The Clone's Mother (27 page)

“Better be.” And he ducked back under the counter.

The head clerk of Medical Records arrived, chewing a bite of her apple. She reached out a hand to pluck the chart from Mack’s hand even before he finished explaining what it was.

“Thanks for getting it to me,” Mack said, “but it isn’t complete. The History & Physical is still missing.”

She looked at the chart and scrutinized the patient name on it. A very censorious expression went down her long, pinched nose, directed right at Mack.

“A very popular chart, this is. Dr. Schroeder was just in yesterday looking for it.”

“And did he see it?” Mack asked.

“This portion was not here yesterday. I don’t know how you got it. We’ve been looking everywhere for it. And, no, Dr. Schroeder had to be content to see just a few pages that had become separated from the main chart and was waiting to be reunited with its complete record, once found.”

“Can I see the loose pages then?” Mack asked.

“Here is a requisition. Fill it out, and afterwards, the paper work can be checked out to you. It might take longer than usual, since we are working to switch over to the new computer system. And I’m rather busy right now.”

“Listen, I don’t want to take it away, I just want to look at it. Five minutes, max. Please,” he said with his killer smile.

She flipped him off with an eyebrow and huffed through her nose, but she gave in after she made him show her his badge. She pulled the papers from a box within inches of her elbow.

Now, that wasn’t so hard,
I wanted to say. But if I had, she would have snatched it back before Mack even got a chance to look at it.

When Mack found the page with all of Nikki’s meds listed in my own handwriting, he held it up toward me and let me catch a glance.

“Dr. Mackenzie! Give a care to the confidentiality of our patients, please. You can’t go showing just anybody those records.”

“Don’t worry. I work here. This was my patient,” I said, as if I could possibly placate this woman. I held up my badge so she could see it. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was bosom buddies with the Nazi.

“Thanks. That’s all I needed.” Mack handed her back the chart. “And three and a half minutes left to spare.” He smiled with his attempt to humor her, but she replied with a sneer.

Definitely. She had to know the Nazi. Too many similarities to be coincidence. Maybe they were sisters.

Once we were in the car, I finally spoke up after sitting a very long time in silence.

“You realize what this means, don’t you?”

Mack started to nod but changed midway to a slow head shake. “Um…”

“Carl has seen the meds. After what Sheila told me, we can only assume he is going to go ahead with the transfer. How long would it take?”

“If he saw the chart yesterday, he could have started right away, if he already had matured or frozen embryos ready to use. He might be ready to transfer them into Sheila as early as tomorrow.”

“What can we do? We can’t just ignore what he’s doing,” I said. “Can we stop him somehow?”

“We’re still assuming a lot here.”

“Where would he keep the embryos?”

“I wouldn’t even know where to look.” He combed through his hair with his fingers and sighed. “He could have an incubator anywhere. There are a couple of them I don’t use that are open to students. It could be among any of those.”

“We can threaten him. Or blackmail him.” That was a joke. It’s not like the threats coming my way were doing any good.

Mack looked at me hard. “Don’t stir up a hornet’s nest. That could get you into a heap of trouble.”

I wanted to say,
He’s doing it to me
.

“Let me take care of this. I don’t want you involved.”

Not involved? Oh, brother.

“I already am.”

“I’ll think of something. You need to stay out of it.”

It was generous of him to think he could protect me. But I really didn’t think he could do it on his own. He had a soft spot for Carl. He wasn’t ruthless enough. This needed a woman’s touch. Something that involved a kind of slow, emasculating torture that only females could envision.

Then I stopped fantasizing and got a real idea.

Carl’s book. I
could
blackmail him.

I had the key from Lucy. I could go back to his office and get the book.

“Okay,” I said. “Do what you can.” Then I added, just to not sound too easily dissuaded, “But if you don’t figure something out, I’ll be right back in to do my part.”

The relief was obvious. He’d bought what I said.

The next time I was scheduled to work was in two nights. I’d do it then, when I was already at the hospital. I could roam around with my badge and scrubs without drawing attention to myself.

I swallowed hard. Racing into Carl’s office in a blind tizzy and breaking into his locked desk was one thing. Plotting and scheming a heist like this was enough to turn my socks inside out. And I wasn’t even wearing any.

I was nervous. My stomach burned and my heart rate spiked. Goose flesh covered my entire body.

But at least there was a plan. Something was about to be done.

“You okay?” Mack asked.

“Oh, sure. I just hope nothing goes wrong. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Nothing’s going to happen.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry. Carl isn’t violent.”

Maybe not violent. But as far as I was concerned, he was a rapist.

Chapter 42

We went to Sonic for our Friday night dinner and didn’t mention Carl again for the rest of the evening. I stuffed myself silly, then regretted it immeasurably. I was so full, I thought I’d swell like roadkill in the sun until I burst into a million pieces.

A low moan rumbled in my throat as I rubbed my belly and squirmed for a better position. “You could have stopped me a few fries ago.”

“I don’t think a few fries would have made that much difference.” He laughed and pulled out of the parking lot.

My moan grew louder.

“Guess you’re over that period of morning sickness now for certain.”

“Just you wait. For your lack of sensitivity, I might just show you a thing or two. You can’t toy with a pregnant lady. I still might barf all over your nice interior here.”

He handed me the empty bag that my second order of shake and fries had come in.

“Use this if you’re going to get sick.”

“No wonder you’re in research.”

He frowned, unclear at my meaning.

“You’ve got a lousy bedside manner.” Then I grumbled under my breath, “Hand me a bag and tell me to use it. Some compassion.”

“I have a great bedside manner. If I have a real patient. Someone who really needs help.”

“I need help,” I said, giving him a punch in his arm.

“You brought this on yourself. It’s nothing a little time and digestion won’t cure.”

“Or barfing,” I threatened.

He pushed the bag back in my direction and raised his eyebrow like a stern parent saying,
Don’t you push me, junior
.

No sympathy there. I had to give it up.

“What do you want to do tonight?”

“How about a movie?”

The idea of vegetating on the couch with no required movement sounded like just what I needed.

“Perfect.”

On the way to my apartment, he turned into a Walgreens with a RedBox and we picked out a couple of new releases. Mack also wanted to get some beer, if I didn’t mind, since I wasn’t drinking myself.

At the register, Mack gestured to the rack of munchies.

“Want snacks for the movie?” he asked me.

I threw my hand over my mouth.

“You sure you don’t mind me getting beer?”

“All I want is Alka-Seltzer. So no. Drink away.”

Back at the ranch, Ollie greeted me with undying affection, gave Mack a wide berth, then settled in beside me to watch the picture show. He wasn’t particularly fond of George Clooney, but what does a neutered male cat know? And Mack loved me, so he indulged me. Plus he got beer. So who could complain?

After the first movie finished, Mack turned off the TV, threw away his empty beer bottle, and came back to sit next to me. He sat sideways, so he could look at me.

“What?” I said after a few moments of him watching me.

“Can we talk?”

By picking up the other DVD case I could avoid his eyes. “We still have a movie to watch.”

“We can’t avoid this forever, Kate.”

“Yes. We can. I’m very good at that sort of thing.”

“Please?” he said.

“Really. We can go the rest of our lives and never even mention it.”

He gave me a pleading look. My resolve cracked.

“Okay. Fine. What do you want me to say?”

He thought a minute. “I don’t want to pry. But I don’t want you to lock me out of your heart. Every part of your heart. Even the hurt part.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“How can that be? Kate, you told me you were raped. You became pregnant. You were forced to have an abortion. That’s bad stuff.”

I shrugged. He was right.

“Can you tell me about it? Did you know the guy? Did you press charges?”

“I’m forgiving him. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Mack stared at me like he didn’t know what to say. He ran his fingers through his hair.

“He still needs to be held accountable and punished. Did you press charges?” he asked again.

“It was all a long time ago, Mack. It’s too late.”

“It’s not too late. We should do something. The monster needs to be punished!”

I put a hand on his arm, hoping to calm him. “I know it may seem like that to you now. It’s new to you. But it’s not to me. It’s old. Like it isn’t even me anymore. Most of the time. I don’t want to think about it. Or do anything about it. Except forgive and move on. I’m all right. It’s okay now.”

It was incredible, really. The peace I felt. Somehow, things were different. In the past, I probably would have been right there with Mack, exclaiming my fury, protesting the injustice, condemning the monster.

But the anger was somehow gone. I think I’d actually done it. The forgiveness was sinking in. I was becoming free. This was so cool, I considered even trying it with Carl.

“I’m sorry,” Mack said, rubbing his face in his hands. “It just makes me crazy to think someone did that to you. I want to kill him.”

“If it helps, he’s already dead.”

That kind of knocked the wind out of his vengeance.

“Oh.”

“I’m okay, Mack. Really. In fact, I think I’m better than I’ve ever been. Even since I told you. Something’s changed. I think I’ve really forgiven him.”

“How in the world could you?” His face was pained.

“Don’t worry. It’s okay. I’m okay. Just give yourself time. The shock will wear off and it won’t be so bad.”

“I hope I’m not so callused as that.”

“It’s normal. Let it happen.”

We sat for a long time in silence after that. I got him another beer and lit my listing candle, the one the intruder had broken. When I sat back down, Mack was holding my new ring. He slipped it on my finger then started kissing me. It was like before when our lips melted together like warm butter and brown sugar. This was even better than baked goods. As we kissed, our bodies couldn’t get close enough. When he started to pull my shirt off, I realized Mack was truly
upstairs
and there was no one to interrupt us this time.

“Come with me,” I said, getting up and taking his hand. I pulled him toward my bedroom. I didn’t have to ask him twice.

Ollie looked up from my pillow when we walked in. His eyes opened a little wider at the sight of us, and he got up and jumped to the floor. One more look from him and he vamoosed out the door. I closed it after him, determined to keep any chance of interruption away.

Once we were completely alone, we got to show each other how much we loved each other. Several times. It was better than I’d ever dreamed of.

Chapter 43

The next morning, Mack left pretty early after checking his messages, but this time I didn’t mind him going. I was restless and didn’t want him figuring out I was up to something.

I couldn’t get any sleep that afternoon before work because one, I’d slept most of the night—happily in Mack’s arms. Two, I couldn’t stop admiring my ring and how it sparkled in the sunlight. And thirdly, because my law-abiding self kept reminding me I was about to become a felon.

Carl would be nowhere near the hospital when I went to his office. Saturday was a good night to do this. The hospital would be quiet. I figured I had to get it done by five in the morning at the latest. Otherwise, I’d chance running into someone. Though it was a weekend, people still were around. And if Carl had something brewing, even he could show up on a weekend. Timing would be critical.

My anxiety was feeding into my frenzy. I buzzed around the apartment, once I gave up on the nap and got out of bed. My perception of myself kept switching between a criminal and a secret agent. I went over and over in my head what I’d do, planning it out as if I could somehow do this break-in thing like a Mission Impossible Special Agent.

Visions entered my mind of lowering myself over Carl’s desk on a cable suspended from a pulley on the ceiling. I’d look really sexy in my black leather body suit. That is until I got tangled in the gear. Then Carl would show up for work on Monday morning and find me dangling in a snag of harnesses and ropes like an idiot over his desk. How’d I explain that one?
Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just testing out new equipment for birthing babies.

What a relief when the time finally came to go to work. I was hoping Sheila would be working. We usually were on the same weekend. I wouldn’t have to worry that she was off having illegally cloned embryos transferred into her if she was on the unit with me.

But she wasn’t scheduled. Dang.

I needed to get distracted for a while. I planned to go up at two, one of the quietest hours of the hospital. Until then, I would just take care of my patients and hope nothing happened that would keep me from getting away.

My assignment looked satisfactory—for a night that I planned a felony. But as the night got going, the chance to get away for a break—or break-in as it were—kept eluding me.

The moment I stepped my foot into one patient’s room, her baby’s heart rate went into late decels that wouldn’t recover. Cardiac decelerations. Those are a bad thing. So by midnight, we were in the section room doing an emergency Cesarean. That put me way behind with my other two patients.

After delivering the C-section lady to another nurse to recover, I finally got to my second patient, who had unexpectedly dilated. Within minutes of my arrival she hit ten. I let her push. I threw together the table of instruments and supplies. The doctor promised on the phone that he was only five minutes out.

He wasn’t.

I delivered that one. The doctor came ten minutes later smelling like a cocktail party. The placenta appeared just as he did and I let him take over. But the paperwork was all mine, and it was going to be a mess.

My third lady, who Charge Sarge watched while I scrambled, finally got to see my face by about three. I was still chewing on some Chex Mix I’d grabbed from the front desk when I went in to introduce myself.

My patient, Beth, had been progressing along gently with her labor and dilation. Sarge had checked her an hour ago and she was at three centimeters and minus-two station. A ways to go yet. Maybe I’d get my break in after all and accomplish my task.

Beth needed to go to the bathroom, so I helped her get there then waited outside her door. With my arms folded, I leaned against the doorjamb tapping my fingers against my upper arm. I needed her to hurry up and do her business. My window of opportunity was closing. If I got her settled, her vitals done, and a quick fetal heart rate check, I could get off the floor for twenty minutes and do
my
business.

Charge Sarge walked by and asked if I could get away to get more than just a handful of cereal to eat. She offered to help me get going.

The rescue I so desperately needed.

I told her what needed to be done and she said, “No problem.”

Then the bathroom door opened and my lady stood there with a cloudy puddle of water around her bare feet and a look of surprise on her face.

“Something happened,” Beth said in a faint voice with tears dripping down her cheeks.

“Looks like your bag ruptured,” I told her with a smile, hoping I could convey to her this was normal, expected, good news, part of the process, nothing to cry about.

“Okay,” she said. “But something is coming out of me.”

“That’s the amniotic fluid,” Sarge said, trying to ease her tension.

“No. I don’t mean that. Look at this.” She lifted her gown.

Hanging between her legs was a three-inch loop of white, glistening prolapsed umbilical cord.

Sarge and I acted in unison, like one mind.

We grabbed the scared, scrawny little thing with the pregnant hump in her middle and practically lifted her off her feet, tossed her on her bed, and whipped her into a knee-chest position, her knees tucked under her and her hind-end high in the air.

While Sarge roared out instructions to our frightened friend, she also snapped an O2 mask over her face and explained our outrageous behavior. While she took care of that end, I yanked on a sterile glove as fast as I could and shoved my fist up her birth canal, working my darnedest to hold off any pressure which might compress the cord and cut off the blood flow to her baby.

Neither my patient nor her insides liked this, and with the sudden loss of amniotic fluid, her uterus kicked into full swing. I had to try to hold my fist open around the cord to shield it, which every muscle in her body worked against.

Sarge got on the horn and paged the physician
stat
and I stayed exactly where I was. While Sarge yelled into the phone, my patient wailed and I tried to talk over her volume to reassure her we were doing everything we were supposed to do, that she was doing just perfect, to stay right where she was, to breathe in deeply of the oxygen, to try to hold still, to put her head back down, to not worry and I’d get her covered with a drape, to relax, to put her head back down, that her baby was fine, but she needed to put her head back down, to keep it that way, that the doctor was on the way, that yes, we’d be doing a Cesarean very soon, and yes, the drape was covering her.

And so forth.

My wrist yelled at me, wanting Beth to be still.

“Hun, you’re going to have to put your head back down. Keep it lower than your hips,” I said for the umpteenth time.

Sarge said it too. She was putting an IV in Beth’s arm. Then to me, “How’s the pulse? Feel it okay?”

She was talking about the pulsation in the cord. We didn’t want it to change, or stop, because that would be bad.

“It’s a little slower. Crank up the O2.”

Beth started wailing.

“My baby is going to die!”

“No, we’re not going to let that happen, Beth.”

Her wailing took on monstrous proportions and became incoherent. It didn’t help the poor young thing that her face was plastered into the mattress, her knees were tucked as close to her chin as Sarge could make them get with a pregnant belly in the way, and her hind end jutted up in the air with my arm shoved inside of her.

Just when my arm cramped bad and Sarge got the IV taped down, the OB raced into the room. She threw off her coat and began adding her own instructions to our little chaotic episode. We lifted Beth onto a gurney, with me not doing anything but trying to keep my hand in place to keep the walls of the womb from locking down on that fragile life-line which was the only connection this baby had to survival.

The anesthesiologist arrived—a resident on call who did great work and could put a spinal into a turnip. I hoped for Beth’s sake she could have a spinal. But as we sprinted her stretcher down the hall as if we were in a St. Patrick’s Day bed race, the OB and anesthesiologist decided on General. At the scrub sinks, we dropped off the obstetrician and she began and ended a quick scrub while we got Beth into the Section Room and transferred to the narrow OR table.

The scrub tech was ready for us, her table spread with gleaming steel instruments. The OB bolted in, hands up and dripping with the yellow remnants of Betadine soap lather, and the tech tossed her a towel then gowned her up. The other doc helped Sarge get the patient settled on the table. Meanwhile, another resident arrived to assist, his yellow sudsy arms held out in front as his backside bumped open the door.

The anesthesia guy finally let Beth out of knee-chest—with me convoluting my arm and shoulder to stay at my post—long enough to slap a mask over her face and put her out. The cord pulse was slowing, but I could still feel it.

The circulating nurse put a hat on my head and mask over my face while the surgeon slapped golden amber prep onto Beth’s exposed belly with a soppy clump of gauze clamped in a long sponge forceps. Then after a quick wipe-off with a towel, the sterile people wrapped her yellow-stained belly in sticky surgical plastic wrap.

“Knife,” the surgeon commanded, and they were off.

Somewhere in the chaos, Sarge called a Code Pink to the NICU, so their team arrived. Another guy showed up with yellow-stained arms held high as if someone had said
stick-’em-up
. By his wide eyes, late arrival, and lack of overall understanding of what to do or where to stand, it was obvious he was a medical student.

The baby got born, I got to remove my contorted hand, and overall, the event turned out with a happy ending.

NICU took the baby to their unit for observation after only mild resuscitation was required, and once Beth was closed, she went to recovery.

That meant I had three patients down, and one break-in to go.

It was half past five. I had a ton of paperwork to do but little time left to do my deed. So I jotted down the most crucial details of the night to make sure I didn’t forget, and set aside all the other stuff to finish later. I wanted to make sure that if I went to jail, at least the most important record-keeping for each patient was documented.

“I’m going to go off the floor for a bit,” I told Sarge. She said fine. She’d rather I take the break anyway, otherwise she’d have to pay me an hour of overtime. Her manager preferred she didn’t do that.

Patting the key in my pocket to confirm it was still there after so much running around, I stepped onto the elevator and watched the doors close.

I pushed the basement button first, because if anyone was watching, I didn’t want them to see me go up and wonder where I was going. When I hit the basement, I pressed the seventh floor button and held my breath past each floor, praying no one would stop the lift and want on.

When it finally opened, I was on the administrative floor. The hall stretched out silently and empty before me, glowing in the low radiance of security lights. The blinds of the vast picture window were up at the far end of the hall. The glow of a distant subway train blurred across an elevated track like it was suspended, floating through the pitch black sky. Dawn wouldn’t begin for at least another hour.

The elevator doors began to close and I was still just standing there inside, zoning out. Or my shoes had grown into the floor. I hit the bumper, freed my stuck feet, and jumped out, letting my resolve take over to get this done.

I walked down the deserted hallway, past Nazi’s empty desk, and right up to Carl’s door, as if it were completely natural and right for me to be there. I slipped the key in, and it turned easily and silently. This wasn’t going to be so tough. I’d be in and out in no time.

I pushed on the door, swinging it open on noiseless hinges. It was surprising how such a heavy door could open so effortlessly when one held the key.

With my hand resting on the doorknob, the door pulled from my grasp. There stood Carl Schroeder.