Self-Defense (10 page)

I replaced it. She licked her lips, and
her eyes opened completely.

Trying to talk, but all that came out were
wordless croaks. Tears in her eyes.

“It’s okay, Lucy.”

She fell back. Her fingers grew cold and
loose.

For the next twenty minutes, she slept as
I held her hand. A nurse came in, checked her, and left, closing the door hard.
Lucy woke up with a start, systolic pressure jumping.

Panic in her eyes.

“You’re okay, Lucy. You’re in the
emergency room at Woodbridge Hospital, and you’re doing fine.”

She started coughing and couldn’t stop.
The oxygen line flew out again. Each spasm lifted her from the mattress, an
involuntary callisthenic that tightened her face with pain. She coughed harder
and spit up vile-looking gray mucus that I wiped away.

When the coughing stopped, I put the line
back.

It took a long time for her to catch her
breath.

“What,”
she said, very softly and hoarsely,
“happen?”

“You’re in the emergency room. Woodbridge
Hospital.”

Confusion.

“What’s the last thing you remember,
Lucy?”

She gave a mystified stare. “Sleeping.”

Her face screwed up and her eyes closed.
More pain—or shame? Or both?

The eyes opened. “Hurts.”

“What does?”

“Head.”

She moaned and wept.

I checked the contents of her IV bag:
glucose and electrolytes, no analgesic. I pressed the nurse call button. A bark
came through a wall speaker. “Yes?”

“Miss Lowell’s in pain. Is there anything
she can have?”

“Hold on.”

Lucy had another coughing fit and spit up.
She stared at me as I wiped her lips.

“What... happened?” She started to shiver
and her teeth chattered.

I put another blanket over her. She said
something I couldn’t make out and I bent down to hear her.

“Sick?”

“You’ve had a rough experience.”

“What?”

Tears trickled down her cheeks, flowing
under the oxygen line and into her mouth. Fear was twisting her face like
taffy.

“Sick?” she repeated.

I took her hand again. “Lucy, they say you
tried to commit suicide.”

Shock widened her eyes.

“No!” A whisper, more lip movement than
sound.
“No!”

I gave her fingers a soft squeeze and
nodded.

“How?”

“Gas.”

“No!”

Behind her, the monitors jumped. Heart
rate up, systolic blood pressure rising. The hand in mine was a sodden claw.

“No!”

“It’s okay, Lucy.”

“No!”

“I believe you,” I lied. “Try to relax.”

“Didn’t!”

“Okay, Lucy.”

“No!”

“Okay, just calm down.”

She shook her head. The oxygen line shot
out of her nose like a slingshotted stone. When I tried to replace it, she
turned her head away from me, chest heaving, breathing harshly.

The door opened and the same nurse came
in. Young and heavy-faced with chopped hair. “What’s going on?”

“She’s upset.”

“What happened to her line?”

“It came loose. I was just putting it
back.”

“Well, we’d better get it
right
back.” She took the line from me and tried to insert the nosepiece into Lucy’s
nostrils.

Lucy turned away from her, too.

The nurse put one hand on her hip and
twirled the tube with the other.

“Now you listen to me,” she said. “We’re
busy and we don’t have time for fooling around. Do you want us to run tape all
the way around your head to keep the line in? It’ll have to be really tight,
and believe me, your headache will get a lot worse. Do you
want
that?”

Lucy bit her lip and shook her head.

“So be still, it’s for your good. We’re just
trying to take care of you and fix you all up.”

Nod.

The line went back in. “Good girl.” The
nurse checked the monitors. “Your pulse is up to ninety-eight. Better relax.”

No response.

“Okay?”

Nod.

The nurse turned to me. “Are you family?”

“Her therapist.”

Quizzical look. “Well,
that’s
good.
Maybe you can get her calm.” She headed for the door.

“About her pain,” I said.

“She can’t have anything. Not until we
really make sure she’s been cleaned out.”

Lucy croaked.

“Sorry, hon, it’s for your own good.” The
nurse swung the door open, letting in fluorescence and noise. “Just try to
think of something pleasant. And don’t get upset again, it’ll only make your
head feel worse.”

The door closed. I picked up Lucy’s hand
again. Lifeless as a glove.

She said, “I
didn’t.
”

I nodded.

“Really!”

“I believe you, Lucy.”

“G’home?”

“They want to watch you for a while.”

Her back arched.

“Please?”

“It’s not up to me, Lucy.”

She tried to push herself up from the bed.
The line flew out, hissing and coiling on the bedcovers like an angry snake.
The monitors were dancing.

“Listen to me,” I said, putting my hands
on her shoulders and easing her down without resistance.

Again, I replaced the line. She pushed up
against me.

“Take m’home!”

“I can’t, Lucy. That nurse was no
diplomat, but she was right about one thing: You need to relax right now. And
to cooperate.”

Terrified looks, roller-coaster eyes.

More coughing.

“Why,” she said, nearly breathless, “can’t...
home?”

“Because they think you’re a suicide
attempt. They’ve got you on something called a seventy-two-hour hold. That
means legally they can keep you here for three days and offer you psychiatric
treatment. After that, if you’re no danger to yourself or anyone else, you’ll
be free to go.”

“
No!”
She moaned and rolled her head
from side to side.

“It’s the law, Lucy. It’s for your own
protection.”

“No!”

“I’m really sorry you have to go through
this, and I want to see you up and around as soon as possible. That’s why you
need to cooperate.”

“You... treat?”

“I’m sorry, Lucy. I’m not on the staff
here. A psychiatrist named Dr. Embrey will be treating you, a woman. I’ll talk
to her first—”

“No!”

“I know it’s frightening, Lucy, but please
ride it out.”

“Three
days
?”

“I’ll stick by you. I promise.”

More moans. She flinched and managed to
raise a hand to her temple.

“Ohh!”

“Settle down,” I said. “I know it’s hard.”

“Ow!”

Her hand left her head and settled at her
side. She poked her rib cage with one finger.

“What is it?” I said.

“Broken.”

“You think you broke a rib?”

Headshake. “Me. Broken.”

“No, you’re not,” I said, stroking her
face. “Just a little bruised.”

“No... broken.”

“You’ll be fine, Lucy. Try to get some
rest.”

“Milo.”

“You want me to tell Milo you’re here?”

“Tell him... someone—”

“Someone?”

“Someone—”
Struggling for breath, she took a deep, wheezing
inhalation.

Her heart rate had climbed over a hundred.
A hundred and ten...

“Someone—”
she repeated. Poking her ribs. Terror in her eyes.
“Someone...”

“Someone what?” I said, leaning in closer.

“Killing me!”

She sank back and fell asleep. It took the
monitors another minute to slow down.

I waited a while, then left to find some
coffee. A man down the hall said, “Excuse me, are you her doctor?”

He looked to be around thirty. Five-ten,
broad-shouldered, stocky, and round-faced, with light brown hair, a golf-course
tan, and wide brown eyes. His blue blazer had some cashmere in it, his burgundy
shirt was broadcloth. Beige linen trousers broke perfectly over oxblood tassel
loafers.

“I’m Dr. Delaware, her psychologist.”

“Oh, good.” He extended his hand. “Ken
Lowell. Her brother.”

Movement down the hall distracted both of
us. An old man, waxy white and skeletal, was being eased by an orderly into a
wheelchair. Blood dripped from under his hospital gown, painting a winding,
crimson trail on the gray linoleum floor. His eyes were blank and his mouth was
open. Only his tremoring limbs said he was alive.

Ken Lowell stared as the chair was wheeled
away. No one rushed in to clean up the blood.

He turned back to me, looking queasy. The
good clothes made him seem a tourist who’d wandered into a slum.

“Dr. Delaware,” he said. “She was asking
for you. I thought she was delirious and wanted to go to Delaware for some
reason.” Shaking his head. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s recovering, physically. Did you
bring her in?”

He nodded. “Has she done this before?”

“Not as far as I know.”

Pulling a burgundy silk handkerchief out
of his breast pocket, he mopped his forehead. “So what happens to her now?”

“She’ll be here involuntarily for at least
three days, and then a psychiatrist from the hospital will determine a
treatment plan.”

“She could be committed against her will?”

“If the psychiatrist—Dr. Embrey—believes
she’s still in danger, she can go to court and ask for an extension. That’s
unusual, though, unless the patient makes another suicide attempt in the
hospital or experiences some sort of massive breakdown.”

“What led up to this, doctor? Was she very
depressed?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss details
with you—confidentiality.”

“Oh, sure. Sorry. It’s just that I don’t
know much about her. For all practical purposes, we’re total strangers. I
haven’t seen her in twenty years.”

“How’d you come to bring her in?”

“Pure chance. It’s pretty scary. I was
looking for Puck—my half brother, Peter—Lucy’s brother. We had a dinner
appointment at my hotel at seven, and he didn’t show. It bothered me; I didn’t
think it was something he’d miss. So I waited for a while, then drove out to
his apartment in Studio City. No one was home. He’d told me how close he and
Lucy were, so, on a long shot, I decided to look for him at her place. It was
after ten by the time I got there, and I wouldn’t have gone up but her lights
were on and the drapes were partially open. When I got to the door, I thought I
smelled gas. I knocked, got no answer, looked through the window, and saw her
kneeling on the kitchen floor. I tapped the glass hard and she didn’t move, so
I broke the door down and pulled her head out of the stove. She had a pulse and
she was breathing, but she didn’t look too good. I called 911. It took a really
long time to get through. While waiting for the paramedics to arrive, I looked
up hospitals in the phone book and found this place. When they still hadn’t
shown up, I said, Screw this, and brought her in myself.”

He stuffed the handkerchief back in his
pocket and shook his head.

“You’re from San Francisco?” I said.

“How’d you know that?”

“Lucy told me.”

“She was talking about me?”

“I took a family history.”

“Oh. Actually, I’m from Palo Alto, but I’m
down in L.A. quite a lot on business—real estate, mostly buyouts and
bankruptcies. What with the economy, I’ve been down here more than usual, and I
started thinking about connecting with Puck and Lucy—it seemed wrong that we
never even tried to get together. Lucy wasn’t listed but Puck was, so a few
weeks ago I called him. He was shocked to hear from me; it was awkward. But we
talked a few more times, finally agreed to try dinner.”

“Was Lucy going to be there, too?”

“No, he didn’t want her to be—protecting
her, I guess. It was a trial balloon. The deal was that if it worked out, we’d
get her involved... he was pretty nervous about the whole thing. Still, I was
surprised when he stood me up.”

“Have you heard from him since?”