Текст книги "Heartless"

Автор книги: Patrick T. Phelps

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

CHAPTER THREE

1992

Doctor Mark Rinaldo knew that his wife, Gerti, hadn’t believed the story he told her yesterday about why he was late and why he would be late coming home again today. Though Mark believed that being honest, especially with his wife, was indeed the best policy, he found no way to tell her the truth about what he and the other doctors had experienced just one day ago.

Mark sat at a high-top table in Shifts Lounge. Shifts was located within walking distance from Saint Stevens Memorial Hospital where Mark held the position of Chief of Medicine. The clientele of the lounge were almost exclusively hospital employees, and the lounge owner accommodated the hospital’s employees work schedule by opening at 7:00 a.m. and not closing till well after 3:00 a.m. each day.

The lounge was decorated intentionally to not include reminders that its patrons would associate with the hospital. Besides a few photographs of Shifts owner posing with some nurses hanging on the narrow hallway leading to the restrooms, there were no other health care industry related pictures or items in the lounge. The owner had even made sure that the soap and cleaning supplies that were used in the lounge didn’t smell like those used in Saint Stevens.

“What do you think is taking them so long?” Doctor Henry Zudak asked.

“They’re not that late,” Mark said. “You have to expect some delays. Traffic can get pretty rough on Long Island, and it isn’t a picnic getting around Chicago this time of day, either. Relax.”

“Relax?” Henry said. “I can’t believe that relaxing is possible.”

Henry Zudak had been an obstetrician for seven years. In those seven years, he had seen plenty of surprises when his pregnant patients were lying on a hospital bed, legs held in stirrups, nervous husbands wondering if they should look south or north. However, what he had witnessed less than twenty-four hours ago was well beyond anything he would describe as a “surprise.”

Ken O’Connell, a successful car dealership owner and entrepreneur, and his wife, Janet, arrived at Saint Stevens at 4:30 yesterday afternoon. They knew, as did their doctor, Henry Zudak, that Jan’s belly was full of not one, but two babies. So while she was just beginning her eighth month of her pregnancy, Henry wasn’t surprised or overly concerned that Jan was in full labor.

Even the discovery that the twins were conjoined – choosing their chests to be their point of connection – didn’t shock Henry, though it was an unexpected development.  Knowing that Jan would not be able to deliver the conjoined twins naturally, Henry had Stanley Mix, a talented surgeon and good friend of his, paged.

“Not sure of their condition, but I could clearly see that the babies are connected at the chest,” Henry reported to Stanley.

“I’ll get ‘em out,” Stanley said.

The Cesarean section was quick. No complications. The neonatal nurse on duty quickly accessed the twins while Stanley closed up the five-inch incision.

“Doctor?” the nurse said in a hushed voice to Stanley who was finishing suturing the baby’s exit passage.

“Yes?” he answered.

“Can you help me with something?”

Stanley thought it was a strange request from a tenured nurse.

As Stanley approached the nurse who stood beside the twins, he could read the concern deeply etched into her face.

“Problem?” he asked.

“I only hear one heart, and I can only get one baby to breathe. APGAR test score is a six. No breathing, no color.”

She turned and gestured to one of the twins.

“This baby has the heart. This one,” she said while placing her hands on the other twin, “is, I think, just going along for the ride.”

Stanley examined the twins carefully, trying hard not to raise the already heightened concerns of the O’Connell’s.

“I don’t think it’s going to be a very long ride,” he whispered. “Heart is too premature to handle one baby, let alone two. This may get ugly.”

The time for quelling the fears of the O’Connell’s was over.

“Ken and Jan,” Stanley said. Though Jan was heavily medicated, her fears made her fully aware. “I believe there’s a problem that we don’t have much time to solve.”

The decision to do an emergency separation was difficult for the parents.  It was not made until both Henry Zudak and Mark Rinaldo were asked to examine the twins and either agree with Stanley’s dire assessment or find a reason the reason to keep the babies joined.

They both agreed with Stanley.

There was no time to wait for a surgeon experienced in the type of surgery needed, so Mark asked Stanley to perform the procedure.

“I’ll assist,” Mark said

“I’ll need the extra hands,” Stanley replied as they scrubbed in.

The procedure only took 40 minutes to separate the twins. Thomas, the twin lucky enough to claim possession of the heart and lungs, was quickly transferred to the Neonatal ICU, while Alexander was carefully and respectfully placed on a gurney and covered with a dazzlingly clean white sheet.

“I’ll go speak with the O’Connell’s,” Mark said as he and Stanley finished the surgery. “Let Henry know what happened and ask him to keep an extra close eye on the other baby.”

As he turned to leave, he felt the strong and sure grip of Stanley’s hand grab hold of his arm. The grip was stronger than Mark thought a grip should be.

“Problem?” Mark asked.

“Look,” Stanley said, gesturing to the baby covered in the white sheet. “It’s moving.”

Mark broke free of Stanley’s grasp and removed the sheet covering the heartless baby. At first, Mark expected that the baby’s nerves were having one last run through the body. However, when Mark saw the child return his stare, it was Mark’s nerves that started running.

“Give me a stethoscope,” Mark ordered.

He checked closely for any signs of life, anything that Stanley and he may have missed.

He found nothing.

“No pulse, no breaths. Nothing,” Mark said.

Mark quickly moved to the windows that separated the operating room from the observation area and drew the curtains closed. Only he and Stanley were in the operating room, the nurses having gone with the healthy twin to the ICU.

“What are you doing?” Stanley asked.

“Making sure that no one sees what the hell is going on in here.”

“Mark, we need to get this baby...”

“Get it where?” Mark interrupted. “Get it to ICU where they can say we screwed up, or get freaked out when they find out that this baby doesn’t have a heart? Or maybe we should bring it out to the O’Connell’s and tell them the good news, that despite not having a heart or lungs that the child they just decided had to be separated in order to save the other baby, is still alive? Where, Stanley? What do you propose we have to do?”

“Mark, we have to tell someone.”

Mark thought as he moved to lock the operating room door.

“Maybe you should just leave. I don’t know what the hell I am going to do or even what I should do, but there’s no reason for you to get involved in whatever I come up with.”

“And then what? Leave and pretend that nothing happened? Pretend that the baby died like it should have and that my chief of medicine isn’t hiding a living body somewhere in Chicago? What the hell, Mark? I can’t leave like this.”

“I need time to think.”

“We don’t have time, Mark.”

“Call Henry. Tell him to get up here and to say nothing to anyone.”

“Okay, but any second now the cleaning crew is going to try to do their job in this room, and finding the door locked and two doctors in the room will raise some eyebrows.”

“I need time to think,” Mark said as he plowed his hands through his thinning, grey hair. “I need time to come up with something.”

Both doctors heard the mumblings of men approaching the locked door. Their attempts to open the door prompted their knock and call.

“Anyone in there?” one of the men said. “Cleaning crew. Anyone in there?”

“We’re not finished,” Mark replied. “Come back in fifteen.”

“Who is that?” the voice behind the locked door demanded.

“Doctor Mark Rinaldo, Chief of Medicine. Now either go away or start looking for another place to work where you can piss more people off. Understood?”

There was no reply, only the faint sounds of feet moving away from the door.

“Well, I’m sure that won’t make anyone suspicious,” Stanley said.

“They’re gone, and that’s all I wanted. Now please call Henry. Remember, tell him to say nothing.”

Henry Zudak announced his arrival a few minutes after being called by Stanley by a loud knock on the locked door.

“Mark? Stanley? It’s Henry.”

Mark nodded towards Stanley who then unlocked and opened the door.

“Anyone follow you?” Stanley asked.

“Follow me? What the hell are you talking about? No, no one followed me.”

Mark locked eyes with Henry, revealing his confusion, worry, and fear.

“What’s going on in here?” Henry asked.

Mark removed his gaze and looked down at the baby lying on the gurney. The white sheet, bloodied in patches, was wadded up at the feet of a baby that stared at Henry with eyes lifeless and cold. “What is that baby doing here?”

“Henry, we have a situation.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Doctor William Straus was waiting for something like this to happen for him. Something that would get his name listed at the top of the medical journals around the world. He knew that all he needed was the right chance to show the world just how damn good of a psychiatrist that he was.

When his friend from college, Doctor Peter Adams called him yesterday, William knew that his chance had arrived.

“Will, I really need to make sure that you understand the delicate nature of this situation and can assure us that absolute privacy and confidentiality will and can be maintained,” Peter Adams said.

Doctor Peter Adams was an employee of Saint Stevens Memorial Hospital, where he offered counseling services to patients and their families, as well as to Saint Stevens employees.  Mark Rinaldo had called Peter into a private meeting, during which he, Henry and Stanley explained the events and circumstances of the O’Connell’s twins.

“You’re telling me that the baby has no heart and no lungs, yet is still moving around? Peter asked.

“All of us, Henry, Mark and I, examined that baby over so many times and ways that there is no way we missed a heart,” Stanley said. “No way. There is just no heart inside that baby.”

“I’m not questioning any of you, but I am confused about my role in this,” Peter asked.

“I have a plan and need your help making it work.”

“Okay, Mark. Let’s hear it.”

Mark Rinaldo explained the events of the day. He told him that he marked up the chest of a stillborn baby that was marked to be “destroyed” to look like what the O’Connells would expect that their baby would have looked like.  He told Peter that he had the heartless baby hidden in his office. He told him that he needed his assistance in getting the baby out of the hospital as quickly as possible and implored Peter to keep everything completely confidential.

“I know you have a friend who runs a psychiatric hospital out on Long Island,” Mark said to Peter.

“Are you suggesting that I smuggle the baby across State lines, involve my good friend in this highly illegal scheme of yours and get nothing in return?”

“Are you suggesting that I bribe you?”

“Not a bribe,” Peter said. “Just some assurances that if and when this thing explodes that my name is never mentioned.”

“Agreed. Anything else?” Mark asked.

“I have been thinking about a long vacation. A very long vacation.”

William Straus had everything prepared. He was thankful for his authoritative manner of running Hilburn when he instructed the staff that “Ward C will have a new patient, and no one is allowed to enter Ward C without approval.”

Ward C had been closed for the last three years. When it was in use, it housed some of the most dangerous patients assigned to Hilburn. The staff at the time called the ward “the mind-bending rooms.”

Straus was well known as a strict disciplinarian, who demanded that anyone under his supervision adhere to the “highest work ethic and extreme confidentiality.” Any employee, whether a tenured doctor or a recently hired cafeteria worker, was terminated if Straus caught wind of “excessive work breaks or discussing hospital matters outside of work.”

When Straus announced to his “confidence team” that Ward C would be opening again, he had little fear that news would spread.

“Our patient is coming to us from a hospital in Chicago where the doctors there are unable to care for the baby,” Straus started.

“A baby?” Michelle Pettingall, Straus’s favorite nurse to look at asked. “Ward C isn’t set up to care for an infant. Wouldn’t the patient be better cared for in the pediatric wing?”

“In most cases, yes, Michelle,” Straus smiled. “But this patient, according to the report I received via telephone, has some very unique healthcare concerns.”

“Something contagious?” asked Jacob Curtis, a psychologist who was better at kissing Straus’s ass than at treating patients.

“Unknown but doubtful.”

“Can you share the ‘unique concerns’ with us?” asked Brian Lucietta. Brian was five years out of medical school and shared Straus’s interest in “alternate means of treatment.”

“Speculation at this point, Brian. What I was told seems too difficult to believe. I think it best that we each examine the patient independently and share our findings as a team.”

“When will the patient arrive?” asked Jacob Curtis.

“Two doctors from Chicago, my old friend Peter Adams and a surgeon named Stanley Mix left Chicago very late last night. I expect them to be here within the hour.”

Straus found no reason to extend the meeting any longer. He had to make sure that Ward C was ready and that his team fully understood how important confidentiality and complete focus to the patient would be.

“We have plenty of things to complete and not much time to do so. Michelle,” he said as he moved as close to her as he felt she would allow. “Have you moved the necessary items to Ward C like I asked?”

“Yes, Doctor Straus. Everything you asked for.”

“Good. And Jacob, did you ensure that the recording and video devices are fully functional in each room?”

“Tested them three times, sir. If a pin drops in any of the rooms, we’ll hear it.”

“Excellent,” Straus said before turning to Brian. “Lastly, has all the lab equipment I requested been reserved and moved to the Ward?”

“Everything,” Brian replied.

“Perfect. Again, I understand that we have some employees here who are more interested in other people’s concerns than they are with their own. That is an unavoidable problem. However, the way they view us is of no concern, at least it shouldn’t be. That being said, I feel compelled to remind each of you that until we know exactly what this patient brings us, that your conversations about this patient are held with the strictest degree of confidentiality. Do I have everyone’s commitment?”

“Yes, Doctor Straus.”

Michelle Pettingall hated her job almost as much as she hated Doctor Straus and his unwelcomed advances, arrogant nature, and the superior attitude he always displayed. Had she the courage or the bank account, she would tell Straus to go “screw himself” right before having a sit-down with a New York State representative to “spill the beans” on what was really going on at Hilburn.

Courage, she had. Money, she didn’t.

Her husband, Kenneth Pettingall, was killed while fighting a fire over three years ago. Michelle thought that since Ken had been a full-fledged firefighter for NYFD that the city would pay her his life insurance and pension. However, after the investigation showed that Ken was not only off-duty when the warehouse fire erupted but also that his blood alcohol level was 1.3, the city needed to make an example out of someone.

“We are very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Pettingall, and wish there was something that the city could do. However, rewarding behaviors like those that the report proves your husband was doing, sends a message to every firefighter in the city. We are sorry for your loss.”

For the last three years, Michelle had put up with Straus, the horrible working conditions at Hilburn, and the loneliness of losing the only man she had ever loved. She put up with it all without the support of friends or family. Her parents were divorced when Michelle was seven, and while she maintained somewhat of a relationship with her mother who lived in Maine, her father had drunk himself to death over eight years ago. As for friends, all of those were the wives of other firefighters that were stationed with Ken. When Ken died, so did the friendships.

When Straus dismissed the team, Michelle turned to walk back up the two flights of dusty stairs to Ward C to make sure nothing was missed. She was no more than ten steps away when she heard Straus call her name.

“It will certainly be nice working so closely with you, Michelle. It will certainly be nice.”

She turned and only offered the briefest of smiles before hurrying her pace towards the assumed security of the stairwell.

“Bastard,” she whispered, being sure that no one could hear, but then double-checking over her shoulder to be absolutely certain that Straus hadn’t heard her whisper.

Straus was still standing in the hallway, admiring the view of her backside as she was walking away from him. Still standing there with a smug smile of ignorant expectation when she reached the stairs.

“Bastard,” she said again, in an even quieter whisper.

Ward C wasn’t a ward at all, at least not in the typical sense. The ward was comprised of only four rooms and a bathroom. The most important room was called “the hub.” It was a semi-circular room with two-way mirrors affording the room’s occupant a clear and private view into the three adjoining rooms. To the east was a small, 15 by 15 foot bedroom. The room was sparsely furnished, and nothing hung from the walls. The only furniture in the room was a 1950’s style baby crib, three fold-up metal chairs, a small, well-worn coffee table, and a large cabinet filled with medical supplies.

To the north, the hub looked into a dimly lit room, much longer than wider, that contained one long, white table. On the table were strewn several notebooks, empty blood vials, several syringes – some in and some outside of their packaging, a coffee pot in dire need of cleaning, and three microscopes. Towards the far end of the room, a small, squared off area contained the only restroom in Ward C.

The room that could be seen when looking westward from the hub was a well-lighted lounge. The couch, four reclining chairs, and solid oak end and coffee tables seemed out of place for an institution struggling to get sufficient funds to improve patient care. This was the only room of the four that was carpeted, clean, and comfortable.

Each room could only be accessed from the hub, and no room had any windows.

Only mirrored walls.

The hub was used to closely monitor specific patients in the years that Straus and his team had more “freedom” in their treatment plans. Now, it was to be used to monitor the new patient that was being delivered to them from Chicago.

As Michelle Pettingall checked the medical supply closet, making sure that it was stocked for what Straus had called an “indefinite stay,” she began to wonder what kind of experiments Straus and his team had conducted in Ward C only a few years before. And she wondered what experiments they were planning on the soon-to-be-arriving new patient.

While “the hub” was an excellent place for doctors to closely monitor each and every movement of the patients who once resided in Ward C, Straus realized that it was also an excellent place to monitor Michelle as she was making her final check of the medical supply cabinet.

“Looking forward to getting to know you a little bit better,” he said to himself as he moved closer to the two-way mirror. “I know all about what your husband did, and I know exactly what he left behind for you to deal with. A pile of dog crap. But don’t worry, Michelle,” he said as he headed out of the hub before his position was realized, “good old Doctor Straus will take care of you.”

Doctor William Straus was made superintendent of Hilburn Psychiatric at the age of only twenty-seven. In his four years as “the boss,” he was focused on finding something, anything that would get his name in lights.

He knew that sacrifices had to be made in order to achieve the greatness that he deserved and felt that if he was going to make sacrifices, others should as well.

“For the betterment of all mankind,” he would say when designing a new treatment plan or adapting one that didn’t produce the expected results.

Today, however, if what Peter Adams had told him was true, was the day when his hard work and countless sacrifices would pay off. If the baby he was expecting would reveal its secrets, William Straus would be a certain Nobel Prize winner, and his fame and fortune would be guaranteed.

“This little freak better be what I am expecting,” he thought as he turned into the stairway and headed back down to the main floor.  Before his feet landed on the final step, his pager vibrated. The caller ID displayed by the tiny screen was from Jacob Curtis’s office phone.

Straus walked into the nearest office he could find to dial Curtis’s extension.

“Jacob, it’s William. I got your message,” he said.

“They’re here.”

“At the docks, I trust?”

“At the docks.”

“Five minutes.”

The budget cuts had hit many NY State institutions hard over the years, and Hilburn Psychiatric was one of those hit. In an effort to cut spending, Straus had fired three of the five employees who manned the loading docks and moved the remaining two to part-time positions.

“Our deliveries, or more precisely, or ability to order things to be delivered is a casualty of budget cuts, I’m afraid,” Straus announced to an all employee meeting less than eighteen months earlier. “We need to respond to these cuts while not jeopardizing the care we provide to our patients. With these cuts and our responsibility to our patients in mind, I have made the difficult decision to reduce our logistics team head count. We will only be receiving deliveries twice per week, and the loading docks will now be staffed only on those two days. Please plan accordingly when ordering approved supplies.

“Thank you for your understanding and dedication to our patients.”

Knowing that the docks would be vacant, Straus instructed Peter Adams to “drive all the way around the institution and follow the signs to the loading dock. I’ll have one of my trusted team members waiting for you there. His name is Jacob Curtis. He will page me when you arrive.”

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you, William? Peter complimented.

“Mostly everything.”