Chương 6
Dr. Patel's voice went flat.
“I bet they do.”
“They're preserving documentation.”
“Good.”
“And law enforcement has been notified.”
Olivia's calm face flashed inside my memory.
Then Mason's voice.
The cremation starts at six.
I moved my finger repeatedly.
Rachel noticed first.
“Ethan?”
I kept moving.
Dr. Patel leaned over.
“What's wrong?”
There was no way to say Mason.
No way to say therapist.
I tapped desperately.
“One means yes,” Dr. Patel said.
“I know, but I don't know the question.”
Exactly.
He thought for a moment.
“Is there another person involved?”
Once.
Rachel looked at him.
Dr. Patel said, “Someone besides your wife?”
Once.
“Family?”
Twice.
“Friend?”
I hesitated.
Mason had been a friend only in the generous American sense that adults sometimes use for people who know where you keep the extra towels.
Twice.
“Someone who works for you?”
Twice.
“Medical professional?”
Once.
The room went still.
“Doctor?”
Twice.
“Nurse?”
Twice.
Dr. Patel's questions slowed.
“Therapist?”
Once.
He knew I had been in physical therapy.
“Mason Reed?”
Once.
Rachel swore softly.
Dr. Patel straightened.
“Get security a name.”
Karen had apparently remained just outside because she answered immediately.
“I heard.”
“Tell law enforcement too.”
Dr. Patel returned to me.
“Was Mason present when you drank the coffee?”
Twice.
“Did you see him today?”
Twice.
“Did he give you medication?”
I did not know.
Nothing.
“Did he have access to medications you were taking?”
I was not knowingly taking any.
Twice.
“Did your wife give you medication?”
Again, I did not know.
Nothing.
Dr. Patel rubbed one hand over his face.
He suddenly sounded exhausted.
“I should have caught this.”
Rachel said, “Doctor.”
“I signed it.”
“You made the call based on what you had.”
“I signed a death certificate on a living man.”
“He had no detectable pulse when you examined him.”
“You weren't there.”
“I read the resuscitation note.”
“He was cold.”
Dr. Patel's voice roughened.
“Pupils fixed, no response, no detectable cardiac activity on bedside evaluation after resuscitation had been stopped.”
Rachel said quietly, “Then whatever was in him did exactly what it was meant to do.”
The room fell silent again.
A machine somewhere near my head changed its rhythm.
Dr. Patel checked the display.
“Pressure's coming up.”
Rachel adjusted something attached to my IV.
“That's good.”
Good.
I held on to the word.
There had not been many good things today.
A neurology resident arrived and tested reflexes.
She pressed against my feet, knees, hands, jaw, and eyelids.
I felt more than I could show.
Each touch was a private miracle and an insult.
My body registered the world but refused to participate in it.
She told Dr. Patel that the pattern did not look like structural paralysis from a stroke.
“Could be toxic neuromuscular blockade.”
“That was my thought.”
“Imaging anyway.”
“Already ordered.”
She asked, “Any tox results?”
“Not yet.”
Then her phone buzzed.
She looked at it.
“CT is ready.”
They moved me down a corridor.
Ceiling lights passed behind my eyelids, bright then dim, bright then dim.
For a moment I was back beneath the coffin lid, except now there were voices around me and air moving freely over my face.
I counted each threshold we crossed.
One.
Two.
Three.
It gave me something to do besides imagine Olivia in the waiting room deciding how to explain my resurrection.
After the scan, they returned me to a private room in a restricted area.
My mother came in first.
I recognized her by the way she closed the door gently behind herself even though a nurse had already done it.
For a few seconds she stood somewhere near the foot of the bed without speaking.
Then she said, “Your tie was crooked.”
A laugh broke into a sob.
“I fixed your tie, and you were alive.”
Her hand touched my ankle through the blanket.
“I am going to be angry about that for the rest of my life.”
I moved my finger once.
She came closer.
The chair scraped.
She sat beside me and took my hand carefully, avoiding the IV tubing.
“You scared me when you were born too.”
Her thumb rubbed the side of my palm.
“Thirty hours of labor, and then you wouldn't cry.”
She sniffed.
“The doctor smacked your foot, and you screamed like somebody had insulted you personally.”
I tried to move more of my hand.
Nothing.
She noticed the finger.
“I see you.”
Three words.
I nearly lost whatever control I still possessed.
“I see you, Ethan.”
She bent over my hand.
Her tears touched my knuckles.
“You don't have to do anything else right now.”
I wanted to tell her that was impossible.
There were a thousand things I had to do.
Stop Olivia.
Find Mason.
Protect the company.
Find out what they had changed in my trust.
Make sure no one destroyed evidence at the house.
Figure out who at the hospital had been fooled and how.
But my mother sat there holding my hand as if none of those things existed yet.
For perhaps two minutes, they didn't.
A nurse eventually told her they needed to run another test.
Mom stood.
Before leaving, she leaned close.
“Daniel is outside trying to fight a vending machine.”
Despite everything, I recognized that.
“He put in five dollars and it didn't give him pretzels.”
She paused.
“So, you know, civilization continues.”
Then she kissed my forehead.
After she left, the room felt larger.
Rachel checked the IV pump.
“You've got a funny mom.”
My finger moved once.
She smiled.
“She told security your wife isn't allowed anywhere near you.”
Once.
“She also told them she'd bite somebody if necessary.”
My finger moved once again.
Rachel glanced at me.
“I believe her.”
The door opened.
Dr. Patel entered with Karen Bell and a man whose shoes clicked with institutional certainty.
Karen introduced him as Detective Samuel Ortiz.
He did not come close to the bed immediately.
“Mr. Cole.”
May you like
His voice was deep and careful.
“I understand communication is limited.”
