Gina Cresse - Devonie Lace 04 - A Deadly Change of Power (2 page)

Melvin wrapped his arm
s around her and asked, again,
“What’s wrong?”

Jane searched her apron for a dry patch and wiped her tears.  “I went back to see Doctor Hess this morning.  All the test results came back.”  She broke into uncontrollable sobs.

Melvin turned her around to face him.  “What is it?  Please tell me,” he begged.

She raised her chin to look up into his eyes.  “Oh Mel, it’s cancer.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and she buried her face in his chest.  He held her tighter.  “Are they sure?  It could be a
mistake.  We should get another
—“

“It’s no mistake.”

Melvin rocked her slowly back and forth and stared at the ceiling.  “It’s nineteen sixty-seven for God’s sake.  We’ve poured so much money into research.  We should be able to cure cancer by now.  What’s wrong with this world?”

Jane sniffed.  “Money is hardly ever the answer.  Aren’t you the one who keeps telling me that?”

He kissed the top of her head.  “Yeah, but it can buy a lot of distraction.  You know what I’m gonna do?  That fella from Standard Oil’s been hounding me to sell my patent.  I’m gonna call him tomorrow and see just how rich he can make us.  Then you and me and Lance and Ronnie are gonna take off.  You always wanted to go to Europe.  Well, honey, pack your bags.  Anything you want, anywhere you want to go, we’re there.”

Jane backed away so she could see his face.  “But you know what they’ll do.  They’ll bury it.  They don’t want your idea to go anywhere.”

“I don’t care.  All that matters is you.  Someday, someone will have the
courage to change things, it just
won’t be me.”

It was nearly ten and Melvin was still putting tools away in the shop.  He’d replaced the hydride storage tank and bolted it down in the back of the small car he used to demonstrate his fuel-cell technology.  The little car was barely big enough to comfortably sit two people.  Most of the area behind the seats was reserved for the large storage tank.  The car had to be very lightweight to make up for the minimum horsepower generated from the fuel-cell engine. 

The shop door squeaked and he looked up to see Ronnie standing in the doorway.  Her flannel nightgown hung down to her ankles with ruffles at the collar, sleeves, and all around the hem.  She wore the pink slippers Jane had
knitted for her last Christmas
—the ones with the big fluffy pom-poms on the top.  Jane made slippers for nearly the whole neighborhood that year.  She said it took her mind off losing Snowball, the cat she’d had for nearly twenty years.

“Hey, Ronnie.  What are you still doing up?  You should be in bed,” Melvin said.

“I couldn’t sleep.”  She padded into the shop and let the door swing closed behind her.  “What’s wrong with Mommy?”

Melvin didn’t know what to say.  He continued rearranging tools in the big red toolbox.

“Daddy?”

He pushed the drawer closed, turned and picked up the tiny six-year-old.  He sat her on the edge of a workbench and pushed a strand of curly red hair from her face.  “Mommy’s sick, Ronnie.”

Ronnie studied his face.  It took every ounce of strength he could muster to keep the tears away.  He had to stay strong for her.  She depended on him.  He couldn’t fall apart.  He’d have to hold the family together.

“But she’s going to get better.  Right?”

Melvin found a stray wrench that hadn’t been properly stored.  He busied himself with the task.

“Right, Daddy?” Ronnie repeated.

Melvin clenched his fist around the wrench.  He had to keep it together.  He couldn’t let her down.  He would do whatever it took.  He’d lie if he had to.  “Yes, honey.  Mommy’s going to get better.”

Ronnie let out a sigh of relief.  “Good.  I was a little scared.”

“Don’t be scared.  Everything’s going to be okay.  I’ll make sure of it.  I promise,” Melvin assured her.  “Now you better go to bed.  It’s way past your bedtime.”

“Can I have ice cream?”

Melvin smiled.  “Tell you what.  You go in and get a couple bowls and spoons.  I’ll be right in and we can both have a scoop.”
Ronnie beamed.  “Okay!”

Ronnie scurried out the door and ran for the back porch.  Melvin smiled at the sight of her long curls bouncing as she happily skipped across the concrete driveway.

A hundred moths flitted around the back-porch light.  Ronnie swatted at them as she pulled the screen door open to let herself into the house.  She turned to see if Melvin was on his way yet.  She caught his image through the big window.  He smiled and waved to her.  She raised her hand to wave back, then jumped at the flash of light.  A thunderous boom immediately followed.  Shattered glass flew in all directions.  Splintered wood and bits and pieces of metal shot through the air.  The shop was engulfed in a ball of flames.  Ronnie felt the heat on her face.  Staring at the fire, she stepped away from the screen door and let it swing closed.

“Daddy!” she screamed.  “Daddy!”

O
ur plane touched
down in San Diego at 10:30 PM
on New Year’s Eve, 2001.  Craig and I wandered down the half-lit corridors of the airport, barely noticing the fact that only one out of every four lights was on.  Threats of rolling blackouts prompted officials for the airport to conserve energy wherever they could.  We’d read about the California power crisis in the Auckland newspaper, but it didn’t become a reality for us until we stepped off the plane. 

After three fun-filled weeks of exploring nearly every square inch of New Zealand, followed by twelve hours in the air, neither Craig nor I felt compelled to attend any of the New Year’s Eve parties we’d been invited to.  We were both too exhausted.  We stood at the baggage carousel holding hands and gazing at the passing bags.  My own suitcase went around twice before my brain kicked into gear and recognized it.

“Isn’t that yours, Dev?” Craig asked me.

I shook the fog out of my head.  “Huh?  Oh, yeah.”

Craig dragged the heavy American Tourister off the belt and set it down next to our other bag.

“Thanks, sweetie,” I said, lean
ing in to kiss his stubbled
cheek.

New Zealand was our belated honeymoon trip.  Now it was time to think about returning to the reality of everyday life in San Diego.  Craig would return to his duties as Dr. Matthews and I would pick up where I
’d
left off as Devonie Lace, treasure hunter.  Oh yeah, Devonie Lace-Matthews.  That’s going to take some getting used to.

Craig wrapped his arms around me.  “I know you’re exhausted and you can slug me if you want, but would you mind if we stop by the hospital on the way home?  I need to pick something up.”

My forehead fell against his chest.  “Will you carry me?” I moaned.

“Yes,” he replied and proceeded to heave my hundred and twenty pounds over his shoulder.

“No.  No.  You’ll hurt yourself,” I insisted, giggling uncontrollably from pure exhaustion.

He set me down and straitened my shirt collar.   “I’ll only be five minutes.  I promise.”

I smiled up at him.  “Okay,” I surrendered.  I seem incapable of telling him no when he looks at me with those beautiful green eyes
—
and that dimple
—
Mother Nature’s equivalent to a perfectly-cut diamond in a human face.

I tried to convince him before we left for our trip that we should get someone to drop us off at the airport to save the huge parking fee.  Uncle Doug had offered, but Craig insisted he wouldn’t ask anyone to play taxi driver that late, especially on New Year’s Eve.  I did the math for him and calculated the parking fee, but he just scoffed.  It will take some time to teach him the fine art of conservatism, but I have a lifetime to work on it.

We pulled into the hospital lot and parked in one of the spaces reserved for the doctors.  Craig cut the engine but left the radio on.  “You want to wait here?  I’ll be right back.”

It
was a tempting offer, but I kno
w Craig, and when he says five minutes, he really means twenty-five.  I’d fall asleep and miss yet another ringing in of a new year.  For once, I’d like to at least be conscious for the event.  “No.  I’ll go in.  I think Tammy’s working tonight.  I’ll go wish her a happy new year.”

Craig led the way into the hospital.  A security guard sat on a bench with his back against the wall.  At first glance, I thought he was asleep, but when he heard our footsteps, he raised his head to acknowledge our presence.

“How ya doin’, Danno?” Craig asked.

The guard gave him a confused look, then cupped his hand around his left ear.  “What’s that?” he replied.

“I said, how ya doin’? Craig repeated, only twice as loud.

The guard smiled.  This time he heard the question.  “Doin’ okay, considerin’,” he replied.

Craig patted him on the shoulder.  “Your hip givin’ you trouble?”

Again, the guard cupped his ear.

“I said, your hip givin’ you trouble?”

Finally, the guard nodded.  “Naw.  But my hip is sure actin’ up tonight.  Must be rain comin’.”

Craig and I exchanged grins.

“Danno, this is my wife, Devonie,” Craig
said
.

Danno smiled at me.  “Debbie?”

“Devonie,” I corrected.

“Nice to meet you, Debbie,” Danno said.

I smiled and shook his hand.  “Nice to meet you too, Danno.”

Craig took my hand and led me down the hall.  “See ya later, Danno,” he said over his shoulder.  Danno waved.

“He’s got to be three hundred and twelve years old, if he’s a day,” I whispered in Craig’s ear.

Craig laughed.  “You might be right.  Nice guy, though.”

Craig and I parted ways at the elevator, he toward his office, and I toward the nurse’s station.

The place seemed like a ghost town as I strolled down the corridor.  I didn’t pass a single nurse or orderly as I made my way to the nerve center of this section of the hospital.  Televisions lit several of the dim rooms I passed.  Most were tuned to the New Year’s festivities going on all around the country.  I paused briefly to listen. 

The nurse’s station was deserted
—
no one in sight.  I checked my watch.  It was almost midnight.  Everyone was probably gathering for an informal celebration in the break room.  If I could remember where the break room was, I’d join them.  I headed off in the direction I thought it might be, when the silence was broken by a shrill cry.

“Help me!  Help me!” a woman’s voice cried out from one of the rooms behind me.  I turned to see where the sound came from.

“Help me, please!  Help me!” she continued yelling.

I scanned the area for anyone who might be able to help her.  No one seemed to respond to her pleas.  I wasn’t sure which room the cries were coming from, but I headed in the general direction, peeking into each room on the way in case I could find a nurse busy with another patient.

As I got closer to the source of the noise, a second voice joined in.  “Use your call light, Delores!” another patient yelled out.

“I can’t!  Help me, Jesus!  Help me!”

“Jesus doesn’t work here, Delores!  Use your call light!  We’re all trying to get some sleep!”

I pushed open a door, hoping to find a nurse busy taking someone’s temperature or blood pressure.  I stood in the doorway for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness.  The light from the bathroom was on and lit the room enough that I could make out the figure of a tall man standing next to the hospital bed.  I blinked a couple times.  He wore surgical scrubs, as many of the hospital staff did.

Relieved, I requested his assistance.  “Excuse me, but can someone c
ome help this woman?  She seems
—“

I had obviously startled him.  My eyes moved from his head down his arms to his hands.  He gripped a pillow tightly against the face of whoever was in the bed.  “Hey!  What are you doing?” I demanded.  I felt the adrenaline rush through my system.  My hand shook as I groped to find a light switch.  He panicked and nearly knocked a tray over as he scrambled to escape.  “Stop!” I screamed as he headed my direction.  I tried to back out of the room, but he beat me to the door, knocking me down as he bolted past.  I hit my head on the floor and was dazed for a few moments.

I looked up to see the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway with his hands firmly planted on his hips.  “What’s going on in here?” he demanded.  He hit a switch that brought light to the entire room.  A stethoscope hung around his neck and one end was tucked into the pocked of his scrubs. 

“Did you stop him?” I asked, rubbing my head as I struggled to get to my feet.

“Stop who?” he asked.

“That guy who just ran out of here.  He was trying to kill that patient,” I explained, pointing toward the unconscious woman in the bed.  “Oh my God.  Is she breathing?” I asked, rushing to her side.

The young man hurried to the other side of the bed and checked her vital signs.  “She’s fine.  She’s just asleep.  Are you sure you saw someone?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes.  “Of course I saw someone.  He had this pillow stuffed against her face,” I insisted, picking up the pillow from the floor.  “If I hadn’t stopped him, she’d be dead now.”  I read the
nameplate pinned to his shirt—
Paul Michaels, RN.

“Well I didn’t see anyone.  I think I would have seen him if he was really here.”

“Really here?  Listen, he was here.  I didn’t just fall down all by myself.  He knocked me down trying to get away.”

Nurse Michaels crossed his muscular arms over his chest.  “What are you doing here, anyway?  Visiting hours were over a long time ago.”

“I was looking for someone to help that poor woman in the room down the hall.  She’d been calling for help and nobody was answering her,” I said.

“Delores?”

“Yes.  Delores.  She needs help.”

“What Delores needs is a good sedative,” he said, shaking his head.

I scowled at him.  “If that’s the case, then why doesn’t someone give it to her?”

“Because we have to have a doctor’s order, and we can’t find her doctor.  He’s probably off at some New Year’s Eve party while we’re here list
en
ing to a delirious old woman scream all night long.”

I turned my attention back to the woman sleeping in the bed.  She looked to be in her late thirties, maybe forty.  She had a bandage on her head and bruises on her arms and face.  I noted the name on the blue wristband.  Jane Doe.  “What about her?  Shouldn’t you call the police?  Someone tried to kill her,” I said.

“Police?  No.  We have our own security,” Michaels replied.

I pictured Danno in hot pursuit of the attacker.  “I’ve seen your security.  I really think
—
”

“She’ll be fine.  Now, the question is, who are you and what are you doing here?”

His non-concern over this patient irritated me.  “I’m Devonie Lace
—
uh, Matthews
—
Lace-Matthews, Doctor Matthews’ wife.  We stopped by on our way home from the airport.  I was looking for a friend who works here, but when I heard Delores crying, I started looking for help,” I explained.  I watched his expression, hoping I’d gained some credibility with my explanation. 

His eyes lit up.  “Doctor Matthews is here?  Maybe he can write an order for Delores.”

“What about her?” I pressed, nodding toward Jane Doe.

“She doesn’t need a sedative.  She’s sound asleep,” he said with just enough sarcasm to irritate me even more.

“I don’t mean a sedative.  Someone tried to kill her.  She’s obviously in danger,” I said.

“Obviously?”

“Yes.  Obviously.  Why is she here?  You don’t even know her name?  How’d she get so banged up?” I pressed.

Nurse Michaels took me by the arm, led me around the bed and out of the room.  “I can’t give out that information.  You should know that, being married to Doctor Matthews.”  He caught the attention of a woman sitting at the nurse’s station and called out to her.  “Marge, can you page Doctor Matthews?  He’s somewhere in the hospital.  Find out if he’ll write an order for Delores so we can have a peaceful night.”

I crossed my arms over my chest.  “Are you going to call the police or do I have to do it?”

“I told you, we have security.  I’ll have someone call the guard right now,” he said as he turned his back on me and walked away.

I scowled at the back of his head. 

Delores started up again.  “I don’t want a baby!” she hollered.

“You’re not having a baby, Delores,” Michaels called back to her as he headed for her room.

Just as he disappeared around the corner, Tammy came from the other direction.  She’d been working the night shift for the past month and looked as tired as I felt.  “Devonie?  What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Hi.  Craig and I just stopped so he could pick something up from his office.”  I took her by the arm and led her toward Jane Doe’s room.  “What do you know about this patient?”

Tammy and I had been friends for a long time and I knew she’d tell me whatever she knew.  She peeked in the room.  “Oh, Jane Doe.  Yeah, she came in a few days ago.  A couple of sailors fished her out of the water somewhere between here and Ensenada.  She was unconscious for several days, so we couldn’t get her real name.  No one knows how she got hurt and ended up in the water.”

“Was she in a coma?” I asked.

“Yeah, but she’s been in and out of it most of today.  She’s okay physically, except for a little bump on her head and a few bruises.  We haven’t been able to get her to tell us who she is.  She’s pretty shaken up about what happened.  We can’t discharge her until we can find a relative to take her in.”

“That’ll be pretty hard if she won’t tell you who she is,” I said.

“Believe me.  Two more days of hospital food, she’ll be begging to get out of here.”