"Zachary, what are you saying?
" Cinnie asked. "I'm saying that there are certain reflexes that disappear when the spinal cord is damaged, and others that show up. The pattern I'm finding now isn't consistent with that."
"I'm not sure I understand, " Cinnie said. "Judge, I know this may not make total sense to you at the moment, but I'm picking up signs-fairly strong signs-that your paralysis may be due to factors other than spinal cord damage-emotional factors."
"Emotional factors?"
Cinnie sounded incredulous. The Judge showed no reaction at all. "I know it sounds far out, " Zack said, "but believe me, it isn't. It happens all the time. One of my first cases on my neurology service was a man with psychologically induced blindness. There was absolutely nothing wrong with his eyes, yet he positively couldn't see. In fact, after hypnotherapy, much of his vision returned. "Heart attacks in Type A personalities, gastric ulcers in situations of high stress-our emotions have power over every organ in our bodies. There's even a well-documented condition called pseudocyesis in which a woman who desperately wants to become pregnant has her periods stop, her breasts grow large, and her abdomen swell. Only a blood test or an ultrasound or X ray can prove she's not pregnant."
"And you think your father may be having one of these-what are they called?"
"Conversion reactions. Yes, Mom, I do. Judge, your neurologic findings simply don't jibe well with any other explanation." The Judge looked away. "But why? " Cinnie asked. Zack shrugged. "I'm not certain, " he said. "Anger at me is the most likely possibility. There are other factors that could be at work, too, I guess, fear, grief, guilt. Only you can fill in the blanks, Judge. But whatever it is, isvery powerful stuff. At the moment, even you might not know. Many times, though, as soon as the source of the conversion is identified, the symptoms begin to resolve."
"Are you sure about this? " Cinnie asked. "No, Mom, I'm not. It's just that the other diagnoses don't fit with the operative findings and Dad's clinical picture, and conversion reaction does. I might be wrong. All I can do is hope that I'm not, and tell you what I think."
"Clayton? " she asked. The Judge, tight-lipped, would not answer.
"Zachary, " she said, "perhaps you'd better go now. We can talk about this again soon." She rose and kissed him on the cheek, her expression begging him to leave them be-to allow them the chance to digest what he had said. "Sure enough, " he said. "When is the ambulance due?"
"Any time now, I think."
"Fine… Dad, I-" He looked down at his father's pallid, emotionless face. "I'll be thinking of you."
As he reached the doorway, Zack checked the corridor for his brother or a security guard, and then headed for a room at the far end of the hall.
If, as it seemed, he was running out of time within the walls of Ultramed-Davis, he would use what little he had left to make one last run at a clinical puzzle that was no less perplexing than his father's, and far more lethal. "I knew it, " Barbara Nelms said as Zack finished recounting his interview with her son and the theories he had developed as a result. "You are not a very good liar, Dr. Iverson. I could see it in your eyes that night in your office. I should have called you on it then, dammit. You know, holding out on me like that was a very cruel thing to do."
"I know, and I'm sorry, But I had no proof."
"Dr. Iverson, Toby is my son."
"I understand."
Barbara was propped up in her hospital bed by several pillows. Her right arm was in a sling and her left was fixed to an intravenous line that was infusing a potent antibiotic. Despite her pallor and the heavy shadows engulfing her eyes, her glare was piercing. "I'm not sure that you do, Dr. Iverson, " she said after some thought.
"But I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt-at least for now."
"Thank you."
"You said that you held back information from me and my husband because you had no proof of your theories. Am I to assume that situation has changed?"
Zack hesitated. "Dr. Iverson, please, " she said. "Don't try to lie to me again. My son nearly stabbed me to death yesterday without even knowing I was there."
"Okay, " he said. "Okay. The truth is, as things stand, I have no direct proof of anything. But the circumstantial evidence supporting my belief is quite strong-at least to me it is."
"Tell me." Zack reviewed his impressions of Pearl and Mainwaring's gallbladder cases, and summarized his conversation with Tarberry at Johns Hopkins. He could see the anger smoldering in Barbara Nelms's eyes. In time, whether Toby survived or not, she would be out for blood.
And where once that notion had been the impetus to have him lie to her, now it goaded him to share every detail. Frank had been given his chance to clean house, but he had ignored it. "I wouldn't blame you a bit for being skeptical, " Zack said as he concluded his account, "but that's the way I see it."
"Dr. Iverson, " Barbara Nelms responded, her fury barely contained,
"this is the first time since this nightmare began that an explanation has fit with the facts as I know them. I believe every word you've told me. Every word."
She turned and stared out the window. Resting on the rim of her sling, her fist was clenched. Slowly, her fingers relaxed. The tension in her neck and back lessened. When she turned back to Zack, the anger had given way to determination. "Now then, Dr. Iverson, " she said, "what can we do to save my son?"
Zack took a moment to sort his thoughts. "Well, first of all," he said finally, "it would help tremendously if we could find the trigger."
"You mean the thing that sets Toby off?"
"Exactly."
"But how?"
"I want you to close your eyes, lean back, listen to my voice, and begin to tell me everything you can think of surrounding Toby's attacks.
Everything, no matter how trivial it may sound."
"Are you going to hypnotize me?"
"I can. And I will, if it seems appropriate. But I believe all you'll need is a little help. Now, relax as much as you can, open your mind, and let it drift back to Toby's very first episode."
"He… he was in his pajamas. "Good. Go on."
"It was before bed… He was playing… "Playing what?"
"I. I can't remember."
"Was he in his room?"
"Yes… No, no, wait. He ended up in his room, but I don't think he started there. He… he was in the den. He was watching television.
Yes, that's right. That's exactly right."
"Good. Very good. Now, what was he watching?"
"The show?"
"Yes."
"I… I can't remember."
"Just relax, Barbara. You're doing fine… Now, just open your mind to that evening and think about what he might have been watching… See it … Just relax, open your mind, and see it… The muscles in Barbara Nelms's face went slack. Her breathing became deeper and more regular.
"That's good, " Zack whispered. "That's very good."
Zack's words brought a strange, enigmatic smile to Barbara's mouth. "I know what he was watching, " she said. "Each time, I know what he was watching…"
CHAPTER TWENTY — TWO
Zack raced down the corridor at nearly a full run, hesitating only to glance into his father's room. The bed was stripped, and an aide was washing down the plastic mattress cover. He bolted through the stairway door and vaulted down to the first floor. A major piece in the puzzle had fallen into place-a piece that irrefutably connected Toby Nelms, Suzanne, and Jason Mainwaring. Now, Frank would have to listen. "My brother in? " he panted to the buxom, blond receptionist. Annette Dolan looked at him strangely. "He is, but-"
"Thank you, " Zack said, already on his way through Frank's office door.
Frank, behind his desk, working at his computer, looked up coolly. "You don't work here anymore, " he said. "Frank, I've got to talk to you.
I've learned something-something important."
"Mr. Iverson, I'm sorry. I tried to stop him, " Annette Dolan said from the doorway.
Frank smiled at her emotionlessly. "That's okay, Annette, " he said. "I know how persistent my little brother can be. I'm sure you did your best to stop him. Before you get back to work, though, why don't you go on home and change that sweater. It's not appropriate for the office."
The receptionist hesitated a beat, her lower lip quivering. Then she turned and hurried away. "Now, then, " Frank said, glancing at his watch, "what on earth could be important enough to take you away from your packing?"
Zack moved to sit down, but Frank stopped him with a raised hand. "Don't get comfortable, sport, " he said. "Just say what you want to say and leave." He motioned to the computer. "Number six now, Zack-o. Six out of nearly two hundred administrators nationwide. Not bad, if I do say so myself. No, siree, not bad at all."
V@ell, then you'd better listen to me, Frank. Because I've learned something that could bring this place crashing down about your ears if you don't do something about it."
There was no more than a flicker of interest. "Oh?"
"It's that anesthe ic, Frank. The one I tried to tell you about before."
"Go on."
"I just came from speaking with Mrs. Nelms, the mother of the boy in ICU."
"I know who she is, " Frank said. "Well, I was going over some of my concerns with her, and-"
"You what?"
"Frank, just calm down and listen."
"No, you listen. Do you have any idea how much of a nuisance that woman will be if you fill her with all that human experimentation bullshit of yours?"
"Frank, it's not bullshit. It's really happening, and you'd better help me do something about it or this place will be crawling with lawyers, hospital-certification people, and police. I promise you."
"Don't you dare threaten me."
"Well, then, will you please listen, for Chrissake? Suzanne's life may be on the line here, to say nothing of that poor kid in the ICU. We don't have much time."
Frank toyed with a paper clip for a few moments, straightened it, and then snapped it in two. "Okay, Bro, " he said finally. "You've got five minutes."
"They're experimenting with something, Frank-Mainwaring and Pearl.
They're fooling around with some sort of new general anesthe ic, and they think it's working fine, only it isn't. The patients look asleep during their surgery and even think they were asleep afterward. But at some level, just below their conscious surface, they were wide awake, experiencing the whole thing-the cutting, the blood, the pain, everything."
"Sport, I didn't believe you this morning, and I don't believe you now. py "Well, you'd better. I have proof "Oh?"
"It's the music, Frank.
"Greensleeves'-the music Mainwaring operates to."
"What in the hell are you-"
"Mainwaring nearly always works to one piece of music. It's a classical version of Greensleeves'-you know, the folk song from-"
"I know the tune, " Frank said testily. "Well, according to Mrs. Nelms, every time her kid had one of his seizures, he was watching a children's show where they play that melody."
"That's your proof?"
"There's more. Last week Suzanne and I were together, when suddenly she went blank, totally blank."
CHAPTER TWENTY — THREE
"Frank, that tune was playing on the radio. As soon as I shut it off, she snapped out of whatever place she was in, and kept on talking as if nothing had ever happened. I didn't put together what was going on until just now. She was on her way, Frank. I'm sure now that if I had left the radio on a little longer, she would have had a seizure just like the kid's. She was on her way to reliving her breast operation-probably in some bizarre, distorted way-just the way Toby kept reexperiencing his hernia repair."
"This is ridiculous."
"It's fact, Frank. Listen, you've got to help me find Mainwaring, or at least help me try and reason with Pearl."
"No way."
"That child is dying. We need to know what they gave him."
Frank picked up the phone and dialed. "Chief Clifford, Frank Iverson here, " he said. "That restraining order I asked you for ready yet?"
"Jesus, Frank, you are crazy, " Zack said. "That's fine, Chief, fine. So it's effective immediately?"
"I'm going to tell the board what's going on here, Frank-the board and Ultramed. And as soon as I find Mainwaring, I'm going to-"
"Chief, could you do me a big favor and send a couple of men around now?
He's here, and he's refusing to leave. "Dammit, Frank."
"Thanks, Cliff… Oh, he's doing as well as could be expected. It's nice of you to ask. John Burris, the neurosurgeon from Concord, has transferred him down there. "Frank, for Chrissake-"
"Hopefully, we'll be getting a new neurosurgeon in town soon, so that we won't have to send folks out who need our help… Exactly. Well, thanks again, Cliff. When can I expect those men of yours?… Excellent. You run a crack operation, Cliff. The best… You bet. Take care now."
Frank laid down the receiver with exaggerated deliberateness. "You've got about three minutes to get your ass out of my hospital, " he said,
"and less than a day to get it out of our house. I'd suggest you get home and start packing. And I promise you, if you so much as set foot in this place, or say one word to any of our patients, you will be in deep, deep shit. Is that clear?"
"Frank, you're making a big mis-"
"I said, is that clear?"
Without responding, Zack headed toward the door. When he opened it, a hospital security guard-if anything, even larger than the guard, Henry-was standing there. "It's a little button right down here, " Frank explained, gesturing to the base of his desk. "I never had to use it until now, but it just paid for itself. Tommy, would you please see to it that Dr. Iverson here is out of the hospital and off hospital property right away."
"Yes sir."
"No stops."
"Yes sir."
"It's not going to work, Frank, " Zack said. "I'll take my chances."
"What about that kid?"
"That kid will be better off having a doctor who doesn't get drunk when he's on call, sport. Now, I see by the ol' clock on the mantel that your five minutes are about up." He looked out the window. "Oh, and there are our friends from the constabulary, right on time."
"You are something, Frank. You really are." Frank smiled broadly. "Yes,
" he said, "I know."
"Greensleeves." Curious, Frank fished through his desk drawer for the cassette Mainwaring had given him and popped it into his tapedeck. It was syrupy, spineless music-certainly far from being any sort of lethal weapon. Clearly, Zack had flipped over the edge, grasping at any straw in an effort to disrupt his brother's finest hour. "No way, Zack-o,"
Frank murmured. "No fucking way."
He snapped off the tape and then watched through his office window as his brother was led across the hospital parking lot to his car by two policemen and the hospital guard. It was a scene he would carry with him forever. The days of sports trophies and star-struck coeds might be part of the past, but this triumph would do quite nicely. As he followed Zack's battered orange camper down the hill toward town, Frank knew that the last obstacle toward his achieving every one of his goals was all but disappearing. With the Judge out of the way, and Bourque having agreed to a closed vote, the final purchase of the hospital by Ultramed was a virtual lock. And with Zack out of the way, there was nothing to interfere with the satisfactory conclusion of his dealings with Mainwaring. He felt at once exhilarated and exhausted. It had been a brutal game, but with time running out, he had just run in for the go-ahead touchdown and then recovered the fumble on the ensuing kickoff.
Now, he had only to hang on to the ball and run out the clock. He glanced at his watch. The board meeting was less than an hour away. He reminded himself that no matter how exhausted he felt, this was not the time to let down. "Loose ends he murmured. "Loose ends… loose ends …"
He called the guard room and ordered an extra man brought in to patrol the outside of the ho
spital, on the off chance his brother tried anything foolish. Then he phoned two fence-sitting board members to tell them about the closed-ballot vote and to call in favors he was owed.
Finally, he called Atlanta and learned that Jason Mainwaring had left for New England the previous evening and was expected back in Atlanta the next day. Perfect, he thought. If the secretary's information was correct, Mainwaring had to be planning to conclude their transaction that afternoon. Again, Frank checked the time. For the moment, there was nothing he could think of to do but wait. He returned his attention to the still open hookup with Ultr'ma. Soon, perhaps within a day, his access code would be upgraded to that of a regional director and he would be made a party to some of Ultramed's most sensitive information.
Regional director, with a cool three quarters of a million dollars in the bank. Frank Iverson was within a cat's whisker of making it all the way back and then some. When she walked out on him, Lisette had made the biggest fucking mistake of her life. By the time the dust settled, he would have it all-the position, the money, the house and, goddamn it, the children, too. She'd see. He had handled the board, he had handled his brother, and he would handle her just as well. Only when the knock on his office door grew persistent did Frank notice it. "Who is it, Annette? " he asked through his intercom. "Annette?"
There was no answer. Then he remembered having sent the woman home, and cursed himself for forgetting that his other secretary was on vacation.
"Come in, " he called out. "For crying out loud, stop that pounding and come in."
Jason Mainwaring, wearing his customary beige plantation owner's suit, entered, carrying his briefcase. "Little shy on office help, aren't we? " he said, heading directly for Frank's liquor supply. "You know me, Jason. Slice off the excess fat. Everything goes down to the bare bone."
Mainwaring ran his fingertips over the glistening mahogany surface of Frank's desk. "Yes, " he drawled. "I can see that philosophy at work all around me. "I called Atlanta a while ago. Your secretary said she expected you back there tomorrow. You're welcome to use your house for a few more days if you want."
Flashback Page 35
