Do No Harm (49 page)

"Well, you do what you have to do." Diane sounded disappointed, though he couldn't tell if that had to do with him or the miserable position in which she'd found herself. Again. "I have to change my wrappings. I'll talk to you later."

He hung up the phone and felt the bitter, distinct sensation of defeat settle over him like a noxious rainfall.

The cockatoo immediately became animated when David withdrew the drape from the bronze cage, preening itself and gnawing at its black claw. Dressed in his white coat, ready for work, David regarded the bird with weary irritation.

"M&M's," it squawked. "M&M's. Where's Elisabeth?"

"Resurrecting the Russian economy."

David angled the seed carefully into the cup, but some fell anyway. Grumbling to himself, he crouched and tried to pinch it up off the floor.

"Where's Elisabeth?"

David brushed his hands off above the small metal trash can in the corner. "Leading a nudist hike on the Appalachian Trail."

"M&M's," the cockatoo squawked. David headed from the room as the bird continued to hop about the cage. "Where's Elisabeth? Where's Elisabeth?"

David paused by the door, hand on the frame. "She's dead," he said.

THE ER was a madhouse. Broken arms. Unusual rashes. A few flu cases. Three patients asked David about the cut on his lip. Carson still hadn't returned--when David called, he got his machine. "I wanted to check in on you and remind you we're a med student short," David said, after the beep. "We need you here. I hope we'll see you soon."

David's alienation was high-school apparent. His colleagues only spoke to him in brief, informational exchanges, and the nurses and interns had taken to not meeting his eyes when they spoke with him. He'd always been a popular attending, so he'd found his rapid estrangement from his own staff over the past five days to be unsettling. With both Carson and Diane missing from the ER, he felt suddenly without allies. And the press had ensured that his plight in the division was mirrored elsewhere. Alienated. Vilified. His reputation shattered.

David barely had time to update the board before a family of five came in on stretchers after their van overturned. Don was supposed to be providing double coverage, but David had to dispatch a nurse to find him in the cafeteria. By the time Don showed up, David and the two residents had everyone stable. Without apologizing, Don retreated to the CWA, where he lounged at the back counter, checking his stocks in a twice-folded section of the LA Times. Knowing that his general stress level had stretched his own patience to the point of snapping, David elected not to confront him.

Despite his vigorous efforts, he had trouble finding his way back into his routine. He continued seeing patients, somewhat distracted, thinking of Clyde's flat eyes sunk in his doughy face, the way he'd stood in the abandoned lot and calmly watched David drive away. He was relieved that Ed planned to install security devices in his house.

The sleeplessness caught up with him eventually, making him irritable and more intolerant than usual. A wailing toddler came in with a pro wrestling action figure's head wedged up his nose. An overwrought Beverly Hills mom with tonsillitis droned on at adenoid pitch. David found himself taking less time with patients than he ordinarily did.

Jill caught up to him washing his hands in Trauma Twelve. "That urine came back for McKenzie in Six, you've got a--"

"Slow down, Jill."

"--food poisoning in Two, and there's a football player with a ruptured spleen in Four."

"I have my hands full, Jill. Where's Dr. Lambert?"

"We haven't seen him for about fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes? Again? Are you kidding?"

Throwing his stethoscope across his shoulders, David stormed toward the doctors' lounge, drawing several stares from workers and patients. He flung the door open, and it struck the wall with a bang. Black marker in hand, Don was standing by the far wall near the composite of Clyde. Target rings were drawn around Clyde's face, beneath which was written: wanted dead or maimed--$1000 reward.

Don's deep blush grew visible even beneath his five o'clock stubble. He cleared his throat, lowering the marker. "Look, Dave--"

"You've been missing from the floor for fifteen minutes--again--and I catch you drawing pictures like a sadistic little bully."

Still flushed, Don slid the marker into his pocket. "I didn't write that," he said.

David felt drunk with fury. "Don't insult my intelligence."

"You've been a bit on edge lately, Dave. Let's not jump to hasty conclusions."

"Get the fuck out of here." Gripping Don firmly around the biceps, David pulled him toward the door. "I want you out of my ER. Right now."

Don pulled his arm roughly from David's grasp, but kept walking toward the door at David's prompting.

"All right, Chief," Don said. "I'll let you flex your muscles and be the big ethical guy again since it worked out so well for you last time."

Ignoring him, David guided him through the door into the ER, his hand on the base of his back, hurrying him. By the time they reached Hallway Two, Don's uncomfortable expression and David's propelling him toward the door made the situation quite evident. Nurses watched with gleeful interest; patients stared; a girl with a teddy bear tittered. The phone rang and rang in the CWA, but no one reached for it. Don slapped David's hand from his back and walked faster toward the swinging doors.

David's face still burned with anger. When Don paused at the hall's end, David raised his arm, pointing at the doors.

"Imagine that," Don said. "A guy who pulled the plug on his own wife without hesitation getting all worked up over some acid-throwing psycho."

David seized Don and hurled him through the exit. Don's feet tangled as he struck the swinging doors, and he slapped to the lobby floor, the doors fanning his red face. A news photographer popped up from his recline in one of the triage chairs, snapped several photos, then grinned as if he'd just captured Big Foot humping the shooter from the grassy knoll.

An overweight woman with a bun looked up from her needlepoint. "Oh dear," she said. The doors stopped swinging, hiding both Don and the woman from view.

David turned back up the hall and faced the myriad staring faces. One of the nurses began to applaud tentatively, but stopped when no one joined in.

David headed slowly back to the board. "Next patient," he said.

"A fucking disgrace is what it is," Sandy barked. The elevator stopped at the second floor with a ding and everyone cleared out, though plainly it was not everyone's floor. When the doors closed again, she threw the EMERGENCY STOP switch and glared at David, lowering the turkey sandwich she gripped like a football in her right hand, careful to hold it clear of her maroon silk blouse. David gestured for her to wipe off the few crumbs that dotted the corner of her mouth, and she all but swung at his hand.

Don had called her after retreating from the ER. Sandy had come running from the cafeteria and followed David through the corridors, failing in her attempts to keep a lowered voice and drawing looks from everyone they'd passed. David had moved through the halls purposefully. Something had rekindled inside him, and he felt an overwhelming sense of freedom. He'd been weathering Sandy's reprimand without the feelings of remorse and shame he would have expected.

"You've done it this time, and there's nothing I can do to cover your ass," Sandy said. She shook her head. "Your mother must be spinning in her grave."

"My mother is hardly in a position to spin disapprovingly."

Sandy cocked her head in condescending fashion. "Maybe that's what this is all about." He didn't give her the satisfaction of a reaction, but she raged on, undeterred. "Manhandling a colleague. Hurling him out of the ER in front of his staff and patients."

"My staff," David said.

"Well, maybe not anymore. The board will be convening tomorrow at nine in the morning, and you'll need to appear. They've been less than thrilled at your new controversial self as is, so this is only fuel to the fire. You finally did it. You gave them something tangible." She flipped the switch, and the elevator continued to rise. "You know damn well that as a physician--and particularly as a chief--you are a representative of this hospital everywhere you go."

Something crossed tracks in David's mind. Clyde's intense and growing fixation. The dark waters of motive. He waited for something to resolve but couldn't discern it, and Sandy was still yelling.

"You've turned this business with Clyde into a three-ring circus." Her cheeks were getting flushed. "The Mayor called me this afternoon. The Mayor, for Christ's sake."

"You don't think I know this, Sandy? You don't think that I, of all people, am aware of the stakes here? At all levels? You're not the one getting strung up by a reactive press. I've been under a magnifying glass every day of this thing. You think I'm doing this for my own enjoyment?"

"Your motives aren't relevant here, David." Sandy took a deep, angry breath. "I've been urging you to take some time off for a long while, and it would have served you well. But you stayed here, and you fiddled around with this case, and you crossed the line, despite my attempts to help you quietly and keep you within the bounds of discretion. And I'll tell you something else. If you keep pushing this--with the cops and the media and the private eye routine--your future at this institution will be jeopardized."

The elevator opened again, and David stepped out. He turned and faced her from the hall. "Listen, Sandy, you can handle this however you want, but let me tell you something. Don Lambert is a lazy piece of shit, and I'm tired of putting up with his incompetence. I am a physician. I am trained to take care of people, and that's what I'd like to do--my way. I'm tired of smug, second-rate physicians; I'm tired of the HMOs; I'm tired of so-called medical professionals more interested in punishment than repair, and while we're at it, I'm tired of you and your legal considerations. So thanks for the recommendation--I will be taking some of that vacation time, starting right now, to pursue this case and set things right, because I might be the only one who can. And if you or the board are displeased with that, you be sure to tell someone who's actually interested."

The doors shut in Sandy's surprised face, and David headed down the corridor to the ICU. The halls were still and silent.

"She's been having a tough time," the ICU nurse said. "And she hasn't had any visitors lately. Should I tell her you're here?"

"No," David said. "That's all right. She actually asked I not visit. I've just been concerned."

The nurse gave him an odd look.

"Are the skin grafts taking?" David asked.

"Some are, some aren't. Right now, our primary objective is making sure she doesn't get septic."

Nancy's looks were the least of their concerns.

"I was just dropping by to let you know that I'm not going to be around for a while. The hospital." He was surprised by how difficult that was for him to say. "But if there's anything I can do to facilitate Nancy's treatment, please let me know."

"Thanks, Doctor." The nurse touched his arm curtly, then pivoted and headed back to the nursing station.

Twilight crept through the windows, turning the room gray and ashy. The curtains were spread to Nancy's bed, ever so slightly, and David could see through the gap.

The front half of her crown was little more than mottled flesh, the hair having all fallen out. Her eyeballs had shriveled further, and the sockets were oozing a thick pus. The skin of her face was the worst of all--most of the grafts had not taken, and the flesh hung loosely in gray and yellow squares, a grotesque patchwork. A cheek wound had begun to contract, drawing her right nostril down toward the corner of her mouth.

Her lips, cracked and oozing, moved slowly; she was murmuring something to herself.

David wondered whether the plastic surgeons were working on her as fastidiously as they were on their other patients. There was little reason to risk complications and infection from plastics work; after all, Nancy would never have to see her own face again. Probably a blessing.

To think this was all caused by a confused, pathetic man and a beaker of alkali. Nancy would probably survive, and drag out the rest of her days in pain, hidden from her own sight and the eyes of others. Clyde's perverse turning of the tables.

The mindless embolus that had claimed Elisabeth's brain seemed almost humane by comparison.

Nancy's lips continued to whisper, and when David realized what she was saying, his mouth flooded with saliva as it sometimes did before he vomited.

"I wanna die," Nancy was saying. "I wanna die I wanna die I wanna--"

David drew back quietly and headed for the door, feeling his pulse race.

A man sat on a visitor's chair beside the last unoccupied bed in the row, his shoulders hunched, his hands dangling between his legs. Jenkins. David had not noticed him on his way in.

Jenkins wore a blank stare, his cheeks hollowed with grief. David paused before him, his breathing slowing. Jenkins's eyes moved slowly up to David's face, but showed no glint of recognition. Jenkins lowered his head again, studying the tiled floor. "What the fuck are you doing by my sister's bed?" he murmured.