Fatal Reaction (20 page)

CHAPTER 51

This is not how I die.

Colby told herself this over and over, even after finding the pruners rusted shut. Her head ached, the pain spreading across her scalp and down her neck making it hard to concentrate. She closed her eyes, careful not to leave them closed for too long, and collected her scattered thoughts.

First thing she needed to do was stop the insulin.

Backtracking proved ten times harder than the initial trip, but she kept at it, making small gains until she resumed her starting position.

The IV site ached and had started to bleed. She considered ripping the line out with her teeth, but the sheath was too deeply embedded and secured with tape.

The only option was to chew through the tubing, if she could get to it.

She examined the setup. Two bags, one large and one small, hung from a rusted nail on the side of a wooden shelf. Gravity fed the line. A pile of refuse—red gasoline cans, trash bags, and boxes—blocked her from reaching it.

She scooted as close as she could to the clutter and pushed off her toes, thrusting herself forward. The cut where the glass from the broken light at home had embedded in her foot made her yell out in pain.

The chair toppled, landing her in an awkward half-kneeling position. A metal bur on the nozzle of an old gas can tore through her pants, and she screamed when it sliced through her skin. The cut burned, and the pins and needles sensation in her legs became much worse. She rested unevenly on the pile of trash and was too low under the line to reach it. She drew her knees toward her chest, moving like an inchworm toward higher ground. The sharp edge of the metal can bit into her shin, and she felt the warmth of too much blood pouring down her leg. She didn’t need to see the cut to know it was deep. The next movement had the bur embedded.

“Please, oh please.”

She put all of her remaining strength into a final maneuver, a push forward that had her inverted, like a hammock. She shimmied until she caught the line between her teeth and bit down hard, refusing to let go.

The skin in her arm lifted as the sheath fought against the tape. The near-blinding pain paled in comparison with the wound in her leg that she was certain needed stitching. She clenched her teeth so that the tubing was seated between her molars and sawed them back and forth. The cold temperature of the room made the plastic rigid, and she didn’t feel like she was doing more than pinching the line. She repositioned the tube between her canines. A puncture would weaken the line and make it easier to bite into two. Her jaw ached, but she kept at it. A leak of fluid bathed her dry tongue, and she nearly cried out with joy. She spat, careful not to swallow the liquid rolling down her chin, and gnawed until the final thread broke. The tubing hung straight down, spilling the bag’s contents onto the floor. The tension let off her arm and alleviated one of her many pains. A temporary wave of relief washed over her, the sense of accomplishment fortifying her will to fight. Severing the line was the first step, but if she was going to survive, it couldn’t be the last.

CHAPTER 52

Sergeant Mike Richardson greeted Jared at the front door of the police station with a tense smile and an outstretched hand that seemed more a formality than a genuine greeting.

“Twice in one day, I’ve got to ask . . .”

Jared shrugged, unsure of what to say that would account for his reporting a homicide and a missing person less than twenty-four hours apart without implicating himself in either. “It’s not my day, I guess.”

Mike led him to his cluttered office down the hall, which smelled of cologne and room-temperature lunch meat. A thirteen-inch tube television sat on a shelf in the corner, and the weatherman on the screen delivered his lunchtime forecast. Part of a ham and cheese sandwich rested on a piece of white deli paper, and there was a faint mustard smear on Mike’s chin.

“Can I get you something? Coffee? Soda? Sandwich?”

It had been hours since Jared’s last meal, but the stress of the day had gotten to him. “No thanks. I’m not hungry.”

“I imagine you’re not.” Mike wiped his face with a napkin, slipped on a pair of outdated eyeglasses, and looked over the paperwork that Jared was sure was his statement about Marco. “I suppose we ought to start at the beginning, Dr. Monroe.” He pushed the rest of his lunch aside.

“Jared, please.” Dr. Monroe, in Jared’s mind, was his father.

“All right, Jared. When was the last time you saw or spoke with Colby?”

“Last night, around midnight.” Mike started to jot down information, but Jared stopped him. “Wait, no. She didn’t answer last night. I left her a message around midnight, saying I’d be coming to the house, but late. It’s been since Monday, I think.” Working long shifts tended to blur the days together.

“Coming to the house? What do you mean by that?”

Jared didn’t realize the awkward phrasing until after he had said it. “I recently filed for divorce. I’ve been staying either at a hotel or in the hospital’s on-call room. My lawyer sent a process server to the house with the papers yesterday.”

“I see. What time was that?”

“Before noon, I think.”

“And after that?”

“I finished my shift, met up with a friend, and the next morning went to see Marco.”

“But you never saw or spoke with Colby?”

“No.”

“Not even when you went home?”

Jared hadn’t said he went home, but he knew it was implied. Ana had told Jared all about Mike, and as the questions hit closer to his night with her, he felt like he was being interrogated by her father. “I didn’t end up going home.”

“I see. Another night at the hotel?”

“Not exactly.” Jared looked over Mike’s shoulder at a breaking news report and a grainy rendering of his house on the television. Terri Tate stood on the edge of his front lawn, reporting the scene with a somber expression befitting grave news. “What’s going on?”

Mike shook his head. “Word travels fast.”

Jared strained to listen to the report, and Mike turned off the TV.

“Does your wife have any enemies, Dr. Monroe? Anyone who would want to hurt her?”

“Enemies? I don’t know. I’d say after her stunt with Dorian Carmichael,
I
might be her biggest enemy.”

The mention of Dorian’s name piqued Mike’s interest.

“Tell me about that.”

Jared, confident that telling Mike about Colby’s infidelity would stop the line of inquiry leading to Ana, rambled on about the night of the County Memorial event. “And that’s why I filed for divorce.”

“Do you have reason to believe that she’s still seeing Dorian?”

Jared shrugged. “No reason not to.”

“Any chance he’d hurt her?”

Jared was about to answer, when a ruckus erupted in the hall.

“Excuse me,” Mike said. “What’s going on?”

A midthirties officer with a thick, brown mustache and a name tag that read “Chipowski” stopped in his doorway. “You’re going to want to see this.”

“I’m in the middle of an interview, Chip.”

“It can wait.”

“It
can’t
wait. I have a missing person to find.”

“I know,” Chip said, “and the woman who just staggered in said she knows something about it.”

Jared craned his neck to see a pair of officers escort Noreen to the room across from them. She was filthy, her hair disheveled, and her right eye blackened. Her full bottom lip was split, and she was limping.

“Is that Noreen?” Jared said, barely able to believe it.

“You know her?” Mike said.

“I ought to. She’s Dorian Carmichael’s nurse.”

CHAPTER 53

Emily opened her eyes and turned her head toward an unfamiliar, melodic female voice.

“Welcome back,” the woman said. “I’m Dr. Cynthia Davis.” Five foot six and dressed in a navy pencil skirt with a conservative but well-fitted striped top, she looked as much like an Ann Taylor model as she did a physician. Her sleek hair was tied neatly back, and a fringe of straight bangs emphasized her hazel eyes.

“Where am I?” Emily said.

Derrick leaned over the bedside railing, tears spilling from his swollen, green eyes. “You’re at County Memorial,” he said, and looked at Dr. Davis, who was noting Emily’s vitals. “Is she all right?”

“Her temperature and heart rate are back to normal, and the antibiotics appear to be working. She’s out of immediate danger, but there are no guarantees about the transplant. I’m sorry.” Dr. Davis continued her examination. “Emily, an infection in your surgical wound has spread to your bloodstream. Can you tell me how you’ve been feeling since you were discharged?”

Emily looked at Derrick and then away. “Not great. Nausea, vomiting, redness around the incision, and my stomach hurt, but I thought it was the medication making me sick.”

“Can you describe the pain for me?”

“It was a dull, kind of tugging pain.”

“She didn’t tell me any of this,” Derrick said. “Emily, why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

Derrick sighed. “I’d say that plan backfired.”

Dr. Davis referred to the meds list Emily was brought in with. “You were taking all of your medications as prescribed?”

“Yes, she was,” Derrick chimed in. “I gave them to her myself.”

Emily shook her head. “I didn’t take them all. I told you, a couple of them were making me sick, and I didn’t want to throw up. We were supposed to be getting a nurse—”

Derrick cut her off. “I called a dozen times. No one called back, and no nurse ever showed up.”

Dr. Davis lowered the bedside railing and folded back the sheet. “I’m going to take a look at your wound, Emily, if that’s all right.” Emily nodded, and Dr. Davis removed the dressing. “The drain was clogged, but we were able to get it working again.” She pressed the upper-right quadrant of Emily’s stomach, expressing a syrupy fluid from the drain. “I’m sorry. This might be a bit uncomfortable.”

Emily looked away, unable to watch.

Derrick’s cell phone rang, and he stepped away when Dr. Davis flashed him a look of warning.

Emily did her best to listen in.

“Yes, Dad. She’s awake.” Pause
.
“I don’t know. I’ve left a dozen messages; he’s not calling back.” Pause
.
“Yes, Dad. I realize the kind of money you laid out.” Pause
.
“Yes, Dr. Davis is taking care of her. I have to go, Dad. Love to Mom.”

Emily could hear Bill, her father-in-law, speaking even as Derrick hung up the phone.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Everything okay?” Emily said.

Dr. Davis fixed Emily’s gown and covered her with the blanket.

“Everything’s fine, hon. You know how Dad can be.”

She did, well enough to know that her health and wellness were more important now that the Warrens were invested in her surgery’s outcome.

“Dr. Davis, not that I don’t appreciate what you’ve done for us, but I wonder if you might explain why you’re filling in for Dr. Carmichael, or if you’re aware of his whereabouts. I’ve been unable to reach him since Emily’s discharge, and I’m worried that he should be here, knowing her case as he does.”

Emily knew it was his father talking.

“I assure you that I’ve been working in this research field for nearly ten years and that I am well qualified to handle Emily’s case. I think you’ll find me equally as skilled and cautious as my colleague. If you’d prefer to speak to the administration about replacing me on this case, it’s your choice, but you’ll be doing Emily a disservice. I understand your concern is for Emily’s well-being, as is mine. With regard to Dr. Carmichael’s whereabouts, I’m as much in the dark as you are.”