The Good Nurse: A True Story of Medicine, Madness, and Murder (38 page)

A
my figures Charlie might have bolted the restaurant. She has a sudden flash of him on the highway, headed north to her house, waiting in her driveway as her daughters returned from school, and—but there he is,
slumping in the booth like an unplugged robot. Amy slides into her seat and watches his eyes flick up and register her. And suddenly, he is present, and the story picks up just where they left off.

Charlie speaks freely about the allegations and circumstances, providing details of patients who mysteriously died. He was comfortable with the details.
They
thought he did it, Charlie says. The hospitals. The investigators. He can talk about
Them
.

“Charlie?” Amy says. “I need to ask you something. Are
you
capable of doing those things?”

Charlie sags suddenly.

“Because that’s what I want to know. Are you
capable
?”

Charlie sits, quiet. When his voice finally comes, it is in halting monotone bursts, directed at the appetizer.

“What they were saying… is that these people were die… were people that were going to die… were doing really poorly but…”

“Charlie?”

“I don’t really want to talk to you about it,” he says. He sits and stares for several more seconds. “Knowing that, you know… I mean… they even asked if I was attracted to patient death, you know…,” he finally says. “They… they said I did.”

“Charlie,” Amy says.

He looks up again.

“Listen to me.”

He’s waiting.

“You are…
excellent
.”

Charlie is listening.

“You are—” Amy searches for the word “—a
phenomenal
nurse. And you are, my… my best…
partner
. That I’ve
ever
worked with. And I’ve… you know, and I
look
at this, and I, you know I’m
hearing
this, and I really wonder, Charlie, what… you know… I can’t imagine being investigated
once
. But to be investigated
over
and
over
and
over
again…”

Charlie’s eyes drop to his empty beer.

“Charlie?”

He looks up.

“What’s your opinion of…
yourself
?”

Amy has just pushed Charlie into the deep end. “But I don’t, I don’t…”

“You know how much I care about you…”

“I know. I know, it doesn’t, you know—” He shakes his head. “It’s gotten to the point that, if I
do
get charged…”

“Charlie,” Amy says. “Charlie. Look at me.”

He looks.

“This is
over
and
over
again.”

“Do I want it to be over?” he says.

“Do you want to be caught?” Amy says gently. “Do you want it to be really over?”

“I… really… as far as the charges…,” Charlie begins.

“Charlie,” Amy says. “Look at me.” He’s slipping away. She leans in close. “Look at me.”

He looks.

“You are
not
stupid.”

He watches her. “Yeah.”

“And you know
I’m
not stupid.”

“Yeah. I know, I know.”

“And you know how much I care about you.”

“I know, I know, I know, I know…”

“And I’m scared for you,” Amy says. She can’t help it—the wave of sadness has started rising in her chest. “Do you want to be caught?”

“It’s to the point… if they bring the charges, and… I just feel a little… uh… overwhelmed,” Charlie says. “And I feel, uh, you know, the hospital, the charges if they… when, um, I’m going into collection, and I have payments, and…”

She reaches for his hands, dead on the table. “
Please.
” She is crying now. “
Please
let me help you.”

“I don’t… I wouldn’t… I can’t.”

“Let me help you.”

“I can’t. I can’t…”

“
Let me help you.
”

Charlie has stopped moving.

“I see you, Charlie, and I’m
not
stupid.
Nobody
gets investigated over and over again, for
no reason
, Charlie. You
know
I know that.”

He looks into a hole in the tabletop. “I—”

“What do you want?” Amy says. “How are you going to go on from here?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I—”

“Would it be easier if you were caught?”

“No,” Charlie says. “It wouldn’t. I—”

“How are you going to stop?” Amy asks. “Why?
Why?
You’re
so good
. Do
you
know why?”

Charlie shakes his head at the floor.

“Charlie, what about Father Gall? What happened?
What happened?
”

“I just… can’t… I can’t… I… I can’t… I…”

“I
know
you can. What happened? I know you’re scared, but
what happened
?”

“I’ll, I’ll deal with the—”

“Charlie, I’m right here,” Amy says. “
Right now.
Do you know?”

“It’s… in the public,” Charlie says. “I don’t want… I can’t… I don’t want my life… it will… my life will… fall apart…”

“Your life
already
has fallen apart,” Amy says. She lets that soak in. “It already did.
It already did.
”

“Hope not. Hope not. Hope not.”

“Yes,” she says. “
Your life fell apart.
And it’s
falling apart
. And it’s not going to come back together. I don’t think so.” She shakes the newspaper at Charlie. “And I read this…”

“People… believe…” His eyes search the table. “It… depends, what you think people are capable of.”

“Please? Tell me how I can help,” Amy says. “
Please
tell me. What I can do?”

“You. Do. Help. What I see happening is… unacceptable. You know… I…”

“
What
do you see happening? Charlie?”

“Being charged. Going to jail,” Charlie says. He seems gone, the words leaking from his mouth like bubbles rising to the surface. “I lose. My children…”

“You’re
already
losing them,” Amy says. “You already are. And—I have
never
respected a nurse more than I respect you. And I am torn apart, watching you. I am
torn apart
. Because I see you. Out of everyone I know, I see
you
. And I
knew
you, and I
felt
you.”

Charlie rocks gently in his seat like a child, mumbling, “I don’t know, about, about, you know, what, your idea, of me… I just want it to be over…”

“How can we do that, then? How can we do that, then?”

“I… I… I… I, all I can do…,” Charlie says. His voice is monotone, barely audible. “I’ve been giving them the truth. The truth. Truth.”

“Not
enough
truth,” Amy says. “What if you confessed?”

Charlie shoots a look at her. “I can’t.”

“Is there another option?”

“I… face the sources,” Charlie says. “Face the accusations… they… I… they don’t know, the… I can’t handle the trial, the…”

“Charlie!” Amy cries. “This is me. Why? Just—why? Why did all this start? Charlie! Why? Are you ever going to stop? You can lie to the cops, but not to me.
Not
to me.”

Charlie is muttering, talking circles, repeating words.

“I am
not
stupid,” she says. “I’m not afraid of being your friend. I’m your friend.”

Amy feels the vinyl of the booth rising around her, closing her off.

“I—like. Being with you. I love… when we worked the codes together. I
love it
when you were on with me. And you left me—abandoned.”

She squares the newspaper to where Charlie’s gaze is pinned to the table.

“Honey. I’m reading these, and you know what? I’ve been in nursing, for all these years. And
no one
has ever accused me of murder. And you’ve been accused now five times—more, maybe; you’re telling me sometimes it’s even more. And people think you actually killed people.”

“No, I can’t… it wouldn’t… I can’t…”

“I’m here, Charlie,” Amy says. “I’m here, because—I love you. And I’m here because—I
know
you killed those people.”

Charlie has stopped moving.

“I
know
it,” she says.

The world has stopped. His lips move.

“Was it just—a rush?” Amy asks. She reaches across the table. His hand is cold. “Was it just for the kick of it, like when we’re at a code?”

Charlie’s eyes flick to the edges of the table, the space there.

“I don’t know why,” Amy says. “I—I don’t know what your motivation was. But I know you’re smarter than this. And I
know
you did it.”

“I can’t—”

“I know you did it. Let’s go to the police station. We can tell them together.”

“I can’t I can’t I can’t…”

“Because I
know
you killed them, Charlie.”

Charlie looks up.

This time, she feels a sudden wave of cold static. Then she sees the switch.

Sees his skin go slick and buttery. Watches his jaw reshape and his spine shift. Then Charlie’s eyes began to drift apart.

The right eye unplugs and drifts lazy to the edge of the table, reading the darkness there, pacing kinesthetic tracks back and forth and back. The left eye watches her. The wax head twists and speaks. The voice is low and toneless. Amy has never heard this voice before. It does not remind her of anything human.

There are undercover detectives here, men with guns watching, somewhere—but she isn’t feeling that kind of fear. She doesn’t sense evil in the man across from her. It’s not rage or murderous lust. It’s blankness, a horrible nothing. A wall has fallen. There is nothing behind it. In this moment, she knows. Charlie is not Charlie. If she did not know him, it was only because there was nothing really to know.

T
im had tried wiggling all the levels of the stupid wireless receiver, but they weren’t getting squat out of there. The voices were distorted and drowned. They’d listen for a while, straining at the pips and pops and birdsong from the speakers. Then Danny would try the knobs. After a while they just stared ahead across the parking lot and watched the doors.

Charlie came out first, from the side door, alone. They watched him unlock his car and pull out onto 22.

“Where is she?” Tim said.

“I don’t know.”

“This isn’t good,” Tim said. “I’m going in.”

Then Amy pushed through the front entrance. She hung to the door handle and stopped, dazed. The detectives hopped out of their car, waving and yelling. Amy looked to the sound, lost across a parking-lot sea.

S
he made the car before she fell apart and collapsed sobbing into Danny’s arms. Tim opened the door and they slid her in to collect herself in the Crown Vic’s heat. The recorder was there between the seats, a tape still spinning in the plastic window. The sight sobered her.

“So,” she said. “Did you get it?”

Tim looked at Danny. “We’ll get him,” he said. “But—we were having a little trouble making out what he was saying.”

“I told him,” Amy said. “I told him that I knew. Something weird happened to him. His face. It was—awful. And he kept saying the same thing, over and over.”