Diagnosis Death pft-3

by Richard L Mabry

  Elena dabbed at the corner of one eye. Was she crying? Maybe the mention of her dead husband had brought back a painful memory. David could identify with that. For months after his divorce, he'd found himself tearing up at odd times. He needed to assure Elena her reaction was normal. More important, he wanted her to know he was here for her. Not just until the wounds healed and the scars toughened. He was here for the long haul.

  Elena dabbed at her eyes, found that the tissue was sodden, and added it to the pile already building on the floorboard in front of her seat. She pulled another from the box David had retrieved from her glove compartment and blew her nose. "That's it-the totally fouled-up life of Elena Perez Gardner. What do you think?"

  "I think you've been handed some tough issues. It's always helped me to break things down so I can deal with them a little at a time. Sort of the way you eat an elephant?"

  The out-of-the-blue reference made Elena look up. "What about eating an elephant?"

  "It's an old joke. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time."

  Elena pulled down the sun visor and checked herself in the mirror. Her eye makeup had run, giving her the appearance of a raccoon. "Can you reach into the backseat and hand me my purse? I don't know how you can stand to look at me."

  She rummaged in her purse and began to repair the damage. "So tell me about eating this elephant."

  "Your midnight phone calls came in on your old home number and, most recently, your cell phone. Given those numbers, Will's investigator should be able to track down the source. If he hasn't found anything by Tuesday midnight, maybe he can make some kind of arrangements to trace the call. I don't know how that stuff works, but he will."

  "Okay." The circles under her eyes yielded to cleansing with a Handi-Wipe and she began applying fresh makeup. "How about the suspicion that I'm some kind of mercy killer, starting with my husband?"

  "You don't remember taking Mark off the respirator, but you might have. I have an idea how we can get that answer. But you're sure you didn't terminate Pulliam's life. Is that right?"

  Could she tell David what she was afraid of? Would he understand?

  "Is that right?" David said again.

  "Have you ever heard of a fugue state?"

  "Sure. A dissociative reaction."

  "I'm afraid I had a dissociative reaction that allowed me to discontinue Mark's life support without remembering it. And what if that's how Chester Pulliam died too?"

  She watched David's face but saw no evidence of censure or disapproval. Instead, he thought for a few moments, then said, "You need to see a psychiatrist. Maybe he can regress you with hypnosis and put this to rest once and for all."

  "That's already been suggested, but I can't. I know it's crazy, but think about it. Suppose we find out that I did take Mark off the respirator while I was in a fugue state. That's understandable, a one-time thing. But what if I had a similar reaction when I saw Chester Pulliam's situation? Does that mean that every time I'm faced with a patient hanging between life and death there's a chance I'll terminate their existence? It would ruin my career." She clenched her fists. "No, I can't do it."

  "Let's talk about this later," David said. "Does that cover everything?"

  No, Elena thought. There was Mark's infidelity. But she still couldn't talk about that, not even with David. She'd mentioned it once, that evening when she'd melted into his arms and poured out her heart. Since then, she'd locked the knowledge deep inside her, where it burned like a glowing coal. Maybe if she worked hard enough, she could forget.

  She plastered a smile on her newly made-up face and said, "That's enough. Now, what would you like to do?"

  "I'm yours for as long as you want," David said. "Why don't we see if we can find you an apartment? Maybe one close to mine."

  "Where to?" David put his car in gear but kept his foot on the brake. "Have you scoped out the good places to eat? I mean, besides eating with the Kennedys. That was a great lunch, by the way."

  Elena half-turned in the seat. "So far, besides a couple of burgers, I've eaten at two restaurants, the hospital cafeteria, and in Dora Kennedy's kitchen. I agree that her food gets my vote, but that's not where we're going tonight. After all, it's Saturday night, so I've made some special arrangements." She pulled a sheet of directions from her purse. "Go down this street about a quarter mile to Elm and hang a left."

  David shrugged and let the car roll forward. Fifteen minutes later, he pulled to a stop in front of a modest two-story home on the north end of Dainger. "Are you sure this is the place? It doesn't look like a restaurant to me."

  "It's not," Elena said. "I haven't eaten the cooking here, but it comes highly recommended. Do you like jerk chicken?"

  David wasn't sure what Elena had arranged, but he decided to go with the flow. He helped her out of the car, walked her to the door, and rang the doorbell. Inside, he heard a muted version of the chimes of Big Ben. When the door opened, he saw a tall, strikingly beautiful woman with black hair and skin the color of dark chocolate. She wore a simple white dress, and looked like a million dollars.

  "You must be Dr. Gardner," she said to Elena. David thought he detected a slight island lilt to her speech. She turned to him. "And you must be her friend, Dr. Merritt. I'm Dominique Brown. Won't you come in?"

  Soon they were settled in a cozy living room. David wasn't much on decor, but he recognized that this one was done with taste.

  "Wonderful. Our guests have arrived." A tall black man appeared in the doorway. "I'm so sorry to be late. You know how phone calls for doctors seem to crop up at the most unexpected times." He extended his hand, first to Elena, then to David. "I'm Emmett Brown."

  Brown's close-cropped black hair displayed the faintest trace of gray at the temples, although his thin moustache had none. He wore slacks and a sport shirt of the type David associated with the Caribbean.

  Elena said, "Thank you for having us here this evening. David's an old friend from residency. He's going into practice with Dr. Gaines, and I thought this would be a good opportunity for him to meet you."

  Brown grinned. "David, I hope you like Jamaican food. I didn't when I first met this charming lady, but I found that it came with the package. Since I fell in love with her, I had to learn to eat things like jerk chicken. Now I love it, and I still love her."

  "You're kind to have us in your home," David said. "I'm sure the food will be fine."

  After Dominique excused herself to put the finishing touches on dinner, Elena asked, "Dr. Brown, how did you two meet?"

  "Please," Brown said. "Call me Emmett. And may I call you Elena and David?"

  "Of course," they answered in unison.

  "I'd finished medical school at Emory and was in New York to start my family practice residency at Montefiore Hospital. Dominique was working as a model in the city. We ended up at the same party, and like the song says, our eyes met 'across a crowded room.' We were married the next year."

  "So she gave up modeling in New York to move here with you?" Elena asked.

  "I wanted to practice in a town large enough to have good medical facilities, small enough to be family-friendly. Dominique says she gave up nothing and gained everything when we moved here. God hasn't blessed us with children, but we remain hopeful."

  "That's a great story," David said. "How do you like practicing here?"

  He thought he saw a hint of sadness in Brown's eyes. "There's enough variety to help me keep my clinical skills sharp. The medical facilities and opportunities for specialty consults are quite good for a city this size. Unfortunately…" He let the words trail off.

  Elena decided there was no reason to tiptoe around the subject. "What Dr. Brown… what Emmett is saying is that he's encountered a few patients who won't consider receiving care from a doctor of color." She turned to Brown. "Right?"

  "Unfortunately, that's true. And I've sensed a bit of prejudice on the part of one or two colleagues, as well. I hope that doesn't happen to you, Elena."

  David fr
owned. "I visited here a couple of times when I was negotiating with Dr. Gaines, and I didn't see any of that. Would you feel comfortable naming names?"

  Brown considered that for a moment. "Most of my colleagues, and that includes Doctors Sewell and Gaines, have been very accepting. I've probably encountered the most resentment from our hospital administrator, Dr. Godwin."

  Elena snorted. "Emmett, you're extremely well-trained-Emory for med school, residency at Montefiore-and you're getting grief from a nonpracticing doctor whose medical education was obtained in Grenada. How's that for the pot calling-? Sorry. Poor choice of words."

  Brown smiled. "That's okay, Elena. I'm not sensitive. Please don't think you have to run everything you say to me through the filter of political correctness. We're all friends and colleagues here. And I look forward to working with both of you."

  Dominique appeared in the doorway. "Dinner's ready. I hope you don't mind a bit of spice in your food. In Jamaica, we use Scotch bonnet peppers in our cooking."

  David rose. "Dominique, I'm a Texas boy. I'm sure your food isn't any hotter than what I grew up on."

  As they moved into the dining room, Emmett whispered in David's ear. "Don't be too sure of that."

  Elena sat with her eyes closed, deep in thought as David navigated the car back through the streets of town.

  "Earth to Elena."

  David's voice shook her from her reverie. "Sorry. What did you say?"

  "What was the stuff that Dominique served? I don't know how long it'll take for my stomach lining to recover."

  Elena stifled a chuckle. "Jerk chicken. It's spicy, isn't it?"

  "Yeah, but you know, I think I could get to like it. And the other dishes?"

  Elena searched her memory. "Rice cooked with red beans and coconut milk. And fried plantain."

  She saw David glance in the rearview mirror, an action he'd performed perhaps a dozen times since they'd been in the car. "Is there something wrong?"

  "I'm trying to decide why that car has been following us since we pulled away from the Browns' home." He turned right at the next intersection. "You don't happen to have a jealous boyfriend, do you?"

  Elena turned to look over her shoulder at the headlights turning the corner and settling in behind them. "I'm not sure what I have. Whoever it is, why don't you see if you can shake them? Then we'll talk."

  15

  David rolled his car to a stop in the Kennedy driveway. "Good thing I paid attention during our get-acquainted-with-the-city tour today."

  "Me too. Between all the turns you made and the way you never touched the brake, I thought I was riding with Mario Andretti tonight," Elena unbuckled her seatbelt and stretched. "I'm glad you finally managed to shake that car. You do agree it was following us?"

  "Seemed that way to me."

  "That was some pretty awesome driving," Elena said.

  David shrugged off the compliment. "I probably watch way too many action movies. The main thing is you're home safely. Now tell me why someone would be following you."

  He closed his eyes and leaned back in the seat as Elena shared her story. When she finished, he opened his eyes and turned toward her. "Any idea who could be stalking you, or why?"

  "There are a couple of candidates, but I don't have any solid evidence. What would you suggest I do?"

  "The usual, I guess. Lock your car. Park in a well-lighted area. Don't-"

  "I mean, how do I find out who's following me?"

  "Sorry. If you need a baby delivered, I'm your man. But playing Sam Spade, that's not really my strong suit. What do the police say?"

  Elena turned toward the window. "I don't really have enough to justify making a complaint. What do I say? We saw headlights behind us? It's a creepy feeling, that's all." She opened her mouth and closed it again.

  "What were you about to say?"

  "It's like my midnight phone calls. And the notes. I don't have anything substantial. And I don't want to bring in the police until I have a bit more proof. Besides…"

  "Yes?"

  "This is silly. But it's possible the stalker is a deputy sheriff I met my first day in town. And if that's true, going to the police might warn him off. I don't want to do that. I want to catch him so he can be punished."

  David took in a deep breath. "I had a patient who was the object of a stalker. They caught the guy red-handed. Do you want to know how that case came out?"

  "It sounds like I don't want to know, but tell me."

  "In Texas, stalking can be anything from a misdemeanor to a minor felony, depending on the circumstances. This guy got off with a fine and probation."

  "What did your patient do?"

  "She moved out of state."

  "I'm not about to do that."

  David turned to face Elena. He put his arm over the backseat and leaned in toward her. "I have to agree with you. The best thing to do is face this head-on. Besides, I can't see you running away from it."

  "Will's investigator is trying to track down the phone calls. Maybe he can get a handle on whoever's following me as well."

  "Sounds reasonable. In the meantime, don't forget that I'm here for you." For as long as it takes.

  "I hope you don't mind if I sit down for a few minutes before I fix lunch," Dora Kennedy said.

  "Not at all," Elena said. "Just rest for a moment." If you're cooking fried chicken, I'll wait as long as I have to.

  "I'm sorry you didn't feel up to coming to church with us this morning." Dora carefully put her Bible on the coffee table in the living room, squaring it on top of the magazines there. "Matthew preached quite a good sermon."

  Dora eased her ample bulk onto the sofa and patted the seat beside her. Elena joined her, wondering if a sermon, or at least a mini-sermon, was forthcoming. "I had to make rounds, then there was a patient in the emergency room."

  "I thought Dr. Brown was on call this weekend," Dora said.

  "He is, but I was walking through when the ambulance brought the man in, and… I don't know. I guess I hated to see Emmett called away from his Sunday morning when I was right there. As it turned out, it was pretty simple. This woman fainted at church. She'd been put on a new blood pressure medicine, and it dropped her pressure too much. She'll see her internist tomorrow and get the dose adjusted."

  "Ever since you came here, Matthew and I have wondered why you've seemed so troubled," Dora said. "I guess you'll tell us about it when you're ready. But something he said this morning might help you."

  Elena's guard went up. "Oh?"

  Dora reached for the Bible and opened it in the middle. She thumbed through the pages until she found what she wanted. She pointed to a verse she'd highlighted with a yellow marker. "I don't have my glasses. Would you read that?"

  Elena took the book, finding it surprisingly heavy. It had been a long time since she'd held a Bible. This one had large print-obviously a concession to Dora's failing eyesight-and ample margins that were filled with scribbled notes. She found the marked passage, cleared her throat, and read. "Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence?"

  "That's from Psalm 139," Dora said. "It's one of my favorites. And what Matthew said was that, like David who wrote that, all of us face problems and trials. Running away does no good. But wherever we are, and whatever we do, God is always there. We don't even have to look very hard for Him. We simply have to open our eyes."

  "Thank you," Elena said. "One of these days maybe I'll sit down with you and your husband and tell you all the problems I'm having. But I'm not ready to do that right now."

  "You don't have to tell us about them until you're ready. And God already knows them, you know."

  Almost unconsciously, Elena ran her eyes down the remainder of the column. She stopped at the bottom, and the words hit her as though they'd been written especially for her. "Search me, O God, and know my heart; Try me and know my anxious thoughts; And see if there be any hurtful way in me, and lead me in the everlasting way."

  " See if t
here be any hurtful way in me." If she'd acted in a fugue state, she needed to know it-for the safety of her patients. For her own peace of mind. Finding out might mean a major change in the way she practiced medicine. It could even spell an end to her ability to care for some patients. But she needed to do it. She closed the Bible. "Excuse me. I need to call Cathy and get a name and address."

  Elena paused in the doorway. "Thank you for sharing that, Dora. And thank Matthew for me too."

  Elena's attention was focused on the message slips in her hand and the problems awaiting her on this Monday morning. She tapped absently on the door of Charlie Lambert's ICU room and was about to open the door when a voice inside the room said, "I don't care."

  She backed away and listened as the speaker continued. "This hospital can't afford to give free care. I insist you make arrangements for a transfer to a charity facility immediately."

  The door opened and Nathan Godwin almost knocked Elena down as he scurried from the room. Through the open door, she could see Mrs. Lambert standing at the foot of her husband's bed, crying. Dr. Shelmire stood beside her, looking daggers at the retreating administrator.

  Elena hesitated in the doorway. This really wasn't her fight, and she couldn't add anything right now except maybe a shoulder for Mrs. Lambert to cry on. Then again, maybe that was what would help. She'd been here-sort of-and was more qualified than most to say "I understand."

  Dr. Shelmire was the first to see her. "Dr. Gardner, come in. You should hear this too."

  Elena eased into the room and took up station beside Mrs. Lambert. On the bed, the endotracheal tube was still in Charlie's throat, but the respirator was turned off, and he was breathing on his own. As Elena watched, Charlie thrashed around a bit and a few nondescript moans escaped around the tube that held his vocal cords apart. "Reacting a bit more, I see."

  "Yes," Shelmire said. "He's beginning to react, although he's got a ways to go. I guess you heard what our hospital administrator said. He wants Mr. Lambert transferred to another hospital. Of course I've refused, at least until he's stable and more reactive."