31
Tuesday, June 6, 2006 – 6:22 p.m.
Lab and Medical Supply Room
Beautifully colored vertical graphs lined several pages of test results as Chandini pulled them from the Lexmark color printer. Picking them up Chandini scanned the results. Wow! She thought to herself examining the levels of tryptamines present in the samples that were tested. Higher than normal levels of tryptamines were evident in every sample she’d received from Ken. When she turned to the pages showing the results for the syringes Ken had given her, she was shocked. The colored graph bars almost went off the page. The tryptamine levels were so high that it was amazing this patient wasn’t in a constant state of hallucination. Chandini would definitely have to tell the doctor about this.
The sound of the door shutting in the waiting area arrested Chandini’s attention.
“Hello, anybody home?”
“I’ll be right there,” Chandini yelled back. Picking up the stack of test results, Chandini made her way back to the waiting area weaving around test machines, stacks of test tubes and computer equipment and finally arriving at the window.
“Dr. Slatebow?”
“Slaterbaugh. That’s okay, it’s kind of a tough name to remember. Just call me Ken.”
Blushing, Chandini said, “Okay, Ken. I have your test results here.”
“Great! That’s why I’m here. So, what did you find?”
“Well, something interesting.” Laying the stack of test results on the window counter, Chandini showed Ken what she’d found. “First, notice the results from the IV bags.”
Ken looked at the graphs. The colored bars indicating tryptamines were higher than other chemicals in the solution. “Okay, that’s what I suspected. What about the syringes?”
“Well, this is where it gets interesting.” Shuffling the papers, Chandini pulled out the graph results for the syringes.
“Whoa!” Ken said. “Look at these levels!”
“Exactly,” Chandini said. “Can I ask how this patient is doing?”
“Well,” Ken said, “she’s a little nine-year-old girl. Spunky, full of life. She has actually perked up quite well considering. She came in with a terrific headache. After checking her out and administering something for the pain, she ended up having a bad nightmare, but was able to pull herself out of it. I suspect it was the tryptamines in whatever cocktail was in the syringe. I’m just trying to figure out how they got there.”
“I’m surprised she’s not in a constant state of hallucination with these levels. As far as I know, this level should have easily put her into a comatose state given her age and weight. I’d be very concerned about her having another episode. It’s going to take several hours, if not days before they are out of her system. I’m almost wondering if whoever synthesized this drug didn’t build in some time-release aspects to the solution in the syringes.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the IV bags I tested had a specific amount of residual tryptamine levels. The syringe had high amounts, almost too much for anyone to handle. That would indicate to me that they were deliberately created to be time-released like a bomb. They could set off another episode at any time.”
“That’s a good point. I hadn’t considered something that heinous. I’ll check with Spike and tell him to keep a close watch on her at all times, especially tonight.”
“It certainly couldn’t hurt. You said when she had this nightmare because of the tryptamines she pulled herself out of the hallucinogenic state?”
“Yes.”
“How did she do it? Did she say?”
“She said she was using something called Lucidity.”
“Wow! That’s impressive for someone so young.”
“You’ve heard of lucidity?”
“Oh yes. I know of older ones in my country who’ve practiced it for years. I’ve never heard of it being practiced by someone so young though. This little girl must have quite a personality and mental ability to grasp the subtle nuances of using lucidity.”
“Oh I’m sure she does. She’s a spunky little kid. She seems to know what she wants and how to go about getting it.”
“I’d like to meet her.”
“She’d love to have visitors.”
“In my culture, many people use various techniques for controlling the mind and keeping themselves in a meditative state. It’s not uncommon for people to cure themselves of many simple ailments simply by using the mind.”
“Well,” Ken said, scratching his mustache, “I don’t think she has any ancestors or relatives that are from India. She said she was having nightmares and did some research to see how to cure them. That’s when she said she came across the information on lucid dreaming and lucidity. I’ve never looked into it myself. I’m going to have to check it out.”
“Well, sorry to say, I haven’t done a lot with meditation or related techniques either, although I’m from India. With my studies, schooling, and coming to America, I rather neglected many of the traditional values of my family. They weren’t too happy with me.”
“Do they like where you are now, what you’ve accomplished and all?”
“Some. Still, they’d rather see me back home with them. I send some money every few months, so I think that helps. If they had their way though, they’d rather have me at home.”
“Well, I can understand that. You’re their child. You’ve moved away to another country. They don’t get to see you. It’s probably hard on them. In fact, I’m sure it’s not easy for you either.”
“No, it’s not. Sometimes I do wish I were home where life was easier. Then I think about what I have here and it makes me appreciate what I’ve accomplished.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. You’ve helped me with a potentially major problem. I now know where the tryptamines originated. Now I just have to find out how and by whom. I sent Spike downstairs to see if the cannula used on the patient that died this morning is still here. If it is, I want to have you test it as well. It might narrow down where the tryptamines are coming from.”
“I’m off at 8:00 p.m., but if you get it here before then, I can at least get the test started and explain to the night tech what’s going on.”
“Sounds good.”
“Do you think I could drop by and see that little girl later?”
“Sure! She’d love to have company. She’s in room 511. Her name’s Maisie.”
“Great! Maybe I’ll drop by after my shift is over.”
“Thanks again for your help. I’m going to go talk to Spike and explain what’s going on. I don’t want to lose another patient.”
“You’re welcome. Let me know what you find out the cannula you want tested.”
“I will. Thanks again.”
Ken turned to leave picking up the test results that Chandini had run. Walking with a confident gait, Ken opened the door and left. Chandini stood thinking about Maisie and hoped she wouldn’t have another nightmarish episode due to the tryptamines with which she’d been injected.
***
Ken was so accustomed to riding the elevator up and down all day long that he didn’t even notice that he was once again on his way to the fifth floor. Quickly ascending the 30 feet from the second floor, Ken’s mind raced with questions. Who was behind the tampering? Why? What purpose did it serve? Why the IV bags and why such a high dosage in the syringes? WhyBenita? Why Hank? Why the little innocent girl Maisie? Why? Why? Why? Ken had no answers to these questions although he was getting closer. Perhaps in talking with Spike, more answers would be forthcoming. Ken found himself standing in front of the neurology-admitting desk face-to-face with the water-spotted dried grape. He didn’t even remember stepping off the elevator.
“What do you need?” Gretchen asked in an irritated ‘I’m not in a mood to talk’ voice.
“Is Spike back yet? I asked him to run an errand for me.”
“I know. He’s supposed to be working here, not running errands for you.”
“I’m sorry if I interrupted your routine Gretchen,” Ken said emphasizing her name, “but I am the head of the neurology department and what I ask him to do is for the neurology department. So, I would appreciate your cooperation and some respect and trust in my requests.”
Gretchen didn’t say anything.
“So, is Spike here?”
“Nope. Haven’t seen him since he went running for you.”
Gretchen looked back down at the desk and began fumbling with some papers again.
“As soon as he gets back, will you let me know? I’ll be in my office.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”
Ken never really got mad or blew his top. He did get irritated and raised his voice a bit higher than normal; otherwise, he was always calm. Most of the time, his irritation arose from dealing with Gretchen. She could irritate and grate anybody the wrong way no matter how kind they were to her. Leaving the admitting desk, Ken went back to his office to think and do some digging.
Looking up at the clock, Ken realized he’d been sitting at his desk for over a half an hour. It was now a little after 7:00 p.m. He needed to go home and get some sleep, but he wanted to talk to Spike first. Getting up and stretching, Ken walked to the door. He strolled down the hall and stopped in front of the admitting desk once again. Gretchen didn’t even look up.
“He hasn’t come back. I told you I’d let you know.”
“Thanks. I thought maybe you’d gotten busy so I came to check.”
“Don’t trust me huh?”
“I didn’t say that, you did.”
“Well, it appears you didn’t.”
“Whatever you want to think is up to you. Thanks for your help.”
Ken turned and walked to the elevators for the umpteenth time that day. Pressing the down button, he waited. The doors opened with a “woosh” and silently glided into their hiding places in the wall. Ken stepped in and pushed the basement level. Re-emerging from the wall, the elevator doors once again slid shut with just a minute clunk as they connected with the opposite wall. The elevator began to descend. Ken rode all the way to the basement without interruption. This time of night there wasn’t as many people in the hospital as there were during the busy hours of the day. Reaching subterranean level Ken stepped through the open doors into the long hallway leading to the morgue. As he walked the length of the hall, the sound of his Hush Puppies quietly slapping the floor echoed off the walls. Ken was bewildered as to where Spike had gone. Maybe he was called somewhere else momentarily or maybe he had another errand to run. Either way, Ken needed to find him and see if the cannula was still in Benita’s arm. He wanted to get it tested as soon as possible.
Reaching the door to the morgue, Ken produced a set of keys from his pocket and inserted them into the lock. A quiet “click” sounded in the stillness of the hallway. Pushing open the door, Ken’s eyes were assaulted by the bright light of the room.
“Spike, you here?”
His words bounced off the walls with a slight echo. There was no answer.
“Hello. Spike?”
Again, no answer. Ken walked across the room toward the refrigerator in the corner. Although he’d seen hundreds of dead people over the years as a doctor, he still dreaded going into the cooler to look at a dead body. Something about the cold suppressed scent of decaying flesh, the heavily laden odor of medicine and putrescence enhanced by the wispy tendrils of visibly frozen vapor trails gave him the heebie-jeebies. The very idea that these bodies were so recently living, thinking, breathing human beings was almost too much to comprehend. Ken reached out and opened the frig.
The all-to-familiar scent of death wafted out of the frig riding the back of a cold vapor trail. Ken scrunched up his face and swallowed hard. Stepping into the dimly lit interior, Ken looked around. Three bodies lay supine on three gurneys. The first was still covered by a sheet, as was the third. The second was not. The sheet had been pulled back and lay tousled around the woman’s chest. Straining to see whom it was, Ken walked a little closer. Upon reaching the woman’s head, Ken gasped at the sight of her missing eye and the open socket. He immediately recognized her as Benita. What the heck happened? he wondered. Becoming more anxious than he already was, Ken quickly looked around the room for an intruder or something else. Who could have done this? Why would they do this? Ken had no idea, but he didn’t like the implications. Thinking about his vulnerability since he was alone, Ken decided it best to get out and go back upstairs. Looking around he noticed that the gurneys were sitting more haphazard than normal. It looked as if someone had scurried out of here in a hurry leaving the refrigerator in disarray. Maybe whatever or whoever did this was also after Spike or maybe Spike was after them. Scratching his head, Ken found himself baffled. This new twist added another question to the ones already swimming around in his head. Ken was getting chilled and quickly left the frig. Rubbing his hands together, Ken tried to break the internal and external chill he was feeling.
With the door closing behind him he yelled again. “Spike, you here?”
As he suspected, there was no answer. Ken was beginning to wonder if the strange look on Spike’s face upstairs at the mention of tryptamines, the reluctance to want to check for the cannula, the mutilated face of Benita and now his disappearance were indicative of Spike’s involvement in the day’s events. Ken had his suspicions. He decided to go back upstairs and have Spike paged over the intercom. If that didn’t produce Spike, then he would get security involved and let them handle things from there. As it was, he needed to let security know about the mutilation so they could investigate. Tampering with a body was no light matter and needed to be taken care of.
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