Deadly Deception

by Cade Brogan

  So, when the newness wears off, you’ll no longer live for them? the Rational One asked, knowing that when Elizabeth broached the topic of her abuse, it was best to redirect her.

  How many times am I going to have to tell you that I don’t live for them?

  A few more, I fear, the Rational One responded, laughing.

  I’m sure, Elizabeth answered, tossing her luggage into her trunk, and parking three blocks down from her lab. As she drew up a syringe of poison hemlock, nightshade, jimsonweed, and wisteria, she considered her upcoming dispatches.

  Are you sure you’re not acting impulsively? the Rational One asked. Maybe you should put this off until next week. Go home, sleep with Claire, and think about it.

  No, the newest member interjected, she’s ready, I tell you. I’ve known Jo since she was a baby, much longer than you have, and I know she’s thought things through very carefully. She’s not impulsive. And I don’t know why you’d even suggest such a thing. She made the face that she always made when a character misbehaved on one of her soap operas. I can see already that we’re going to butt heads.

  If you encourage her to act impulsively, and thereby risk the rest of us, the Rational One responded, of that, you can be assured, ma’am.

  Granny’s ghost squinted. I tell you she’s ready. Just ask her.

  I’m ready, Elizabeth responded, mentally raising her voice, but it would certainly be nice to have some peace and quiet while I think through the details.

  Yes, dear, the specter responded, pulling the imaginary zipper on her lips with her fingers. Her eyes twinkled, watching Elizabeth rummage through her closet for a garment with Dr. Susan Smith embroidered on its lapel. It’s a good name, dear, such a good name, she continued. So common that no one will notice you.

  I have several to choose from, Elizabeth answered, slipping on the coat to check its fit.

  I love seeing you in your doctor’s coat, Granny’s spirit went on, stepping over to brush Elizabeth’s cheek with her phantom-like fingers. It reminds me of the day you graduated from medical school.

  I didn’t wear a lab coat the day I graduated, Elizabeth corrected.

  Oh, I know you didn’t, dear, the ghost answered. You wore your leafy-green dress under a black gown if I remember correctly.

  Elizabeth smiled thinly. You do, she thought quietly.

  But when I see you in white, the specter said, it harkens back to that day, reminds me of how proud I am of you.

  You’ve always been there for me, Elizabeth responded, there when no one else was. She released a breath, retrieving a small pair of scissors from her pocket. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish my work.

  Certainly, dear, the ghost answered. We can talk later, anytime we want.

  Elizabeth positioned a stem of her albino raspberry between the sharp edges of her scissors. “You know I’d never cut you if I didn’t have to.” She stroked its leaves gently. “Unfortunately, I’ll need to cut you three times, one for today and two for tomorrow.” Her signature was a shoot whose petal had fallen off to reveal a tiny green berry. For each dispatch, this bramble willingly sacrificed its body and its young. “Look away, my darling.”

  Snip.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Snip

  “Just one more pinch and we’re done.”

  Snip

  “You’ve always been so brave about this,” she cooed, touching leaves, and placing her cuttings in a small bag. “I’m not sure I’d be as brave as you are.” Her thoughts flashed to how she’d commit suicide if she failed, feeling a quiver in the pit of her stomach.

  You won’t.

  I could, you never know.

  But you won’t. You’ll think this through and execute your plan like clockwork.

  I hope so.

  I know so. Enough of this, think happy thoughts. This doom and gloom serves no purpose.

  You’re right; it doesn’t, Elizabeth responded, nodding energetically. Thinking happy, happy, happy thoughts—NOW. And with a deep breath, her tone became bubbly. “How about that fertilizer I promised you?” she asked, spooning on extra and increasing the amount of time the grow-lamp would glow brightly. “Maybe next spring we’ll find a safe place to put you in the ground.” And with that, she slipped off her coat, collected her stethoscope, and bagged both items. A doctor marching through the neighborhood in her white coat would be a bit too memorable. She smiled at her plants before leaving. “I’ll stop by to see you before I go home tomorrow. Sleep well, everyone.”

  As she walked to her car, she ticked through what she’d be doing—enter the facility, shake the nurse, kill the imposter, and exit. She bit her lip, thinking back to the last time she’d been out as a physician at night. It’d been well over a decade, during her rotation in internal medicine. She remembered every last detail as if yesterday. How could she forget? She’d hated the experience, hated it with a passion. Hated being called out when others were sleeping. Hated faking bedside manner. Hated working with living patients.

  The Resident crossed his arms, sporting a perturbed expression. He’d been the next to the last identity to join the group, appearing in the last days of Elizabeth’s first year of residency. Stop working yourself up, he sighed. It serves no useful purpose.

  She’s not working herself up, the Rational One answered. She’s settled now, doing what she needs to be doing, thinking things through.

  It’s the night shift, for God’s sake, the Resident said, right after shift change. And this dispatch can’t possibly take more than fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes and she’ll be on to the next one. And, as an added bonus, she won’t have to practice medicine—no ‘can you show me where it hurts’ and no ‘take a deep breath for me, please.’

  The Rational One glared. Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not going to push her to do the others. Not tonight. Because tonight, she’s going back to her motel room to sleep.

  If she finishes the job, she’ll sleep like a baby.

  And if she’s pushed too hard, she’ll make mistakes, the Rational One countered. You arrogant bastard, you think you know everything.

  STOP IT YOU TWO! Elizabeth screamed in her brain. YOU’RE MAKING ME CRAZY WITH YOUR INCESSANT BICKERING!

  She checked into her motel, having chosen it because it was equidistant from her destinations, using one of her many aliases. Then, she changed from jeans to navy slacks, slipped on her coat, draped her stethoscope around her neck, and studied her reflection in the mirror.

  You should dye your hair again, dear, her Granny whispered, because I believe I see a touch of red.

  I can’t think about that now, Elizabeth responded, getting into her car, and tuning in a gospel station. Besides, whether or not you can see a touch of red is irrelevant since I’ll be wearing a wig.

  Point taken, the spirit answered.

  Elizabeth sang, making her way to the Greenbriar Nursing Home, the facility where the imposter was staying. She parked in a space reserved for physicians. You stay here, she directed. It’ll be too confusing to have you both in the same room.

  I understand, dear, the ghost responded, lifting the doily she’d been working on, and resuming her crocheting.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  A couch and two chairs sat to the left of the reception desk. To the right was a sanitizer station, a cheerful events board, and a saltwater fish tank. On the events board were purple foil tulips poking through construction paper grass, a large-print calendar, and a list of residents first names and corresponding room numbers. Great, three Marges and two Margarets. Elizabeth had hoped to find what she was looking for without complication, to slip by the main desk, and to complete the dispatch, unnoticed. Instead, circumstances dictated that she identify herself and ask for the imposter’s room number. Visiting five rooms in search of one would unnecessarily elevate the risk. She stepped forward, waiting. After fifteen-seconds, she cleared her throat.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Doctor,” the receptionist said, dropping her cell into her pu
rse with one hand as she shoved a spiral notebook into the center drawer of her desk with the other. “I didn’t see you come in.” She was a young Caucasian woman, a brunette with perky breasts, probably texting her girlfriend. She leaned forward, reading the embroidery on Elizabeth’s lapel. “Wow, you got here super-quick,” she commented. “You must live close to Greenbriar.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. What in the world are you talking about?

  “I mean, we just called your service,” the woman continued, turning in her seat to check the clock. “What, maybe ten minutes ago?” She swished her hair, moistened her lips, and smiled. “They said their on-call doc wouldn’t be here for an hour. And here you are.”

  Elizabeth smiled back. “I was visiting friends,” she responded, fully understanding Claire’s term, ‘gaydar.’ “There would’ve been no way for my service to have known.”

  “Ahhh, okay,” the receptionist said. “Out kind of late for a doctor, aren’t you?”

  Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I know how to respond to your inquiry.”

  “You don’t have to,” the receptionist said, swishing her hair, and chuckling. “Sometimes I talk too much for my own good.” A flush crept across her cheeks. “I’ll buzz Margie’s nurse for you.”

  Elizabeth pushed back her fake hair. Margie? Never would her grandmother have allowed herself to be called Margie. To all but immediate family, she’d always been Margaret. Maybe they’ve given her a nickname that she’s not aware of.

  Maybe, the Resident responded, but if you ask me, it’s evidence that she’s the imposter.

  But no one asked you, the Rational One countered. With five on the list, what are the odds that this Marge is the one?

  Twenty percent, Elizabeth answered. Now, I’ve heard enough. You two be quiet.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?” the receptionist offered, brushing Elizabeth’s fingers. “Or, maybe a soda?”

  Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed, studying her. She wants me to ask her out. “No, nothing. Thank you,” she responded. “I’m in a bit of a rush. So, if you could just give me her room number, I’ll go on down, and get started.”

  “No, no, no,” the young woman chirped, touching her again. “Don’t be silly. It’ll only take a couple of minutes for her nurse to get here.” She pressed a button and leaned toward a microphone. “Callie, please report to the front desk. Dr. Smith is waiting for you.” She lifted both eyebrows. “See, here she comes.”

  Elizabeth released a breath, her smile straightening. “Thanks.”

  “Dr. Smith,” Callie greeted, approaching with her hand extended. “It’s nice to meet you. We heard a new doc had joined the practice and now we have a face to put with a name. Welcome to Greenbriar!”

  Elizabeth smiled. The downside of choosing a common alias. “Thanks.”

  “No, thank you for responding so quickly.”

  “Not a problem,” Elizabeth answered, walking shoulder-to-shoulder as they made their way down the wide hallway. “So, my service didn’t give me much background, what’s going on?”

  “Well,” Callie said, releasing a breath, “the first thing you need to know is that Margie is not a complainer. If she says she’s sick as a dog, we always know that she really is. That said, I hope we didn’t jump the gun in calling you.”

  “What are her symptoms?”

  “Temperature, ninety-nine, just slightly elevated.”

  Elizabeth looked over.

  “I know, I know,” Callie said, “not dangerous.” She smiled thinly. “But she’s got the sweetest personality. You’ll see. And we worry when she’s not herself. Not that we don’t worry about all our residents, but with Margie, well, I guess she’s just a little extra special.”

  “What else?”

  “She’s been complaining of abdominal pain,” Callie answered. “Cramps, upper-center quadrant, vomiting, and diarrhea.”

  Elizabeth nodded, pressing her lips together. “Constant or intermittent?”

  “Intermittent.”

  “Intensity?”

  “A four.”

  Elizabeth poked her tongue lightly into her cheek, looking at her. “Has there been a recent change in her diet?”

  Callie swallowed. “I’m not sure. Her daughter visited this morning, brought her the prettiest bouquet of flowers. I suppose she could’ve brought her something to eat as well.”

  She’s the wrong one, the Resident said. Damn.

  Elizabeth frowned. Watch your language.

  See? The Rational One chimed in. I told you.

  You didn’t tell me anything.

  I most certainly did.

  Would the both of you please shut up? Elizabeth snapped mentally. I haven’t done this for quite some time, and I need to be able to concentrate.

  It’s just like riding a bicycle, the Resident commented.

  PLEASE, SHUT UP, Elizabeth responded, dropping back, and following Callie into a sparsely furnished room with a small TV playing at low volume.

  *

  Callie pushed the bed table out of her way. On it was a pureed meal of chicken, sweet potato, and peas, a carton of milk, and a box of tissue. She shook her head slowly. “Poor, sweetie,” she whispered, gently palming the woman’s forehead, “you didn’t eat a thing.”

  Elizabeth flashed a hard smile. Starvation takes thirty to forty days, I wouldn’t sweat it.

  “Margie?” Callie said softly, “Dr. Smith is with me. She’s come to check you out, to make you feel better.” She pulled back the blanket. “Can you roll over for me so I can check your blood pressure?”

  The woman moaned, repositioning to her back.

  “One-twenty over eighty,” Callie said, falling silent for a few moments. “Pulse, ninety-four, on the high side.”

  “Pain will do that,” Elizabeth responded, stepping closer to the bed. “I’m going to check your heart now,” she said, reaching for her stethoscope. When she finished, she palpated the woman’s abdomen. And after that, she stepped back from the bed. Her diagnosis? A case of food poisoning, the kind that would resolve on its own within several hours. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be allowed to run its course because she needed to shake Callie and keep her occupied until she completed her dispatch. “Administer thirty milliliters Ipecac Syrup PO. One dose. In addition—”

  Callie pinched her brow. “But that’ll make her vomit.”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth articulated slowly. “And that’s exactly what I’d expect from the shrubby South American plant from which Ipecac Syrup is derived.” She cocked her head, glaring. “And exactly what I’m ordering.”

  “But she’s been vomiting much of the day.”

  Elizabeth took a breath. “Are you questioning my order, nurse?”

  “No, Doctor,” Callie responded, dropping her eyes. “Not at all. I just wanted to make sure that you were fully aware of the situation.”

  “I am, thank you,” Elizabeth answered curtly. “And, in addition,” she continued, “please administer a single one-hundred-twenty-milliliter dose of Sodium Phosphate rectally.”

  Callie’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “An enema? But she has diarrhea, not constipation.”

  “Do you question all the doctors as you’re questioning me?” Elizabeth asked. “Or have I won the prize of special treatment?” She cocked her head, intensifying eye contact. “If I were to wager a guess, I’d say you’ve judged me incompetent.”

  “No, Doctor. Not at all,” Callie responded, gulping air, and swallowing. “I was just surprised by your order.”

  “She’s been poisoned,” Elizabeth said, “poisoned on your watch. I’m simply trying to reduce her discomfort, and possibly save her life.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” Callie said, beginning preparation of the dose to be administered rectally. “I’m sorry if it sounded like I was questioning your judgment.”

  “It’s alright,” Elizabeth responded, her jaw locking. “You don’t know me. And I don’t know you. Hopefully, in time, we’ll come to
respect one another’s competence.” She smiled thinly, stepping toward the door. “Don’t leave her alone. Not even for a minute.” She checked her watch. “For at least an hour.”

  “I won’t, Doctor.”

  “And, call my service,” Elizabeth added, pausing in the doorway, “if her symptoms don’t resolve in five to seven hours.”

  Callie nodded, holding a small cup of liquid for Margie to swallow. “Yes, Doctor.”

  Elizabeth reached into her coat pocket, retrieving the list she’d taken from the events board, as she turned the corner. She smiled, finding Grandma Marge’s imposter four doors down.

  *

  Elizabeth’s lips pressed together in a slight grimace, peering into the darkened room. Soft-snores, the same as Grandma Marge’s. She swallowed, inching closer. A bag of Cheese Puffs, her grandma’s favorite snack, was open on the nightstand. Thank God you’re sleeping.

  It’s not me, dear, Granny’s ghost said. She’s a clever imposter, doing things as I did them.

  I thought I left you in the car, Elizabeth responded.

  You did, but I thought you might need me.

  Elizabeth swallowed. I’m not sure I can do this.

  You can. I’ll stay with you. She pushed up her glasses. That is if you want me to.

  Elizabeth nodded, stepping up to the bed. I do.

  Grandma Marge’s imposter moved under the blanket. “Honey, it’s late, what are you doing out at this hour? Are you here about your mommy? Have you heard from her?”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth whispered, smiling. “She called this afternoon. They’ve been on vacation. She said they’re going to stop by to see you on their way home. They’ll bring Joey if the nursing home lets them.”

  “Oh, I feel so much better,” the imposter responded. “Thank you for coming to tell me, dear.”

  “I’m glad you feel better,” Elizabeth said, “but that’s not why I’m here. The nursing home ran out of your insulin,” she continued, retrieving two vials and a syringe from her pocket. “No worries though, I brought what you needed.” She removed the cap from a longer needle than usual, drawing up a quadruple dose of insulin, and a triple dose of a plant-based sedative. “Roll over,” she added, “so I can give you the injection.”