A Heartbeat Away (21 page)

31

Christian Mitchell had started actually looking forward to working at the Sixth Street free clinic. The patients weren't as demanding as the ones in the university clinic, and the parents said thank you. The only thing Christian didn't like was dealing with the clinic's director, Clara Rivers.

It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon and Christian was finishing up with a young patient with an ear infection. “I think we have some samples that will work,” he said to the patient's mother.

She balanced the fussy toddler on her hip and sighed. “I hope so. I can't take another night of crying.”

He studied the bags under her eyes, wondering if he should ask her a few questions about how she might be dealing with her frustrations. She was a single mom with a history of alcohol abuse. The child may have been at risk for physical abuse, but Christian had seen no signs of bruising. He decided to let it pass. “I'll be right back.”

He went to the large walk-in closet where the clinic kept a supply of donated samples. In the center sat a large rolling multidrawer station, much like a mechanic might use for his tools. It was the clinic's controlled-substance locker. He noticed that the lock wasn't secure. He thought about closing it but went ahead and opened the top drawer for a quick look.

“Whoa,” he muttered to himself. The top drawer contained vials of morphine, fentanyl, and Demerol. He closed it and opened the lowest and largest of the drawers. There, inside several large paper bags, were pharmacy bottles already labeled with patient information. He lifted a bottle to read.

“What are you doing?”

He looked up to see Carla, red-faced and glaring from below gray-streaked bangs.

“Just looking for an antibiotic.”

“We don't keep them locked,” she said, lifting the bottle from his hand. She dropped it back in the bag, shut the drawer, and secured the lock.

“Why do we have prescription narcotics already labeled with patient names?”

“Palliative care brings over deceased patients' medicines.”

“You dispense used meds?”

“They are not used. They are perfectly good. The clinic runs on a shoestring budget. You should know that by now.” She put her hands on her ample hips. “I'll do what I need to do to help this clinic survive.”

Christian wondered about the ethics of reissuing meds that had gone out to other patients. He knew that it had to violate pharmacy standards. From what he'd seen in the bottom drawer, most of the bottles seemed to be nearly full.

He was about to protest but knew it wouldn't get him anywhere. He decided he'd ask the pharmacist back at Johns Hopkins. He turned his attention to the shelves of antibiotic samples and ignored the director. He selected a supply of amoxicillin.

The director seemed to be watching him and didn't care to make it subtle. “You've got your medicine,” she said. “Now run along and get back to work. The waiting room is overflowing.”

He returned to his patient and handed the medicine to the mother. “Use this three times a day. Bring him back in ten days and we'll take another look.”

Christian moved to the next room. He lifted a chart from the rack on the door. The chief complaint was listed as ‘leg pain.'” He entered the small exam room to see two adult women, one white and one black, and a young black male. He looked at the young man. “You must be Mike,” he said, extending his hand. “I'm Dr. Mitchell.”

The African-American woman spoke. “I'm Kesha, Mike's mother. This here's my friend Dakota.”

He looked at the second woman, a slender female with short dark hair, multiple ear piercings, and a right nose stud. She wore sunglasses. A druggie. A gray sweatshirt covered her arms.

There was something familiar about her.
Dakota?

“What brings you to the doctor, Mike?”

“We took the bus.”

Christian smiled. “What I mean is, why did you come?”

“My leg,” he said, pulling up a pair of baggy Nike shorts. “It's been sore for a while. Then I noticed this lump.”

“How long is a while? A month? A week?”

“Longer. Since Christmas.”

“Did you ever get hit in that area?”

Kesha shook her head. “Ain' no one beatin' this child.”

“How about accidentally? Maybe during a football game or something?”

“No,” Mike said.

“Is it changing? Getting bigger?”

“Seems to be growing.”

“Are you on any medicines? Do you have any other illnesses?”

“No.”

Christian touched the top of the exam table paper. “Okay, could you hop up here for me?”

Mike moved to the exam table.

“Lie down.” Christian reached out his hand. “I'm going to examine you.”

Mass deep anterior quadriceps. Fixed. Rock hard. Mildly tender. Four by six centimeters.

He felt over his left femoral area.
No lymphadenopathy.

Christian started down a list of things that felt like that. The short list began and ended with rare cancers. “I'd like to order a few tests. A blood count. A chest X-ray.”

Kesha shook her head. “His chest is fine. It's his leg.”

Christian didn't want to explain that he was looking for spread of cancer to the lungs. Metastasis. Instead, he just said, “It's routine.” He scribbled an order and filled out an X-ray request. “We don't have an X-ray unit here, but if you take this to City Hospital, they have an agreement with us. Can you bring Mike back here to see me on Friday after the X-ray?”

Kesha looked at her friend. “Can you come with us?”

She nodded without speaking.

Christian studied her face.
Could it be? It's been more than a dozen years. The hair color is wrong. I want to see your eyes.

He reached out his hand. She looked at it and kept her head down. She didn't accept his hand. “I didn't catch your name.”

“Dakota Jones.”

That voice.

Kesha took the hand that Christian still held out toward Dakota. “Thanks, Doc. We'll see you on Friday.”

He smiled. “Sure. Just stop at the desk on your way out to make an appointment.

He watched them go.
That's crazy.
He shook his head.
She must be Emily Greene's twin. Separated at birth.

The height is right. Her build and shape are the same.

He thought for a few minutes but couldn't seem to shake the feeling that he knew her. He walked back to the waiting room, but they were already gone. He exited the front door and squinted at the sun. He looked across the parking lot to a bus stop just down the sidewalk. A bus was pulling up. The door opened.

He shouted after her, “Emily!”

He watched as she turned her head toward him.
Recognition.

He took a step toward the bus.

She shook her head, turned, and leaped onto the bus.

He jogged a few steps, but the bus pulled away.

He thought about her sweatshirt, the sunglasses, and the piercings.
She definitely looked when I called her name. Oh, Emily—what has happened to you?

Tori ate. And ate. In fact, she couldn't remember when her appetite had been better.

When she looked across at Phin, he raised his eyebrows.

“What?” she said, licking her fingers. “Haven't you ever seen someone enjoying your cooking before?”

He shrugged, smiling. “I just thought that with all the stress, well, I didn't expect you to be hungry.” He shook his head. “Someone threatens your life, sends you a heart in the mail—that kind of stuff can mess with your appetite.”

She offered a smile and wiped her mouth. “Maybe things are different now.”

He looked at her, waiting for an explanation.

She took a sip of iced tea. “After the phone call the other night, I'll admit, I was scared. Really scared. But I didn't want to call you.” She halted and looked up to see the hurt register on his face. “Sorry,” she whispered.

She took another bite of chicken. And more salad. Then she continued. “The way I see it, I was petrified because I was in charge.”

He squinted at her. He didn't understand. “Was?”

She nodded. “I raced around town, running through yellow lights, making sudden turns, convinced someone was following me. I checked in at the Jefferson downtown. I couldn't sleep.”

She paused to eat again. When she stabbed another bite of chicken, Phin's hand came down on hers. “Oh no you don't. Not until you tell me what's going on.”

“Okay.” She set down the fork. “It's not really so complicated. I started reading a Bible I found in the nightstand. There was a little directory to tell you what verses to read if you needed peace. I read, ‘Come unto me all you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'” She looked into Phin's face. “You don't understand how much those verses impacted me. I felt
drawn
. I wanted what Jesus was offering. I knew I was doing a bad job at running my life. I mean, look at me. Sure, I'm a good surgeon, but I've alienated everyone I've worked with.” She paused before adding, “And managed to run off most of the people I care about.” Their eyes met for a moment before she looked away.

She went on. “Phin, before my transplant and all this trouble, I never wanted to believe. But lately, that's changed. I knew in my heart that I wanted to believe that God could love me more than anything else.” She sighed. “Maybe Charlotte was right about the 316 message. Maybe I needed to believe ‘for God so loved the world.'

“So,” she said, “I found a prayer printed in the back of that Bible and I prayed it. Phin, I gave up control.”

He smiled.

She wrinkled her nose. “I'm still a little scared. But not enough to kill my appetite.” She laughed.

So did he. “That's obvious.” He reached for her hand. “This is the best news ever. It's what I've been praying for.”

She looked up. Phin was wiping his eyes. “Must be the pepper,” he said.

“Don't start,” she said, sniffing. “I won't be able to eat.”

She remembered her purchase earlier that day. “I have something to show you,” she said, standing up and heading toward the front door where Phin had placed her suitcase. Inside was her new Bible. She wanted Phin's approval of her choice. She hesitated and stole a glance through the front window.

An SUV with tinted windows was parked at the edge of the next block across the street. “Phin, I think I recognize that car. It followed me out of my neighborhood last night.”

He came to her side. “I haven't seen it before.”

“Is there another way out of here? We can't stay here.”

“There's a back door from the basement, up the stairs into the backyard. But my car is parked out front.”

“There's a bus stop on the next street over. We can take a bus back into town and rent a car.”

“Then where?”

“Baltimore. I've got to see the tape of my interview.”

Tori followed his eyes as Phin looked back at the kitchen. “I'll do the dishes. We'll leave the lights on. Go pack a bag.”

He took a step toward the stairs. “Wait, what did you want to show me?”

She waved him off. “Just a little purchase I made today. I'll show you later.” She glared at him. “Now go!”

32

They waited for dark before closing the front curtains and turning on the bedroom lights and closing the blinds. Before leaving, Tori again watched the SUV from a darkened upstairs bedroom. For a few seconds, the face of someone in the front seat lit up with the flicker of a cigarette lighter. Indeed, someone was waiting in the car. Waiting and watching.

They exited the back basement door and crept across the lawn to an alley behind the townhouses facing the next street. They stood in the shadow of a maple until they saw an approaching bus and then ran to the stop to enter.

It was two miles to an Enterprise car rental; Phin had called ahead and reserved a midsize car. Inside, he was given the keys to a blue Honda Accord. He hoisted their luggage into the backseat. In a few minutes, they were on Interstate 95 North.

A few minutes into the ride, Tori closed her eyes.

She awoke as Phin was exiting the interstate.

“Where are we?”

“Fredericksburg. I need to either stop for the night or get coffee.”

Tori yawned. “Let's stop. We can easily drive the rest of the way in the morning.”

They found two rooms at a Holiday Inn Express on Warrenton Road just off the freeway. Phin carried her suitcase to her door, next to his. He put the suitcase on the floor inside and politely said, “Good night.” He paused. “Want to sleep in?”

“Not sure I can.”

He nodded. “Just call me when you're up. They have breakfast in the lobby.”

She didn't know what to say. They'd been so busy talking about her crisis.
We never talked about us.

If there
is
an “us.”

She closed the door, leaned toward the peephole, and watched Phin. The view was a small circle, distorted at the edges. Phin was in the center for a moment and then disappeared down the hall.

She thought about the dinner she'd made him at her home, the way they'd kissed, and the fire she'd sensed between them.

But he pulled away so quickly.
She remembered his words and how they hurt her even now: “I can't do this.”

Maybe it's not meant to be.

She thought about her new Bible and her new life.
I can only handle so much newness in my life at a time anyway.

She walked to the bathroom and looked at her reflection. She thought again of their last kiss and made a promise not to be the first to initiate a kiss with Phin again.
If he wants me, he'll have to prove it.

This is crazy. I'm on the run, perhaps with a killer on my heels, and yet my head is filled with these schoolgirl romantic ideas!

She showered, prepared for bed, and opened her new favorite book, enjoying the feel and smell of the leather.

After a few minutes, she whispered, “Good night, Father,” and turned out the light. Sleep was calling hard, and she couldn't resist.

Her mother screamed. “I want you out!”

A man's voice. Cursing.

A slap.

Crying.

Images appeared, a view into the back bedroom from behind the couch, looking through the doorway. The man had a knife. Her mother screamed again.

She didn't want to hear. She shoved her hands over her ears and crouched low, hidden by the furniture.

Bumping noises. Another scream, gurgling sounds, a heavy thud.

She waited for a long time after the screaming stopped before going to find her mommy.

She saw her on the floor. Still, like a doll in a crib. But something was wrong. The carpet was red.

The man was there too, stretched out on the bed. Snoring and smelling like he did when he drank too much.

He always drank too much.

When he wakes, he will come for me, tell me I'm the one he wants.

He hurts me.

Hurts my mommy.

The bad man has to die.

Smoke. Fire licking the ceiling.

My arm is on fire!

The dream evaporated, but as soon as it faded, another took its place.

A sense of urgency. Fear.

Someone is coming.

Blue uniform. Help?

A cop?

316! Remember this!

Pain in my head. Blurred vision. Pushed against the wall.

Being tossed against the window.

A crash. I'm falling!

Tori sat up in bed, breathing hard. She touched her forehead and wiped away the sweat.

She felt like vomiting. She lifted her hand to her mouth and took slow breaths until the urge faded.

The images had broken through her dreams.

She pulled on a silk robe and paced the hotel room, trying to quell the panic, telling herself it was only a dream.

She grabbed her room key and walked down the hallway to the next door, rapping softly at first and then with enough vigor to wake her friend.

When he opened the door, he was shirtless, wearing a pair of jeans he'd evidently pulled on to answer. “Tori? What's wrong?” He motioned for her to enter. “Did you get another phone call?”

She shook her head. “Phin, it was horrible. I had a nightmare.” She paused as he opened his arms.

She stepped forward. “I think I know what's on that interview tape.”

He reached for her face and brushed away a tear before closing his arms around her. “Hey, it's okay. I'm here.”

When Tori awoke, it took a few minutes to realize exactly where she was. She was in a hotel room. But when she went to the bathroom, the toiletry items weren't hers. They were a man's.

She walked back into the room as the realization dawned.
I slept in Phin's room.

She remembered finding comfort in his arms. He'd held her, whispering comfort. She must have fallen asleep, and he covered her
in his bed
.

Did anything else happen?

She smiled at the thought but knew the answer. She would have remembered that.

So where's Phin?

She walked back into the bathroom and thought about using his toothbrush.
I don't know him well enough for that.

She walked next door, clutching her robe around her pajamas. Knocking, she said, “Phin?”

After a few moments, he answered the door. She smiled. “So what's this called? Musical rooms?”

He chuckled. “Exactly.”

“I need my own bathroom.”

“Fine,” he groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I'll go back to my room.”

They swapped keys.

He yawned. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Give me a few minutes. I'm going to freshen up.”

He nodded but didn't move toward his room. Instead, he spoke again. “I lay awake for a long time last night thinking about the dream you told me about. Something bothers me about it.”

“What?”

“I'm not sure, Tori. The dreams don't seem to match.”

She touched his arm. “But, Phin, we're getting closer.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Almost there.”