The Children's Ward (2 page)

Three

Her new office was larger than she had expected it to be, having worked before in rooms that were little more than glorified closets. It was sparsely furnished—a desk, chair and two filing cabinets—but the exterior wall was dominated by a window that had to be at least four feet high and eight feet across.

Closing the door behind her, Dr. Quinn Logan kicked off her shoes and walked to the window to look out on the hospital grounds.

The main hospital building was situated on a slight rise, allowing the remainder of the hundred-acre site to be viewed from a vantage point. A dozen smaller buildings were scattered, seemingly at random, across the compound, and were connected by a series of pathways which snaked through the clusters of trees and bushes between the structures. The grounds were well-tended and thick grass covered the property in spite of the hot California sun.

The overall effect was of tranquility and security.

She had driven all night to get here, stopping at the apartment only long enough to unload the suitcases, and she could feel the weight of exhaustion pulling at her. She was used to working all night; as an intern and resident she’d worked her share of twenty-four hour shifts. But driving all night was worse by a factor of ten. At least when she was on call there was always something happening to challenge her mind. Something to distract her from thoughts of home.

Home.

She turned from the window and went to sit at the desk, pulling the phone closer to her. After a momentary hesitation, she began to dial, but before the line started to ring she hung up.

It would be better if she called after work, she decided, when she would have more time to talk.

For now, she’d better try to locate Dr. Joshua Fuller; it was time to go to work.

“We’re starting the program with four patients,” Joshua Fuller said, handing Quinn a small stack of charts. “These are duplicates of the medical records—including histories, test results, and treatment protocols—on all four.”

Quinn opened the first chart and leafed through the pages. “Are they all being admitted today?”

He nodded. “Russell and Abigail are already here and I saw Tessi Vincent in admitting a few minutes ago. I’ve been informed that Courtney White will be in later this afternoon.” A slight frown. “Her parents took her with them on vacation to the Bahamas.”

“Courtney has…?

“Recurrent fevers of unknown origin with a tendency to seizure.”

“Not exactly conducive to vacationing,” Quinn commented, glancing up from the charts to find Joshua watching her. “How did you choose these particular patients for the program?”

“In Russell’s case, I was covering a shift in our emergency department when he was brought in; he had fallen while trying to adjust a television antenna. Slipped off the roof and landed on his back. We initially suspected a lesion of the thoracic spine, between T-11 and T-12. His spinal cord was damaged but not severed. That was two years ago, and he hasn’t walked since. He’s in almost constant pain.” He stood and walked to the window, looking toward the new ward. “He’s a very bright boy, doesn’t like to take pain medication—he says he doesn’t think about it when it hurts—and he hasn’t given up yet.”

“Will we be able to help him?”

“God willing.”

“And the others?”

“Abigail Ballard was referred to me by a neurologist at Johns Hopkins. She’s something of an enigma; she presents the classic symptoms of a brain tumor but her CT scans are inconclusive. Tessi Vincent is hypertensive, anemic and has episodes of psychogenic vomiting. Her doctor in New Mexico had worked here several years ago and thought we might be able to help. Courtney, well…her godfather is on the board of directors.”

“A disparate group,” Quinn commented.

“But with one point in common; none of them have responded to customary treatments.” He turned to face her. “By removing them from the traditional hospital setting, we might be able to determine if outside factors are complicating their ailments.”

“Outside factors?”

“The sights, sounds, and smells of a hospital can be disturbing even to healthy adults. To a sick child, the sound of someone moaning in the night can be terrifying.” He paused. “By controlling the stimuli, we might be able to control the response.”

“It’s an interesting thought.”

“We’re going to do a full work-up on each of them, although they all have had extensive diagnostic work in the past, and see if we can’t find some answers. The answers may be unconventional, but my contention is that you treat the child rather the disease.”

Quinn nodded. “I certainly agree with that. I’ve treated children who had come to refer to themselves by their diagnoses. Ask their name and they tell you their medical history.”

“Medicine does have a way of depersonalizing the patient…”

The phone rang.

“Medicine beckons,” Joshua said, crossing the room to answer the call.

While he talked, Quinn went to the window, looking out, as he had done, on the children’s ward.

It was the most secluded of the buildings and the only other building which housed patients; the remaining structures were used for laboratories, offices, and research facilities.

As she watched, a volunteer pushing a wheelchair passed along a path which ran parallel to the main building before branching off toward the ward.

In the wheelchair, a girl with long black hair rested, eyes closed, her hand held tightly by a well-dressed woman who walked alongside. The woman carried a large stuffed koala bear and a spotted giraffe. Every few steps she leaned over and apparently whispered to the child.

Following behind was a man dressed in blue jeans and a red-checked shirt. A leather headband held back his shoulder-length black hair.

“That’s Tessi.” Joshua Fuller had come up beside her. “And her parents.”

The girl and her entourage disappeared behind a group of trees.

“I have to go over to the administrator’s office to sign the application forms for another research grant and then we’ll go over to the ward. Why don’t you go down to the switchboard and pick up a pager? In a facility this size, it’s a vital piece of equipment and things may get a little chaotic this afternoon…”

“I handle chaos very well,” Quinn said matter-of-factly.

He laughed. “Then you’re qualified for this job.”

Four

The nurse stood, blocking the doors to the ward. “Afternoon visiting hours don’t start until one p.m.,” she said.

“You don’t understand,” Alicia Vincent said with infinite patience. “My daughter is only ten years old; she needs her mother with her.”

“There are other patients in the ward, Mrs. Vincent…”

“Ms. Vincent.”

“Ms. Vincent…I can’t allow you to disturb them. I believe one of the children is sleeping.”

“I’ll be very quiet.” Her smile was frigid.

“I’m sorry.”

“Perhaps you should page Dr. Fuller…”

The man, who had been standing silently, took a step forward. “Alicia, the nurse is only doing her job.”

“Even if I wanted your advice,” she said, not looking at him and speaking slowly, “I wouldn’t ask for it.”

“Your husband is right,” the nurse began.

“He isn’t my husband. We’re divorced.” She smoothed her ash blond hair with a manicured hand. “Regardless, I would very much appreciate it if you would call Dr. Fuller because I am certain he would authorize my request.”

“If you would like to contact Dr. Fuller,” the nurse countered, “and get his permission for special visiting privileges, starting tomorrow, please do. For today, I am going to have to enforce the rules: visiting hours begin at one.”

“Thank you,” the man said, gripping his former wife’s arm and propelling her toward the door. “We’ll be back at one.”

“Don’t you ever touch me,” Alicia huffed after they were outside, pulling her arm from his grasp.

“There was no cause for that little scene in there.”

“Tessi needs me and I want to be with her.”

“
You
want, that’s the operative phrase, you want. Our daughter is very ill. Why don’t you think of her instead of yourself?”

“I
am
thinking of her.” Her eyes narrowed. “You might think of her yourself the next time you decide to drag her off into the wilderness to be next to nature.”

“A ranch in New Mexico is hardly…”

“Ranch? You call that hovel a ranch? Ha!”

“It’s better for her than a third-floor apartment in Los Angeles with winos and addicts wandering the streets.”

“I live,” she said through clenched teeth, “in a very exclusive complex…”

“I know all about where you live, Alicia. How does Tessi fit into that rarefied atmosphere? All chrome and glass, and no substance…”

“The only substance you understand is dirt. . .”

“At least it’s real.”

“Oh, it’s real, all right, no one can deny that. It’s all over the floors, the windows…I don’t know how Tessi stands it when she’s living with you.”

“Why don’t you ask her? It’s her heritage, to be among living things…”

“Like you, Little Wolf?” Her eyes glittered with malice.

“I am half Apache.”

“Half savage…you embrace a culture that died before you were born and you want my daughter to run wild like an animal.”

“You found that very attractive once,” he commented.

“I was little more than a child myself—”

“You,” he said, “were never a child.”

She stared at him. “I think it’s time I went back to court and eliminated this joint custody arrangement. You endangered your own daughter’s life by living so far from medical help…I think it’s about time I put a stop to your negligence.” She spun and strode angrily back toward the main hospital.

“Try it,” he called, raising his voice for the first time. “Try it.”

Five

Abigail watched as Tessi arranged the koala bear and the giraffe on either side of her, then lay very still between them, eyes closed and hands folded across her stomach.

Abigail had never seen anyone who looked as exotic as Tessi. Her black hair was fanned out across the pillow like fine-spun silk and her skin was a rosy golden color that reminded Abigail of the peaches her grandmother bought each summer.

Even more exotic were the tiny earrings that Tessi wore.

Her grandmother said that jewelry was a demonstration of vanity and that pierced ears were “foolish nonsense.” Abigail had accepted that, as she accepted almost everything her grandmother told her, as fact. But looking at the tiny silver and turquoise earrings, she felt a vague stirring of doubt.

She was startled to see that Tessi was crying. Tears ran down into her glossy black hair and her mouth trembled as she wept.

Abigail could not recall ever having cried, although she’d been told she was a fussy baby. It was not the type of behavior that her grandmother would tolerate, but even more, she doubted that crying served any purpose except perhaps to make another person feel guilty.

That didn’t explain Tessi, though. She looked past Tessi to where Russell slept peacefully. Neither she nor Russell had any cause to feel guilty; Russell had slept through Tessi’s arrival and Abigail had only said hello when the nurse introduced them.

It was sad, watching her cry, but fascinating too. The tears appeared to follow the same path, one after the other. Tessi’s hair must have been quite wet by now, she thought.

Gradually the tears stopped and her breathing slowed. Abigail waited until she was certain that Tessi was asleep before she allowed her own eyes to close.

It had been a long morning. It was very hard to believe that such a short time ago she’d been at home in Baltimore. She knew that she should be homesick but she was not. The house, her room, her grandmother…

Grandmother had put her in a taxi for the ride to the airport, claiming that she was not well enough to come along.

“Remember your manners,” Grandmother said, her face stern. “Don’t be giving the doctors a bad time.”

“I won’t,” Abigail said.

“They’re going to an awful lot of trouble on your behalf…” The look on her face was clearly disapproving. “Don’t add to it.”

Abigail had been relieved when the taxi drove away.

Whether or not the doctors could make her better…she had gotten away.

Six

In his dream, Russell ran.

He could feel the muscles in his legs ache but he continued on, not wanting to stop. Not ever. Heart racing and lungs straining, he started up the slight incline at the west end of their property line, across the asphalt roadway, and beyond.

There was no sound at all as he ran, not even the sound of his own breathing.

He saw no one.

Time seemed to pass quickly, as daylight faded and night came on, the moon lighting his way. The cooler air filled his lungs and cleared his head.

He was lighter than the air itself as he ran over the countryside.

Just as quickly, morning came, its pale light growing in intensity. Ahead, still distant, he could see a deserted beach, white sand shimmering in waves of heat.

He could feel sweat dripping down his face stinging his eyes. His back had begun to ache.

But it was not much farther to the water.

He ran across the sand, struggling now for every step, the sand pulling at his legs, threatening to
pitch him headlong down the beach. It burned the soles of his feet and now he could see, glinting in the sun, shards of glass and broken bottles with jagged edges.

Clouds swept in from out at sea; black swirling clouds which blocked out the sun.

The water.

He had to reach the water. His legs did not want to work but he knew—had always known— he had to keep running.

The clouds dropped down to the ground and he could no longer see where he was going.

But now he could hear it, the sound of the surf crashing on the shore. It was straight ahead and coming closer with every agonizing step.

Then…he was airborne, falling through the thick clouds which parted finally, and he saw that he had run off a cliff, and that below were the rocks.

It was happening for a second time.

He fell to the ground…