Code Blues (39 page)

"You're okay," Dr. Dupuis said. "I'm going
to check on Mireille."

I fought to sit upright. My monitor started
beeping, but I ignored it. My voice rasped, "How—?" I had to grab
my throat. It hurt too much.

"She's okay. Dr. Trigiani's looking after
her in A," he said. His eyes darkened. "I guess Robin was in the
middle of attacking her when you came around. He dumped her behind
the couch, tied up and gagged."

I gasped, my eyes darting around the resus
room. My monitor beeped at high pitch, at the same tempo as my
heart.

Dr. Dupuis grasped the left bed rail and
leaned toward me. "It's okay, Hope. Robin's not here. The police
took him away."

I shuddered. Then I couldn't seem to stop
shaking. My arms and legs trembled. My teeth chattered loud enough
for him to hear them rattle, but I couldn't control it. My body
jerked under the white blanket like I was having mini-seizures.

Dr. Dupuis called, "Andrea? Could you bring
her some warm blankets?"

A nurse in pink scrubs, with a neat brown
bob, draped two blankets over me. They were pre-warmed and felt
like heaven. I tried to croak my thanks.

Dr. Dupuis put his hand on my arm. "Don't
talk. Your throat is too sore."

Well, I knew that! My trembling slowed and
almost stopped.

He laughed. Andrea handed me a pen and a
clipboard, the same kind we used for patient charts, but with a
blank sheet of paper and pen. I smiled at her and wrote THANK
YOU.

"You're welcome," Dr. Dupuis said promptly.
"Just doing our job. You're going to be fine, Hope. We'll observe
you for a few hours. I think your airway will be fine, just some
soft tissue damage, but this way, we'll all feel better."

Andrea patted my shoulder.

I smiled at her, but as my relief wore off,
another feeling built and accelerated under my breastbone. Rage. My
fingers tightened around my pen. I wrote, carving into the page, "I
HATE HIM."

Dr. Dupuis and Andrea exchanged a look. He
said, "It's understandable. Do you want to get some rest?"

I shook my head and wrote, "I want him
dead."

Dr. Dupuis smiled crookedly. "Well, we don't
have the death penalty in Canada, but if it's any comfort, they'll
probably put him away for a long time. Jade and the guards caught
him choking you—"

My eyes widened.

He said, "You didn't know
that, huh? Jade said she ran into you on the stairs before you went
to play
Call of Duty
. She listened at the door before sprinting for security. It
took two guys to pull him off you."

I sagged into my pillow. Thank God I'd done
what I told Mireille to do, call for backup. Thank God I'd called
someone who listened.

"While we brought you in here, your pager
started going off. Tori was worried about you, too."

Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. I
was too tired to fight them off. Andrea stroked my non-IV hand. I
looked at her, mute with gratitude.

"I'm going to let you rest," said Dr.
Dupuis. "You did a good job." He started out, then stopped.

Jade hovered in the doorway. She shoved her
hands in the pockets of her white coat, her dark eyes darting
between me and Dr. Dupuis. "Just wanted to make sure you were
okay."

"She wanted to do a CT of your neck," said
Dr. Dupuis, with a smile. "But I wanted to keep you in resus. If we
have to tube either of one of you, I'd rather do it here than in
the CT suite."

I held out my hand toward Jade. She walked
to my right side. While Andrea lowered the bedrail, I grabbed
Jade's hand. Clumsily, with my left hand, I circled the THANK YOU
on my board several times.

She laughed, trying to tug her hands away.
"I just did what you asked me to."

I wrote, "You saved my life." My eyes were
leaking again. Jade squeezed my hand, her own eyes downcast.

Dr. Dupuis said, "You saved Mireille's life.
It all works out. Now, I want you to rest."

I was still clutching Jade's hand. Now I
knew how my elderly patients felt when they wouldn't release me;
they didn't know how to properly express their gratitude. I felt
the same. But her fingers wiggled uncomfortably and I let her
go.

Jade leaned over and whispered in my ear,
"You're bad luck for me when I'm on call."

I giggled almost soundlessly, my breath
rattling in my throat. I wrote, "You're good luck for me. All of
you."

"Now we're getting sappy," said Dr. Dupuis.
"All in a day's work. Get some rest. Dr. Trigiani will check on you
in a bit." He saluted me.

I touched my neck. It felt okay. More
swelling than usual, but I could still make out the base of my
trachea and, to a lesser extent, my thyroid cartilage. I listened
to my own quiet breath whoosh in and out. No stridor.

Dr. Dupuis smiled, reading my mind. "Like I
said, we'll observe you, but you'll probably be fine. We can take
off the oxygen."

I pulled off the mask with relief. While
Andrea shut off the oxygen, I lifted my pen at Dr. Dupuis to
indicate I still had something to say. He stopped at the foot of my
bed. I wrote, "I don't want to go home tonight."

He nodded. "You don't have to."

Tears sprang to my eyes. Relief, I guess.
The last thing I needed to do was head home at 3 a.m. and lie awake
in my black bedroom, with only Henry for protection. I pointed to
the resus room floor. I wanted to stay here, not go to a creepy
call room by myself.

Dr. Dupuis shook his head and grinned.
"You're a glutton for punishment. Okay, we'll find you a room at
the inn."

I tapped the "THANK YOU."

He thumped the mattress below my feet.
"You're welcome. Now get some sleep." He marched out of the room,
his shoulders shifting under the stiff fabric of his greens.

Jade hesitated. Her brown face was
uncertain. "Call me."

I nodded. I'd text her in the morning.

Andrea offered me a throat lozenge. I
unwrapped the clear, crinkly plastic. The lemon flavor burst into
my mouth. I closed my eyes, savoring it.

I was alive.

A woman's voice called from the nursing
station, "Andrea. Phone call."

She tucked the blankets around my neck.
"I'll be back in a minute."

I closed my eyes. It was heaven to relax
again, an almost physical weight lifting from my lungs.

Andrea reappeared, perturbed. She was
holding her hand over the mouthpiece of the black cordless
patients' phone. "I know you can't talk, but Dr. Alex Dyck is very
insistent."

I bounced up, my muscles tense, my heart
monitor beeping frantically again. She reached for me. "Whoa, whoa,
whoa. I'll tell him you'll talk to him tomorrow."

I shook my head frantically. I wanted to
hear from him.

She hesitated, her eyes moving to the
doorway. I knew she wanted to talk to Dr. Dupuis or Trigiani. I
held my hands out, imploring.

She sighed. "Just for a minute." She
repeated it, sternly, to Alex, and handed me the phone.

I cupped it to my ear. Tried to say his
name. Couldn't make it past the first syllable.

"Hope." His voice broke. "I am so
sorry."

I made a sound low in my throat.

"That's all I wanted to say. I'm so, so
sorry." His breath hitched. "It's all my fault."

I tried to speak, but Andrea grabbed the
phone. "You said you weren't going to upset her! That's enough,
Alex!" She marched out of the room, still telling him off.

When she returned, she pulled the blankets
above my neck, her movements brisk. "I knew I shouldn't have let
him."

I reached up from under the covers, grabbed
her hand. I let her know with my eyes it was okay. I took
responsibility, even if his words swirled through my head. Sorry?
For what? Why was it his fault?

She softened. "You should rest." The lines
around her mouth faded. She made sure the call bell was still
clipped to the bed rail. "We're here if you need us."

She turned off the fluorescent lights. There
was only the faint glow from the streetlamps through the window and
my monitor's gleam. I heard her footsteps recede.

Robin's hands seemed to lace around my neck.
I bit back a scream. No. He wasn't here. I forced myself to feel
the blanket lying over me, listen to the murmur of voices from the
nursing station, watch the pale glow of the pockmarked tile above
my head, taste the faint lemon residue in the corners of my
mouth.

I was alive.

Chapter 27

Tucker pointed out the bright side when he
and Tori dropped by my apartment the next day. "At least you get to
skip your weekend night shifts."

I nodded agreement. I wrote "Mireille?" on
my notepad.

"He bashed her on the head, tied her up and
used his tie to gag her," said Tucker. "But she's okay. Better than
you, I think." His brown eyes flickered. He stared at my pine
headboard. "I could kill him."

I nodded. With every twinge in my neck, I
hated Robin.

Tucker looked at my face. The muscles around
his eyes tightened. His hand stirred, but he let it fall back on my
fuzzy yellow blanket. He took a deep breath.

Tori cleared her throat. She was standing at
the head of my bed while Tucker sat at the edge of my mattress.
"Robin's in police custody. You don't have to worry about him
anymore."

Yeah. Only in the way I jumped every time
the phone rang, even if it was in the next apartment. Only in the
way I woke up with my heart pounding, a scream locked in my throat.
Only in the white plastic bottle of Ativan which lay on my night
table, untouched. For now.

Tori pointed to the bouquet of daisies
beside the pill bottle. I hadn't unpacked any vases, so the flowers
stood in a white plastic juice container. The petals bent under her
finger. "I hope you like them."

I did. I liked their get well card, too. It
was a cream-coloured card, with a heavy border and a tiny drawing
of a daisy in the corner. Still, I wished Alex had come
instead.

Tucker tried to smile. "I have to hand it to
you. Mireille said she heard about Robin stalking his wife by
talking to some guys at the Jewish. But we're still not sure how
you figured it out." His eyes rested on my bruised and reddened
throat. "I know you're just pretending you can't talk so you can
keep us in suspense."

I cackled a little laugh. I could speak now,
but preferred to conserve my voice. I had typed out a statement for
the police. It was nothing solid, nothing a linear mind might have
pieced together, just a confluence of clues. One, the absence of
the pager and cell phone meant the killer was trying to hide Kurt's
pages, although it turned out Robin had been canny enough to call
from within the hospital most of the time. We all knew Robin was
the most intelligent person in our year.

Two, the lack of abuse articles told me the
killer was an abuser.

Three, Robin talked about Kurt in a
depersonalized way, still minimizing, still denying.

Four, Robin's wife was pretty classic, if
you knew what to look for, but none of us had been looking, except
Kurt. Probably he'd stepped it up when he was researching the Grand
Rounds presentation. Maybe he'd even reached out to Robin's
wife.

Tori shook her head. "We had no idea Robin
was...unbalanced."

"The guy was a complete wing nut," said
Tucker. "I hear he planned to take away the pager and cell phone.
He even came in on Monday and wiped out Kurt's hard drive, just in
case the abuse articles tipped anyone off."

Ah. Just as I thought.

Robin must've confessed in great detail,
meticulous to enumerate each point. I wondered if he finally smiled
while doing so. If he was going to be convicted, it would have to
be evidence-based. It was only fitting.

My neck seized up. I still hated him.

Tucker sighed and stretched out his long
legs. "He was always such a smart guy. The gold medalist in our
class. So when he planned to kill Kurt...I heard he brought his own
pair of gloves and two paper cups of coffee." Anger and admiration
warred in Tucker's voice. "He called Kurt to meet him in the OR
lounge and spiked Kurt's cup with GHB. When Kurt went unconscious,
Robin dragged him into the men's change room to inject him with
succ and insulin."

I shuddered.

"Then Robin put Kurt's
empty coffee cup in his own, tucked the gloves and the needle in
the top cup, and walked to another floor so he could throw the
gloves away and toss the needles in a sharps container. He walked
out wearing Kurt's pager and cell phone and junked them later. He
was only gone from the party for thirty minutes. It was
genius
." Tucker glanced
at my throat again. "Evil genius."

"Do you think he could get out on a medical
defense? Criminally insane or, what is it called now—" Tori tipped
her head thoughtfully to one side. Her shiny black hair traced the
line of her jaw. I mouthed the answer, but she already remembered.
"Not criminally responsible. Robin's wife was planning to leave
him, and now Kurt was telling him to get help, threatening to ruin
his career, well—"

"No," I croaked. I evaded Tori's touch. My
body was as taut as a piano wire. I could not feel compassion for
Robin now. I wasn't big enough.

Tucker shifted, denting the mattress. "Yeah,
I know what you're saying. Both of you. It sucks for Robin, but he
was a murdering bastard. He should rot in jail."

Tori closed her mouth and nodded. "I'm
sorry."

I relaxed a smidge. I wrote, "Sorry. I'm
uptight."

"Yeah," said Tucker. "I wish I could
help."

I patted his hand. He squeezed mine back. I
thanked Tori with my eyes.

I was so glad they were here. But I still
wanted to see Alex.

He'd shoved a card under my door while I
stayed in the emerg overnight. The front was a picture of flowers
spelling out "Get Well Soon." Inside, he'd scrawled "Alex." Nothing
else.