Silent Fear, a Medical Mystery (23 page)

He grinned and picked up the phone, spoke softly and hung up. “Go through the door and make a right. Officer Parks will speak with you.”

Rachel scurried away from him. When she made a right and headed down the hall, a blonde-mustached man peered out of an office. In his early forties, he fit her description of the ideal man specializing in law enforcement.

“Hello, Miss,” he said. “Come in and have a seat. I’m Officer Parks.” He stepped back to let her in and motioned to an old wood chair.

“I’m Rachel Hendersen, nice to meet you. I wish it were under different circumstances.” She silently applauded her subtle yet perfect remark. She wouldn’t mind being pulled over by him.

His brow went up and she caught a gleam in his eye, but it passed quickly. “What seems to be the problem, Miss Hendersen?”

“I have an infant, sir, who is under the protection of specific court orders and she lives with me. This is the first weekend her father has been allowed visitation. There are concerns by myself, the lawyers and the judge that he might try to take her from me.” She crossed her legs. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to slow down a bit. You see, I’m a total wreck.”

“Take your time. I’ll ask you questions in a minute.” He slid a form from a pile in front of him and dropped a pen on top.

“Anyway, three hours ago, based on detailed arrangements, I went to pick her up from her father. I waited an hour. He never showed with my daughter!”

“Ma’am, this is …”

“Please, Officer Parks, call me Rachel.” Moisture accumulated in her eyes and she wrung her hands.

“Good grief,” he said, “don’t start crying. I want you to know this is not uncommon and the police often don’t get involved with this type of situation when it’s so fresh.”

“Officer Parks, I can understand that. However, like I said, it’s the first time her father was allowed to take her. And he lives in Nashville. They only gave him from Friday night until today and I haven’t heard from him.”

Evan Parks looked around for a tissue box. He leaned over to the shelf and grabbed a thin box and handed it across the desk.

“Thanks.” She swiped one out while noticing the absence of a wedding ring and dabbed the corner of her eyes.

“Okay, I need to fill in this form, but I’ll tell you right now I’m going to wait until the morning. If you still don’t have your daughter or a plausible explanation, I’ll ask the Nashville office to look into this, especially to make sure your daughter is safe as well as returned to you.”

Rachel let out a big sigh and clasped her hands together. “I think you’re my hero.”

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Monday morning Danny peeked into Julia’s room before the sun came up, the night light illuminating her sleeping figure. He silently went downstairs and let Dakota out for a few minutes while readying a to-go cup of coffee. Dakota came back in with a stick and Danny stealthily threw it into the trash. “Bye, Dakota, you be a good boy for Mary and Casey today and mind Julia, too.”

He drove to work listening to talk radio while occasionally taking a sip at a red light. Not only did he feel obligated, but he longed to visit Michael Johnson and Bill Patogue. He found a premium parking space, slid on his white jacket, and went straight to the ICU where both of them were spending a comatose existence.

Activity at the nurses station was quiet. It was well before the 7 a.m. shift change. Bill’s room was closer, so Danny slid in there unnoticed. Bill had changed. He no longer looked younger than his forty-two years, but looked older than Danny. On the IV poles and pumps, Danny read the labels on all the infusions. Bill was receiving the big gun medications to maintain his blood pressure and the doses were hefty. Danny sat on the bed, took Bill’s hand and held it for awhile. He wished above all that Bill would hang onto life; there was always hope.

Danny went three doors down, nodded at the solo nurse at the desk, and went into Michael’s room. He scoured the IV medications to find that Michael’s circulatory system was in a much better state than Bill’s. The youngster continued to receive the last regimen of antibiotics selected for the PAM patients, but he wasn’t on any vasopressors. He also had a central line with liquid nourishment being infused at a steady slow rate. Danny sat alongside him and took the youngster’s hand in his gloved palm. It wasn’t as cold as Bill’s. He said a prayer, hoping the boy would someday go back to school, books, and girls. He closed his eyes tight, knowing his mom and dad had passed away.

When Danny walked out of the room, Timothy Paltrow and Peter Brown were coming into the ICU together, talking quietly. Timothy shuffled with his cane and the ICU ceiling light bounced off Peter’s bald head. Danny waited and they stopped in front of him. “Morning, gentlemen,” he said.

“Good morning as well,” Tim said. “Did you see Michael and Bill?”

“I did. I can’t add any more suggestions to what you both are already doing for them.”

“I’m going to start a central line on Bill today,” Tim said.

The three of them shot dismal glances at each other. “Have either of you spoken to Ralph or Joelle?” Danny asked. “National PAM numbers are growing exponentially.”

“We have,” Peter said. “We’re talking to Ralph in a few hours for another update, particularly if he has news to report on treatment research.”

“I saw Joelle Saturday,” Danny said. “We considered a long-shot possibility – something to explore as far as a cure. If anything develops about that, you’ll be the first ones to know.”

Tim tapped his cane. “What does it involve?”

“Dog saliva.”

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Although he wanted to smooth his hand over Mary’s shoulder and kiss her good-bye, Casey got up without disturbing her. Today was Monday, the start of a seven-to-three week. After dressing, he peeked in on Julia, sleeping with a precious curved outline as only a baby can do. His heart melted when he saw Dakota stretched under the crib. Dakota popped his head up and looked at Casey as if to say, “Chill. I’ve got her taken care of.”

When Casey went downstairs, he made an instant coffee from the jar Danny had left on the counter and brought it with him. Outside the ER, Mark was already preparing their ambulance for a run. Casey jumped up into the back.

“We’re off and running,” Mark said. “How was your weekend?”

“Better than I deserve, how about yours?”

“My weekends could use improvement.”

“What have we got?”

“Big MVA outside the city, with multiple ambulances en-route.”

Casey raised his eyebrows, unbuttoned his top button, and rolled up his sleeves.

“There’s major trauma and head cases,” Mark said. “I’m running inside to let them know we’re on our way.”

Casey decided to let Danny know.
The Neurosurgical Group of Middle Tennessee has enough of a doc shortage
, Casey thought. Giving Danny information about incoming trauma may help them juggle their morning surgeries, rounds, and office appointments. He rang Danny also knowing he wouldn’t be in surgery yet. “Danny, it’s Casey, you should expect major head trauma this morning. Mark and I are going out now.”

“Thanks for the heads up.”

“And Julia was still sleeping like a baby when I left, along with her new guardian, Dakota.”

Danny pictured it. “Thanks. What an unexpected team. Okay, have to run.”

“Me too,” Casey said. He hung up and Mark jumped into the driver’s seat and started the ignition.

En-route to the southern interstate accident, continuous chatter from police and first responders sounded on their radio. For some reason, even seasoned accident first responders registered shock upon arriving at the scene. Mark drove furiously fast, but kept a step ahead of other automobiles that could present problems. He slowed once because an old gentleman, barely high enough in his seat to see out the front window, continued to drive in the fast lane. Mark peeled onto the shoulder lane, hugged the median, and zipped past him.

Finally they came upon traffic barely crawling, so the ambulance drove on the shoulder the rest of the way. They slowed to a minimum speed as troopers on foot guided them into a safe, yet close, spot to park. Casey and Mark piled out of the vehicle.

Wreckage, glass, police, and first responders dotted the highway. The first vehicle planted in the right lane was a humongous semi, the front cab not touched. But the next vehicle was the remnants of a white sedan, which had its front end all the way to its rear seats jammed under the truck. The top of it didn’t exist anymore, at least to the naked eye. A car had also hit this vehicle from the back end.

Another ambulance’s personnel slipped a patient on a stretcher into their vehicle as Casey and Mark met a trooper half way. “What happened and what do you have for us?” Casey asked. His adrenaline had kicked in. He wanted to save a life.

“The truck here wasn’t responsible, but the driver’s hurt and they’re taking him now.” He nodded to the departing ambulance.

Casey stared at the main gnarled mess of the car wedged under the back of the truck. It was as bad as they get. He looked at the trooper. “I told my neurosurgeon buddy we’d be bringing in a head case, and it looks like we’re going to deliver.”

“Not from this one.”

Casey and Mark huddled closer to him. The surrounding noise and commotion made it difficult to hear him. “Why not?” Mark asked.

“Because the guy in this car was decapitated. His head is in the back seat. He was texting while driving, drove right underneath the semi. It was the last text he’ll ever deliver.”

Casey felt sick. He’d been to a lot of accident scenes, but this topped them all. He tasted the instant coffee he had sipped on earlier. His heart sped faster and he wanted to scream out that it should be against the law to text while driving. However, the guy probably shouldn’t have had a driver’s license in the first place.

He looked at Mark, who’d turned pale. The officer was making a valid attempt to lure them to the next car which had plowed into the mess. “Mark, are you alright?” Casey asked.

Mark nodded. “What’s wrong with this world, anyway?”

“Fellas, here’s your patient,” the officer said, breaking into their thoughts and discussion.

The woman they extracted was clearly a patient for the trauma service and Dr. Danny Tilson.

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On Monday morning, police officer Evan Parks itched to call the distressed lovely lady who had paid him a visit on his evening shift the night before. He felt it would be all right if she called in the status of her baby girl’s whereabouts, but he wanted to contact her first personally. She had grabbed his attention. However, she hadn’t left a phone number for him to reach her.

As he walked out of his office to pour more generic stationhouse coffee, he grabbed his ringing phone. “Officer Parks,” he said.

“Oh, they put me through quickly,” a velvet-voiced female said. After talking with her only once, he would recognize her voice anywhere. “Officer, this is Rachel Hendersen. We met last night. I am calling to confirm that I am ready to plunge from the George Washington Bridge if I don’t get my baby back. And I don’t even live in New York.”

“Okay, Miss Hendersen. It is miss, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“Okay, let’s see what we can do about this.” But this time, he was going to get her phone number.

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Dr. Bruce Garner slipped a patient’s chart over the desk to the office billing clerk. “This patient is getting dressed and will be out in a moment. If she can’t pay her co-pay today, just waive it for later.” Matthew Jacob came up alongside him and also slipped billing paperwork on the desk.

“One office person out sick and we all feel the shortage,” Bruce said, grimacing. “Plus, I can’t wait for Dr. Jeffrey Foord to start.”

Matthew shifted his eyes as Bruce continued. “Danny’s got his hands full seeing all our patients and doing surgeries today. And you should have limited hours today after being on call this weekend. It must seem like residency again to you two.”

“I must admit,” Matthew said, “it’s a challenge. He gazed out to the waiting room as the door opened and two uniformed officers entered. Matthew’s eyes grew wide. He’d never seen holsters and guns in their office. Bruce still blabbered about the practice, so Matthew tapped his hand on the counter and motioned ahead.

One policeman stayed at the door while the tall one approached the desk. Patients reading magazines in the waiting area lowered them away from their eyes and mumbled amongst themselves.

“Who’s in charge here?” the tall one said across the counter. “We’re looking for a Dr. Danny Tilson.”

Bruce felt like he’d swallowed his tongue. What the hell did Danny do now? “He’s over at the hospital seeing patients. He’ll be in surgery at some point, too. Is there something I can do for you?”

The officer listened while he gazed at the three doctor’s business cards on the counter. He picked up Danny’s card. “No. We’ll take care of this with him. Good day, docs.” He turned, surveying the office, and exited with his partner. He waved the card in front of them. “I’ll never go see this guy,” he said.

Chapter 21

Danny continued rounds before his delayed late morning surgeries started. He had Bruce’s and Matthew’s patients to see, too. The list of names was so long, he kept looking at it and shoving it back into his pocket. The paper now resembled a wad of paper that had been tucked into a pants pocket and gone through a washing machine cycle.

The clerk at the desk checked off Danny’s orders from the previous patient and helped him find the last chart he needed. He finally sat, looked through his patient’s progress over the weekend and any additions Matthew had made, and went to see his craniotomy from late last week. When he went in the man’s room, the man looked up from reading a paperback. His face soured. “I heard you left a sponge in my brain last week,” he said.

Danny froze. No way, not that he was aware of. His pulse quickened. But maybe Matthew had discovered it over the weekend by CT. Not one more thing. Plus, he better get the man to surgery if there was any truth to it.

“Does that mean you’ve given me a memory like a sponge?” the man said, breaking his seriousness. “And do I owe you extra for the craniotomy?” The man chuckled.