Blood Legacy: The Story of Ryan (3 page)

“Uh, doctor, do you think you could come down here and check something out?”

Susan tried to press her chin to her chest to get the rest of the kinks out. “I was going to come down later anyway. Can it wait?”

“Ummm,” he said uncertainly, “I really don’t think so. I really wish you’d come down here now.”

Susan stood upright, finally sensing the agitation in his voice. “Is everything all right? What’s wrong?”

For once it was Mason who did not wish to disclose over the phone. “I really think you should come down here.”

Susan stepped off the elevator to find Mason waiting for her in the hallway. He seemed shaken. Susan touched his elbow, intending to guide him down the hallway, but he stopped, almost afraid to continue.

Susan looked at him curiously. “Mason, what’s wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?”

Mason was not sure where to begin. “Doc, I thought the refrigeration units went off-line so I went to check them.” He stopped, trying to steady his voice. “The units were warm like something was heating them up. I opened her drawer and unzipped her bag, and she opened her eye and looked at me.”

Susan was confused. “What are you talking about? Who is ‘she’?”

“The woman with the gold hair. The one who jumped out the window.”

Susan felt a slight misgiving but dismissed the feeling. She knew immediately whom he was talking about.

“Look, Mason. You and I both looked at her injuries. There was no way she was alive.” She searched for a plausible explanation. “You of all people know how bodies settle. Isn’t it possible you jostled her and her eyelids rolled back?”

Mason relaxed only a little. “Yeah,” he said doubtfully, “I guess that’s possible.” He didn’t know why he didn’t reach that conclusion himself, and why it didn’t seem to appease him.

Susan nodded. “Why don’t we go in here and you can show me what happened. Okay?”

Mason nodded, but was not enthusiastic about re-entering the icebox. “Okay,” he said doubtfully, “That sounds like a good idea.”

Susan took three steps, then stifled a gag. “Well, something is definitely wrong with the icebox.”

She followed him into the control room and he fiddled with the computer a moment until the lights in the adjacent room came on. She followed him into the icebox.

One of the drawers was left partially open and upon approach, Susan saw the body of the woman she had seen previously. The bag was unzipped to just below her chin, but other than that she looked exactly the same. Both eyes were closed.

Susan reached down and unzipped the bag a little more. She felt a little foolish, but she poked the woman in the chest. Cold and hard. She stepped back and indicated that Mason should do the same. He was starting to feel foolish as well, and more so when he leaned over and poked the corpse. Cold and hard. The woman was obviously dead.

He stepped back. “Look, doc. I’m really sorry. Maybe I’ve just been working too hard, or maybe I had a bad dream or something. I’ve never had a hallucination like that before.”

Susan grasped his shoulder. “And I’ve never known you to do anything but laugh down here, and sometimes I think you do it to cover up the things that bother you. You know it’s okay. Even coroners sometimes get the creeps.”

Mason let out a huge sigh of relief. “Maybe you’re right. I think this one bothered me a little more than most.” He reached down and started to re-zip the bag.

“Hold on just a minute.”

Mason stopped. Susan was looking at the woman’s face strangely. “Did you clean her up?”

Mason shook his head. “No, I usually let morticians do that. I figured it wouldn’t get done in this case.”

Susan shook her head as if to clear it and went to zip the bag. She stopped again, examining the face more closely. “You know,” she said uncertainly, “I would swear there was a lot more damage to the right side of her face.”

Mason did not agree or disagree.

She shook her head in disgust. “Now I’m being foolish. It’s probably just more of the body settling.” She reached for the zipper for a third time, and for the third time she stopped.

“You know,” she said, then trailed off. She glanced up at Mason. She reached down and began to unzip the bag the rest of the way. She peeled the plastic back so she could get a good look at the damaged legs.

Mason looked down at the legs. They appeared much the same to him.

They did not to Susan. She shook her head in confusion. “Didn’t she have a compound fracture of the right femur?”

Mason glanced down at the right leg. There were several compound fractures, but none of the right femur. He was confused as well. “I thought there was a fracture at the femur.”

Susan stared at the leg a long moment, then snatched at the zipper. “This is ridiculous. You’ve been working too long and I’m still half asleep.” She zipped the bag up in one fluid movement until it snagged near the chin. She pushed the zipper away from her.

“That’s fine. Let’s see if we can get refrigeration back on-line.” She started to walk away and stopped when Mason didn’t move. She walked back over to him, leaning across the body to grab his shoulders. She looked into his eyes.

“Mason, this is crazy.”

“Aaaahhh.”

The sigh was deep and heartfelt and very loud in the silence.

And it didn’t come from Mason.

Both Mason and Susan looked down at the body between them.

The body coughed.

Susan wasn’t sure if she had taken eight quick steps back or simply covered the whole distance in one huge leap. Mason had covered a similar distance in the opposite direction and now stared at Susan across that chasm with wide eyes.

Susan was in a fundamental, accelerated decision process. Should she react as she wanted to, which was to scream and run like hell? Or should she react as she was trained to, like a doctor?

She reacted like a doctor.

“Let’s get this woman to ER,” she said, trying to keep her tone even, “NOW!”

The gurney smashed through the double doors with Susan leading it from the side and Mason pushing it from behind. A young intern was running along side, trying to keep up.

“Who’s the doctor on duty?” Susan barked at him.

He tried desperately to get a quick look at the status board as they rolled past. “I think Dr. Goldstein and a first-year resident.”

Susan inwardly sighed. She and David Goldstein did not get along. He was jealous of both her work and the privileges that came with it. He had not been as successful a researcher as she had, which was why he was still working ER. If she could have chosen anyone not to be there, it would have been him.

 The no-nonsense nurse from the front desk caught up with them, and Susan turned to her. “Norma, find Dr. Goldstein and get him in here. Then join us in trauma, stat.”

The nurse nodded, trying to get a look at the patient on the gurney. She hadn’t seen anyone come in. She was quite certain she could find Dr. Goldstein down the hall by the coffee machine and/or with Nurse Fields.

Mason hit the automatic release and another set of doors opened in front of them. The young intern was joined by the first year-resident, and Susan motioned for them to take their positions.

“Mason, take the feet. I’ve got the head. You—”

“Baxter. Carol Baxter,” the resident said helpfully.

“Yeah, Baxter, you go there. On my mark, one, two…”

On three they lifted the patient in a practiced motion and slid her onto the table. Both Baxter and the intern had puzzled looks on their faces. This body did not feel quite right.

“You—” Susan pointed at the intern.

“Louis.”

“Louis, get me 5 milligrams of epinephrine, 1 milligram of atropine, and 100 milligrams of lidocaine.” Susan pulled the sheet back from the body. “Baxter, set up an IV push. Mason, drag the EKG over here. I’m not getting any pulse.”

Susan became aware of the fact that Baxter and Louis were just standing there, stunned looks on their faces.

“What are you two staring at? I need that IV push now!”

Baxter started to move, then stopped. She did not want to risk Susan’s wrath, but she felt she had to say something.

“Uh, Dr. Ryerson,” she began uncertainly, “this person is dead.”

Susan felt her temper flare. Just because she was in R & D these days didn’t mean she had forgotten everything she knew. “Do you think I don’t know what a dead person looks like?” she demanded. “When you’ve been a doctor as long as I have, you can begin questioning my decisions! Until then, just do as I say!”

The scathing reply had the desired effect: both assistants sprang into action, following her orders out of blind obedience more than anything else. Mason dragged the EKG over and Susan quickly attached the electrodes, eyeing the heart monitor. She had a flatline.

“Clear!”

Baxter was having a difficult time inserting the IV into the cold, hard flesh. At the doctor’s command, she jammed it beneath the skin and took a step back.

The body jumped off the table in a mockery of life. Susan glanced at the monitor.

Flatline.

Susan motioned to Baxter and Louis. “Start CPR. See if you can get some kind of pulse.” She began struggling with the intubation tube; the esophagus was generally much more yielding.

“Doctor, what are you doing?”

Norma came through the door wearing newly donned sterile clothing. She stared at the corpse on the table.

Susan ignored her for the moment. “Louis. Give me those syringes.” She, too, had difficulty injecting the drugs and ended up jamming the needle to puncture the skin before she could depress the stopper. She turned to Norma.

“I think we have a case of deep comatose, possible hypothermia. All life signs have slowed to imperceptible levels. The patient is in a deep state of unconscious.”

Norma looked at the body on the table. “Doctor, the patient is dead,” she said matter-of-factly. She looked at the heart monitor, then at the respirator. “She has no life signs.”

The room suddenly grew quiet. Baxter and Louis both stopped what they were doing and watched Susan with trepidation. It was both eerie and embarrassing to watch such a distinguished member of the faculty lose it like this.

Susan felt a hot flush on her neck. It seemed that nothing she was doing was getting a response from the victim. She adjusted the tubing on the respirator and forced another injection. A different nurse appeared to offer assistance.

“Monitor her vitals,” Susan barked at her. The nurse stepped back, and with some confusion began to write zeros on the medical record. She did not want to look at the corpse on the table.

Mason was standing back, watching the respirator. He kept having to remind himself to breathe as he willed the bag to rise and fall. He, too, was growing increasingly frustrated and more than a little embarrassed.

Susan looked up from the body. She was debating whether to attempt another defibrillation. Emergency medical care had generally already ended at this point and it was simply a matter of pronouncing death. She felt a wave of doubt wash over her as she stepped back from the table.

“Any suggestions?”

The question was directed at those present in the room, but it was Dr. Goldstein coming through the door who answered it.

“Yeah, how about burying that thing?”

Susan looked over at him. “Goldstein, I’m glad you’re here,” she said, trying to sound convincing, “we’ve got a patient in a pronounced vegetative state—”

“Nurse,” Goldstein interrupted, “what do you show for pulse?”

The nurse looked down at her clipboard, although that was unnecessary. “Zero.”

“Respirations?”

“Umm, zero.”

“Blood pressure?”

“None.”

Goldstein peeled off the gloves he had just pulled on. “There you have it. I hope that’s not why you called me in here, Susan.”