“She was vulnerable,” David murmured. “Emotionally, physically...”
They lay, spoon fashion, staring out at the glowing monoliths of Madison Hospital a block away. It looked closer, rising like a lit starship over smaller buildings in between.
Jill pulled in a deep breath. “She loved that song. Remember how she’d sing it? She had a beautiful voice.”
“Sail on Silvergirl.” David softly spoke the lyrics. “Sail on by…”
“Your time has come to shine/All your dreams are on their way...”
“Bridge Over Trouble Water. Still haunting.”
They fell silent as sirens sounded, several screaming into the ambulance bay. Who was injured, dying, getting born? Jill wondered. Life, what a mill.
“It’s two o’clock,” David whispered. “Alarm goes off…six.” His breathing had slowed. Moments later he was asleep. Sometimes he’d joke that when they were exhausted, truly blitzed, they didn’t exactly fall asleep, they just lost consciousness.
Jill closed her eyes. Saw Jody arriving inside one of those ambulances and getting rushed to safety. Someone – Woody? Sam? - said, “Thank God, another five minutes and help would have been too late.” They were firm with her, again, about the coke…and then they were all back, friends sitting with Jody around a coffee break table, with Jill and screechy, emotional, off-key Tricia joining her in song: “If you need a friend/I'm sailing right behind…”
Jill started to cry again, but a harsh clap sounded and someone yelled, “Cut! It’s a movie for God’s sake!”
Jody was dead but that was alright, they’d caught the scene and would go into reruns.
Morning broke with a cold, depressing rain pelting the window. They showered together, drooping on each other; then, heads down under their parkas, ran to the hospital pushing through the block of press tents, fans under dripping umbrellas, fans bringing flowers. A mound of bouquets and sad, soaking teddy bears had already risen by the ambulance entrance. So much already at 6:50? There must have been an all night vigil.
Their rounds group waited mournfully at the nurses’ station. “I loved that show… I loved her…Jody was I Love Lucy in a cop uniform.” Tricia Donovan, looking semi-hysterical in unmatched scrubs - blue top, green pants - grabbed Jill’s arm and pulled her aside. “It just got worse,” she managed.
Jill froze, stopped tugging on her white coat.
David turned grimly to them. Sam MacIntyre and Woody Greenberg came up behind Tricia. “On TV, we just saw it in the lounge,” Woody muttered. “They found Jody’s co-star murdered.”
“Stabbed,” Sam said haggardly. “Multiple times.”
Celie? Oh God…
Hearts dropped. Faces dropped. David leaned, grasping the bar of the rolling chart rack. “No words for this,” he said hoarsely. “Celie Jarrett. It was her…”
The S-shaped impression on the red velvet board. It lit in Jill’s mind, flashing and flashing with each photo they took. Last night, by the broken glass…
Her stunned eyes turned from her friends to the rounds group. Adrenalin blasted away fatigue. “Do they know?”
“Don’t think so,” Sam said. “The TV practically screamed, ‘This Just In.’”
“The anchor looked shaken,” Tricia groaned. “Like he was just hearing.”
David glanced back at the interns and residents murmuring sorrowfully among themselves. They’d just gotten up and come stumbling. Didn’t know about Celie yet, and the morning news was blaring it.
“It’s going to be on in every room,” he said. “Gotta tell them before they freak out in front of the patients.”
He told them. Got them all through more shock and tears, and urged everyone to get it together; try to put on the Happy Face; these are new, euphoric moms.
He was wrong.
Eight new mothers were glued, horrified and tearful, to their TVs, clicking their remotes every time an ad or something else – typhoon in Japan, bridge collapse in Maine – appeared. Asking them to turn off their TVs made them more agitated, so David let them keep their sets on with the sound down to burbling. Jill shot him a doubting glance. The interns and residents were distracted, trying to concentrate but still shook, still stealing peeks at the coverage.
They could hear the voiceover, and the background sound of a chopper’s rotors. “…on the heels of Ms. Merrill’s tragic death, the body of her co-star, Celie Jarrett, found dead of multiple stab wounds outside Ms. Merrill’s home. This aerial shot from last night shows the crime scene tent over where Ms. Jarrett was attacked. Police are refusing to comment on leaks that the two deaths may be connected…”
“There they are!” patient Tara Wu pointed emotionally as David palpated her belly.
Everyone glanced up. There, as the floodlit crime scene dissolved, were Jody and Celie running heroically in their uniforms, then Jody and Celie chasing bad guys with Jody klutzing over a trash can, then Jody mugging miserably after getting chewed out.
Tara’s hand was to her mouth and she started to cry – “so terrible, horrible” - as David resumed her post-delivery exam, found a slight fever from an episiotomy infection, determinedly taught his group: order a swab taken, a Culture and Sensitivity test done, and one of the cephalosporins started.
“Stat,” he muttered, red-flagging Tara’s chart, handing it to first year resident Gary Phipps, who rushed out to give it to a nurse.
“Fever? I have a fever?” Tara’s tearful, alarmed eyes met his.
“Slight,” David told her.
“It’s because of upset! I loved Jody Merrill.” Her gaze shot back to her TV.
“What if cephalosporins aren’t right for her?” asked a fourth year med student on clinical rotation. Like the others, she seemed struggling to concentrate.
“The Culture and Sensitivity will tell you which antibiotic is. Look at the agar plates in twelve hours.”
Minutes later, Jill was watching David palpate a different patient’s belly when they heard the name Reid Wylie. Couldn’t help it. Glanced up at the TV and saw…both of them.
The Wylies.
The tall brunette and her husband pushed their way from the hospital through last night’s swarm of flashbulbs. The voiceover described Reid Wylie, “a dashing former homicide detective who, with his wife Deborah, were Jody’s entertainment lawyers.” Quick file shots showed Reid in a tux at some benefit. Then waving with Deborah at some premiere. Then returned to reporters engulfing the pair, shouting. “Mr. Wylie, is it true you had a romance with Jody Merrill?”… “Ms. Wylie, did you know Jody was still in love with your husband?”
The rounds group stole peeks at close-ups of Deborah Wylie’s stricken, attractive features, and Reid Wylie’s handsome face, his jaw set, his dark hair wind-tousled. They made it to a town car with their driver who looked like he doubled as a bodyguard. Shoved at screaming reporters as the pair disappeared behind the car’s dark-tinted windows, and the car moved off through the throng.
Across the patient’s bed, David sent Jill a glance: Hanging in?
She looked back: Trying to.
They had just finished all post-delivery exams when David’s phone chirped. He’d been out with everyone in the hall scribbling an order for Ergotrate because Meg Doyle’s uterus wasn’t contracting fast enough. He handed the order to a nurse, and picked up.
It was Ray Zienuc. “Am I interrupting?”
“No, we’re between crises.” David stepped solemnly away with Jill, keeping the phone’s sound down but holding it so she could hear.
“We’ve got another problem,” Zienuc complained. “Jody’s landlady hates cops, won’t talk to us. Alex went in when she saw him and Kerri last night, but she wouldn’t open the door. Scolded through it that they’d awakened her, and didn’t seem to know about Jody. Must have heard Celie getting attacked, though.”
Yes she must have. Jill’s heart kicked. She realized that Edna Polsen could narrow down the time, talk about Jody’s friends, fears, enemies. Edna had become Jody’s f
riend.
“You want us to try to talk to her?” David asked Zienuc.
“At least one of you. As soon as you can, if you can manage it.”
“Wait a sec.”
Jill was yanking on his arm. “I’ll go.”
“You’ve got clinic.”
“I’ll switch coverage.” She gestured to the interns and residents waiting for them. Gary Phipps was ripping wrappers from candy bars, his breakfast. Sam, Woody, other interns and residents were tending to Tricia having a mini-meltdown and starting to cry.
“Clinic’s full, needs all of you,” David said tensely, scrolling his phone to check everyone’s schedules. “Plus two women just admitted in labor, the day deliveries begin-”
“I’ll go after clinic.” Jill raised her hands.
Back to the phone David said, “Jill will go. Around one.”
“Great. Big thanks. This lady’s ninety-four, by the way. Sounds nutty. Chewed out Brand through the door that Prohibition is over, he’s a brute, he should take his nasty bullying elsewhere and scram.”
12
It was 8:32 and they needed to see Jesse. Last night had been even harder without their child at home to hold, feel comfort from his warmth, his sleepy grins.
“Twenty-eight minutes before I have to be in the clinic,” Jill said as they got off an elevator, hurried through corridors. It was a long walk through an adjoining building.
“You can be two minutes late,” David muttered.
“Thanks, boss.”
Levity didn’t help. They knew it couldn’t as they rounded a corner, passing a sign that read Staff Childcare. Ahead, the joyous sound of toddler babble. And, as they entered, the sight of busy little ones tearing around blue carpet almost obscured by bright toys.
Jesse was dressed in his favorite jean overalls over a red top and was yanking at another kid’s red socks. “Eeee!” he squealed when he saw them, jumping to his feet and rushing to them, getting swept up in emotional hugs and kisses.
“Jesse honey, you help me breathe,” Jill rejoiced, letting David take him, raise him up high.
Jesse looked excitedly down at them, spreading his little arms wide. “Fii!” he crowed and flapped his arms. “Fii!”
At eighteen months, he was so ahead in motor and language development that the hospital pediatricians had stopped following their charts. For his age he had a more complex understanding of time, colors, emotions, and increasingly, the world around him – evidenced by his sudden yelping to get back down and run on his little white socks to the room’s long window.
“Pane! Pane!” he exclaimed, his index finger pointing up through the rainy gloom to a large speck of a 747, nose down, coming in to one of the airports.
“So you want to fly like a plane?” David asked, kneeling to him as Jill knelt too, hugging him.
“Pane!” Jesse’s little hand came down and he pointed to a helicopter flying over the blowing, silver ripples of the East River.
Huh? His parents looked at each other.
The 747 and the chopper should have looked different to him, but “Pane!” he exclaimed again, proud of himself. He’d learned a new word and a new connection in the world, and was grinning his happy little pumpkin grin, wanting to show off.
“Cannot get him away from that window,” said Chloe Aaron, approaching and smiling, crouching to the three of them. Part of her Masters work in early childhood development was time spent here. “Right after breakfast he came running over.”
“He was tugging at a kid’s red socks when we came in,” Jill said.
“Oh, that too. Today he loves red. Wouldn’t wear his white socks and kept saying, ‘wed! wed!’ I explained I didn’t have them. The laundry man hadn’t come back with his favorite red ones - and he’s amazing. Easy going, just made a face and relented for the white ones.” Chloe shrugged cheerfully. “Red’s another new word for him, huh? I’ve lost track of how many new words this week.”
David was stroking his son’s silky, light brown hair. “Red’s the color of his favorite truck at home. And a red horse and red rooster. He won’t sleep without them.”
Jesse suddenly turned and threw his little arms around Jill. He’d finished his showing off and now just wanted to cuddle. He settled in her lap, lay his head against her chest, and popped his thumb in his mouth.
“Happy can be such a simple thing,” David murmured.
“Yeah,” Chloe smirked. “When you’re eighteen months.”
She saw Jill peek anxiously at her watch. Oh. They had so little time, these sleep-deprived staff members who ran in and out for rushed hugs and smooches. Her expression turned sober.
“You’re involved in those…tragedies?” she quietly asked them. “Jody? Celie?”
An unhappy nod from David. Jill dropped her face to the top of Jesse’s head.
Chloe glanced to a busier part of the room. “The nurses feel so bad. The whole pediatric department’s in tears.” A pause. “I hear Jody was wonderful.”
“We thought so.” Jill felt her heart ache, then peeked almost involuntarily again at her watch. “That second hand moves so fast,” she winced.
An orderly had come in minutes ago carrying a large bundle. Fresh laundry for the little ones who spent occasional nights here. It was a service the parents gladly paid for.
Chloe took charge. “Crisis time, huh? On top of the usual?”
Jill nodded, her mind now racing ahead past the clinic to visiting Edna Polsen.
“Hey Jesse.” Chloe touched his little arm. “Wanna change into your red socks?”
With an “eee!” he squirmed out of Jill’s arms and let Chloe lift him. Jill’s arms felt suddenly, depressingly empty, but she and David made a playful fuss with Chloe at one of the dressing tables, where Jesse sat, his little features knotted in concentration as he tried to choose between his striped-red socks, the ones with the red ducks, or the solid red ones.
He chose the solid red ones. Jill and David kissed him as Chloe distracted him, encouraging him to try to pull off his white socks – “oof! oof!” he tugged - as a quick, no-tears escape was accomplished.
They were waiting for one of the elevators when David’s phone beeped.
“Hot one,” he muttered, hanging up. “Woman brought in ready to pop. Big kid, cephalopelvic disproportion, needs a C-Section stat.”
“Who’s with her?”
“Holloway and an intern. Others are with other deliveries.”
“Or already down in the clinic.”
“Yeah.” David turned and peered down the hall. “I’ll have to use those elevators, it’s faster. This whole day’s gonna speed up.”
“We’ll text each other.”
They kissed, and for a few blessed seconds Jill melted into David, resting her head on his shoulder.
He started to trot away, then turned with more affection on his face. “Grand Rounds at 2:30. Be back from Edna’s.”
“Right.”
“Pre-implantation Genetic Diagnosis.”
“Right!”
He gave a little wave. His elevator came fast and he disappeared.
Jill stood alone, waiting. The visit to Jesse had helped; relieved her mind for precious minutes. Now every terrible image came rushing back. She inhaled, and got her phone out. Stared, shuddering, at photos of Jody’s torn sweater coat, the broken glass doors, the impression of that missing, nightmare dagger.
She had seen them all in her dreams. Had awakened with them shooting to her brain before her eyes were open. There’d been no time to process it all.
Jody… Now Celie. Two sweet, earnest young women, their lives and every hope and dream brutally shattered. Jill saw again the tent, the TV night scene where Celie was knifed to death. An accidental witness. The murderer’s second, necessary kill.
Rain fell outside a tall, near window. The city looked so gray, depressing. The killer’s out there, Jill thought. A monster.
The elevator arrived and she got on, her heart bursting.
&
nbsp; 13
What makes you happy, Jody?
This! I’m euphoric just here, playing with the kids.
What about you, Celie?
Ditto! Rapture! Can we get jobs here? Stay forever?
Yes! Please let us hide here. We’re happiest making the kids happy!
Jody and Celie were in T-shirts and jeans, rolling around on the floor with little kids laughing, having fun climbing over them, getting lifted in the air if they were small enough. The children wore little baseball caps and bright bows over their bald heads. They were happy. Jesse was there too, so young, but it was he who’d pulled the girls down to the rug and clambered on them, the way he climbed and jumped on mommy when she was tired. He’d shown the others how fun it was to scramble all over adults and tug at their hair and try to tickle them.
Jody and Celie had both been screamingly ticklish. That was the biggest hit ever. More fun than all the toys and bright climbing things in the sick children’s playroom.
“Sure you can stay here. I’ll notify personnel.”
Jill heard David’s voice before she rounded the corner. He’d made the MP4 video of Jesse playing with the children, and wound up “interviewing” Jody and Celie too because, on that particular Sunday last February, after what they called a horrible week on the set, it made them feel better.
Jill entered the clinic break room. Eyes looked up, surprised and sorry, from the TV where they’d hooked up the video.
“We wanted to see it,” Charlie Ortega said apologetically. “It’s okay? I’m sorry, it’s probably too depressing.” His green scrubs looked slept in.
“It’s nice.” Jill grabbed a chilled sandwich from the vending machine and joined the others at the table. Gary Phipps got up and hugged her, again, as he’d done before rounds. Ramu Chitkara patted her hand, murmuring “hang in there” in his lilting British tones as he’d done earlier, too. Charlie, Gary, and Ramu were, like Tricia, Jill’s fellow first year residents. Had struggled with her through internship and two serious crises, and were close to David as well.
EMBRYO 5: SILVER GIRL (EMBRYO: A Raney & Levine Thriller) Page 6
