Raney & Levine (18 page)

35


J
ust hours to go, and I’m so happy!

No one has ever known about my secret place here, where
I’ve toiled nights for over three months in the service of God. Now I
finish…oh, how my heart beats and my hands shake in excitement as I work…which
is BAD. Stuff might blow up. Must try to control myself. Breathe deep breaths.
Put on the earphones and listen, as always, to Benedictinos.

Ah, better. The Gregorian voices calm me, mesmerize me,
as I work so carefully. I sing softly with them, those sacred male voices…“Ave mundi spes Maria, ave mitis, ave pia, ave plena gratia. Ave virgo…”

Now to open the last box, oh so gently, slicing my box
cutter just so along the sealing tape. Then I lift the precious bags of powder.
It is sinful that you can still get ammonium nitrate online. I didn’t know.
Spent a whole month scraping off the tips of matches, keeping the rising pile
dry. And then…firecrackers! Tons of them available last July. I was careful,
removing the precious powder from them too.

The box cutter still has her blood on it. I like that.
Haven’t washed it off because it is a reminder of my brilliant, God-given idea.
Carefully, I slice open the boxes of ammonium nitrate. Thank you, God, for
leading me to that idea…after months, but I know that that was your plan. Order
the most powerful stuff last. If any Devil Police come snooping, it will be too
late.

The container, they’ll never guess. I do believe it is a
first. Last August I figured how to cut it in half neatly, leaving no sign of
damage. Then I took out its layers of contents, threw them in a trash bin
blocks away, months ago. Who would guess anyway? Make any connection with such
an innocent-looking thing? Empty, there is lots of room for my ammonium
nitrate, matchstick scrapings, and firecracker powder.

Now I pour in the gasoline, just like it said to in those
online instructions. Not too much, just enough to ignite when the wire
connection is made, and that won’t be until the final moment. But I’ve got my
cell phone parts prepared. Insert the precious little wire that won’t ring
until I tell it to.

And then, the boom that will be heard around the world.
The Devil’s Workshop will be reduced to ashes, the Devil’s son along with it,
praise God! Every sinner will cower in fear, and repent, and God will sit me
next to Him, on His throne, for HAVING TRIUMPHED SO GLORIOUSLY OVER SATAN.

At last, I will be important. I will be glorified
especially for having triumphed over my terrible, painful beginnings. A mother
who gave herself over to Satan, who was so cruel to me, as were the others.

And now they are all in hell, burning and shrieking in
eternal Hellfire.

I hum…and hum…

The gasoline is mixed now, and the little wire contact is
in.

I close the container oh so carefully, then re-glue its
parts closed. Then remember that the smell of gasoline might alert the dogs, so
again, carefully, I wash the container’s outside with warm water and soap. Then
dry it, and sniff. All’s well, no gasoline odor, no sign of having ever been
even opened. It sits there on my workbench, the most innocent-looking object
imaginable.

In my earphones, they seem to be singing louder! The
souls behind those sacred voices have seen, and sing in praise of me! I turn
down the volume, and in my earphones they still sing louder! This is
overwhelming. I weep as I realize God has told them to sing for me!

And I sing with them. “Ave virgo singularis, quć per
rubum designaris non passus incendia…”

And I look at my precious, Satan-destroying container on
my workbench.

It was so easy to make, once I had, over time, collected
its contents.

Perhaps I’ll make two of them. There is time…

David found two pillows and mattresses, pulled them into
the on call room, laid them side by side on the floor, and spread them with
sheets and blankets.

Then held out his hand. “Tip for room service.”

“We could have managed in this bed.” Jill patted beneath
her.

“It’s too narrow. I’m on call tonight. You’re in pain and
I’d be either squishing you or waking you.”

“Oh squish me, squish me.” Jill pretended dismay. Had wanted
to sound jokey, break the tension if just for a moment, but it came out
troubled.

David cracked a tired smile. Laid his phone by his pillow
and pulled off his scrubs. “The Percocet kicking in?”

“Starting to.” Jill felt the blurry warmth coming on, and
even more warmth at seeing him smile.

Enough to make her stop obsessing over her fear, this
terrible day, for a whole twenty seconds.

He turned off the lamp, leaving the room in shadowy dimness
with a small night light on. She took off her scrubs and ached her way under
the blankets with him, snuggling close on her good side.

“You’re so exhausted,” she whispered. “I hate that you may
get called.”

“You’ve had a worse day,” he said, hugging her. His face was
in the pillow, his voice muffled. “Try to sleep. You gotta sleep.”

“David?”

“Mmf?”

“How rare is EEE among people?”

“Very.” A sigh. His voice was an exhausted mumble. “Six
cases reported in New York State since 1971. Risk is highest July to September
when mosquitoes are out.” His droning slowed. “Cops who were in the church” –
he inhaled – “notified to watch for headache, fever, chills…but risk
practically nil. That snake probably caught the last skeeter about to lay her
eggs.”

“So why’s the Health Department in such a rush?”

“Gotta…clear and spray before the site ices over. Worried
about…spring. Other animals mmf…susceptible. Birds, dogs, cats, cops’ horses…”

In the next instant he was breathing heavily, his arm still
over her. Jill closed her eyes, tight, tighter, listening to him breathe.

This nightmare day. She felt strung as tight as piano wire,
and suddenly lost, alone with hideous images that came rushing back. In her
mind Nash’s face flashed back, twisted in rage, and the church floor caving in
–
nooo
- and the snakes…
falling into a writhing pit of them
. She
shuddered; squeezed her eyes even tighter to force down the awful image.

It didn’t work.

The snakes were the worst. She kept seeing herself
scrabbling frantically through the wet, derelict floor with them writhing and
snapping,
slithering over her.
A hiss came from somewhere and she turned
– “Oh!”

It was the heat going on. David wakened slightly. “Huh?” he
mumbled.

“Nothing,” she whispered. “It’s nothing.”

He was already back to sleep. Carefully, she rolled onto her
back. Stared at moving shadows on the ceiling. Clouds flying past the moon? She
saw them now through the torn church roof. And the dimly lit sanctuary, a dark
figure in a long dark hood approaching her. “You’re all going to die,” the
figure said, whispery-voiced. A siren wailed, and red lights flashed on the
ceiling. “You see?” The figure came closer, its face lost in shadow. “You will
all die in fire, the devil child first.” The dark-robed arm reached to drop a
writhing black snake onto her chest; bent to pin it whipping and struggling to
her medallion. “No!” she cried. “It’s a
bug
-”

“Jill. Jill.”

“Wha?”

“You were dreaming.” David was back in his scrubs, kneeling
to her, holding her.

“You…up?”

“Got called.” He pushed damp hair from her brow. “You’re all
sweaty. You were crying about bugs.”

It took a moment to register. “Oh… no, it was this.” She
tugged at the medallion. “Take it off for me?”

He did. Gently reached behind her neck and undid the chain.
“Had a nightmare?” he asked.

“Yeah. I was back in that church. With the snakes and some
scary guy dressed like a monk only in black.”

He groaned feelingly and rose, put the medallion on the
dresser, then knelt back to her. “No more nightmares, okay? Tell that monk guy
I’ll blow his head off.”

She smiled weakly in the darkness. “What time izit?”

“Two-thirty. Stay snug.
You’re safe.
Try to sleep.”

He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her, then kissed
her again, then was gone. Jill heard the door lock click closed. She pulled his
pillow to her and buried her face in it.

It
was
safe there, in his pillow.

She slept.

36


“A
mmonium nitrate, it’s an explosive,” a woman from
hematology called to report at seven. “That blood sample you sent from patient
Dara Walsh? We centrifuged it, and those strange particles went straight to the
bottom of the tube. Didn’t know what they were, so we sent the sample to the
chemistry lab.” She inhaled. “They just called to report. Your sample also
contained potassium chlorate, used in firecrackers and on matches. The chem lab
sees those substances a lot. Kids blowing their fingers off, the stuff going
off accidentally.
Terrible
injuries.”

David thanked her, mopped his still-dripping hair with one
hand and called Pappas with the other.

“Oh shit,” Pappas said when he heard. He was driving to
work.

“Mixed in Dara’s stab wound,”
David repeated
incredulously. Jill was already dressed and listening, slack-faced, standing
with two cups of coffee from their coffee maker.

“This is nuts, the explosive came from this guy’s…knife?”
David shakily took one of the coffees. He saw Jill’s fist go to her mouth.
“Correction,
box cutter
. Dara’s wound was in the shape of a box cutter.”

“Which he also used to open his bad stuff, ya think?” Pappas
exhaled a few more obscenities. “We gotta get this guy fast. Meanwhile you’ve
got more K-9 sniffers protecting you. Sent in from Connecticut, Jersey,
guarding at every entrance, stairwell, broom closet…” He stopped, sounding a
bit miffed. “Y’know, One Police Plaza has a really nice lab too. Best in the
world and also works all night.”

“This saved time.”

“Well, stay safe. And keep your eyes open.” Horns blared at
Pappas’s end. He said something else indecipherable, and signed off.

They were mute with shock as David pulled on his scrub top.
What could they say? They grabbed donuts and were two halls away when a floor
nurse called.

“Dara Walsh is severely depressed,” she told David. “She’s
being treated for pain, but she’s crying, won’t talk.”

“We’re on our way,” David said.

Regular morning rounds awaited, but Dara came first. One
tablet of Percocet was doing its job without affecting Jill’s thinking, but she
felt like she’d taken a fistful of uppers instead. The heart was banging. She
could barely breathe.

And she was lurching again, carrying her crutch instead of
using it.

“Use the crutch,” David said as they got on an elevator.

“Don’t need it yet. It hurts my armpit.”

“So the leg’s better?”

“Ready to dance. Gimme morphine.”

“Sorry, luv,” he said, imitating Ramu.

She inhaled, then blurted, “Should we say anything about the
dynamite?” She had whispered, but it came out like a gasp for air.

“It’s…no. Wait.”

On the OB floor, the other interns waited as usual by the
nurses’ station. Tricia hugged Jill, and the others crowded around, asking how
she felt. “Leg’s okay…” she said, seeing her monk-in-black dream again, feeling
a cold knot in her chest. It tightened harder.

Dynamite!
…
You will all die in fire…

It was surreal, how the others looked the same as usual.
Getting here they’d passed uniforms and dogs, and felt protected. Tricia’s Pop
Tarts stuck out of her pocket and Ramu Chitkara’s bagels bulged in his. Charlie
and Gary left the group hug to go unload their favorite crap from the vending
machine.

David put the patient charts into the chart rack, and gave
it a shove. “Do not
ever
,” he told them, “tell the patients how we eat.”

They followed him down the hall, passing a uniformed cop,
his dog, and security guys. “Place looks like a fortress,” Phipps said.

“’Bout time,” Ortega muttered. “They have armed guards in
schools now, why not a threatened hospital?”

A siren wailed outside, jolting Jill’s heart like an
electric shock. That had never happened before.
I’m a mess,
she thought
miserably.
Gotta hang on…What can I do?

As they entered the room with the police guard outside, Dara
turned her face away. Squinted miserably out the window.

How life turns on a dime. Jill’s mind flashed on Dara
looking nasty yesterday, swiping fistfuls of Splenda.
Who did this to you,
Dara?

David walked to face her on the window side of the bed. “Hi
Dara.” He bent to her. “Remember me?”

No answer. Dara’s mouth was grim, and a tear rolled down her
cheek. From the other side of the bed Ramu handed David a box of tissues. He
took one and gently wiped Dara’s cheek.

“I can help,” he told her softly. “Did you see who attacked
you?”

She shot him a split second look and…nothing. The eyes
squeezed to narrow, miserable slits, and the corners of her mouth turned down
further.

“Do you remember anything about the attack?”

Still nothing. Hostile. Some secret, walled in.

He went to the foot of the bed where the interns waited. To
Jill he shrugged and whispered, “She saw us with the cops.”

Then he looked back to the bed. It was time to teach.

“This patient was attacked last night,” he said in a soft
voice. “Superficial head wound and a stab wound to the abdomen. Stab entry was
two inches north of the uterus, but the angle nicked the uterus.”

Purposely not hurt bad like the others
, Jill thought,
biting her lip.

“We operated,” David continued as the interns took notes.
“Starting with a four inch vertical incision, inspected for damage, found that
adjacent bowel and blood vessels were intact. Only injury was a non-penetrating
nick of the uterus. We sutured it and re-closed.” He glanced back at Dara’s
not-showing-yet belly under her pale blanket. “Fetal heartbeat remained normal
and steady throughout. The wound was swabbed for culture and sensitivity to
find whatever bacteria was present, and she was started on amoxicillin, 500
milligrams, three times a day pending culture results.”

Gary asked, “What if the amoxicillin doesn’t work?” And Ramu
asked, “Can we get a preliminary reading from Bacteriology?”

David said, “I’ll be calling to check. The surgery was
fourteen hours ago, there’ll probably already be some colony growth.”

He looked, and saw George Mackey there too, taking notes.
“Hi George,” he said. Higher-up residents often joined intern rounds if a case
was interesting.

“I heard, wanted to see this,” George said low. “Is this the
same, uh-”

David motioned for him to stop. George shrugged sorry and
went back to his notes. His scrubs as always looked slept in.

Jill’s cell phone vibrated. She nervously checked it;
Administration had called her. David was answering Gary’s question about
amoxicillin – she didn’t need that – so she punched to hear the message.

And caught her breath. Fast-wrote three words on her tablet,
and showed them to David.

Rick Burrell called.

He blinked, finished talking to Gary, then moved closer to
Mackey. “Hey, the rest are healthy, happy new moms. Would you take over
rounds?”

“Sure. Happy to. Been a while.”

Casting last looks at Dara Walsh, her gaze still miserably
averted, Jill and David went out to the hall.

Jill punched the number from Administration’s message.
After a few rings Rick Burrell picked up.

“How…? What is going
on
?” He sounded shocked. “I
found a call from the cops. Dara Walsh was
attacked
?”

“Yes.” Jill held the phone so David could hear. “And
stabbed.”

Silence at the other end. Then, slowly, “Oh my God.”

“She’s stable, and the wound wasn’t deep. She’s lucky but
despondent. Asked for you.”

“Me?”

“Right. Not her husband.” Jill fought to keep her voice
even. David bent close to her.

At Burrell’s end someone yelled, and he excused himself.
Muffled assurances, the yell became a whine, and he was back.

“They’ve been having problems,” he said. “Dara and Brian, I
mean. I guess Dara thought I was nice. I mean, I
listened
…”

“Problems?”

“I was surprised she even told me. We were making posters at
some meeting, she just started to cry, and this whole…thing came out.”

Jill’s silence prompted him.

“Patients are wandering around upstairs, I gotta get back,”
Burrell said tensely. “But…well, Dara said she’d found out she was pregnant,
and
Brian didn’t believe it was his
. They’d been trying for years, and
he’d decided God
willed
them to be childless.”

Jill traded stunned looks with David.

“So…I was supportive,” Burrell went on. “It didn’t seem like
she had anyone to talk to, and Brian’s got a wicked temper. I invited him once
to bowl with my team. He was doing lousy and flew off at everybody. So…yeah,
guess I became a shoulder to cry on. There were more meetings, and she called a
few times.”

“Do you know where Brian might be now?”

“Wouldn’t
want
to know. Him, you can have.”

“It would cheer Dara if you’d visit. Plus she might remember
something about the attack and tell you. She seems wary of us.”

He hesitated. “I work until six. Then I have bowling at
seven, I can’t let my team down…”

“
There’s been a terrible crime
,
Rick
. And a
depressed patient you can help. Please come.”

Even his silence sounded guilty. “Okay. I can work it out.
What time after six is good?”

“You couldn’t come sooner?
Try
.”

“I will. If I can I’ll let you know.”

Jill thanked him and hung up. She gave David a shaky smile.

“Think Dara would like that medallion?” she asked. “I’ll
tell Alex to turn it back on.”

She had to run and catch up with rounds, so David called
Pappas again, got his voicemail, and then tried Brand.

He was at his desk. Low-voiced and intense, David told him
about the call to Burrell.

“Dara won’t talk, probably because she saw us with you.” His
phone beeped; he glanced at the readout and tensed further. “Burrell is her
friend, sounds like it’s not more than that but she may unload to him.”

“Good, it’s something,” Brand said. “We haven’t found Brian
Walsh yet. Cops went to his favorite bars, tried his apartment again this
morning - no answer. He’s missing. We’re waiting for a warrant to get into his
place.”

“It’s only eight-thirty, judges don’t keep our hours.”

Woody Greenberg had come up, and David motioned for him to
wait. Woody grimaced and paced with his hands in his pockets; almost bumped
into a loaded gurney; got yelled at by an orderly.

Then Woody stood looking at David like a puppy that wanted
to go out, badly.

“Here’s a surprise,” David said, back to the phone, his eyes
telling Woody
Wait, dammit
. “Walsh didn’t believe his wife’s pregnancy
was his.”

Brief silence at the other end. Finally: “I’ll be damned.”

“Burrell’s coming to visit Dara tonight. Maybe sooner.”
David’s hand gripped his phone so hard his fingers hurt.

“Sooner is better,” Alex said. “This killer’s bustin’ to
kill, and it’s gotta be Walsh. If Dara spills to Burrell…here’s an idea. Think
Dara might want to wear that medallion?”

“Jill thought of that too. Great minds and all.”

“She should’ve been a cop.”

“I know. I know.”

Hanging up, David nearly shouted
“What?
”

Woody held up both hands. “Easy, cowboy. Holloway just got
called, looks like he’s gonna be starting a Caesarean, so he’s asking to be
re-scheduled from that hysterectomy.”

“Tell him okay. I’ve got a lot of re-scheduling to do. Sorry
I yelled.”