ADRENALINE: New 2013 edition (21 page)

Rain let loose with a fury on top of Peter’s Mountain. Karen turned on her lights and windshield wipers and tried to pay more attention to the road. She was coming up on the first and sharpest of the hairpin curves, going about forty mph.

She touched her brakes, intending to slow down. Nothing happened. She pushed harder on the pedal, and it slid all the way to the floorboard with sickening ease. Again, nothing happened to slow the vehicle. The Beetle even accelerated from the downhill grade of the road.

“Oh shit!” she said, jarred completely out of her daydreams. Something’s horribly wrong. She mashed on the pedal with all her strength. Nothing. The guardrail loomed ahead, perhaps thirty feet and getting closer all the time.

I’m not going to make it!
The Beetle was now going forty-five mph and still accelerating.

She quickly downshifted to first gear and popped the clutch, gears grinding loudly. Even the Bug’s renowned synchromesh transmission was not up to this abuse. The engine howled in distress when the gears finally engaged. The car shuddered, and she was thrown forward by the force of deceleration. The car slowed, but it still didn’t seem like enough.

The guardrail was fifteen feet away. She grabbed the emergency brake lever and ripped it with all her might. The car slowed further.
Please God, help me!

The Beetle plowed through the rusted guardrail at twenty mph, retaining just enough momentum to send it over the steep embankment. It rumbled and rolled like a toy, bouncing off rocky ledges and stunted trees before coming to rest on a gentle slope wedged up against two larger trees. Amazingly, Karen still clung to consciousness. She felt no pain, although she could feel something warm running down her neck and soaking her shirt. She looked down and saw dark blood mingle with her strawberry hair and thought the colors were beautiful. She lifted her head with effort and had trouble focusing her eyes. Finally, she made out an exquisite spider web pattern in the front windshield. My head made that, she thought giddily. So pretty. Sadly the shattered glass wouldn’t stay in focus and began to dim. She was so tired, so weak, all she could do was listen to the rain drum heavily on the crumpled metal roof. Time for a quick nap, she thought and closed her eyes.

The office intercom buzzed. Julie, the group’s secretary, said, “Doctor Marshall, Sister’s calling for you now.”

“OK, thanks.” He hastily scooped up the photos and replaced them in the box. A single newspaper clipping was left on his desk.
He unfolded the old, yellowed paper carefully and read the headline—“Nurse dies in accident on Peter’s Mountain.” He shook his head, folded the clipping and put it back. He locked the box and closed the drawer.

The intercom came to life again. “Doctor Marshall, I just got word from the OR,” Julie said. “They had another cardiac arrest down there. It was Landry’s case.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Melissa Draybeck spun the dial hard on her combination lock. “Damn it!” she muttered to herself. Finally, on the third try, the lock yielded to her nervous fingers. She tugged her scrub top over her head.

“Hey, Melissa,” Sue Hoffman said. “Heading out?”

Melissa startled from the question; she hadn’t noticed Sue’s approach. “Yeah, I’m going home,” she replied. She thought her own voice sounded high and squeaky.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, there,” Sue said. “You OK? You look a little pale.”

“Yeah, fine,” Melissa said halfheartedly as she stripped off her pants. Sue was a comfortable work friend, and they occasionally socialized outside of the hospital. “You leaving?”

“Naw, I’m taking Bonnie’s evening shift. I need the OT,” Sue said, as she opened her locker several rows over. “I’m just getting
some dinner money.” She clanged her locker shut and turned to leave. “See ya.”

“Take care.” Suddenly, Melissa was struck by an idea and called to Sue excitedly, “Hey Sue, wait. You were there.”

Sue stopped and turned, a puzzled look on her face. “What’re you talking about?”

“I heard Landry’s guy cased and all, but what went on?”

“Oh, that,” Sue said. She took on a thoughtful expression. “Well, it was a little odd. He was a real big guy, not really fat, just big. Right after Doctor Landry intubated him, he went into V-tach out of the blue.”

“Did Landry have trouble with the tube?” Melissa asked.

“No, didn’t seem to.”

Melissa ignored her clothes for the moment and just stood there in her underwear. She stared at Sue and asked, “Sue, did you notice anything funny when you set up the room?”

“No, what do you mean?”

“I don’t know—anything weird or out of place?”

“No, I don’t think so. What’re you getting at?” Sue asked, frowning. She seemed to be tiring of the twenty questions.

“Oh, nothing, forget it.” Melissa decided not to tell Sue what she had seen in OR#1. She knew it sounded odd—kinda crazy, seeing shadowy shapes and all. She didn’t want to appear like a frightened child. And Sue had a pretty big mouth.

“The only thing I remember was that Landry was his usual cool self.”

“Thank God it was him,” Melissa said as she slid her jeans on.

“Can you imagine if Ayash or Raskin had been in there?” Sue remarked, shaking her head.

“Oh my God,” Melissa said and pulled her ski sweater on. “That would have been a real mess.”

“Yeah, I like it when Doctor Landry’s in the room.”

“We all know that, Sue.” This was what irked her about Sue. Sue always had a soft spot for Dr. Landry.

“No, I mean you can relax about the anesthesia.” Sue paused and added dreamily, “He does have a soothing voice, though. And his eyes—they’re bedroom eyes, if I ever saw them.”

“For crying out loud, girl—he’s married with a bunch of kids.” Melissa put on her boots.

“Yeah, but rumor is he’s not so happily married,” Sue said, her eyes twinkling.

“Oh, get off it. Doctor Landry’s a real family man. He’d never run around.”

“Well, not according to my friend, Liz, the respiratory therapist. She saw Landry getting pretty cozy with one of the nurses at a Case One.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Melissa said, but couldn’t stifle her curiosity. “Who was it anyway?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Jenny Stuart.”

“Who’s that?”

“The new blond over in SICU.” Sue stuck her chest way out and primped her hair for effect.

“Oh, that one.” Melissa’s heart sank.

“Remember Melissa, men think with their dicks,” Sue added matter-of-factly.

“You’re disgusting.” Melissa grabbed her ski jacket and headed for the door.

Melissa walked out of the locker room and made for the elevators. She fumbled in her pocket for her keys and noticed her hands were still shaking badly. “God, I need a cigarette!”
Someone was probably in that room, and I should tell somebody
.

The elevator chimed, and she walked on and pressed “L.” The elevator chimed again, the door whooshed open, and she emerged into the lobby. Although Melissa was usually comforted by the
religious statues, especially the Virgin Mary, now they had little calming influence. She paused on her way out and stopped at the bank of pay phones in an alcove just off the main lobby. She glanced around. None of the phones were being used. Melissa searched in her pocket for some change. Abruptly she turned from the phones and took several steps away toward the exit. She stopped in mid-stride and wheeled about to return to the phones: her mind was made up. She would call Dr. Landry and tell him what she had seen. He would know what to do. He wouldn’t make fun of her either.

She quickly glanced around again. The phones were still deserted.

“Oh shit,” she said when she realized she didn’t know his number.
This thing really has me spooked
. She quickly pulled out the dog-eared phonebook and started to look up Landry’s number.
What if it’s unlisted? What if he’s not there? What if his wife answers?

“Shut up,” she commanded her bothersome mind. “Look, here it is.” She put in her quarter and dialed the number, while preparing to speak. Melissa was so engrossed arguing with herself, that she barely noticed the man coming out of the lavatory just around the corner.

“Hi, this is Laura,” came Laura Landry’s happy voice over the line. “You’ve reached seven-six-three-two-one-two-eight. Doug and I can’t come to the phone right now. At the beep, please leave a message and we’ll get back to you. Thanks.” BEEP

“Hi, uh—this is Melissa Draybeck. I’m calling for Dr. Landry . . .”

He walked as close as he dared, not wanting to appear suspicious. He had been watching Melissa closely all day. He was nervous about how much she had actually seen earlier. Now, she was behaving erratically—this worried him more. He needed to get
close enough to hear some of her conversation, but he didn’t want to frighten her, especially if she had recognized him earlier. He stopped at a nearby phone, turned his back to her, and hid behind the divider. There. He could just make out bits of her speech.

“. . . Landry . . . need to . . . you . . . call . . . tonight . . . urgent . . . I talk . . .”

The man waited for Melissa to leave and quickly walked off in the opposite direction. He had heard enough. “Shit,” he muttered to himself. “Trouble.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

He craned his neck to get a better look at the street sign he had just passed. “Where the hell is it!” he muttered in disgust. “Locust Lane—Shit! That’s not it. Need Birch Street.” He tromped the accelerator, and his Saab Turbo growled and leapt forward like a beast of prey. “Light’s fading fast. Gonna be hard to see the fucking street signs.” It was only 4:20, but being mid-December, the sun was sinking fast. “All these seedy neighborhoods with their duplexes, apartment complexes, and row homes look alike. How do they ever find their way around? Wait, there’s one—Cherry Street—Shit!”

He was agitated and he knew it.
Damn bitch
. He slammed down his car phone. She was forcing him into action; he had to get to her before she talked to Landry. He’d planned to confront her directly, but had just called and found out she wasn’t home. He thought for a moment, then smiled. Just getting into her apartment would freak her out. Perhaps this was better. He knew a thing or two about locks from his days in the service; he had some tools in the trunk. A threatening note would do the
trick. Maybe a good ransacking was in order? He’d figure it out when he got there. He cranked up the car’s heater a notch; he couldn’t seem to get warm.