Sacred Trust

by Hannah Alexander

  Claudia took a step closer to Jarvis and lowered her voice, glancing over her shoulder at Dwayne’s head resting in his hands. “You realize he’s here seeking drugs?”

  Jarvis’s irritation turned to anger. “Nurse, almost every patient who steps through those doors is here seeking drugs in some form or another. If you’re implying, as Bower did, that this man is a drug addict and a drug seeker just because he’s been here more than once for intractable pain, then you can join Bower in the unemployment line. Otherwise, get that patient to a room and get him taken care of!”

  Claudia held his angry gaze for a moment, her own eyes flashing. He hoped she would say something, just one more thing. Then he’d have a good reason to get rid of her. He’d had all he could take of this bossy woman today.

  She didn’t say another word. She picked up a chart and walked out toward the waiting room.

  “Call a nurse down from the floor,” Jarvis ordered Carol. He needed as much backup as he could get. He turned to glare at the secretary. “Or are you going to argue with me, too?”

  Carol shot him a resentful stare, but said nothing. She picked up the phone and dialed upstairs.

  A few moments later Jarvis stepped into exam room six, holding a thick file on Dwayne Little.

  “Hi, Uncle Jarvis.” The slender, fair-haired young man sat rubbing his forehead. His shoulders were bent forward and his face held a grimace of pain.

  “You don’t look too happy.” Jarvis tossed the chart down on the desk, then leaned back against it with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “I feel awful. I know I shouldn’t be coming back in here, but I’ve got to get help. I know I should get some tests to find out what’s wrong, and I will. But right now I just hurt.” Tears formed in the young man’s eyes.

  Jarvis could identify. His own head ached a little more, in spite of the narcotics on board, just from the stress of the morning. He listened to Dwayne’s chest, checked his eyes, then took out a prescription pad and wrote on it. “I’m going to give you some relief, son, but you’ve got to promise me two things.”

  Dwayne looked up, his eyes hopeful. “Anything.”

  “No driving under the influence. I know you love that hot rod of yours, but morphine does crazy things to the mind. You can’t drive. Call your father to come and get you.” He felt like a hypocrite. What about practicing medicine under the influence? “Same with the prescription. No driving.”

  “I know. You won’t see my car out in the parking lot, either. I’ve got a friend I can call.”

  “What about your father?”

  Dwayne grimaced and shrugged. “Dad’s too busy. So what’s new?”

  Jarvis smiled and patted Dwayne’s arm. “Call your friend. I’d take you home myself if I weren’t stuck here.” He wrote out a note. “I also need you to promise me that you’ll find out what this problem is. I’ll make an appointment for you with a good neurologist, and I want you to be sure to follow up. You need to find out what’s going on. It could be dangerous.”

  Dwayne’s eyes widened. “You think it really could be?”

  “Ever heard of brain tumors? Strokes? Son, this could be anything. I don’t want to scare you, but you’ve got to start taking this thing seriously.” Jarvis frowned. His own tests had turned out negative so far, but he knew he had to keep trying, too.

  “I’ll be good. I promise.” Dwayne’s eyes grew slightly moist again, and he held his hand out. “Thanks for believing in me, Jarvis.”

  Jarvis reached out his own hand, but it suddenly went numb. Dwayne’s face fuzzed out of focus. The room tried to spin, but he closed his eyes.

  “Jarvis?” A hand touched him on the shoulder. “Uncle Jarvis? Are you okay?”

  In the distance the sound of a siren echoed.

  Jarvis took several deep breaths, forced his eyes open and gripped the edge of the cot for support. The brightness of the room hurt his eyes for a moment, but everything gradually focused again.

  “Jarvis?” The boy’s voice was gentle, worried.

  Jarvis nodded and straightened. He reached up and patted Dwayne’s shoulder. “I’ll be okay. You just see to it you keep your promises to me.” He turned and walked out the door, issuing orders to the nurse for Dwayne’s shot.

  Frankie’s chest hurt worse than ever before. The nitroglycerin helped some, but he almost wished he hadn’t let the paramedic give it to him. If Shelly hadn’t found him…He reached his hand out and felt her grasp it as they turned into the hospital ambulance entrance. This time she wasn’t crying.

  “You’re going to make it, Frankie,” she whispered.

  “Somebody’s watching the kids?”

  “Yeah, Mrs. Mahurin from across the street.”

  He smiled and closed his eyes. The kids liked Mrs. Mahurin. She would be good to them. “You be sure and give them that DNR sheet, okay?”

  There was a long pause. “The paramedic has it.”

  Frankie nodded. “Good. Thank you, Shelly.” He knew that had been hard for her to do.

  “I don’t feel right about it. It’s like I just told them to kill you.”

  “You told them not to fight God’s decision if He wants my heart to stop beating. That doesn’t mean it will stop today.” The chest pain hit him again, and he grimaced. Shelly’s hand tightened over his; then they heard the sound of the ambulance doors opening.

  “Okay, Mr. Verris, we’ll be inside in a moment,” came the paramedic’s voice.

  “Who…” he gasped, “who’s the doc today?”

  “Dr. George.”

  Frankie nodded. Not Dr. Bower, but it didn’t matter now.

  He fought the pain as they wheeled him out into warm, fresh air, then through a sliding glass door into cooler temperatures, beeping machines and muted voices. In spite of the nitroglycerin, he hurt worse now.

  He groaned and clutched his chest. The voices swirled around him. He thought he heard the doctor….

  “Good, you’ve got him on oxygen. Get me an EKG and draw blood for a cardiac panel, and I’ll be in. Claudia, do you have that morphine ready?”

  “Yes, Dr. George. His BP is a little low, and he’s having some PVCs on the monitor. Do you want me to start another line?”

  “Just follow my orders! Give him 2 milligrams every five minutes.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  The voices faded out while Frankie waged a physical battle with the demon in his ribs. Later, he felt something burn a little down his left forearm. Sometime after that the pain eased. But the demon hovered nearby. Frankie could feel it.

  He kept fighting, but his time was almost up and he knew it. They chased Shelly out of the room, but he heard her crying in the hallway over the beeps and voices and movements of the people that surrounded his bed.

  One voice rose above the others, and he thought he recognized the nurse who had helped him when he came in. “Dr. George, the morphine’s not helping. He needs Tridil. What rate do you want me to start at?”

  “Just give him another sublingual nitro.”

  “His BP is too low for that. He needs IV nitro.”

  “I know what he needs!” the doctor’s voice snapped. “Stop…stop telling me how to do my job! I can’t think with you nagging me—”

  “What rate, Dr. George?” She spoke more sharply.

  “The EKG doesn’t show anything….”

  “The monitor is showing more PVCs and some couplets. He may need lidocaine, too. Do you want me to start a heparin drip? Five thousand or 10,000 bol—”

  “Stop it!” the doctor snapped. “Stop…”

  “Doctor, are you okay? Doc—catch him, Carol! He’s going to—”

  “Leave me alone! I don’t need you hovering over me! Help me with this patient. Get me another line. Repeat EKG….”

  Frankie groaned with pain. The doctor sounded drunk. Where was Dr. Bower? Why couldn’t he have been here when the time came?

  More hands moved over his chest and arms.

  “He’s got ST seg
ment elevation. It’s an MI.”

  The pressure grew beneath his ribs with sudden intensity.

  “V-tach! He’s in V-tach!”

  He couldn’t breathe.

  “I can’t get a pressure!”

  He couldn’t think.

  “We’re losing him!”

  The voices faded once again.

  “He’s in V-fib!”

  The pain released him. The darkness disappeared. Another voice reached him, a long familiar voice. Frankie felt a rush of joy unlike any he had ever known.

  He was going home.

  Jarvis pronounced the death of Franklin Verris, then set the wheels in motion for cleanup. He glanced into the waiting room to see if Dwayne was still out there. He wasn’t. His friend must have come to pick him up while they were busy. Claudia wouldn’t be too happy about that. She’d warned Jarvis that Dwayne hadn’t called anyone to come and get him. Now she would probably insist that the kid had driven away while their backs were turned.

  Jarvis passed by the open door of the extra call room, and to his surprise, he saw Claudia standing by the desk with her back to the door, holding the telephone receiver to her ear, talking softly.

  Now what was she up to?

  He stood there for a moment, but couldn’t hear what she said. Frustrated, he went to his room and lifted the receiver. Line two was lit, and he quietly punched the button and listened.

  “Well, you may fire me for this,” came Claudia’s calm, matter-of-fact voice over the telephone, “but I’m worried about Dr. George. He’s made some pretty…indefensible decisions this morning, and he’s not getting any better. I think he’s sick. He almost passed out on us down here in the E.R. while we were working on a cardiac patient. The patient died on us, Mrs. Pinkley.”

  “Are you saying the death was due to lack of good medical judgment?” came the administrator’s grave question.

  Claudia cleared her throat. “Yes. Dr. George is sick, but he won’t admit it.” Her voice grew softer still. “I’m in the E.R. and he might overhear me. I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re saying there have been other instances this morning?”

  “More than one. Dr. George gave morphine to Dwayne Little and just let him go. We got busy with the cardiac, and Dwayne disappeared while I wasn’t watching.”

  “You think he drove?”

  “I sure do, Mrs. Pinkley. Dr. Bower was right about Dwayne.”

  “Claudia, are you suggesting I remove Dr. George from duty and bring in another doctor to take his place?”

  Claudia did not hesitate. “Yes. Preferably Dr. Bower. I’d better go. Bye.”

  There was a click and a dead line.

  Lukas had just laced up his hiking boots and pulled on a T-shirt when the telephone rang. He trekked across the bedroom floor, scattering the carpet with dried flecks of caked mud left over from his last hike.

  “Dr. Bower?” came a familiar voice when he answered. “This is Lauren. I heard you weren’t at work today.”

  “That’s right.” Considering the town grapevine, he didn’t doubt that every citizen in Knolls knew he had turned in his resignation. Did they know that Estelle had refused it?

  “So how are you enjoying your suspension?” Lauren asked.

  Lukas chuckled. “How do you keep up with everything?”

  “Sorry. I’ve told you before, I’ve lived here all my life and everyone knows me. When I was in high school, I was the editor for the school paper. It comes naturally. But there are certain things that I care about more than others. Are you doing okay? I’ve been praying for you.”

  He had no doubt that Lauren was sincere. “Thank you, Lauren. I’ve been doing a lot of praying, too, and I believe I’m doing the right thing.”

  “Good. My offer to go fishing still stands—no strings attached, honest. You just need a friend right now to—”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Huh?”

  “When can we go? I’m all dressed for the outdoors, but I’m warning you I’m not much of a fisherman.” He could almost hear her grinning over the phone line.

  “I’ll get my poles and be over in fifteen minutes.”

  “How about I drive? I’ve got this great Jeep that knows how to hit the potholes. I’ll pick you up. What’s your address?”

  Shocked by his own sudden impulsiveness, he had to ask her to repeat her address; then he had to ask directions since he didn’t know his way around town yet. When he disconnected the phone, he grabbed his jacket and keys and walked out of the house before he could change his mind. This was crazy! Lauren’s chatter would probably drive him nuts and scare off the fish. But at least he knew there was probably nothing anyone could do to hurt his career at this point.

  He heard the distant ringing of his telephone as he opened the door of the Jeep. He paused and turned to go back into the house, but changed his mind halfway back. It wouldn’t be the hospital, since he was on suspension. It might be Dr. George calling to issue more threats or taunts, and Lukas didn’t want to deal with it. He let it ring and switched off his cell phone before stepping into the Jeep.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Theodore Zimmerman sat with his shoulders hunched over the desk in his office at home. He’d been there at least two hours, drinking, belching, swearing and sometimes crying. Why he was crying, he didn’t know. The booze should be making him feel better by now. He hadn’t cried since high school.

  He should be scrambling to dig up the money to pay off Johnson. Gordon had called three times and had left increasingly angry, desperate messages on the recorder each time. Theo had sat and listened and poured another drink. His stomach burned and he knew he needed to eat lunch, but Jack Daniel’s was all he could swallow right now.

  He picked up the telephone to call Julie’s office number. For a moment the numbers danced on the dial pad, then swam back into focus. He hit a wrong number, disconnected, tried again, missed, cursed. Finally he got it right, and relief poured through him. He needed to talk. Had to get some of this stuff off his chest before Tedi came home.

  Thoughts of Tedi brought tears to his eyes once more. “What am I doing to my little girl?” He’d been so hard on her the past few months, taking out all his problems on her, leaving her at home alone too much, yelling at her…and worse…when the pressure got too bad at work. And all for what? Now he didn’t even have a job. And Tedi wouldn’t speak to him.

  He wiped the fresh moisture from his cheeks and waited for Julie to pick up.

  She did.

  He cleared his throat. “Hello, uh, Julie? Sorry to bother you at work.” Had to keep his voice steady. She didn’t need to know how much he’d had to drink.

  “Theo? What’s wrong?”

  The instant concern in her voice warmed something inside him. “I’ve had a rough morning. Got some time to talk?”

  He expected an immediate reply, but instead there was a long hesitation.

  He frowned. “Julie?”

  “Theo, this isn’t really a good time. Can we meet for dinner or something?”

  His tears dried up, and he felt a shaft of anger, swift and strong. “I need to talk now. Can’t you just—”

  “Theo, it’s really hectic here right now, and if this isn’t an emergency—”

  With another surge of anger he slammed the phone down and shouted a curse. So much for a listening ear from a loving woman.

  He tried to stand, but the wheels of the chair rolled sideways and he stumbled against the desk and fell back. He pushed back from the desk with another curse, and one of the wheels caught the edge of the small recorder he’d hooked to the phone. He’d placed it on the floor the other day when he was working on some files.

  He stopped and stared at the small light on the machine. He hadn’t listened to it since last week. He reached over and took another swallow of his drink, then bent down and punched Rewind and Play. Might as well see what had been happening around here the past few days.

  Te
di’s voice reached him, then Mercy’s. It was a new message.

  As he listened, he felt as if his life were draining out on the floor.

  By three o’clock Thursday afternoon Jarvis couldn’t concentrate on anything for more than a few seconds at a time. His headache had returned with such force that he was tempted to take the remainder of the morphine that had been intended for Frankie Verris. Unfortunately, Claudia was on the ball, as usual. She had poured the drug into the hazardous waste container, with the other nurse as a witness, and they had both signed off; then Claudia had gone to lunch and left the other nurse, Tish, to take her place.

  Jarvis still seethed at Claudia, both for her actions in the E.R. and for her betrayal of him to Estelle. The problem was he couldn’t afford to just fire her right now. Hard as it was to admit, he needed her today. Badly. If not for the DNR sheet on Mr. Verris, this death could have turned into a lawsuit. Claudia had been an E.R. nurse for so long she could probably run a code single-handed, and she knew it. Bossy was better than dim-witted like her lunch replacement. Tish was a young, inexperienced nurse who didn’t even know how to deal with the funeral home director who came to pick up the body of Mr. Verris.

  They were wheeling him out on the black shrouded cot when the ambulance radio blared.

  “This is Knolls 832 to Knolls Community. Knolls Community, come in, please.”

  Jarvis groaned inwardly, then gestured for Tish to answer. He turned to walk toward the call room. He had to lie down just for a few minutes.

  He took some more Ultram when he reached the room, even though he knew they wouldn’t help. Maybe combined with the narcotic…

  The telephone rang by the bedside before he could even sit down, and now there would not be time. The ambulance was a block away. He could hear it as he walked back out the door.

  Tish came running toward him. “Dr. George, they’re bringing in a trauma patient in his early twenties. He’s unconscious and has an obvious injury to his head and his right leg, but his blood pressure is okay.”