughters. But Doug understood the emotion all too well.

  Dodson reined in his mirth and paused in thought; his smile faded. “I heard you say aneurysm back there,” he said, his voice now edged with concern. “My wife’s brother died from one in his belly.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Doug replied, matching his somber tone.

  “They said it burst like a bad inner tube.”

  Doug didn’t answer.

  “I hope . . .” Dodson started, then trailed off.

  The two men continued down the long, empty hallway in silence, the only noise the squeaking wheels of the bed as it lumbered forward on the carpeted floor. When they reached the elevator, Doug’s phone rang; he pulled it out and saw Kristin’s number. “Hello,” he said.

  “Dr. Landry, thank God I got through to you,” Kristin blurted, breathless.

  “What is it, Kristin?” Doug said impatiently. He pushed the Down button for the elevator.

  “Is Chip with you?”

  “No.”

  “Hmmm. I have . . . uh, some information. I just developed some pictures.”

  “That’s nice.” The elevator dinged and the door opened.

  “Of your wife.”

  “What?” Doug exclaimed as he and Dodson maneuvered the bed onto the elevator. “What are you talking about?”

  “Where are you?” she asked. “You sound funny.”

  “Getting in the elevator—heading to the MRI suite. Listen, Kristin, I might lose you here.” The elevator door closed and the signal cut out.

  When the elevator jerked to a stop in the basement, the two men muscled the bed out and down the hallway. Doug navigated the radiology complex, following signs on the wall bearing a picture of a large magnet with an arrow pointing straight ahead. Doug’s phone rang again as they approached double doors marked MRI Suite. Another sign on the wall read, DANGER: HIGH INTENSITY MAGNETIC FIELD.

  “Hello.”

  “Dr. Landry,” Kristin said, her voice now shrill.

  “Kristin, I’m not sure I have time for this right now.”

  “No wait, you gotta listen to me. I just devel . . . Laur . . . tures.”

  “Kristin you’re breaking up again. The magnetic field must be screwing with the signal.”

  “Laur . . . pic . . .”

  “What?”

  “ . . . aura. I repeat, no . . .”

  “What?”

  “ . . . pictures . . .”

  “Sorry Kristin, you’ll have to tell me later,” Doug said and broke the connection.

  C H A P T E R 6 3

  Wednesday, 12:40 a.m.

  With Doug pulling the heavy bed from up front and Dodson pushing from behind, they maneuvered Laura’s ICU bed into the tight quarters of the MRI control room.

  A thin female radiology tech in her early twenties was seated at a console that looked as if it would be more at home on a starship. The tech had long, feathered blonde hair with highlights, and wore high black boots that disappeared under her white lab coat. She didn’t appear overjoyed to see them. “Can I help you?” she said, sounding anything but helpful. She eyed the policeman with frank suspicion.

  “Yes,” Doug said. “This is the patient who needs the emergency scan.”

  The tech drew in a long breath, as if to compose herself. “Name?”

  “Laura Landry.” Doug wondered how many emergency MRI scans there could be at this time of night.

  She scribbled something down in her logbook and muttered, “When it rains, it pours.”

  “Look, we’re trying to rule out a hemorrhagic cerebral aneurysm,” Doug added, his patience running thin.

  “Yeah, I got that in the report. We’ll need to transfer her to the MRI litter. Can you help? We’re a little short-handed.” She threw a glance around the empty room to make her point.

  Doug nodded and the three transferred Laura to the plastic and aluminum litter designed to go safely into the magnet room.

  “You need to leave all metallic items outside the room,” the tech said, handing Doug a plastic tray. “Do you have any internal metal objects? Pacemaker? Surgical clips?”

  “No,” Doug said. He knew the drill and emptied his pockets of keys and change, then also removed his watch, belt, and cell phone.

  “He’ll have to wait outside,” she said, gesturing at Officer Dodson. “Especially on account of that.” She pointed at Dodson’s gun.

  Dodson raised his eyebrows at this and looked over at Doug. Doug gave him a nod and the big man took a seat, mild relief washing across his face.

  “What about her oxygen?” Doug asked, pointing to the green oxygen E-cylinder lying on Laura’s ICU bed. It was still hooked up to her nasal prongs.

  “Just disconnect it,” the tech said, her tone imperious. “We have oxygen inside.” She swiped her badge through the unlocking mechanism, then swung the heavy door open into the scan room. Bright yellow and black diagonal stripes on the threshold indicated the presence of the high intensity magnetic field.

  Doug disconnected the oxygen tank and helped the tech wheel Laura into the scan room—a confining affair not much bigger than twelve by twelve feet. They transferred Laura from her litter over to the MRI table. Dodson watched intently from his perch outside the room.

  “You’ll have to leave now, sir,” she said to Doug, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly in a small but unmistakable smile.

  “I’d prefer to stay with her.”

  “It’s against protocol,” she said without missing a beat.

  “I’m not leaving her side,” Doug said firmly, returning her stare.

  The smile vanished and the tech looked as if she were about to put up a major fuss. Then her beeper went off. “Shit,” she mouthed as she regarded the beeper.

  “Look,” Doug added, “I sedated her and need to be here as her anesthesiologist.”

  The tech weighed this for a moment. “Okay, fine. I need to go to the ER to take care of another emergency patient.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll program her scan, then leave—you can stay with her. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Thanks for your help,” Doug said, not bothering to blunt his sarcasm.

  She gave him a sour smile and stood there for a moment, not saying anything, perhaps trying to come up with a snappy reply. “Use the intercom if you have any problems,” she finally huffed, pointing to a panel by the door and then to Dodson. “I’ll give him my swipe card to unlock the door, in case of any emergency.” With that, she whirled and left, closing the door behind her. The automatic lock engaged with a loud metallic clunk.

  Doug turned to Laura and patted her arm. “This won’t take long, Laura. Just try to lie as still as you can.”

  Laura surprised him by responding; he had thought she was still out of it. “I’ll try, Doug,” she said, looking up at him.

  “I gave you a little sedation to make it easier,” Doug said. “It’s a bit tight in there.”

  “What’s hap’nen to me?”

  “You’re having a scan. It’s just a precaution.” Doug didn’t know what else to say. “It won’t hurt.”

  “Okay,” she said and closed her eyes.

  The MRI scanner began to hum and soon the gantry lurched into motion, drawing Laura into the magnet�
��s hollow core. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. Once her head and upper torso disappeared into the core, loud bumping and grinding noises emanated from deep within the machine. Doug patted her toes, then started pacing in the little room. After a few minutes, he sat down in an uncomfortable molded plastic chair in the corner. His thoughts inevitably turned to what the scan might reveal.

  Fifteen minutes later, the scanner fell silent. Doug waited for several minutes before going over to the intercom, wondering if the tech was back yet. “Are you getting good slices? Is the scan finished? Is she holding still enough?”

  No answer.

  Doug looked around. There was no window to the control room. He tried the door and it was locked. He spied a lit-up keypad next to the door that undoubtedly controlled the locking mechanism, but he didn’t know the code. He saw a video camera high up on the wall, facing the magnet, but Doug realized this was just for one-way video monitoring.

  He tried the intercom again. “Officer Dodson—Bob—are you there?”

  Again, no answer.

  Damn it! He eyed the intercom, wondering if the dang thing even worked. Or maybe Dodson is dozing again. Doug started to pace again in the little room. Finally the MRI scanner came to life and the bumping and grinding noises started up again. Thank God. There was nothing else to do but wait until the end of the scan.

  C H A P T E R 6 4

  Wednesday, 12:50 a.m.

  Doug’s nerves were fraying badly and his patience had long since deserted him. He stood still for a moment and gripped his head in his hands and squeezed his temples tightly, trying to tamp down the growing ache inside his skull. What the hell is going on? He had never felt so helpless, locked in this small room with no contact. He reached for his cell phone before he remembered he had left it outside. It would be useless in here anyway—no way there’d be a signal. What had Kristin been trying to tell me before she got cut off?

  He forced himself to draw some deep breaths. He headed toward the plastic chair, but never made it.

  An incredibly strong arm wrapped around Doug’s neck and a pointy object dug into his back. “Don’t move or I’ll kill you,” Chandler said, his face inches from Doug’s ear.

  Doug stiffened. “What do you want?” he said, his voice tight with fear. He knew Chandler wouldn’t hesitate to make good on his threat. The sight of Mueller’s dead body with his neck sliced ear to ear flooded his mind.

  “Pull her out of the machine,” Chandler ordered.

  “Why?” Doug said, struggling to think, desperately trying to push back the panic. He glanced up at the video camera.

  “Just do it.”

  He felt the sharp object poke more insistently at his back, undoubtedly drawing blood. “I don’t know how it works,” Doug said, stalling and arching his back away from the sharp object.

  “Figure it out or I’ll kill her,” Chandler hissed.

  “Okay. Let me go.”

  Chandler released him and Doug went over and inspected the controls on the MRI housing. He stole several glances at Chandler and the video camera. Chandler was standing close to the wall underneath the camera. He held a foot-long spike that resembled a tent stake in his right hand. Even though the spike was thin and probably made of lightweight aluminum, it still looked plenty dangerous. The video camera was aimed at the patient. Depending on what type of lens the camera employed—wide angle or not—Chandler might not even be in the field of view.

  “Hurry up,” said Chandler, becoming agitated.

  “It’s complicated,” Doug barked back, hoping to mask his burgeoning fear; the panic was reasserting itself. “Give me a second.” Doug glared at Chandler. Last time he had seen him, Chandler’s neck had been a gruesome mess. Now his wounds, although still plainly visible, were healed to an extent Doug would have thought impossible. The sight of fresh scar tissue this soon was particularly shocking. Chandler bore little resemblance to the frail creature weakened from blood loss that Doug had fought with before. Now, Chandler stood crouched in a boxer’s stance, coiled for action.

  Doug pressed the Cancel Scan button and the bumping and grinding noises coming from the machine ceased. He also located the gantry eject button, but pushed one of the others instead; it turned up the volume of the piped-in music playing for the patient.

  “Hurry up,” Chandler said.

  “What do you want with her?” Doug asked. “Can’t you just leave her out of this?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Chandler said. “We need to talk, Dr. Landry—the three of us.” Chandler stared at him for a moment with his dull gray eyes. Frustration flickered across his face before he continued. “I know you’d like to kill me, but that will have to wait.”

  That much was true—Doug wanted nothing more than to kill this slimy bastard once and for all. Did Chandler just read my mind? Or are my intentions that obvious? Doug recalled the way Chandler seemed to anticipate his moves when they had fought in the PML. And how Kristin had sworn Chandler could read her mind. Can he really do that?

  Doug looked up at the camera again. Where is Dodson? A sickening thought followed—Did Chandler already kill him?

  Chandler followed his gaze. “That skinny blond bitch can’t help you. If she comes in, I’ll cut her.” Chandler waved the spike in the air across his own throat. He then approached the gantry, apparently not worried about the camera anymore, and gestured toward Laura’s body. “Now, get her the fuck out of this damn machine.”

  Doug hit the Eject button. With a loud mechanical whine, the gantry began to move. As the scanner slowly ejected Laura from within the magnet core, Doug thought furiously. Why didn’t Chandler mention the policeman? Surely, if he had killed him, he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to gloat. Maybe Dodson is alive? But if Chandler can read my mind; he would know that Dodson is right outside. So, either he can’t read minds after all—or maybe the magnetic field is playing havoc with his abilities, just as it interfered with the cell phone signal. Perhaps he’s vulnerable!

  Doug jumped as the latch to the scan room door clicked loudly. He and Chandler turned toward the heavy door as it swung inward. Officer Dodson stood at the entrance, his feet straddling the diagonal yellow and black lines. “What’s going on in here?” he boomed.

  Everything happened very fast.

  At first Chandler froze, genuinely surprised to see the cop there. But then, with amazing speed, Chandler darted behind the magnet assembly, out of view—probably where he had been hiding in the first place.

  “Come out with your hands up, now! Or I’ll shoot!” Dodson yelled, simultaneously drawing his gun.

  Doug shouted, “No-o-o-o!”

  But Dodson wasn’t listening. As the officer swung his gun up to a firing position, his hand crossed into the room, well beyond the striped warning line on the floor.

  The magnetic field ripped the gun from his hand, almost taking his trigger finger off with it. The gun discharged, the deafening report ringing through the small room. Doug reflexively put his hands to his ears—too late. The gun flew across the room and struck the magnet housing, slamming into the front panel with a loud metallic clang. It stuck fast to the magnet, suspended three feet off the ground. The bullet lodged in the scanner machinery, off to the right side. Dodson cursed loudly as he vigorously rubbed his bloodied trigger finger.

  Before the policeman could even look up, Chandler was across the room and upon him. Dodson managed to get one arm up to defend himself, but it was too late. Chandler stabbed him repeatedly in the upper chest and neck with the spike. Dodson let out several howls before crumpling to the floor, blood rapidly saturating his blue uniform.

  Doug snapped out of his own paralysis. He ran at Chandler and leapt, hitting him squarely in the torso with his full weight. Knocked off his feet, Chandler hit the floor hard. The spike clattered across the floor.

  Doug quickly knelt by Dodson’s body and checked for a carotid pulse. The policeman was already dead. Time slowed further as Doug’s mind raced. He had to—

>   Doug sprang toward the magnet as Chandler climbed to his feet.

  Doug frantically tried to pry the gun from the magnet. No matter how hard he tried—ripping the skin from his fingertips—he couldn’t get the thing loose; the gun might as well have been welded in place.

  Chandler bent and retrieved the spike.

  A distinct hissing drew Doug’s attention. A cloud of white vapor boiled from the bullet hole in the magnet assembly. Liquid helium boiling out. Not good.

  Chandler was slowly approaching now, bloody spike in hand.

  Doug hesitated for a second more, then bolted for the door, almost tripping over Dodson’s body. Chandler’s voice followed after him as he ran out of the magnet room, burning him with his words: “Thought you had more balls than that, Landry. Go ahead and run! Doesn’t matter—I’m interested in your wife anyway.”

  C H A P T E R 6 5

  Wednesday, 12:55 a.m.

  Doug muscled the ICU bed toward the open door to the magnet room. He could see the large bed would never fit through the small scan door, but he pushed anyway. Inside the room, Chandler was leaning over Laura. Talking to her?

  Three more feet to go. Perfect position. Chandler looked up, vaguely surprised to see Doug and the approaching bed. But he didn’t move or react.

  Two feet. Chandler continued his conversation. Apparently, he had no clue what was coming.

  One foot.

  Breathing hard now, Doug gave one last shove forward. As the ICU bed hit the doorframe and jarred to a stop, the green oxygen E-cylinder lying on the bed began to tremble, then roll. It rolled across the bed, picking up speed, until it smacked against the headboard with a dull clang and stopped. Chandler looked up again at the noise.

  The cylinder began to shake violently against the headboard, caught in the grip of the ultra-intense magnetic field. The cylinder bobbed up and continued to roll, this time straight up, six inches to the top of the headboard.

  The E-cylinder cleared the top of the headboard and flew through the air toward the magnet, accelerating in flight, attaining a top speed of over ninety miles an hour. The flying fifty-pound steel missile scored a glancing blow to Chandler’s temple, then smacked hard into the scanner with a deafening clang. It came to rest four feet off the ground, stuck fast to the magnet housing.