The Proteus Cure (4 page)

Brilliance and dedication were reasons a plenty to find him attractive. But did he have to be so damned good looking? Mid-forties with dark hair combed back and parted high. Chiseled features …

Bill slid his hand to the side of her neck and down to her shoulder and gently pushed her back. But he left his hand there. He gave her an
I-want-you-too-Sheila-but-I-can’t
look.

She managed to squeak out, “Time for lunch?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I just swung by to get you.”

“Great. Let me set this down.”

She took a minute to drop off the chart and calm herself. Nothing like unrequited lust—or was it love?—to get the adrenaline going.

But how could she not be drawn to him? Beyond being gorgeous and brilliant and rich, Bill was the genesis of Tethys. The guy who saved the lives. She merely oversaw the treatments. She knew her face was beet red but couldn’t do anything about it. Damn Irish genes.

They took the elevator to the first floor. When the door shut, she looked at him and he smiled. Neither said a word.

Stupid crush.

“I’m glad we’re having lunch,” she said. “There’s a patient I want to talk to you about.”

“Good.” The doors slid open and they turned toward the caf. “Shoot.”

“Wait till we sit down.” She grinned. “You know I can’t carry food and talk at the same time.”

A few minutes later Sheila had her Diet Coke, BBQ soy chips, and a salad in front of her. She popped open the can and took a sip but ignored the food. Bill dug into his broccoli and ziti as she spoke.

“Last week I mentioned a patient with some unusual symptoms. Kelly Slade, remember?”

“Vaguely. As I recall, my beeper went off and I had to run.”

“I just found out she’s dead.”

Bill’s fork paused on the way to his mouth.

“Really? How come? Who told you?”

“On our computer. File closed: Deceased.”

“Records is pretty efficient. How’d she die?”

“Maybe an accident. I don’t know. But I so wanted to follow her case, get to the bottom of her syndrome.”

“And the symptoms were …?”

“Sounds crazy but it was like she was turning black.”

“Like gangrene black?”

“No, no nothing like that. African-American black. I knew her from her seven-twenty-three therapy. She came in the other day, her normally dirty blonde straight hair turning black and kinky, and her skin pigment darkening like a serious sun worshipper.”

“I remember now. Didn’t make sense.”

“I know. That’s why I ran so many tests.”

“Anything show up?”

His tone seemed perfunctory. She hoped she wasn’t boring him.

“Perfectly normal.”

“So what do you think it was?”

“No idea. I took some pictures though. I can compare them to the originals taken when Kelly had her treatment here.”

Bill stopped mid-chew and his face flushed. At first Sheila thought he might be choking.

Then he said, “That was a great idea.” He swallowed and added, “Good thinking.”

Sheila felt a flush of warmth. Bill’s praise meant a lot.

“You think it could have been a reaction to the chemo?”

“No. Never heard of a reaction like that. Was the new pigment in sun-exposed areas?”

“Her entire body. She didn’t have just dots or splotches. She was like a different person. I was hoping to get a paper out of it. Maybe I still can.”

“If you’re going to pursue it, you should request a post mortem, if there isn’t one already scheduled.”

“Great idea.” Why hadn’t she thought of that?

“If you need me to put in a call to the coroner, just let me know. I have a few connections downtown.”

“Thanks. But do you have
any
theories? I mean, could it possibly be the seven-twenty-three?”

“Highly unlikely. We’ve had it in trials for five years. If it was to blame we’d have seen more such anomalies by now. Many more.”

“That’s what I thought. But
something
caused it.”

“Sheila, yes—
something
, or it wouldn’t have happened. But don’t get your hopes up that you’ll uncover some obscure etiology and get your name in
Lancet,
not without—what was her name?”

What was going on with him? She’d assumed he’d be caught up by this case.

“Kelly. Kelly Slade.”

“Right. With this Kelly deceased, the chances of finding an answer are remote. Best not to start banging your head against the wall on this. I’d hate to see you waste all that time.”

“Maybe it won’t be a waste of time.”

He shrugged. “I hope not.” Then he grinned. “So, I heard you’ve got a hot date this afternoon with that volunteer.”

She gulped. “It’s just coffee.” She felt her face turning crimson. “How do you—?”

He laughed. “I happened to be nearby and heard you two. He seems like a nice guy, but a little too blue collar for someone like you.”

She felt herself stiffen. Sometimes Bill could be a snob. He kept smiling though and she let it go.

“Still in a rush to get published?” He’d changed the subject again.

And how. She loved her work at Tethys but didn’t want to spend the rest of her career here. She longed to teach, and to do that she needed a place on the staff and faculty of a university hospital. She loved academic medicine as much as clinical, and that way she could have it all. But to get there she had to publish. And keep on publishing.

Publish or perish.

She said, “Do you—?”

He looked at his watch. “Got to run. I have a meeting with Abra about the new wing. Construction is so far behind we might have to take legal action.” He rose and grabbed his tray. “Good luck with that Schneider case.”

“Slade. Her name is Slade,” she called out. But he was gone.

Sheila sat staring at her food, disappointed. After a few minutes she stretched and looked at her watch. Still had a little time before she had to get back to the floors. She’d go to her office and pick up Kelly’s file to review tonight.

Bill rushed into the men’s room and into a gray metal stall. He leaned against the wall and tried to calm himself. Photos of Kelly Slade. Shit. Sheila was too thorough. She’d compare them to the before pictures. If she ever published them side by side …

He slumped onto the seat. Had to stop it before it got out of control. If the truth got out …

He could see it now: The police arresting him in front of his whole staff. Their eyes boring into him, accusing.

The civil suits would take every penny he had. He’d go to jail and be somebody’s bitch. Elise would be left penniless, ashamed. She’d never let the kids see him again. They’d grow up never knowing the good he was doing for humanity.

Without Proteus, so many people would die who didn’t have to. The generations of sick children …

And what would happen to Abra? Watching her dream collapse would destroy her.

He punched the wall. No. No, this is not going to happen. Bill ripped open the door and hurried out.

He had to nip this in the bud.

Back in her office, Sheila sifted through her desk mess for Kelly’s chart.

Where was it?

I left it right here. Didn’t I?

The yellow pencil cup had been pushed back among the papers, no longer set in the middle. Strange. She picked up papers and folders. Nothing. She lifted the same purple folder three times before she conceded that Kelly’s file was not under it.

The charts department was supposed to retrieve only those charts in the return rack. Sheila called Records.

“Carol? It’s Doctor Takamura. Did the Slade file come back to you?”

“I’ll check.” A minute later she came back. “Not here. It’s signed out to you.”

“Yes, but it disappeared from my desk.”

“Barbara’s doing collections today. She can be overzealous at times. The chart’s probably in transit. I’ll talk to her when she gets here.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Oh, well, she’d just look it up on the network and print out what she needed.

She tapped on her keyboard and entered “Slade, Kelly.”

File closed - Deceased
.

“Yeah, I know. So let’s open it.”

And then another message:
File Moved to Storage
.

Oh, for Christ’s sake.

She dialed Bill’s cell. “Hi, Bill. It’s me. The computer says that Kelly’s records have been moved to some other drive and I can’t access them. I’ve never heard of that before.”

“It’s a new policy instituted by the IT crew,” he said. “Records of deceased patients get moved onto a separate drive, specific for whatever therapy they’d received.”

“Swell.”

“Well, the code crunchers promise it will give us quicker access to the active files. What therapy did you say she received?”

“Seven-twenty-three.”

“Well, then, she should be on the seven-twenty-three drive. I’ll have the IT guys retrieve it. Might take a few days, though.”

“Bummer.”

“In the meantime why don’t you pursue the post mortem?”

She looked up the number and called the ME. Bradfield was too small to have its own so they shared the post with Milltown. She learned that Kelly’s cause of death had been a high cervical fracture from a fall at home. Her body had been released to her family and picked up by the Moscante Funeral Home.

She called Moscante.

“Hi, this is Doctor Takamura from Tethys Hospital. I’m trying to locate the body of Kelly Slade. She died two—”

“Oh, yes. Ms. Slade has a memorial service scheduled for seven P.M. tonight.”

Sheila crossed her fingers. “Have you embalmed her yet?”

Please say no, please, please, please say no.

“No. We don’t embalm bodies to be cremated.”

“Cremated? Oh, no. When does that happen?”

“It already has. About an hour ago. A family-only ceremony.”

Sheila’s heart sank. Damn!

“Ms. Slade must have been quite a popular lady. You’re the second doctor to call about her today.”

Strange. Who else …?

“Did you happen to catch the other doctor’s name?”

“No, I’m sorry. He didn’t leave it. I remember the Caller ID said Tethys Medical Center though, just like yours does.”

“Okay. Thanks for your help.”

Tethys? Who else had called?

Cremated. Just great. Kelly’s body in ashes, her chart in limbo, and her hospital records inaccessible. Almost as if she never existed. Sheila had the photos in her camera at home but nothing to compare them to.

So what kind of paper could she hope to end up with?

She grabbed her purse and walked back to the hospital.

Sorry, Kelly.

•

The afternoon sun warmed Sheila’s back as she made her way down the gentle slope toward the parking lot. Any sun was good sun. She tolerated winter, but hated the cold. Naked trees depressed her. Sometimes she wished she could hibernate like a bear and wake up in the spring when everything was coming to life again.

She spotted Paul on a riverside bench watching Coogan skateboard. When he saw her he stood and waved, then held up coffee containers in each hand.

Sheila laughed and held up the pair she’d picked up at the caf.

She’d almost backed out. But … she’d promised. She was in no mood to be social. Between Bill’s strange mood, the revelation of Kelly’s death, the missing file …

But a promise was a promise. As for what lay ahead from this quadruple coffee, who knew?

“Looks like we’re in for a caffeine overdose,” she said as she reached Paul.

He grinned. “Is there such a thing?”

Not in Sheila’s book.

“Ooh,” she said as she recognized the containers. “Starbucks! You went all the way into town? You shouldn’t have.”

“I had to pick up Coog, so I stopped on the way back.”

She shook her head. “After all the time he’s spent here as a patient, and with all his follow-ups, you’d think he’d be sick of the place.”

“Not at all. It’s like his second home. And besides, he loves this parking lot. Not much flat pavement where we live, and he doesn’t think he’s good enough for the skateboard park—thinks he’ll look like a newbie, I guess. So whenever I’m donating a day here I pick him up at school and cut him loose.”

Sheila held up her two Styrofoam cups. “What do we start with—caf or Starbucks?”

“You choose.”

“Let’s go with Starbucks. What did you get? Anything special?”

“One’s plain old coffee of the day, the other’s a girlie model.”

“ ‘Girlie model’?”

“You know: a mocha-latta-flatta something. All the women in line were ordering them.”

“I’ll try the girlie then.”

“Deal.”

He looked relieved as he handed it to her. She took a sip. Mmmm. Like liquid dessert, but with caffeine. Perfect.

An awkward silence, filled only by the construction clamor. What to say? Paul was a nice guy, sweet, good-looking, but really, what did they have in common? How much
could
they have in common? Was Bill right? Too blue collar?

“River’s running high for this time of year,” he said.

She nodded. “Must be all last week’s rain coming out of the mountains.”

This was so lame.

Okay, so they had the river in common. What else?

And then it hit her. Of course: Coog.

Sheila knew that at six Coogan Rosko had developed acute lymphocytic leukemia. ALL usually has a good prognosis in six-year olds, but Coog was an exception. It proved refractory to everything and anything oncology could throw at it.

A grim prognosis until he arrived at Tethys …

The doctors here had used an experimental protocol named KB26 to rein in his stampeding bone marrow and it had stayed in remission ever since.

Coog was so lucky. Shortly after his treatment, Tethys had discontinued KB26. She didn’t know why but thank God he’d gotten the treatment in time.

This had occurred long before Sheila began here so she didn’t know the details. But when she’d joined the staff three years ago he’d been one of the first survivors assigned to her for routine follow-up exams.

She turned as he raced by on his skateboard. He wore a helmet plus knee and elbow guards. As she watched, Coog and his skateboard lifted into the air. The board never left Coog’s feet during the brief flight. Almost miraculously he landed with a clatter and rolled on.