Blood of Eden (22 page)

Authors: Tami Dane

BOOK: Blood of Eden

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JT said, “She was sleeping in a monitored room. We'll find out what happened very soon.”

Mom clearly wasn't happy with JT's nonexplanation. “I'm your mother, for God's sake. You can't tell your mother what happened?” This was not good. Mom was getting herself wound up. That always ended in disaster.

“Mom. Please. If I could tell you, I would. Don't get upset.”

Mom flung her hands in the air. “My only daughter is in the hospital after being attacked, and I'm told I shouldn't get upset? What kind of shit is that?” She stomped toward the exit. “I'll be back in a little while. I need some fresh ... air.”

I knew what kind of “air” she was going for. I didn't try to stop her, hoping it would help her calm down. It could go either way. She might return, telling me she was seeing pink talking elephants everywhere and end up being escorted upstairs to the psych ward. Or she might return in a mellow
whatever
mood. Naturally, I was hoping for the latter. It was the most frequent result. But the former had happened, more often than I wished. For whatever reason, pink animals of all varieties were a common hallucination for poor Mom when she was stressed.

After Mom headed out to self-medicate, JT gave my leg another pat. “It's tough handling these situations with family. They don't understand in the beginning.”

“Yours didn't come to the hospital,” I said, just realizing it for the first time.

“No. They learned already they aren't going to get any information. Anyway, my life wasn't on the line. They would've been there if there had been any chance I was checking out of the hospital in a hearse.”

“I'm not sure my mother will ever get to that point.”

“She will. In time.”

The doctor strolled in. Asked me how I was feeling and informed me I was being moved upstairs to a room shortly. Mom wandered in just as I was thanking the doctor. She plopped into a chair, turning red eyes toward me.

“Sloan, I'm feeling better now,” she said.

“Good,” I said.

JT slid off my bed. “I guess I should be getting back to the house. I'd like to get a look at those tapes. Mrs. Skye, are you ready to go?”

She smiled. “Sure.” She gave me a hug and a bunch of kisses. “I'll call you later, baby.”

“Okay, Mom.” To JT, I said, “Thanks again.”

“No problem.”

I settled back to watch a
Seinfeld
rerun. But just as I got comfortable, a woman's shout, followed by a huge crash, had me bolting upright in bed.

Mom?

I looked at what seemed to be a flurry of frenzied activity at the nurses' station. I looked at the wires and tubes sticking out of my arm and chest. I looked out at the nurses' station again. At the monitors behind me.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I grumbled.

“Damn it, listen to me!” Mom yelled. “Those fucking monkeys are going to hurt my daughter!”

Another crash.

I slid off the bed and walked as close to the door as I could. The tubes stretched. The wires attached to the little pads glued to my chest tugged. I unplugged them, and the monitor started shrieking. I grabbed the bag of water off the IV pole and headed into the melee. Mom was swinging arms and legs, fighting off invisible monkeys and visible security guards. JT was standing nearby, trying to get her attention.

I stomped toward them, but someone grabbed my arm. I turned. My nurse. “You need to be in bed. We can't have you out here.”

“That's my mother.”

The nurse didn't care. “Yes, but we can't have you out hereâ”

“I can calm her down.”

“No. Absolutely not. You must get back in bed now.”

Mom screamed as a huge man tackled her to the ground. “You fucking bastard! This is a free country. I have rights.” She kneed the security guard in the groin and rolled out from under him as he fought for breath.

A pair of guards dove at her. It was two on one now. Mom didn't stand a chance.

I was desperate. This wasn't the way to handle her. She was terrified. And they were making it worse. “Please.” I broke away from the nurse and headed to Mom's aid; the clear bag was cradled in my arms and a plastic tube dragged on the floor. “Mom, I'm right here. It's okay.”

Mom clawed past one of the men, crippling him with another well-placed shot to the groin. “Sloan? Where'd the monkeys go?”

“JT caught them.” I pointed at JT.

JT gave me a what-the-hell look, then nodded. “Sure. They're all locked up now.”

Mom grabbed me, hugged me. “Thank God.” Next she hugged a bewildered JT. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for taking care of my baby girl. She needs a man like you. Brave and strong. You two will have a wonderfulâlife together. You can be married where I married her father.”

Fabulous. Mom was already planning our wedding.

“Yes. I'm sure we will have a wonderful l-life,” JT stammered, looking a little stiff.

I swallowed a sigh.

A pair of large male nurses strolled up, talking to Mom in soothing voices, offering her a chance to rest for a while. Mom let them guide her to a wheelchair. As they wheeled her toward the service elevator, the sound of her raves about her future son-in-law echoed down the halls, barely reaching the now eerily silent nurses' station.

The nurse, who looked absolutely livid, grabbed the sloshy bag of water out of my arms and gathered the plastic tubing, lifting it off the floor. “One of your rapid diagnostic tests came back positive. You must be quarantined. Now we may have to quarantine everyone here as well, at least until the rest of your test results are back.”

I looked at JT.

He visibly sighed.

I looked at the nurses, at the doctors.

They weren't happy. In fact, they looked like they wouldn't mind doing a few uncomfortable medical procedures on me, just to make me suffer a little.

“I'm sorry.” Feeling like shit, I shuffled back to my room.

A thousand fearful images and dire suggestions glance along the mind when it is moody and discontented with itself. Command them to stand and show themselves, and you presently assert the power of reason over imagination.

âSir Walter Scott

The hospital wasted no time getting me admitted and moved to a room. A private room. At the far end of a very quiet hall.

Clearly, they didn't want to risk me running around, exposing any more people with whatever I'd been infected with. Made me wonder what the hell I'd tested positive for.

Something airborne?

Nobody had bothered to share my test results with me yet. That made me feel a little twitchy and uneasy. Whatever it was, it had to be a very virulent bug, extremely contagious. To test positive for anything mere hours after exposure seemed impossible. But clearly the hospital staff was taking no risk. Everyone who came into my room from that point on wore full protective gear.

By morning, I was feeling isolated. Trapped. Alone. And scared.

When would somebody tell me what was going on?

I tried to rest, but I couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes, the strangest images played through my mindâmy cells being invaded by millions of little twisted bits of RNA, viruses.

I tried to distract myself by watching television, but there was absolutely nothing interesting to watch. I had no computer. That was killing me. The first thing I would do if I got my hands on one was look up tropical diseases and see which produced such rapid positive tests for infection.

Why wasn't anyone telling me what I had?

I stared at the people rushing past my glass door and tried not to cry. I failed. I had a good, long cry and then started pacing the floor, trying to convince myself that I would walk out of this hospital soon. If I couldn't, if this was going to be the end for me, I prayed I would see my mother once more, and Katie. I would tell them both how much they meant to me. How much I loved them. And I would see JT again, and I would tell him how crazy I was for him too. How I wished we could have had the chance to see where this thing between us was going.

I even made a few promises to “The Big Guy,” if he'd pull a miracle out of his hat. I had little hope he'd come through for me. After all, up to this point, I hadn't done much praying. How serious could he take me when I didn't come to him until I needed something? But it was worth a shot.

Just as I was making yet another promise to God, the door to my room opened, and JT, gowned up like a doctor about to perform surgery, strolled in. I swallowed a sob as he opened his arms and flung myself at him. He caught me, of course. He sat on the bed and held me. Stroked my hair.

“Do you know what's going on?” I asked, my face buried in the crook of his neck. “Am I going to ... ?”

He lifted my chin until I looked into his eyes. “The nurse misspoke. You did have a blood test come back abnormal. Your white cell count is elevated. Your initial ELISA screen came back positive for VHF, but that test has been known to produce false positive results in as many as three percent of patients tested.”

VHF. I knew that abbreviation. Viral hemorrhagic fever. Those bugs were nothing to play around with. Ebola. Marburg, Lassa virus, Rift Valley fever, Crimean-Congo hemorrhagic fever, Hantaan, Seoul, yellow fever, and Kyasanur Forest disease. There was no known cure for any of them. And the mortality rates were very high. Chances were, even with the best medical care, if I had been exposed to one of those diseases, I had, at best, a few weeks to live. And the last week or so of my life would be hell on earth.

“Oh, God,” I mumbled. “They didn't tell me.”

“That's because they have nothing to tell you yet. They're running some more tests.”

“How much longer will I have to wait?”

“Not much.”

“What about you? Are you being quarantined?”

“No. I've been cleared. So has everyone else who was in the lobby. VHFs aren't known to be airborne contagions”

That news helped me breathe a little easier. “Well, at least that's something to be glad for.”

“You're going to have plenty of other reasons to be happy soon.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He shrugged. “I just am.”

“Could you do me a favor?” I asked.

“Sure. Anything.”

“Could you check on my mom?”

“Already done. I had a feeling you'd want to know how she was doing. She's been admitted. They're making some adjustments to her medications. No word yet on when she will be released.”

“Thanks.” A tear slipped from the corner of my eye.

JT thumbed it away and smiled. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes.” I dragged my hand over my eyes, determined I wouldn't cry anymore. At least, not until I had something to really cry about. “Could you bring in my go bag? And my computer? It's the only thing at this point that's going to distract me from worrying about my test results, my mother ... everything.”

“Will do.” He gave me one last snuggle. Kissed my head through the surgical mask and left. A little while later, a nurse carried in my laptop case, handed it to me, and took half a gallon of bloodâor so it seemedâfor tests. I spent the rest of the day avoiding reading medical articles on Ebola or any other viral hemorrhagic diseases. Instead, I spent my time brainstorming our case.

Many hours later, I was no closer to figuring out who the killer was or understanding her motives. I did a lot of staring at my computer screen, and not a lot of reading. I saw very little of my nurse. Heard nothing from the doctor. At about eleven that night, I succumbed at last to exhaustion and fell into a shallow sleep that was broken and plagued by strange, disturbing dreams.

Early the next morning, before I'd paid a visit to a shower, or even had a chance to get rid of my morning breath, a doctor I hadn't met before moseyed into my room; a younger man, probably an intern or med student, trailed behind him. Neither the doctor nor the intern was wearing plague gear. I hoped that was significant.

He walked right up to me and offered a hand. “Dr. Patel. How are you feeling this morning?”

I didn't take his hand right away. “Tell me I don't have Ebola and I'll be doing great.”

“You don't have Ebola or any other communicative disease.”

I have never felt so relieved. I almost started to cry again. “Oh, my God. Thank you!” I kicked my feet over the side of the bed. I was so ready to get my things together and get out of this place. “I'll call my roommate for a ride home. What time should I tell her to come get me?”

“We're not ready to release you yet,” Dr. Patel said.

“What? Really? Why?”

“I've referred you to another doctor.”

“For what?” I asked, thoroughly confused.

“I think it's better if she told you. She'll be in shortly.” Before I could ask for more details, which he was clearly unwilling to share, he led his little underling out of my room.

I padded to the door and peered out. Right away, a nurse hustled up to me, introducing herself as my nurse for the day shift. She wore a bright smile as she informed me I had to stay in my room. I wore an equally bright one as I asked if I could take a shower.

“Not quite yet. Your doctor will be in soon.” She removed my IV and the stickums on my chest. I was grateful to be free of all the tubes and wires.

“Can I at least brush my teeth and use a toilet, instead of the bedpan?”

“Certainly.” She watched me gather some things from my overnight bag. “I'm sorry,” she said, eyeballing my mouthwash. “You can't use that here. I'll have to keep it for you.”

Since when was mouthwash a public hazard? “Okay.” I handed it to her and locked myself in the bathroom, enjoying the privacy. When I came out, a woman in a white coat was waiting for me.

“Dr. Doyle.” She extended a hand, shaking mine. “How are you this morning?”

“Much better now that I know I'm not going to die from a hemorrhagic fever.” I gave her a what's-up look.

“Dr. Patel had some concerns,” she told me, “and after looking at your medical history, he felt it was best to recommend this consultation.”

“What were his concerns? I gotta admit, you've got me wondering what this is all about.”

“Can you tell me if you've ever been attacked before, like last night?”

“No. What exactly are you looking for?”

“I'm not looking for anything.” She gave me a reassuring smile, the kind that my mother's doctor used to calm her down when she was on the verge of an episode.

Oh, God.

“You're a psychiatrist,” I said.

“Yes, I am.”

“Are you here to talk to me about my mother?”

“ No.”

“What exactly were Dr. Patel's concerns?” I asked.

“We have reason to believe the attack you experiencedâwhich I am sure seemed very real to youâwas, in fact, a hallucination.”

I swear to God, I didn't see that coming. “What?”

“You do know schizophrenia has a significant genetic component.”

“Of course.” It had been a hallucination? “Are you sure about this?”
There is no way I could have hallucinated the broken window. The window might not have anything to do with the attack, though.

“Because of your work with the FBI, we were able to gather some information about the episode. This information has led us to the conclusion that you have experienced at least one hallucination. I suspect you've experienced more.”

I didn't know what to say. Yes, all along I'd known about the studies linking genetic factors to schizophrenia. I'd lived under the shadow of the disease all my life, waiting, watching, wondering if someday I'd see pink monkeys bouncing around the room, or end up huddled in a closet, thinking an alien was trying to control my mind. But the years had passed, and with each day that I didn't see anything out of the ordinary, I grew more confident that I'd been spared.

“Miss Skye, what are you thinking?” the doctor asked.

“I've been having these awful nightmares, but they started after I took the job with the FBI. And the case I've been working is a little strange, so I thought they were just my mind's way of coping with the stress.”

“If this is the case, and you just recently started having hallucinations, I'm confident we'll be able to control your symptoms with medication... .”

I nodded and tried to concentrate on what the doctor was saying, but it was so hard. She was trying to tell me, nicely, that I was mentally ill. That the things I'd seen and felt and smelled weren't real. It was so hard to accept. I fingered the spot on my neck where I thought I'd been bitten.

That horrible pain hadn't been real?

For the first time in my life, I understoodâreally understoodâmy mother. I'd never imagined what a shock it would be to hear that what was plain in your eyes, what was more vivid and terrifying than anything you'd ever seen, was no more real than Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny.

“... moved to another bed for a day or two until we're sure your condition is stabilized.”

“Can I use a phone?” I asked.

“You will have limited use of the telephone. We'd like to give the medication a chance to work and need to keep your stress level as low as possible.”

“Okay.”

“Very good, Miss Skye. We'll get you moved into your new room very soon. If you have any questions, you can let your nurse know and she'll page me. I'll be in the building until this afternoon.” After giving me another of those smiles, Dr. Doyle headed out. My nurse wandered in shortly afterward and handed me a small plastic cup with a couple of tablets in it. She waited until I'd swallowed them, then headed out.

The next thing I knew, I was handed my clothes and told to dress. I was vaguely aware that time had passed. I felt like my head was in a fog, or I was standing on the outside of my body, watching the world through a blurred window. I nodded as the nurse read my discharge instructions, and I was wheeled to the front door. Katie's car was parked outside. I shuffled to it, tossed my bag into the back and sank into the front seat.

“How are you feeling, Sloan?” Katie asked as she pulled the car away from the curb.

“I don't know. Okay, I guess.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No, not really.”

“Maybe you'd like to rest for a while?” Katie suggested.

It seemed as if I'd just woken up. Could it be time to sleep already? “What time is it?” I asked as I stared out the window.