Amnesia (15 page)

“Doctor Brandon? This is Officer Bill Lowell, I was the one that…oh you do remember. Well, I have an emergency that is, well, off the record, and I need a doctor. You can? Good. Yes. Actually, why don’t I bring them down to you, it might be better. Okay. See you in about ten minutes.” He hung up the phone, his ears tingling from hearing her voice.

Quickly he tossed Curt the keys to the Volt, telling him to follow him, and closing the tailgate. He climbed into the Suburban, noting Shirley had crawled back into the truck, again whispering quietly to Beverley, and he backed out of the stall, headed toward Parkcenter.

*
             
             
*
             
             
*

Lissa hung up the phone and grabbed her shoes, grateful she hadn’t gotten undressed yet. She looked over at the clock, it was some time after eleven, wondering why Officer Lowell had decided to ask for her help. She could vividly remember his strong arms
as they encircled her just
a few
day
s ago
, and could recall the look on his face when he was comforting her. She doubted she would ever forget how nice it was to know that someone like him was watching over the city, feeling somehow safer just realizing that he was out there protecting her.

She had grown to realize over the past few days how she had taken for granted the feelings of safety in her community. She’d never given it much thought. But when her car was trashed, then the incident at the hospital, she knew that she was naïve, almost foolish for not watching more carefully. Now she only hoped to stave off paranoia, always looking over her shoulder and wondering who was after her.

After the code blue at the hospital, her blissful day was completely turned upside down. The horror of knowing that the scarred man was out there somewhere, waiting for her, had unnerved her more than she had thought possible, especially since she had no idea why he was after her. Why had he attacked the patient? Why had he destroyed her car? Why was he terrorizing her? She had no answers, only a nagging feeling that she would never be safe as long as he was free.

Finding herself in the arms of Darrion Stanton hadn’t helped her confusion either, adding more questions to her building list. The man repulsed her, his arrogance and high-mindedness adding to the subtle discomfort she already felt just being around him.

Yet when she had needed someone he had been there, his strong arms protecting and comforting her, his gentle understanding easing her fears. He had often spoken of his concern for her, and there he was when she was the most vulnerable, looking after her.

Surprisingly he had asked for nothing in return, something she had been certain would follow. Instead, when she was again composed, he simply reminded her that he was there whenever she needed him, and he walked out. She was distressed to realize how lonely she had felt when he left, yearning to be held longer, not yet ready to face the world alone.

She wasn’t alone long however. The floor supervisor hunted her down, needing her to sign charts, and reminded her that there would be a review coming up. It was mostly a formality, automatically called whenever there was a code blue, but there was the question about the Potassium overdose and how she had known it was the cause of the infarction. She sighed, pasted on her professional attitude, and rejoined the supervisor at the nurses’ station.

In addition to filing the paperwork for the formal review, she made an additional telephone call, to the police department. After struggling with an explanation to the operator she had finally been put in touch with Jack McConnell, the police captain. He had a soothing, fatherly voice, and was understanding and patient with her fears, calming her troubled heart, giving her the feeling that everything would be all right. Rather than going into the details over the phone, however, he asked her to come down to the police station to meet with him in person.

“Thank-you for coming down, Doctor Brandon,” he had said after their initial introduction at the police station, “it appears you’ve had quite a week.”

He stood and shook her hand, indicating for her to sit in the old army-style metal chair, the Naugahyde cushions showing the cotton stuffing underneath. She noted his cluttered desk with the perpetual coffee cup sitting on some old papers in the middle. She smiled, thinking that this was exactly what years of television had taught her to expect from a police captain, from the overflowing inbox to the dull green metal desk that supported it all. It also seemed somehow comforting, like the world really was still on track, despite her life being so uprooted.

“It’s been a little rough, but I’m okay,” she answered.

“I’m sure you’ll make it,” he said with a smile, “you seem pretty tough to have been through so much and still be smiling.” He returned to his own seat, rummaged around his desk for a moment, and then produced a yellow legal pad and pen, readying himself to take comprehensive notes of their interview.

“Okay,” he started, getting straight to the point, “I’ve read the report on what happened to your car. Now why do you believe that this man with the scar was the culprit?”

She leaned down and pulled the altered ID tag from her purse, handing it over the mound of paperwork to the middle-aged man opposite her.

“This was my tag; see the ink on the edges? I recognized that from when I used it on some charts I was making. It has to be my tag; the one that was stolen from my car.”

She felt nervous and uncomfortable, as if she had to defend herself, and started to regret coming there. But then she looked into the man’s face, and saw the gentle acceptance in his eyes. It was warming to see that he believed her, and it quieted the gnawing in her stomach.

He reached over and took the tag, looking closely at the picture, seeing if he could recognize it from any recent bulletins the department had received. Making no connection, he pulled a Boy Scout knife from his right front pocket and carefully slid the blade under the lamination, separating the layers to allow removal of the picture. It was immediately apparent that the film was cheap contact paper, the kind you could find in any office supply store. The picture pulled up with sheet, revealing Doctor Brandon’s face sealed beneath.

She drew in a sharp breath at the confirmation of her suspicions, newly released fear again building inside her. She closed her eyes, drew in a cleansing breath, and exhaled slowly, drawing on a reserve of inner strength to calm her. She opened her eyes, forcing a smile and bravely faced the police captain, determined that she was strong enough to weather this storm. The kind eyes boosted her resolve, and her smile became sincere, inviting the interview to continue.

“So the man ran into you, you picked up the smock, and then saw the ID. What became of the smock?”

“Actually, I left it in my car. I didn’t want to drag it with me. But I did think you may be able to get some evidence off of it, epithelial cells or some such.”

“Good idea,” the officer complimented. “When we’re done here I’ll have one of the detectives retrieve it for you. You also said in your phone call that the man recognized you but that you had never seen him before, is that right?”

“Oh yes. I’d remember a scar like that. I’ve never seen him before. But there was something about the way he looked at me that didn’t seem to quite fit.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like, well, like he was afraid of me. I could tell at first that he was angry and full of hate. But then he seemed to recognize me, and got…scared? Why would a man like that be afraid of me?”

“All sorts of reasons I can think of,” Jack answered. “Afraid that you could place him at the crime. Afraid that you were onto him, that you knew what he was up to. Afraid that he was caught. All things which are true, I might add.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she conceded, unconvinced. “It just didn’t feel like that. In some ways I was more scared of the fear than I was the hate and anger. Is he going to get worse now? Is my life in danger? Will he try to kill me?” Panic was again threatening to surface, despite her newfound inner strength.

“I doubt it will make much difference really. However, there’s no use in speculating on that at this point. We may never know for sure.” He carefully changed the subject, knowing from experience that this line of thinking was both unfruitful and paralyzing. “Now what about the medicine? Is it fairly easy to get ahold of?”

“Potassium,” she answered professionally, grateful to get the conversation back on terms she could understand. “It’s used frequently in the hospital; it’s not uncommon to find people that are deficient. We also use it with the long-term patients, to boost their levels, in conjunction with their diet. However, too much of it will cause the heart to enter arrhythmia, a condition called hyperkalemia. Just like it did to that fall victim.” She shuddered involuntarily with the memory, grateful that she had made the connection in time to save the man. “I still don’t understand why he tried to kill the poor man.”

“Ah yes, the poor man,” the policeman said. He shuffled through the pile of papers on his desk and pulled out a manila folder, filled with several sheets of paper.

“Leonard ‘Lenny’ Marconi. He was part of the Philadelphia mob for a while, a runner for his uncle Manny Marconi. He spent three years in federal prison for that, getting off early for helping put away part of the ‘family.’ He has a list of priors longer than my arm, starting from an assault case when he was in fourth grade.

“He disappeared for
a while
, and then turned up in San Diego, where he was arrested for armed robbery. He got off on a technicality then went underground. Next thing we know he shows up in your emergency room. Don’t yet know what the connection is, but if Lenny Marconi is in the middle of it, then it’s probably pretty ugly. My gut is telling me that this ‘John Smith’ was probably trying to silence one of his minions, and you just happened to be in the right place to thwart his efforts. I have a feeling we could learn a great deal about all of this from that patient of yours.”

She swallowed hard at the revelation, not really surprised, but still bewildered how she had ended up in the middle of such a big mess. She also had the nagging suspicion that it was going to get much worse before it got better.

“Who else knows about all this,” Captain McConnell asked poignantly, his voice suddenly taking on a darker tone.

“No one. At first I didn’t want to believe it myself, hoping that it was all a terrible coincidence. Then I was afraid of involving anyone else, just in case. No one should have to worry about that evil man following them.” Again her emotions threatened to break loose, wishing she didn’t have to live the nightmare either.

“You can let me worry about that now Doctor Brandon,” the policeman reassured her, his voice more upbeat now, ridding some of the darkness she felt. She could see by the determined look on his face that he meant every word of it.

“I left the syringe and the vial in the smock pocket, so you could have your crime lab look at it too. I assume you do that. I’m afraid my fingerprints are all over it and the ID tag as well, but hopefully you can get some usable prints anyway.”

She laughed at herself, realizing that she sounded just like a mystery buff trying to think ahead of the police. “I’ve probably read too many mystery novels, but didn’t think it would hurt.”

He smiled at the idea and joined her in a chuckle. He was impressed that the girl could keep her wits and sense of humor after the things that had happened to her the past few days. He couldn’t help but understand why his
longtime
friend Bill Lowell would be interested in her. He recalled that the two of them were scheduled to come over to dinner tomorrow night, and was anxious to watch the two together.

“I’m sure they’ll manage. Do you think you would be able to testify to all of this in court, once we catch the guy? I’ll need some expert testimony on all the medical stuff, and since you are already in the picture…” he trailed off, not wanting to remind her of the situation, but eager to secure her support in court.

“Of course. I want him behind bars as much, no, more, than you do, so you can count on me.”

He smiled broadly again. “Good. I’ll need to get you to fill out a formal report, so I can keep everything straight for the lawyers. And I’ll get someone down here to get that evidence from you. You’ve done a great job with all of this. You’ve sure made my life easier.”

She had spent nearly an hour getting everything down on paper after that, steeling herself as she relived the events. Then another officer escorted her to her borrowed car where he placed the syringe and medicine into two separate plastic evidence bags, took the smock and stuck it in an another larger evidence bag, then labeled them all. By the time she was finished it was after eight, and she was exhausted and starving.

Deciding to treat herself after having such a rough day, she stopped at the Olive Garden for dinner. She drowned her troubled heart in soft, hot breadsticks, and creamy Chicken Alfredo. It was her favorite meal—the perfect way to chase away doubts and bask in the simple joys that make life worth living.

While she sat in the noisy room enjoying her delicious meal, she thought back on the events of the past several days. A lot of bad things that had happened to be sure, but there were three events that stood out more than any other, and these were what captured her thoughts as she immersed herself in the meal. First was the warm comforting hand of the tall handsome police officer who so understood her feelings when she had found her totaled car Saturday morning. Then there were the amazing blue eyes of a stranger that seemed so familiar, as if she could almost remember them. And of course the soft shoulder that held her when she was about to collapse at the hospital after resuscitating Marconi. She felt like her normal, predictable life was beginning to spin around her, and she wasn’t yet sure if she yearned for the change or despised it.