Contagion (2 page)

     But then the huge health-care conglomerate AmeriCare had appeared on the horizon, sweeping through Champaign, Illinois, as well as numerous other towns, gobbling up practices and hospitals with bewildering speed. John had tried to hold out but ultimately lost his patient base. It was either surrender or flee, and John chose to flee. At first he’d looked for another ophthalmology position, but when it became clear there were too many ophthalmologists and that he’d be forced to work for AmeriCare or a similar organization, he’d made the decision to retrain in another medical specialty.

     “I think you would enjoy living in Chicago,” John said pleadingly. “And I miss you all terribly.”

     Marilyn sighed. “We miss you, too,” she said. “But that’s not the point. If I give up my job the girls would have to go to an inner-city public school. There’s no way we could afford private school with your resident’s salary.”

     The public-address system crackled to life and announced that all passengers holding tickets for Champaign had to be on board. It was last call. “We’ve got to go,” Marilyn said. “We’ll miss the flight.”

     John nodded and brushed away a tear. “I know,” he said. “But you will think about it?”

     “Of course I’ll think about it,” Marilyn snapped. Then she caught herself. She sighed again. She didn’t mean to sound angry. “It’s all I’m thinking about.” she added softly.

     Marilyn lifted her arms and embraced her husband. He hugged her back with ferocity.

     “Careful,” she wheezed. “You’ll snap one of my ribs.”

     “I love you,” John said in a muffled voice. He’d buried his face in the crook of her neck.

     After echoing his sentiments, Marilyn broke away and gathered Lydia and Tamara. She gave the boarding passes to the ticket agent and herded the girls down the ramp. As she walked she glanced at John through the glass partition. As they turned into the jetway she gave a wave. It was to be her last.

     “Are we going to have to move?” Lydia whined. She was ten and in the fifth grade.

     “I’m not moving,” Tamara said. She was eleven and strong-willed. “I’ll move in with Connie. She said I could stay with her.”

     “And I’m sure she discussed that with her mother,” Marilyn said sarcastically. She was fighting back tears she didn’t want the girls to see.

     Marilyn allowed her daughters to precede her onto the small prop plane. She directed the girls to their assigned seats and then had to settle an argument about who was going to sit alone. The seating was two by two.

     Marilyn answered her daughters’ impassioned entreaties about what the near future would bring with vague generalities. In truth, she didn’t know what was best for the family.

     The plane’s engines started with a roar that made further conversation difficult. As the plane left the terminal and taxied out toward the runway, she put her nose to the window. She wondered how she would have the strength to make a decision.

     A bolt of lightning to the southwest jolted Marilyn from her musing. It was an uncomfortable reminder of her disdain for commuter flights. She did not have the same confidence in small planes as she did in regular jets. Unconsciously she cinched her seat belt tighter and again checked her daughters’.

     During the takeoff Marilyn gripped the armrests with a force that suggested she thought her effort helped the plane get aloft. It wasn’t until the ground had significantly receded that she realized she’d been holding her breath.

     “How long is Daddy going to live in Chicago?” Lydia called across the aisle.

     “Five years,” Marilyn answered. “Until he finishes his training.”

     “I told you,” Lydia yelled to Tamara. “We’ll be old by then.”

     A sudden bump made Marilyn reestablish her death grip on her armrests. She glanced around the cabin.

     The fact that no one was panicking gave her some solace. Looking out the window, she saw that they were entirely enveloped in clouds. A flash of lightning eerily lit up the sky.

     As they flew south the turbulence increased, as did the frequency of the lightning. A terse announcement by the pilot that they would try to find smoother air at a different altitude did little to assuage Marilyn’s rising fears. She wanted the flight to be over.

     The first sign of real disaster was a strange light that filled the plane, followed instantly by a tremendous bump and vibration. Several of the passengers let out half-suppressed screams that made Marilyn’s blood run cold. Instinctively she reached over and pulled Tamara closer to her.

     The vibration increased in intensity as the plane began an agonizing roll to the right. At the same time the sound of the engines changed from a roar to an earsplitting whine. Sensing that she was being pressed into her seat and feeling disoriented in space, Marilyn looked out the window.

     At first she didn’t see anything but clouds. But then she looked ahead and her heart leaped into her throat.

     The earth was rushing up at them at breakneck speed! They were flying straight down...

     10:40 P.M.

     MANHATTAN GENERAL HOSPITAL NEW YORK CITY

     Terese Hagen tried to swallow, but it was difficult; her mouth was bone dry. A few minutes later her eyes blinked open, and for a moment she was disoriented. When she realized she was in a surgical recovery room it all came back to her in a flash.

     The problem had started without warning that evening just before she and Matthew were about to go out to dinner. There had been no pain. The first thing she was aware of was wetness, particularly on the inside of her thigh. Going into the bathroom, she was dismayed to find that she was bleeding. And it wasn’t just spotting.

     It was active hemorrhaging. Since she was five months pregnant, she was afraid it spelled trouble.

     Events had unfolded rapidly from that point. She’d been able to reach her physician, Dr. Carol Glanz, who offered to meet her at the Manhattan General’s emergency room. Once there, Terese’s suspicions had been confirmed and surgery scheduled. The doctor had said that it appeared as if the embryo had implanted in one of her tubes instead of the uterus—an ectopic pregnancy.

     Within minutes of her regaining consciousness, one of the recovery-room nurses was at her side, reassuring her that everything was fine.

     “What about my baby?” Terese asked. She could feel a bulky dressing over her disturbingly flat abdomen.

     “Your doctor knows more about that than I do,” the nurse said. “I’ll let her know you are awake. I know she wants to talk with you.”

     Before the nurse left, Terese complained about her dry throat. The nurse gave her some ice chips, and the cool fluid was a godsend.

     Terese closed her eyes. She guessed that she dozed off, because the next thing she knew was that Dr. Carol Glanz was calling her name.

     “How do you feel?” Dr. Glanz asked.

     Terese assured her she was fine thanks to the ice chips. She then asked about her baby.

     Dr. Glanz took a deep breath and reached out and put her hand on Terese’s shoulder. “I’m afraid I have double bad news,” she said. Terese could feel herself tense.

     “It was ectopic,” Dr. Glanz said, falling back on doctor jargon to make a difficult job a bit easier. “We had to terminate the pregnancy and, of course, the child was not viable.”

     Terese nodded, ostensibly without emotion. She had expected as much and had tried to prepare herself. What she wasn’t prepared for was what Dr. Glanz said next.

     “Unfortunately the operation wasn’t easy. There were some complications, which was why you were bleeding so profusely when you came into the emergency room. We had to sacrifice your uterus. We had to do a hysterectomy.”

     At first Terese’s brain was unable to comprehend what she’d been told. She nodded and looked expectantly at the doctor as if she anticipated more information.

     “I’m sure this is very upsetting for you,” Dr. Glanz said. “I want you to understand that everything was done that could have been done to avoid this unfortunate outcome.”

     Sudden comprehension of what she’d been told jolted Terese. Her silent voice broke free from its bounds and she cried: “No!”

     Dr. Glanz squeezed her shoulder in sympathy. “Since this was to be your first child, I know what this means to you,” she said. “I’m terribly sorry.”

     Terese groaned. It was such crushing news that for the moment she was beyond tears. She was numb. All her life she had assumed she would have children. It had been part of her identity. The idea that it was impossible was too difficult to grasp.

     “What about my husband?” Terese managed. “Has he been told?”

     “He has,” Dr. Glanz said. “I spoke to him as soon as I’d finished the case. He’s downstairs in your room, where I’m sure you’ll be going momentarily.”

     There was more conversation with Dr. Glanz, but Terese remembered little of it. The combined realization that she’d lost her child and would never be able to have another was devastating.

     A quarter hour later an orderly arrived to wheel her to her room. The trip went quickly; she was oblivious to her surroundings. Her mind was in turmoil; she needed reassurance and support.

     When she reached her room, Matthew was on his cellular phone. As a stockbroker, it was his constant companion.

     The floor nurses expertly transferred Terese to her bed and hung her IV on a pole behind her head. After making sure all was in order and encouraging her to call if she needed anything, they left.

     Terese looked over at Matthew, who had averted his gaze as he finished his call. She was concerned about his reaction to this catastrophe. They had been married for only three months.

     With a definitive click Matthew flipped his phone closed and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

     He turned to Terese and stared at her for a moment. His tie was loosened and his shirt collar unbuttoned.

     She tried to read his expression but couldn’t. He was chewing the inside of his cheek.

     “How are you?” he asked finally with little emotion.

     “As well as can be expected,” Terese managed. She desperately wanted him to come to her and hold her, but he kept his distance.

     “This is a curious state of affairs,” he said.

     “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Terese said.

     “Simply that the main reason we got married has just evaporated,” Matthew said. “I’d say your planning has gone awry.”

     Terese’s mouth slowly dropped open. Stunned, she had to struggle to find her voice. “I don’t like your implication,” she said. “I didn’t get pregnant on purpose.”

     “Well, you have your reality and I have mine,” Matthew said. “The problem is: What are we going to do about it?”

     Terese closed her eyes. She couldn’t respond. It had been as if Matthew had plunged a knife into her heart.

     She knew from that moment that she didn’t love him. In fact she hated him...

     1

     WEDNESDAY, 7:15 A.M., MARCH 20, 1996

     NEW YORK CITY

     “Excuse me,” Jack Stapleton said with false civility to the darkly complected Pakistani cabdriver. “Would you care to step out of your car so we can discuss this matter fully?”

     Jack was referring to the fact that the cabdriver had cut him off at the intersection of Forty-sixth Street and Second Avenue. In retaliation Jack had kicked the cab’s driver-side door when they had both stopped at a red light at Forty-fourth Street. Jack was on his Cannondale mountain bike that he used to commute to work.

     This morning’s confrontation was not unusual. Jack’s daily route included a hair-raising slalom down Second Avenue from Fifty-ninth Street to Thirtieth Street at breakneck speed. There were frequent close calls with trucks and taxicabs and the inevitable arguments. Anyone else would have found the trip nerve-racking. Jack loved it. As he explained to his colleagues, it got his blood circulating.

     Choosing to ignore Jack until the light turned green, the Pakistani cabdriver then cursed him soundly before speeding off.

     “And to you too!” Jack yelled back. He accelerated standing up until he reached a speed equal to the traffic. Then he settled onto the seat while his legs pumped furiously.

     Eventually he caught up with the offending cabdriver, but Jack ignored him. In fact, he whisked past him, squeezing between the taxi and a delivery van.

     At Thirtieth Street Jack turned east, crossed First Avenue, and abruptly turned into the loading bay of the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner for the City of New York. Jack had been working there for five months, having been offered a position as an associate medical examiner after finishing his pathology residency and a year’s fellowship in forensics.

     Jack wheeled his bike past the security office and waved at the uniformed guard. Turning left, he passed the mortuary office and entered the morgue itself. Turning left again, he passed a bank of the refrigerated compartments used to store bodies prior to autopsy. In a corner where simple pine coffins were stored for unclaimed bodies heading for Hart Island, Jack parked his bike and secured it with several Kryptonite locks.

     The elevator took Jack up to the first floor. It was well before eight in the morning and few of the daytime employees had arrived. Even Sergeant Murphy wasn’t in the office assigned to the police.

     Passing through the communications room, Jack entered the ID area. He said hello to Vinnie Amendola, who returned the greeting without looking up from his newspaper. Vinnie was one of the mortuary techs who worked with Jack frequently.

     Jack also said hello to Laurie Montgomery, one of the board-certified forensic pathologists. It was her turn in the rotation to be in charge of assigning the cases that had come in during the night. She’d been at the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner for four and a half years. Like Jack, she was usually one of the first to arrive in the morning.

     “I see you made t into the office once again without having to come in feet first,” Laurie said teasingly. She was referring to Jack’s dangerous bike ride. “Coming in feet first” was office vernacular for arriving dead.