Warning Signs

by C. J. Lyons

  Nora pulled back, revealing Lucas standing behind her, staring at Amanda. His face was contorted with anger and hurt, so much so that his glasses had slid halfway down his nose, unmasking his glare. A glare so icy sharp it sliced through her like a laser.

  She couldn’t feel his fingers dropping her foot, but she felt the chill of their absence, her vision dimming as he turned his back and stalked away.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Friday, 4:11 P.M.

  AFTER CALLING ADMISSIONS AND LEAVING A message for Dr. Nelson, Nora had returned to complete Amanda’s nursing assessment. “Any meds?”

  “Really, you all don’t need to fuss,” Amanda protested, her voice stronger, back to normal. “I feel better already, now that my blood pH is almost back to normal—I must have been hyperventilating like crazy to get it that far out of whack.”

  “That was more than just hyperventilation and you know it. Medications?” Nora repeated.

  Amanda looked like she was going to balk at answering any more questions, then gave in. “I’m in Dr. Nelson’s study—well, I was before yesterday. But turns out I was only getting the placebo, so I guess that doesn’t count anyway.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Potassium supplements. I just began those today. Dr. Nelson checked my electrolytes yesterday and my potassium was a little low; he thought that was the reason behind my symptoms.”

  “Symptoms? Amanda, how long has this been going on?”

  “Since March. It was no big deal, just the occasional numbness or tingling, a dizzy spell back in July. Nothing ever lasted long enough for me to get it checked out.”

  “Until yesterday?”

  “Well, yes. I had a couple spells of muscle fasciculations in my legs and arms. Maybe they lasted more than a few moments. I guess.”

  Nora dropped the pill bottles into her pocket so she could check them later against the Physician’s Desk Reference . It was a habit hammered into her from years of dealing with patients who were taking the pink pill for sugar and the blue pill for blood pressure when in reality they weren’t supposed to be taking either or had their meds hopelessly mixed up.

  After she checked a patient’s meds, she’d relabel them, print out an easy-to-read information sheet, and return them to the patient. So many people didn’t realize that good nursing was really all about paying attention to details and taking the time to put things right.

  She still couldn’t believe Amanda had had symptoms for so long and hadn’t told anyone. Especially after knowing what happened to Becky and Michelle. “Does Lucas know about this?”

  “He’s seen a few of my spells. But Dr. Nelson checked me out and everything was fine. It doesn’t match their symptoms, waxing and waning like this. The others went steadily downhill.”

  “You got better after we brought your blood pH back to normal.” Nora thought hard, picturing Michelle’s nursing notes in her mind. Hadn’t there been a notation about a high blood pH on that last day, right before she died?

  “Did Lucas send a mercury level with my labs? We found high levels in the women’s locker room at the boathouse, and I took a shower there yesterday.”

  “Yes. And he ordered chelation therapy—of course that was before you fired him as your doctor. Did Tracey have a high mercury level?”

  “I don’t know. And Lucas said mercury wouldn’t kill them.” Amanda closed her eyes for a moment. “It’s all so confusing.”

  “Maybe it’s more than one thing—maybe the mercury is combining with something else?”

  Amanda shook her head, obviously puzzled and worried. High time she started worrying, in Nora’s opinion. Didn’t she realize she could have died?

  “Lucas and Dr. Nelson will straighten it out, I’m sure.”

  “Do you remember if any of the other patients had a high blood pH?” Nora asked, certain she remembered seeing that in Michelle’s chart.

  “Tracey did this morning—but we found out it was a pharmacy mix-up. She had bicarb added to her IV and she shouldn’t have. Her pH was normal when she came in yesterday. Why?”

  “Nothing. Just grasping at straws, I guess. Do you want me to call anyone? Your family?”

  “Lord, no. I don’t want to tell them anything until we have some answers.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Well, your cell phone is here with the rest of your belongings.” Nora tucked the bag between Amanda’s feet.

  “Nora?”

  “Yes? Do you need something?”

  Amanda’s blush burned her cheeks all the way up to the tips of her ears. “Who put the Foley in?”

  Nora gave her a reassuring smile and patted Amanda’s hand. “I did. And I cleared the room first. Figured you’d like some privacy.”

  “Thanks.”

  There was a knock on the door, and the transport attendant arrived, carrying Amanda’s chart. “Looks like your bed is ready. I’ll come by and visit before I go home tonight.”

  Amanda nodded, but her lips had gone pale. “Don’t be scared,” Nora told her. “I can stay the whole night if you like.”

  “No. I’ll be fine.”

  Nora watched the transport attendant wheel the stretcher out the door and wondered how long Amanda had been lying to herself.

  ONCE AGAIN GINA WAS BANISHED TO THE nurses’ station and paperwork as Trey and Gecko were in the exam room with their patient. She squinted at the run report on the clipboard in front of her, tempted to slap off sarcastic answers to the multitude of inane questions.

  She came to the next question: limb integrity. A paramedic had once told her about a pileup on the parkway that left a truck driver in several pieces scattered over the roadway. As the medics cleared the scene, parts of him were transported in different ambulances—each requiring their own run report. He’d ended up with the torso and had filled out his report as limb integrity: none and documented the absence of a signed consent to transport with no arms, legs, fingers, toes, or pulse, thus unable to hold pen and sign consent.

  Unfortunately Tanesha’s case didn’t give her the opportunity for such witticism, so she wearily checked the “Intact” box and moved on.

  She moved on to the next question on the EMS assessment: patient occupation. Biting down on the pen cap, she considered for a moment, and then wrote crack-whore addict, skank, lazy-ass slut.

  That ought to cover it.

  The words swam in her vision as she realized it wasn’t her patient she was hurling insults at, it was herself. She violently scratched out the hateful words, burying them in ink, tearing through the top layers of the run report until it was shredded and torn.

  She glanced up to find the clerk staring at her. “Rough day?”

  Drawing in a deep breath, trying to purge herself of this maelstrom of emotion, she nodded. “I think I’m going to need to start over.”

  He swiveled in his chair, opened a file cabinet, and emerged with a fresh run report. She took it, surprised to feel tears burning her eyes as she accepted his offering and gave him the ruined report.

  “What should I do with this?” he asked.

  “Shred it.”

  She had resumed filling in the mundane details of Tanesha’s near-death experience when she heard a familiar voice.

  “Tanesha Grant, she’s a patient.” Jerry was at the other side of the nursing station.

  “Jerry, what are you doing here?”

  He looked up and rushed over to her. “Did you transport Tanesha Grant? Is she okay? I got a call that she was here—”

  “She’s fine. Or will be with a few more doses of Narcan. Why did they call you?”

  “She’s a witness in my homicide case. What happened?”

  “Heroin OD. Trey thinks someone gave her a hot shot, but I saw track marks. I’m not so sure.”

  “Those are old,” he said, dismissing her judgment. “Damn it. She’s pregnant, you know.”

  “So she said.” How the hell did Jerry know so much about this wit
ness? Sounded like he was more concerned about Tanesha than he was about Gina—hadn’t even noticed the bruise on her jaw. She was sure there had to be one; it still felt sore. “She also packs a mean punch. Got me good when we gave her the first dose of Narcan.”

  “Yeah, that happens sometimes,” he said, his gaze sweeping the closed exam room doors. “Can I see her? Which room is she in?”

  “Help yourself,” Gina said, giving her voice an edge he seemed oblivious to. “Room eight.”

  “Thanks, Gina.” He gave her an absent peck on the cheek—her bruised cheek, but he didn’t notice her wince—and left. Gone to take care of his witness. As if she needed taking care of more than Gina.

  Then Jerry turned back to her and seemed to actually see her for the first time. “I’m glad you got the call. Tanesha couldn’t have been in better hands.”

  Right. If he only knew the kind of care she’d provided. Well, hell. This day just kept getting better and better. She was just so damn happy Lydia had made certain she got to work it. Oh yeah, that Lydia, she was a real peach.

  Jerry wavered then stepped closer to her. “Hey, are you okay?”

  He cupped her chin in his palm, and the simple, gentle movement completely undid her. She nodded yes even as her tears betrayed the truth, and she threw her arms around him.

  “I miss you,” she whispered into the crook of his neck, inhaling the musky scent that was all Jerry. I need you, was what she meant. He seemed to translate, pulling her tighter.

  “I’m sorry.” He teased her hair with his fingers. “Work. It was just one night.”

  Her tears flowed faster. She turned away, taking him by the hand, and blindly led him to the stairwell behind the nurses’ station. No one ever used the stairs, but as a precaution she led him down to the basement level. Their footsteps echoed through the otherwise silent airshaft towering over them.

  Her need had no words. She pushed him back against the cinder-block wall, her hands slipping inside his suit coat even as her lips tangled with his, her body pressed against his. They melted into each other, kissed so long that there were spots before her eyes when she opened them again.

  “I want you.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper, her tears burnt away by desire. She yanked at the Velcro and zippers that secured her vest, her breasts aching for release. He helped, removing the weight from her shoulders. It fell to the concrete floor with a thud.

  “Here?” he asked, nuzzling her neck, tugging at the T-shirt she wore beneath the vest. He quickly gave up on the sweaty cotton, instead sliding his palms against her flesh, one coming to rest over her breast, the other circling behind her, locking her into place.

  “Here.”

  He spun her against the wall as she unzipped and pushed her cargo pants down. She didn’t care that there was no time to get undressed, didn’t mind the pinch of zippers and buckles and seams pressed against her. All she knew was that she needed him. Inside her. Part of her. Now. Right now.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Friday, 4:38 P.M.

  IT WAS A TESTAMENT TO DR. NELSON’S INFLUENCE that he was able to arrange for Amanda to be admitted to a monitored bed in a private room on the med-surg floor. He and Faith arrived just after the nurse finished her assessment.

  “No sense taking chances,” he said, when she protested that she now felt fine, except for not being able to move her leg. She didn’t even want to be admitted at all, much less take up a precious—and expensive—private, monitored bed.

  “Nonsense,” Faith had said. “Just relax, Norman will take care of everything.”

  “I spoke with Lucas Stone. He appears to have done a decent evaluation on his other patients. A bit of a shotgun approach. And mercury poisoning? That really doesn’t fit. But with these new protein deposits Ken Rosen found, maybe I can zero in on what’s really going on.”

  The knot in Amanda’s stomach tightened at Lucas’s name. Could she have messed things up worse than they already were? Not even if she had tried. But there was no way Lucas could be her doctor; she couldn’t stand the thought of him seeing her weak, vulnerable.

  “So what’s the plan?” she asked Dr. Nelson, fighting to put on a false mask of bravado that she was certain everyone saw through.

  “The plan, young lady,” he said in a hearty voice, “is for you to rest comfortably while I arrange for some further tests. I’d like to start with a nerve conduction study and muscle biopsy.”

  The same tests Lucas had performed on Tracey, but the results had been equivocal. Of course Tracey hadn’t been able to respond; she’d been under sedation—with Amanda awake and alert, maybe they’d get some conclusive results.

  “Okay, bring on the needles,” she said, her fingers massaging the sheet into a knot.

  “That’s the spirit.”

  “Don’t worry, Amanda. Norman will figure this all out.” Faith patted her arm. “And I’ll sneak some real food in for you. If I have time, I’ll bake some of those mince-meat cookies you like so much.”

  Amanda blinked back tears. “Thanks.” She squeezed Faith’s hand. “Really. I don’t know what I would do without you two.”

  “I hate to see you here all alone,” Dr. Nelson said. “Do you want me to call your family?”

  “No. Please. I don’t want to worry them—not until we have a better idea what’s going on.”

  “One idea coming up. You just lay back and rest—doctor’s orders.”

  He took Faith’s arm, and they strolled out of the room as if they were promenading on a boardwalk. Dr. Nelson unabashedly wrapped his arm around Faith’s waist, she paused to straighten his lab coat, and the smile he bestowed on her in thanks was brilliant. Amanda sank back against her pillows, wondering if she’d ever find a man like that.

  AFTERWARD, GINA AND JERRY SAT TOGETHER on the steps, trying to reassemble their clothing into some semblance of order. It was hard when they couldn’t seem to stop touching each other.

  “So, you going to tell me what that was all about?” Jerry asked, one finger tracing circles on her kneecap. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

  She blew her breath out and laid her cheek against his shoulder. “I had a rough day.”

  “The jumper?”

  “Uh-huh. Among other things.”

  “But, hey, you’re back on the streets where you belong. And they’re gonna give you a medal.” He kissed the top of her head. “The Hero of Angels. I’m so proud of you.”

  She pulled back. “Would you be proud of me without the medal?”

  “Of course. You’ve been my hero since the night we first met. When you saved that girl’s life. You know that.”

  A smile slowly spread across her face, bringing with it a warm feeling that filled the hollow of her stomach. She did know that—but sometimes she let other voices, like her father’s, drown out Jerry’s. “Thanks.”

  She kissed him again, parting only after her phone rang. He got to his feet as she answered it. A text message from Pete Sandusky, the reporter who had started all this hero BS.

  “Secret admirer?” Jerry secured his gun on his belt, then bent over and picked up her vest.

  Gina wrinkled her nose. “Pete Sandusky. Wants to meet me tonight.”

  “About what?”

  “He doesn’t say. But I’d like to talk to him, see if he can back off on all this ‘hero’ stuff—maybe cancel the medal.”

  “You sure about that?” Together they began up the stairs.

  “No. My dad had a hand in it, and you know what he can be like. I’m not certain it’s worth disappointing him—especially in public.”

  “It’s your decision. You know I’m behind you all the way.” They stopped outside the door to the ER. He kissed her on the forehead. “I have a witness to interview and you have more lives to save.”

  To her dismay, he eased the vest back onto her body. As the weight fell against her shoulders, so did her spirits. “Can’t we just go home? Janet can talk to your witness—”

  She knew it was
hopeless before she finished. Jerry wouldn’t shirk his duties, let a witness down. Or his partner. Didn’t he realize she needed him too? That she couldn’t face going back out on the streets again?

  He said nothing, but merely shook his head, waved good-bye, and disappeared through the door. Gina didn’t follow, but contemplated escaping through the tunnels and never showing her face inside the ER again.

  She reread Pete’s text message. Meet me at Diggers, 8 pm, important story you can help with. For a reporter, Pete sure didn’t have a way with words. She sighed, pushed through the door, and reentered the ER.

  Trey was waiting at the nurses’ station. “We need to talk.”

  She laughed, a brittle, tinny sound that escaped before she could stop it. Trey didn’t look like he was in a laughing mood. The time with Jerry had almost made her forget her screwup with Tanesha, the way her anger had almost overcome her. Trey obviously hadn’t forgotten that—or anything else she’d done wrong today.

  She sauntered over to him, trying to act nonchalant. After all, she was in her territory. Here in the ER, she was the boss. Attitude, it was all about attitude. “You breaking up with me, Trey, sweetie?”

  “Gina, this is important. You’re halfway through your residency; it’s time that you made a choice.” His grave tone forced her back a step until she hit the wall. He stood up straight, hands on his hips as if addressing his troops.

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the doctor here.” She knew instantly it was the wrong thing to say.

  “That is the problem, Doctor. You need to make a choice. Are you going to merely call yourself a doctor, or are you going to start acting like one and stop sleepwalking through your shifts?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” she snapped, trying to ignore the sudden flip-flop in her stomach. He’d seen through her act. First Lydia and now Trey. What the hell had she been thinking, that she could fool them all?

  “I don’t care how rich you and your family are, I don’t care about what’s going on in your life outside the hospital, but I sure as hell care if you come ride on my rig and don’t bring everything you have to the game. You’re smart, Gina. Damn smart. But you put on the white coat like it’s a costume. You’re playing dress-up to impress Daddy and the crowd. You need to start acting like you actually give a shit about what you’re doing instead of how you look doing it. You need to put your patients first. I don’t want you working with my guys until you do.”