Harvest (40 page)

"I want to follow up that blood alcohol level on Dr. DiMatteo.

And I want it sent out to MedMark Labs."

"Not our lab?"

"No. Route it directly to MedMark."

"Certainly, Doctor," said Wendy, scribbling down the order. It was an unusual request, but one didn't question the General. "How's she doing?" he asked. "A little restless."

"Has she tried to leave?"

"No. She hasn't even come out of the room."

"Good. Make sure she stays there. And absolutely no visitors. That includes all medical personnel, except for the ones I specify in my orders."

"Yes, Dr. Wettig."

Wendy hung up and stared at her desk. During that call, three more flagged charts had been deposited there. Damn. She'd be taking off order sheets all evening. Suddenly she felt dizzy from hunger. She still hadn't had lunch, hadn't even had a break in hours.

She glanced around, and saw two LPN's chatting in the hallway. Was she the only person working her butt off here?

She tore off the order for the blood alcohol level and deposited it in the lab tech's box. As she rose from the desk, the phone began to ring. She ignored it; after all, that's what ward clerks were for.

She walked away to the sound of two lines jangling. For once, someone else could answer the damn phone.

The vampire was back, carrying her tray of blood tubes and lab slips and needles. "I'm sorry, Dr. DiMatteo. But I need to stick you again."

Abby, standing at the window, merely glanced at the phlebotomist. Then she turned back to the view. "This hospital's sucked all the blood I have to give," she said, and stared at the dreary view beyond the window. In the parking lot below, nurses scurried for the hospital doors, hair flying, raincoats flapping in the wind. In the east, clouds had gathered, black and threatening. Will the skies never clear? wondered Abby.

Behind her came the clatter of glass tubes. "Doctor, I really do have to get this blood."

"I don't need any more tests."

"But Dr. Wettig ordered it."The phlebotomist added, with a quiet note of desperation, "Please don't make things hard for me."

Abby turned and looked at the woman. She seemed very young. Abby was reminded of herself at some long-ago time. A time when she, too, was terrified of Wettig, of doing the wrong thing, of losing all she'd worked for. She was afraid of none of these things now. But this woman was.

Sighing, Abby went to the bed and sat down.

The phlebotomist set her blood tray on the bedside table and began opening sterile packets containing gauze, a disposable needle and a Vacutainer syringe. Judging by the number of filled blood tubes in her tray, she had already gone through the motions dozens of times today. There were only a few empty slots remaining. "OK, which arm would you prefer?"

Abby held out her left arm and watched impassively as the rubber tourniquet was tucked into place with a snap. She made a fist. The antecubital vein swelled into view, bruised by all the earlier vein punctures. As the needle pierced her skin, Abby turned away. She looked, instead, at the phlebotomist's tray, at all the neatly labelled tubes of blood. A vampire's candy box.

Suddenly she focused on one specimen in particular, a purple-topped tube with the label facing towards her. She stared at the name.

VOSS, NINA

SICU BED

"There we go," said the vampire, withdrawing the needle. "Can you hold that gauze in place?"

Abby looked up. "What?"

"Hold the gauze while I get you a Bandaid."

Automatically Abby pressed the gauze to her arm. She looked back at the tube containing Nina Voss's blood. The attending physician's name was just visible, at the corner of the label. Dr. Archer.

Nina Voss is back in the hospital, thought Abby. Back on cardiothoracic service.

The phlebotomist left.

Abby paced over to the window and stared out at the darkening clouds. Scraps of paper were flying around the parking lot. The window rattled, buffeted by a fresh gust of wind.

Something has gone wrong with the new heart.

She should have realized that days ago, when they'd met in the limousine. She remembered Nina's appearance in the gloom of the car. The pale face, the bluish tinge of her lips. Even then, her transplant was already failing.

HARVEST

Abby went to the closet. There she found a bulging plastic bag labelled: Patient Belongings. It contained her shoes, her bloodstained slacks, and her purse. Her wallet was missing; it was probably locked up in the hospital safe. A thorough search of the purse turned up a few loose nickels and dimes in the bottom. She would need every last one.

She zipped on the slacks, tucked in her hospital gown top, and stepped into the shoes. Then she went to the door and peeked out.

Nurse Soriano wasn't at the desk. However, two other nurses were in the station, one talking on the phone, another bent over paperwork. Neither was looking in Abby's direction.

She glanced down the hall and saw the cart with the evening meal trays come rattling into the ward, pushed by an elderly volunteer in pink. The cart came to a stop in front of the nurses' desk. The volunteer pulled out two meal trays and carried them into a nearby patient room.

That's when Abby slipped out into the hall. The meal cart blocked the nurses' view as Abby walked calmly past their desk and out of the ward.

She couldn't risk being spotted on the elevators; she headed straight for the stairwell.

Six flights up she emerged on the twelfth floor. Straight ahead was the OR wing; around the corner was the SICU. From the linen cart in the OR hallway, she picked up a surgical gown, a flowered cap, and shoe covers. Completely garbed in blue like everyone else, she just might pass unnoticed.

She turned the corner and walked into the SICU.

Inside she found chaos. The patient in Bed 2 was coding. Judging by the tensely staccato voices and by all the personnel frantically pressing into the cubicle, the resuscitation was not going well. No one even glanced inAbby's direction as she walked past the monitor station and crossed to Cubicle 8.

She paused outside the viewing window just long enough to confirm that it was, indeed, NinaVoss in the bed. Then she pushed into the cubicle. The door swung shut behind her, muffling the voices of the code team. She pulled the curtains over the window, to shut off all view of the room, and turned to the bed.

Nina was sleeping, serenely unaware of the frantic activity going on beyond her closed door. She seemed to have shrunk since Abby had last seen her, like a candle slowly being consumed by the flame of her illness. The body beneath those sheets looked as small as a child's.

Abby picked up the nurses' clipboard hanging at the foot of the bed. In a glance she took in all the parameters recorded there. The rising pulmonary wedge pressure. The slowly falling cardiac output. The upward titration of dobutamine in a futile attempt to boost cardiac performance.

Abby hung the clipboard back on the hook. As she straightened, she saw that Nina's eyes were open and staring at her.

"Hello, Mrs Voss," said Abby.

Nina smiled and murmured, "It's the doctor who always tells the truth."

"How are you feeling?"

"Content." Nina sighed. "I am content."

Abby moved to her bedside. They looked at each other, neither one speaking.

Then Nina said, "You don't have to tell me. I already know."

"Know what, Mrs Voss?"

"That it's almost over." Nina closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Abby took the other woman's hand. "I never got the chance to thank you. For trying to help me."

"It was Victor I was trying to help."

"I don't understand."

"He's like that man in the Greek myth. The one who went into Hades to bring back his wife."

"Orpheus."

"Yes. Victor is like Orpheus. He wants to bring me back. He doesn't care what it takes. What it costs." She opened her eyes and her gaze was startlingly clear. "In the end," she whispered, 'it will cost him too much."

They were not speaking of money. Abby understood that at once. They were speaking of souls.

The cubicle door suddenly opened. Abby turned to see a nurse staring at her in surprise.

"Oh! Dr. DiMatteo, what are you..." She glanced at the closed curtains, then her gaze swiftly assessed all the monitors and IV lines. Checking for signs of sabotage.

"I haven't touched anything," said Abby.

"Would you please leave?"

"I was only visiting. I heard she was back in SICU and--' "MrsVoss needs her rest?The nurse opened the door and swiftly ushered Abby out of the cubicle. "Didn't you see the No Visitors sign? She's scheduled for surgery tonight. She can't be disturbed."

"What surgery?"

"The re-transplant. They found a donor."

Abby stared at the closed door to Cubicle 8. She asked, softly, "Does Mrs Voss know?"

"What?"

"Did she sign the consent form for surgery?"

"Her husband's already signed it for her. Now please leave immediately."

Without another word, Abby turned and walked out of the unit. She didn't know if anyone noticed her departure; she just kept walking down the hall until she'd reached the elevators. The door opened; the car was filled with people. She stepped inside and quickly turned her back to the other passengers and faced the door.

They found a donor, she thought, as the elevator descended. Somehow they found a donor. Tonight, Nina Voss will have a new heart.

By the time the car reached the lobby, she had already worked out the sequence of events that would be taking place tonight. She had read the records of other Bayside transplants; she knew what was going to happen. Sometime around midnight, they would wheel Nina into the OR, where Archer's team would prep and drape her. There they would wait for the call. And at that precise moment, a different surgical team in a different OR would already be gathered around another patient. They would reach for scalpels and begin to slice skin and muscle. Bone saws would grind. Ribs would be lifted, exposing the treasure within. A living, beating heart.

The harvest would be swift and clean.

Tonight, she thought, it will happen just the way it has before. The elevator door opened. She stepped out, head bowed, eyes focused on the floor. She walked out the front doors and into a driving wind.

Two blocks away, cold and shaking, she ducked into a phone booth. Using her precious cache of nickels and dimes, she called Katzka's number.

He wasn't at his desk. The policeman who answered the extension offered to take a message.

"This is Abby DiMatteo," she said. "I have to talk to him now! Doesn't he have a pager or something?"

"Let me transfer you to the operator."

She heard two transfer clicks, then the operator came on. "I'll have Dispatch radio his car now," she said.

A moment later, the operator came back on. "I'm sorry, we're still waiting for Detective Katzka to respond. Can he reach you at your current number?"

"Yes. I mean, I don't know. I'll try calling him later." Abby hung up. She was out of coins, out of phone calls.

She turned and looked out the phone booth, and saw scraps of newspapers tumbling by. She didn't want to step out into that wind again, but she didn't know what else to do.

There was one more person she could call.

Half the phone book had been torn away. With a sense of futility, she flipped through the white pages anyway. She was startled to actually find the listing: I. Tarasoft.

Her hands were shaking as she dialled collect. Please talk to me. Please take my call.

It was four rings before she heard his gentle "Hello?" She could hear chinaware clattering, the sounds of a dinner table being set, the sweet strains of classical music. Then: "Yes, I'll accept the charges."

She was so relieved, her words spilled out in a rush. "I didn't know who else to call! I can't reach Vivian. And no one else will listen to me. You have to go to the police. Make them listen!"

"Now slow down, Abby. Tell me what's happening."

She took a deep breath. Felt her heart thudding with the need to share her burden. "Nina Voss is getting a second transplant tonight," she said. "Dr. Tarasoft, I think I know how it works. They don't fly the hearts in from somewhere else. The harvests are done right here. In Boston."

"Where? Which hospital?"

Her gaze suddenly focused on a car moving slowly up the street. She held her breath until the car continued around the corner and vanished.

"Abby?"

"Yes. I'm still here."

"Now, Abby, I understand from Mr Parr that you've been under a great strain lately. Isn't it possible this is--'

"Listen. Please listen to me.t' She closed her eyes, forcing herself to stay calm. To sound rational. He must not have any doubts at all about her sanity. "Vivian called me today from Burlington. She found out there weren't any harvests done there. The organs didn't come from Vermont."

"Then where are the harvests done?"

"I'm not entirely sure. But I'm guessing they're done in a building in Roxbury. Amity Medical Supplies. The police have to get there before midnight. Before the harvest can be done."

"I don't know if I can convince them."

"You have to!There's a Detective Katzka, in Homicide. If we can reach him, I think he'll listen to us. Dr. Tarasoft, this isn't just an organ matchmaking service. They're generating donors. They're killing people."

In the background, Abby heard a woman call out: "Ivan, aren't you going to eat your dinner? It's getting cold."

"I'll have to skip it, dear," said Tarasoft. "There's been an emergency..." His voice came back on the line, soft and urgent. "I don't think I need to tell you that this whole thing scares me, Abby." "It scares the hell out of me, too."

"Then let's just drive straight to the police. Drop it in theft laps. It's too dangerous for us to handle."

"Agreed. One hundred percent."

. "We'll do it together. The bigger the chorus, the more convincing our message."

She hesitated. "I'm afraid that having me along may hurt the cause."

"I don't know all the details, Abby. You do."