The anesthesiologist’s hands were trembling so badly he needed both of them to hold the syringe.
“Dammit, Jack …”
Slowly, Pearl depressed the plunger.
Frank perched on one of the tables of the Carter Conference Room and watched as Leigh Baron gathered her things. She would, no doubt, stop by the unit to verify his claims about Toby Nelms. But then, with any luck, she would be out of his life for good.
His heartbeat continued to race, and there remained a persistent, sandpaper tightness in his throat, but that was understandable. He had narrowly dodged a bullet. Still, as he had learned countless times over his years as the quarterback, although his last-second victory wasn’t a pretty one, a win was a win. And a win this most certainly was. His expectations of a regional directorship were gone, but the additional money in his bank account more than compensated for the termination of his association with Ultramed and Leigh Baron.
It was interesting, he mused, how suddenly unattractive the woman looked in defeat. The bridge of her nose; the shape of her hips; the stiff, unfeminine way she moved. It was absurd that at one time he had found her so desirable. He could do better—much better.
“Remember, Frank,” Leigh said, snapping her briefcase closed, “assuming what you’ve told me is true, I don’t want one word of it to get anywhere near Ultramed.”
“Sure, baby. Sure.”
Even her orders sounded different—groveling, hollow.
“Damn you, Frank,” she muttered.
Before he could respond, she turned and was gone.
Gradually, the unpleasant tightness in Franks throat began to subside. He was pleased to find he could breathe deeply again. He even managed a thin smile. He was on a roll. Another challenge had arisen and been dealt with. Still, he cautioned himself, this was no time to celebrate. Not yet.
Soon, though, he thought. As soon as Suzanne Cole and one Zachary Iverson had been dispatched, there would be all the time in the world.
He pushed himself off the table and headed toward his office, reviewing the plan he had devised. Removing Suzanne from the hospital was the only tricky part, and that could easily be accomplished with one of the hospitals laundry hampers. He had always been a “hands-on” administrator. It was hardly unusual for him to be seen carrying tools to a job, or moving a piece of furniture. So even if he were seen with the hamper, it was doubtful any questions would be raised.
The rest was elegantly simple: a call to Zack, a meeting at Christmas Point, and an accident. He had even thought to stop by central supply and appropriate some intravenous alcohol. Starting an IV line—especially one that needed to last only minutes—was no big deal. Once Zack was immobilized, either with an injection of Serenyl or the butt of his revolver, he would infuse enough of the alcohol to leave no doubt in anyone’s mind what had happened—especially since he had already seen to it that Zack’s drinking the night before was common knowledge around the hospital.
Inspired. Elegant. Simple.
Lost in thought, Frank hurried along the first-floor corridor toward the new wing, nearly colliding with the Judge’s wheelchair as it was pushed out of the admissions office. Clayton Iverson eyed him grimly and then turned to the young candy striper who was transporting him.
“Kathy dear, this is my son. If you don’t mind, I need to talk to him. I’ll send for you if I need you again. Thank you.”
He waited until the girl had left, and then used his cast and his good hand to wheel himself past the doorway.
“I want you to know that it hurt me to do what I had to do in there, Frank,” he said.
“Nonsense, Judge,” Frank said. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less of my father.”
Clayton Iverson looked up at him in surprise.
“I’m pleased to hear you say that, Frank. Unfortunately, I wish that was all there was to it.”
Once again, Frank saw daylight.
“Dad, listen,” he said. “I just finished speaking with Leigh Baron. I know the spot she put you in.”
“You do?”
“Three years ago, some people from Boston came to me with a once-in-a-lifetime chance to get in on a land deal. They were so goddamn smooth, so well organized, that I fell for their crap hook, line, and sinker. I borrowed the money from the hospital expecting to pay it back in a matter of a week or two. It … it was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.…”
Frank knelt on one knee and forced a tremble into his voice.
“… I was so frightened, so ashamed, I—”
“Frank, you should have come to me.”
“I know that, Dad. I know that now.…” Easy. Not too much. Not too thick. “But … but you’d already helped me out of that mess in Concord, and—” His voice broke as he stared down at his hands.
“What did Leigh Baron say?” the Judge asked.
“Say?”
“About the money.”
“Oh. Well, she was pretty reasonable, all things considered. You see, I’ve been working on some deals—a second mortgage on the house, the sale of that lot on Winnipesaukee—and I can get together at least part of what I owe. She understands that I meant to repay the money and that I’m probably out of a job, so she’s promised to put the matter to rest providing I can come up with the full amount in the next few weeks.”
“And can you?”
“I … I can try.”
“How short are you?”
Frank struggled to mask his excitement.
“I … Judge, I want to handle this myself.”
“And just how do you expect to do that with a wife and two children and no job?”
“I’ll manage. We’ll manage. I’ll catch on somewhere. I may have made a stupid mistake, but I’m still a damn good administrator.”
“The best.”
“Thanks for saying that.”
“And Leigh Baron has promised that if you replace the money, she’ll be off your back?”
“That’s what she said.”
“How much?”
“Judge, please.”
“How much more do you need?”
“A-About a hundred thousand.”
“I see …
“Dad, it’s my problem.”
“Nonsense. Frank, I’m very pleased with the way you’re dealing with all this. I was angry as hell at you, but now I understand. You made a mistake, you admitted it, and you’re trying to make good. That’s all I could ever ask of you. I’ll see to it that you get the money as soon as I get out of here.”
“But …” Again, Frank stared down at his hands. First Mainwaring, then Leigh Baron, and now the Judge himself!
“No buts,” the Judge went on. “You can pay me back when things get better. Believe me, it will be worth it not to have to explain all of this to your mother.”
“Judge, I … I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, for starters, you can stand up and promise me that as the administrator of Davis Regional Hospital, you’ll never let anything like this happen again.”
Slowly, Frank straightened up, carefully monitoring every muscle of his face.
Who says you can’t have it all? he was thinking. Who says you can’t have it all, and more?
“You mean that?” he asked, with just the right mix of incredulity and gratitude.
“Frank, I don’t think there’s a single member of the board who wouldn’t vote to retain you—that is, provided you’d agree to stay on.”
Finally, Frank allowed himself a smile.
“I think I’ll be able to manage that,” he said. “Now, I think it’s time you got out of that chair and into a bed. You look a little pale. What room did they give you?”
“I asked for the third floor. They gave me 301.”
“Perfect. The best in the house. Come on. I’ll wheel you up.
Frank pushed his father toward the elevator. As they reached the corridor to the new wing, he stopped.
“Listen, Judge,” he said. “If you don’t mind w
aiting here for just a moment, there’s something I need to check on in my office.”
“No problem,” the Judge said. “Take your time.”
The door to Frank’s outer office was less than twenty feet away. Frank left the wheelchair against a wall, crossed to the door, and inserted the key.
At the same moment he realized there was no music coming from within, Henry Flowers entered the corridor from the stairway.
“She’s not there, Mr. Iverson,” he said.
“What?”
Frank felt a sudden, vicious chill.
“Dr. Cole. She’s not there.”
Frank threw open the door, revealing the gaping hole to his inner office.
“She’s in the intensive care unit with Dr. Mainwaring and your brother,” the giant guard explained. “And you ought to be ashamed of the way—”
“No!”
“—you tied her up and—”
Frank shoved the man aside and bolted past him.
“Nooo!” he bellowed again as he slammed through the stairway door.
38
“Two minutes.”
Seated beside Toby Nelms’s bed, Zack mouthed the words and held two fingers in the beam of his penlight for Jack Pearl to see. Pearl nodded, and let up on the Serenyl infusion.
They had kept Suzanne anesthetized with the drug for nine minutes. Besides the cessation of all voluntary movement, the only sign of any change had been an almost immediate drop in her pulse rate from 120 to sixty. And although it was now more than twelve minutes since the anesthetic had been stopped, she had not awakened.
Rather than wait, Zack had decided to leave Bernice Rimmer in with her and to move on to Toby. The child, too, had responded to his anesthesia with a dramatic drop in pulse. Now, he lay in the eerie darkness, motionless except for the minute respiratory rise and fall of his chest beneath two thin blankets.
As Zack monitored the surreal scene, he struggled against the mounting foreboding that it was already too late for the boy, and possibly for Suzanne as well. Desperately, he tried reminding himself that he was too tired and in far too much pain to maintain any semblance of a positive, objective outlook. Perhaps it would take several hours to see any real change. Perhaps several days. And perhaps, he acknowledged, it was better, anyhow, to expect the worst.
“One minute.”
He signaled with his flash, and glanced about the unit. Mainwaring … Pearl … Suzanne … Toby … It was all so bizarre, so sad. He had come back to Sterling with such high hopes, so many expectations.
“Thirty seconds …”
Never, he vowed. No more expectations.
He heard the doors to the darkened ICU glide open. Then there were footsteps.
“Fifteen seconds.”
He turned and peered through the darkness, past Mainwaring, toward the doors. Just inside the glass, he could see the silhouette of a woman in a business suit. Barreling past her was Frank.
“Wake him up, Jack!” Zack whispered urgently. “Quick! Wake him up.”
“What in the hell is going on here?” Frank bellowed. “Turn these lights on! Turn them on right now!”
Jack Pearl stepped back from Toby’s bed. The plastic syringe slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor just as the lights in the unit came on.
Frank, his fists balled at his side, stood beside the nurses’ station.
“You’ve been fired,” he snapped at Zack. “Get the fuck out of this hospital before I call the police.”
“No way, Frank.”
Frank turned to the unit secretary.
“Call security, and then call the police. Tell them that a physician who has been fired from this hospital is refusing to leave.”
The woman did not move.
“Do it!”
Beneath his tan, Frank was livid.
One nurse rushed to close the glass partitions to other patients’ rooms.
Zack stepped from Toby’s cubicle to confront his brother.
“Frank, listen,” he said.
“Shut up!” Frank shouted, looking wildly about.
Leigh Baron moved a few steps closer. Behind her, a wheelchair appeared.
“I tried to tell you, Frank,” Jack Pearl whined. “I tried to tell you we should have waited.…”
“Jack, shut up …”
“… We should have been doing a retrospective study.
“Goddamn you, Jack!”
“… But you wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t give me a chance to fix my Serenyl.”
Frank stepped forward and punched the anesthesiologist squarely in the face. Pearl’s head shot back. Blood sprayed across his face as he dropped to the floor.
Frank’s fine features were twisted and distorted with rage.
“Get out!” he screamed. “All of you. You’re fired! This is my hospital, dammit! You’re all fired!”
“Frank, stop,” Zack said quietly. “It’s over. Stop and listen. You’ve done terrible things here—sad and very terrible things.… Frank, don’t you see? Look around. Look at all these people. Don’t you see that it’s over for you now? It’s over.”
“Damn you!” Frank shrieked as he hurtled over a chair and leapt at his brother. “I’ll kill you! I swear, I’ll fucking kill you!”
The force of his attack sent both men smashing through the plate-glass partition of an empty cubicle. A nurse screamed. Zack’s injured shoulder struck the floor, exploding with nauseating pain. Dazed, he rolled to one side, over a mass of broken glass that cut into his arms and back. He stumbled to his feet, staggering drunkenly. Before his vision could clear, Frank was on him again, snarling like an animal, his hands viselike around Zack’s throat, driving him backward.
Powerless, Zack’s arms went limp. The pressure of Frank’s thumbs against his windpipe was inexorable, and he knew, as he listened for the snap of his own larynx, that he was going to die.
At the moment that his legs gave out, he soiled himself. The pain gave way, and he sensed himself falling, drifting. Then the back of his head slammed against the corner of the metal bedframe. There was a blinding, searing flash. And then, instantly, there was nothing.
The light, a soft, warm glow, washed over the darkness in waves. One by one, faces began floating through the void. Zack followed the images with a detached curiosity, pleased when he was able to spot an old teacher or relative or classmate among them. Gradually, the faces grew more defined—and more current. An anatomy professor at Yale … a Wellesley coed from—from where? … a climbing partner in Wyoming.… Then Annie Doucette … Toby … Suzanne … and finally, Frank, his face, pinched and crimson with hatred, spinning through the glow like a dervish.
I’ll kill you.… I’ll kill you.…
“I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you.”
At first the voice was Frank’s. Then, it was Zack’s own, moaning the words over and over again.
“Iverson. Iverson, open your eyes. It’s all right. You’ve had a concussion.”
“Concussion?”
“That’s right, Iverson. Look up here.”
Zack’s eyes fluttered and then opened.
For several seconds, the face above him remained blurred. Then its features grew more distinct.
“Ormesby?”
The surgeon nodded.
“You hit your head. You’ve been out for over an hour.”
“An hour? Suzanne …” He struggled to rise, but quickly fell back.
“Easy, Iverson. Easy.”
Ormesby put a calming hand on his arm.
Zack’s thoughts began to clear. He was in bed, on a monitor, in the intensive care unit. An IV was draining into his arm.
“Did I have a seizure?”
“From what I hear, you did. Probably from the concussion. The CT scanners warmed up and waiting for us right now.”
“Don’t need one.”
“Iverson, you’re the patient here, not the doctor. Got that? I’ve changed my mind about your being a nut case. Don’t make me change it
back.”
Zack nodded meekly. His head was throbbing, and jabs of pain were beginning to spark from half a dozen other places on his body. The discomfort helped clear his mind.
“Suzanne …” he said. “Did she—”
“Right there, Iverson. Just turn your head to the right.”
Through a brief, machine-gun burst, Zack did as the surgeon asked. Suzanne, wrapped in a blanket, her IV on a transport pole, waved at him from a chair not four feet away. She looked pale, but otherwise seemed none the worse for her ordeal.
“Hi, Doc,” she said. “You come here often?”
“God bless you, Clarkin,” Zack murmured.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. How’s Toby?”
“Still out, Zack. But he’s lighter. I think he may be coming around, but it’s hard to tell. The people from Boston are due here any minute to get him.”
Behind Suzanne, near the nurses’ station, Zack could see the Judge watching intently.
“Listen,” Ormesby said. “I’m going to get them ready for your scan. Afterward, I have a few dozen stitches to put in you.”
“My shoulder, I think its—”
“We know. Sam Christians already seen you. Now just relax, will you?”
“Where’s Frank?”
“In jail by now, I would guess. You owe that big guard over there a hell of a thank-you, Iverson. Apparently everyone was sort of paralyzed. If he hadn’t pulled Frank off you when he did, I think your ticket might have been canceled.”
“Bless you, Henry,” Zack rasped, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.
“Now, just stay put. I’ll be back.”
“Stay put,” Zack echoed.
He waited until the surgeon had left and then reached over for Suzanne’s hand.
She inched her chair closer to him.
“Sorry I can’t get up,” she said. “I get dizzy when I try.”
“Why don’t you go back to bed. We’ll talk later.”
“You okay?”
“I feel like shit, if you want to know the truth. But I’m okay. Fucking Frank nearly killed us both.”
“Almost. But it’s over now, Zack.”
“What time is it, anyway?”
“Two. Almost two.”
Flashback (1988) Page 43
