Godplayer (37 page)

Thomas ran back down the corridor and out through the front door. He had to find her!

Thomas drove recklessly. Luckily there was almost no traffic. After a brief stop at home, he headed back into Boston. When he pulled into the parking garage at the Memorial it was just before 2:00 A.M. He parked and ran into emergency.

In contrast to Essex General, the ER at the Memorial was flooded with patients. Thomas ran straight to the admitting office.

“Your wife hasn’t come into the ER,” one of the clerks told him.

The other clerk punched Cassi’s name into the computer. “She hasn’t been admitted either. It shows she was discharged this morning.”

Thomas felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his abdomen. Where could she be? He had only one other thought. Maybe she’d gone up to Clarkson Two.

Although he’d never stopped to wonder why, Thomas did not like to be on the psychiatry floor. It made him feel uncomfortable. He didn’t even like the sound the heavy fire door made when it closed behind him with its airtight seal. As he walked down the dark corridor, his heels echoed loudly. He passed the common room where the TV was still on although no one was watching. At the desk a nurse who’d been reading a medical journal looked up at him as if he were one of the patients.

“I’m Dr. Kingsley,” said Thomas.

The nurse nodded.

“I’m looking for my wife, Dr. Cassidy. Have you seen her?”

“No, Dr. Kingsley. I thought she was on medical leave.”

“She is, but I thought she might have come in here.”

“Nope. But if I see her I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.”

Thomas thanked the woman and decided to go to his office while he tried to figure out what to do.

As soon as he opened the door he went to his desk to get several Talwin. He took them with a splash of Scotch, then sat down. He wondered if he were getting an ulcer. He had a boring pain just below his sternum that he also felt in his back. But the pain he could live with. What was worse than the pain was the pervasive anxiety. He felt as if he were about to shatter into a million pieces. He had to find Cassi. His life depended on it.

Thomas pulled over the phone. Despite the hour, he called Dr. Ballantine.

Cassi had spoken to him before, and there was a chance she’d approach him again.

Dr. Ballantine, groggy with sleep, answered on the second ring. Thomas apologized and asked if he’d heard from Cassi.

“I haven’t,” said Dr. Ballantine, clearing his throat. “Is there some reason I should?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Thomas. “She was discharged today, but after I took her home I had to come back to the hospital for an emergency. When I got out of surgery there was a message to call my mother. She told me Cassi had apparently given herself another overdose of insulin. An ambulance took her to the local hospital but by the time I got there she’d signed herself out. I have no idea where she is or what state she’s in. I’m worried sick.”

“Thomas, I’m so sorry. If she calls, I’ll get in touch with you immediately. Where will you be?”

“Just call the hospital. They’ll have my number.”

As Dr. Ballantine replaced the receiver, his wife rolled over and asked what the trouble was. As chief of service, Ballantine got few emergency calls at night.

“It was Thomas Kingsley,” said Ballantine, staring into the darkness. “His wife is apparently very unstable. He’s afraid she may have tried to kill herself.”

“The poor man,” said Mrs. Ballantine as she felt her husband throw off the covers and get up. “Where are you going, dear?”

“No place. You go back to sleep.”

Dr. Ballantine put on his robe and walked out of the bedroom. He had an awful feeling that things were not happening the way he’d planned.

CHAPTER 14

CASSI AWOKE with the same violent headache she’d had in the intensive care unit. The difference now was that her mind was clear. She remembered everything that had happened the previous night. After checking out of Essex General she headed into Boston thinking she should call Dr. McInery, but when she reached the hospital she no longer felt she needed emergency care.

But before she could face her fears about what had happened, she knew she needed sleep. She’d gone to the empty on-call room on Clarkson Two and stretched out on the cot.

As she fell asleep she knew she’d have to find someone to talk to about Thomas. Had he been involved in her second insulin overdose? She didn’t see how since she had taken her regular medicine herself. But the fact that all the phones except Patricia’s were out seemed too much of a coincidence to be an accident, and her car had never in the past failed to start. What if her fears about Thomas’s connection to the SSD cases were true? What if she hadn’t been hallucinating and he was responsible for Robert’s death?

If it were true, he had to be ill, mentally ill. He needed help. Dr. Ballantine had said he would do anything he could if Thomas needed counseling. Cassi decided to see him in the morning. For the moment she was safe. Checking her urine a final time, she decided she might as well fall asleep. Hopefully Patricia couldn’t alarm Thomas until morning.

When she awoke well before dawn, the psychiatry ward was still deserted. Cassi washed up as best she could and ran down to the lab where she persuaded a sleepy technician to draw some blood for a sugar level, only to have the night lab supervisor refuse to run it because Cassi didn’t have her hospital card with her. Not up to arguing, Cassi left the sample and told the man to do whatever his conscience dictated. She said she’d stop back later. Then she went up to Ballantine’s office and parked herself in the hall opposite his door.

An hour and a half passed before he appeared. He saw Cassi as he came down the hall.

“If you have a moment, I’d like to talk to you,” she said.

“Of course,” said Dr. Ballantine, turning to unlock his door. “Come in.” He acted as if he’d expected her.

Cassi walked into the office, looking out the window to avoid meeting Dr. Ballantine’s gaze. She could see over the Charles River to the MIT building directly opposite. Although she wasn’t sure why, Cassi thought that Dr. Ballantine seemed somewhat annoyed to see her.

“Well, what can I do for you?” he asked.

“I need help,” said Cassi. Dr. Ballantine was standing before his desk. He was not making her feel comfortable, but she didn’t know who else to turn to.

“And what kind of help do you need?” asked Dr. Ballantine. He made no gesture for Cassi to sit down.

“I’m not entirely sure,” said Cassi slowly. “But before dealing with anything else I must get Thomas into therapy. I know he’s abusing drugs.”

“Cassi,” said Dr. Ballantine with patience. “Since we last talked, I’ve checked Thomas’s prescribing habits. If he errs, he errs on the side of caution as far as narcotics are concerned.”

“He doesn’t get pills under his own name,” said Cassi. “But drugs are only part of the story. I think Thomas is ill. Mentally ill. I know that I haven’t been on psychiatry long, but Thomas is definitely sick. I’m afraid he considers me a threat.”

Ballantine didn’t respond immediately. He looked at Cassi with surprise and, for the first time since he’d seen her, concern. His expression softened and he put an arm around her shoulders. “I know you’ve been under a lot of stress. And I think the problem has gone beyond my capabilities. What I’d like you to do is sit down and rest for a few minutes. There is someone else I think you should talk to.”

“Who?” asked Cassi.

“Please sit down,” said Dr. Ballantine softly. He moved his wing chair from the corner and placed it in front of the desk, facing the window. “Please.”

He took Cassi’s hand and gently encouraged her to sit down. “I want you to be comfortable.”

This was the Dr. Ballantine Cassi had remembered. He would take care of her. He would take care of Thomas. Gratefully she sank into the soft leather cushions.

“Let me get something. Coffee? Something to eat?”

“I could use something to eat,” said Cassi. She felt hungry and guessed her blood sugar was still low.

“All right, you wait here. I’m sure everything is going to work out fine.”

Dr. Ballantine left the room, closing the door quietly.

Cassi wondered whom Dr. Ballantine was calling. It had to be someone in a position of authority who would have some influence over Thomas. Otherwise he wouldn’t listen. Cassi began to rehearse her story in her mind. She heard the door open behind her and glanced around expecting to see Dr. Ballantine. But it was Thomas.

Cassi was stunned. Thomas pushed the door shut with his hip. In his hands he had a plate of scrambled eggs and a carton of milk. He came over and handed her the food. He was unshaven and his face looked haggard and sad.

“Dr. Ballantine said you needed something to eat,” he said softly.

Cassi took the plate automatically. She was hungry but too shocked to eat. “Where is Dr. Ballantine?” she asked hesitantly.

“Cassi, do you love me?” asked Thomas in a pleading voice.

Cassi was nonplussed. It wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. “Of course I love you, Thomas, but ...”

Thomas reached out and touched her lips, interrupting her. “If you do, then you should understand that I’m in trouble; I need help, but with your love I know I can get better.”

Cassi’s heart turned over. What had she been thinking? Of course Thomas had nothing to do with the terrible events of the previous night. His sickness was making her equally crazy.

“I know you can,” said Cassi with encouragement. She’d not thought Thomas was capable of having such insight into his own problems.

“I have been taking drugs,” said Thomas, “just as you suspected. I’ve been better this last week, but it’s still a problem, a major problem. I’ve been fooling myself, trying to deny it.”

“Do you really want to do something about it?” asked Cassi.

Thomas’s head shot up. Tears streaked his cheeks. “Desperately, but I can’t do it alone. Cassi, I need you with me, not against me.”

All at once Thomas appeared like a helpless child. Cassi put the plate down and took his hands in hers.

“I’ve never asked for help before,” said Thomas. “I’ve always been too proud. But I know I’ve done some awful things. One thing has led to another. Cassi, you must help me.”

“You need psychiatric attention,” said Cassi, watching Thomas’s response.

“I know,” said Thomas. “I just never wanted to admit it. I’ve been so afraid. And instead of admitting it, I just took more drugs.”

Cassi stared at her husband. It was as if she’d never known him. She struggled with the desire to ask if he’d been responsible for her insulin overdose, or if he had anything to do with Robert’s death, or with any of the cases in the SSD series. But she couldn’t. Not then. Thomas was too broken.

“Please,” he begged. “Stand beside me. It’s been so difficult to admit all this.”

“You’ll have to be hospitalized,” said Cassi.

“I understand that,” said Thomas. “It just cannot be here at the Memorial.”

Cassi stood up and put her hands on his shoulders.

“I agree, the Memorial would not be a good idea. Confidentiality is important. Thomas, as long as you agree to professional care. I’ll stand beside you for as long as it takes. I’m your wife.”

Thomas clasped Cassi in his arms, pressing his wet face against her neck.

Cassi hugged him reassuringly. “There’s a small, private hospital in Weston called the Vickers Psychiatric Institute. I think we should go there.”

Thomas nodded in silent agreement.

“In fact I think we should go immediately. This morning.” Cassi pushed Thomas away so she could see his face.

Thomas looked directly at her. His turquoise eyes seemed clouded with pain. “I’ll do anything you think I should, anything to relieve the anxiety I feel. I can’t bear it any longer.”

The doctor in Cassi conquered all other reservations. “Thomas, you’ve driven yourself so hard. You wanted to succeed so much that the process of winning became more important than the goal. I think it’s a common problem with doctors, particularly surgeons. You mustn’t think you are alone.”

Thomas tried to smile. “I’m not sure I understand, but as long as you do and you won’t leave me, it doesn’t matter.”

“I wish I’d understood sooner.”

Cassi pulled Thomas back into her arms. Despite everything, she felt she had her husband back. Of course she’d stand by him. She of all people knew what it was like to be ill.

“Everything is going to be all right,” she said. “We’ll get the best doctors, the best psychiatrists. I’ve done some reading about impaired physicians. The rate of rehabilitation is almost one hundred percent. All it takes it commitment and desire.”

“I’m ready,” said Thomas.

“Let’s go,” said Cassi, taking his hand.

Like lovers, Thomas and Cassi ignored the morning crowds pouring into the Boston Memorial. Walking arm in arm to the garage in the early morning light, Cassandra kept up a steady stream of enthusiastic conversation about the Vickers Psychiatric Institute. She even told Thomas she had a specific psychiatrist in mind who’d had lots of experience treating other doctors.