That discovery had chilled Ripley to the bone. She shook her head. I hope he was wrong. If not, then She faltered. If not, it meant radioactive bodies had been processed in the morgue before.
She took a deep breath. R-ONC was her department. Everything that went on inside its walls was her responsibility. Ergo, it was up to her to figure out what had happened to Ida Mae Harris. With a little help from Tansy.
But when she lifted her head to make the suggestion, Ripley saw that her best friend was practically dozing on her feet. She looked terrible. Quick concern rose. Tansy, you look like youre ready to drop. Why dont you head on home? Better yet, page Dale and let him take you home and put you to bed. Dr. Dale Metcalf, infectious disease specialist, was Tansys partner on overseas assignments. And her lover. Though Ripley didnt believe in happily ever after for herself, it looked as if Tansy and Dale had a pretty good shot at it.
We broke up.
You what!? Ripley stared at her best friend, finally realizing that the red tint to Tansys eyes and the hollows in her cheeks werent all due to her friends habitual insomnia. There had been a good dose of tears as well. When? Why?
It doesnt matter. When Ripley wouldve argued, Tansy held up a hand. Not now, okay? I think youre right about taking the rest of the day off, though. Ill be back on Sunday for rounds.
Ripley nodded, knowing that for all her outward cheerfulness, Tansy had a private streak that ran deep. Shed talk about her problems when she was ready to and not before. See you Sunday, then. Ripley would simply have to work on Ida Maes case herself. There had to be a clue in the clinical notes.
Dr. Rip? The breathy voice from the doorway had both women turning.
Milo sagged in his wheelchair with a jumble of pens in his lap. At Ripleys wave, the volunteer, Belle, pushed him in and took the markers from the sleepy boys hands.
Livvys gone home, but Milo wanted to return these to you personally. Shall I put them in your office? Belle was a tiny woman of indeterminate age who had been volunteering at Boston General for many years. When her father had died the year before, leaving her comfortably well-off but alone, she had begun spending more and more time at the hospital. Now, she divided her time amongst her favorite patients and the hospital chapel.
Thanks, Belle. You can just leave them on my desk. Ill sort them and put them away later.
By the time the volunteer had completed her errand and wheeled Milo back out into the hall, the little boy was fast asleep.
He worries me, Ripley said to Tansy, thinking that the chemotherapy and radiation treatments were hurting Milo more than they were hurting the cancer. The boy was simply tired, and his familys continued absence wasnt helping Ripley keep his spirits up. If she had a precious child like that
You should be more worried about your A55 right now, Dr. Davis. The dark voice was a shock, but it was the touch of his hand on her shoulder that had Ripley jolting and spinning around.
Cage! Shed been so caught up in watching Milo slump toward sick, exhausted sleep that shed missed both Tansys escape and the RSOs entrance. That was why her heart was racing, she told herself, not because the imprint of his hand burned her shoulder like fire. Then she processed his words and the heat of surprise shifted quickly to anger, both at his disregard for the child and for his implication. And why should I worry about the accelerator? You checked it yourself this morning. Its fine.
A patient that you irradiated is dead, Dr. Davis, and her corpse is contaminated. I think you should worry a great deal.
He shouldnt be so appealing, Ripley thought as her eyes glanced over his stubble-shadowed jaw, when he was threatening her. But for some reason, his antagonism was compelling. Perhaps it was the taint of grief at the back of his eyes. She wondered, not for the first time, what had happened to him. Why did he work in a hospital and hate doctors? Who had he lost, and how had it scarred him so?
Why, thought Ripley to herself with a mental shake, are you trying to romanticize him when hes being a jerk?
Aloud, she replied, Of course Im worried about Ida Maes contamination. He had no idea how worried she was, just as he had no idea that Ida Mae shouldnt have died. But I cant see how the linear accelerator could be involved.
Its killed before.
The flat pronouncement startled her, as did the menace behind the words. The glimmer of an idea formed in the back of her mind, prompted by the tendril of grief she sensed within him. True, she said cautiously, but the last of those lawsuits was settled years ago. The technologys improved and the linear accelerator doesnt leave a source behind. Can you honestly think of a way this machine could cause the sort of Geiger counter reading Whistler was getting off Ida Mae today?
She had to give him credit. He actually thought about it for a minute before his shoulders relaxed a fraction. No. I cant.
Ripley blew out a breath. Which means she wasnt contaminated by her treatment. It was only a minor relief, because that still left two questions. What had killed her, and what had contaminated her?
Well, in that case, Cage began, if we agree for the moment that the A55 isnt capable of leaving a radioactive source behind, we have to assume that Mrs. Harris was either fed, injected or washed with something contaminated.
The list was chilling. Ripley suppressed a shiver. I guess well know more tomorrow, once your lab has done some preliminary tests. She switched gears. You are going to allow us to autopsy, right? I mean, the radioactivity didnt kill her, so we need to find out what did.
Cage looked at her sideways. Worried now? Starting to hear the M-word in the back of your mind?
It took her a moment before she realized what he was talking about. Malpractice. She bristled. Contrary to what you think, Cage, not every doctor focuses on covering his or her ass. Some of us are focused on doing the best we can for our patients. She fisted her hands at her hips. Yes, Im worried. Damn worried. But radiation poisoning is a slow process, and Ida Mae didnt show any symptoms. The radiation didnt kill her.
Cage made a sound that could have been a growl, could have been a curse, and he spun to pace across the outer office. So its no big deal that she was contaminated? Since she didnt die from it, we dont need to be upset?
Thats not what Im saying at all. Dont put words in my mouth! Now Ripley was angry, pure and simple. Do you see me trying to sweep this under the rug? Am I pretending nothing is wrong? No. I care what happened to Ida Mae, and Im going to figure it out if it kills me.
Forgive me if I find that hard to believe, he growled, but he wasnt looking at her. He was glaring toward the outer office doors, where the R-ONC label could be read backward through the glass. Youre all the same. Money first, acclaim second, righteousness third and patients somewhere down around tenth or so.
Ripley drew breath to blast him into next week, but something about his profile stopped her. His throat worked once, twice, and his hands balled into fists as though he wanted to lash out, yet the grief etched on his face was that of someone whos been lost for a long, long time.
All of a sudden, he reminded her of Milo.
All of a sudden, he reminded her of Milo.
She crossed the room and touched his shoulder. Whatever happened to you, Cage, Im sorry. Maybe you have good reason for thinking this way, but its not fair. Im a good doctor. Im not in it for the money or the fame. Im here to help people. You shouldnt try to blame me for that or twist my motives. You dont have the right.
He lifted his hand and it hovered for a moment above hers, until she thought he might return her touch. But then he let his hand fall and stepped away from her.
I apologize, Dr. Davis. He was talking to the glass door, and she saw the muscles in his jaw bunch and flex as he swallowed hard and straightened to his full height. That was unprofessional of me, and youre right. We need to work together to figure out what happened with Ida Mae Harris.
That wasnt quite what I had
He interrupted, If youll get me a copy of her workup for the radiation treatment, Ill study it tonight.
Ripley wasnt sure what to say. For a moment, shed thought shed seen something sad and lonely beneath the fierce brows and black eyes. But it could have been her imagination. The man standing before her looked as though hed never had a weak moment in his life.
In fact, at that moment Cage reminded Ripley quite strongly of her fatherthe most angry, domineering, perpetually correct individual on the planet. The comparison quickly killed her moment of pity.
She ground her teeth. Ill get the paperwork. And then you can get out of here.
When he was gone, she sat at her desk for a good five minutes, waiting for her system to level. She imagined steam coming out of her ears, and the mental picture was satisfying. But as anger slowly drained, she was left feeling empty and alone.
The sore spots from Harriss fingers ached down to the bone, and the outer office echoed strangely when footsteps walked past in the hallway. Ripley shivered and heard a muted tinkle from the pocket of her lab coat when the broken glass stem chimed against a pair of pens.
The sound seemed unnaturally loud. Even the vents were shut down.
I shouldnt have sent Cage away, she said into the quiet. Being aggravated is better than this. Her words didnt even echo. They seemed to fall dead the moment they left her lips, but there was a slide of answering motion out in the hallway.
Hello? Suddenly desperate for the sight of another human being, Ripley stood and walked across the outer office to poke her head into the hallway. Hello, is there someone out there?
The corridor was deserted, but the door to the broom closet was ajar.
Hello? she called, walking to the closet. Mr. Frank, are you in there? The maintenance crew generally worked the late evening shift, but perhaps the janitor was starting early today. Ripley was so thoroughly freaked out by the bad vibes in her office that even the dour old mans company would be a relief.
She peeked inside the storage room, where a small army of cleaning supplies was shelved beside a collection of mops and a hulking floor waxer. The overhead light was on. She stepped inside and said, Mr. Frank? though it was obvious that the tiny space was empty. She was turning to leave when a faint hiss and a whiff of something nasty drew her to the far corner. She crouched down and sniffed. Her heart picked up a notch.
Mr. Frank, she called, readily identifying the odor and its cause. One of your bottles is leaking!
The only response was a soft clicking sound and a sudden deadening of the air. Ripley froze. She turned and stared at the door.
It was shut.
The hissing grew louder, and in the light of the single bulb above her head, she saw a cloud of vapor rising from the corner. The smell grew worse. Her eyes watered and the back of her throat started to burn. She grabbed the doorknob and twisted.
It didnt move.
Ripley stared at the knob in disbelief. She rattled it. Numb shock poured through her and she coughed. The bitter air scorched her throat. The pain spurred hot, hard panic.
Help! she yelled, The door shut behind me and theres gas. Let me out. She rattled the knob harder, barely able to see it through a river of tears. She thought she heard a footstep in the hall and yelled louder, Mr. Frank? Anyone? Open the door!
She pressed her ear to the wood and heard nothing over the hiss of bubbling chemicals.
Chemicals. She wrapped the lab coat over her face and slitted her eyes against the sting as she crouched down and peered behind the waxing machine. A pair of bottles leaned drunkenly against each other. Drain cleaner spread from one in a garish blue pool. Bleach leaked from the other, and where the two puddles merged, vapor bubbled and hissed.
Chlorine! She had to get out of there. Fast.
Galvanized, yet already weakened by the foul air, Ripley grabbed a broom from the corner and beat the handle against the door. Help! Help, theres gas in here. Let me out! She inhaled to yell again and choked.
It hurt to breathe. It hurt to keep her eyes open. It even hurt to beat on the door. Oxygen. She needed oxygen. Ripley crouched down and sucked at the narrow crack beneath the door, but the seal was tight.
Holding the lab coat over her face, she battled back through the thickening fog and tried to nudge the bleach bottle away from the drain cleaner. But the gas had fuddled her coordination. She pushed too hard, and the bottles tipped over. Bleach splashed into the blue puddle and the reaction was instantaneous.
A gout of vapor erupted. Ripley reeled back and fell against the door, sinking to her knees as her strength failed. Blackness crowded her vision as she gave a few feeble whacks at the door and called, Help me. Somebody, please help me!
She thought she heard another footstep in the hall.
Then she thought nothing.