Fatal Trauma Read online

  “Mark, you called for help. I’m here. Let me be in charge, would you?” There was no anger in Anna’s words, just a simple statement of fact.

  Mark nodded, but didn’t reply. He’d have to be careful not to cross Anna while she was in this mode.

  His mind moved from the Anna he’d known socially to the surgeon, Anna King. So far she seemed to be doing fine. There were too many smells in the operating room for him to pick up any scent of alcohol drifting through her surgical mask. Still, Mark wondered . . .

  Anna spoke without taking her eyes from the operating area. “Mark, I know you feel responsible for this patient, but you did your part by getting him up here as quickly as you could. Now it’s my responsibility.” She held out her hand and the scrub nurse slapped a hemostat into it. “We’ll do our best. But we can’t save every patient.”

  “I got him into this,” Mark said, clamping off another bleeding point. “It’s my fault he got shot.”

  “No,” Anna said. “Like every police officer, he knew the risks the first day he put on that uniform. You took the only chance you had to save the lives of three people.”

  “And it cost the life of another one,” Mark said.

  “Not yet,” Anna said. “Now, if you’re going to assist, don’t focus on assigning blame. Just help me.”

  ***

  Anna King pushed her surgical mask down to hang beneath her chin. She stripped off her latex gloves and tossed them in the designated waste receptacle, then turned around so the nurse could unfasten her surgical gown. “I’m sorry, Mark.” She balled the gown into a mass and threw it after the gloves. “We did what we could. We just couldn’t save him.”

  Mark opened his mouth, then decided he had nothing to say, so he simply shook his head. Let her assign whatever meaning she liked to the gesture.

  Anna paused with one hand on the operating room’s swinging door. “I’ll see if his family’s here yet.”

  “No!” Mark hadn’t meant to bark the word, but, considering the state of his emotions at this point, he wasn’t surprised at the way it came out. “No,” he said more softly. “Let me go out there and talk with them. They need to know more than that he was shot dead.” He swallowed hard. “I need to tell them that he saved my life.”

  “Mark, you can’t take this personally. You see gunshot wounds in the emergency room all the time. Some of those patients we can save, some not. What’s so different about this one?”

  Mark knew what was different, but he wasn’t prepared to say the words. Not yet. Instead, he snatched the surgical cap off his head and held it in front of him like a penitent presenting an offering. “When they come into the ER—makes no difference which side of the law they were on when the bullets hit them—when they reach the ER, they’re mine. I’m going to do my best to save them. Some I do, some I don’t. I accept that.” He looked at the body of Ed Purvis, now covered by a sheet. “But this wasn’t someone who showed up with a gunshot wound. This was a man I knew—admittedly, not well—a man that I literally asked to put his life on the line to save mine.” Mark bowed his head.

  Anna put her hand on Mark’s shoulder, probably the closest she could come to a gesture of tenderness in this situation. “And he responded the way you hoped he would. He did what law enforcement officers do every day in this country. He did what he’d signed up to do, and in doing so he saved your life.” She opened the door. “Come with me if you like. I know his family would appreciate it. But don’t take the responsibility for his death on yourself. And don’t think you have to spend the rest of your life making up for it.”

  ***

  “Thanks for doing this, Steve,” Kelly said. “The adrenaline from what happened has about worn off, but I just couldn’t be alone . . . not for a while, at least. Besides, I . . . I think it might help if I sort of talked this out, and you’re a good listener.”

  Before he took a seat in the booth opposite her, Steve Farrington, pastor of the Drayton Community Church, handed Kelly one of the two steaming cups he’d obtained from the service counter at this all-night fast food establishment. “No problem, Kelly.” He blew across the surface of his cup. “When I heard about the gunman in the ER, I headed for the hospital. I found out you were one of the hostages, and after you were freed I stuck around to see if you needed anything.” He took a sip of coffee. “But, to be clear, did you want me here because I’m your pastor or your friend?”

  “Both, I guess,” Kelly said. “So you can wear whichever hat you want . . . so long as you stay here with me for a while.”

  “I’m happy to sit and talk with you, but don’t you need to call anyone else? Family, maybe?”

  Kelly thought for a moment. “No. My family wouldn’t understand or even care.”

  He looked into his coffee cup but didn’t drink. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

  Kelly leaned across the table. “I was at the triage desk in the emergency room tonight when a man came in, supporting a gunshot victim. I was about to call for an aide to get a gurney for the patient when the first man grabbed a wheelchair and told me to push his brother back into the ER. I started to argue. Then he pulled a gun . . .” She bowed her head, closed her eyes, and took several deep breaths. “Sorry. He pulled a gun, held it to my head, and said, ‘Take my brother back there and get a doctor to fix him up, or I’ll kill you.’”

  “Obviously that was frightening,” Steve said. “So what happened then?”

  Kelly worked her way through the explanation of the next few minutes, ending with the shooting of the gunman by Sergeant Purvis. “We rushed the policeman into the elevator and wheeled him into the OR. The night crew had just finished an emergency case, and they took over. I went back down to the ER and spent the next hour or so talking with the police.”

  “How do you feel now?”

  Kelly shook her head. “I’m still shaky, but it’s getting better. Talking about it helps, I guess.” She looked down. “Now that I have time to think about it, during that time I was as worried for Mark as for myself.”

  “About what?”

  Kelly stared into her cup. “I didn’t want him to die.”

  “Why is that? Is it because Mark isn’t a Christian?” Steve asked.

  “I . . . I’m not sure where he stands. I’ve broached the subject a time or two, but Mark always deflects the conversation. I get the impression he doesn’t like to talk about religion.” She drained the cup and shoved it aside. “He says he got too busy for all that when he was in medical school.” Kelly patted her lips with a paper napkin. “I think talking about religion embarrasses him.”

  “You and Mark have been going out for a while, haven’t you?”

  “Several months,” Kelly said.

  “Is it serious?”

  “It’s not exclusive for him, I guess—he went out with one of the surgeons from the hospital last week—but I haven’t dated anyone else since I started seeing him.”

  Steve started to stand. “Would you like some more coffee?”

  Kelly shook her head.

  He sat down again and took a sip from his cup. “Is Mark’s spiritual status the main reason you were concerned about him?”

  “I . . .” Kelly shook her head.

  “This probably isn’t the time for you to talk with Mark about this, but that time will come soon. I think you’d better try to sort out your feelings before then.” He reached over and placed his hand on top of hers. “Until then, maybe you should pray about it.”

  Kelly nodded silently. Yes, for both Mark and me . . . because I didn’t tell you the rest of the story.

  ***

  Mark struggled to keep his voice steady as he stood face to face with Dr. Eric McCray in a relatively quiet corner of the emergency room. “Tough night,” Mark said. “Thanks for taking over down here.”

  “No problem, man. When I got the call from the hospital about what happened, when they told me you had to go up to the OR to try to save the policeman’s life, I jumped into my car an
d headed here, praying all the way.” He pointed around the ER. “Everybody pitched in. Jim’s coming on duty in another hour, but I think I’ll stick around to help him clear out the backlog.”

  “No need. I’m okay to get back to work.”

  “Forget it,” Eric said. “I don’t have anyone at home waiting for me. You need to clear out of here.”

  “I . . . I appreciate it.”

  “Listen, how’s Kelly doing?”

  Mark shrugged. “I don’t know yet. The ER people told me she’d left as soon as the police were through with her. I wanted to talk with her, but they grabbed me when I got down from the OR.”

  “Well, give her my best, and tell her I’m glad she’s okay.” Eric clapped Mark on the back and walked away.

  Mark’s pulse still wasn’t fully back to normal when he collapsed onto the sagging couch in the break room, holding in one hand a Styrofoam cup of what had to be the world’s worst coffee. He’d retrieved his cell phone from his locker, but right now it was still in the pocket of his scrubs. He should call Kelly, but he wasn’t quite ready to talk with her.

  Mark thought about everything that went through his mind when the gunman first entered the ER. He was ashamed of his first reaction. Fortunately, it had all worked out in the end. Thank goodness the gunman believed his friend was still alive and might respond to treatment. Of course, that only worked because Kelly picked up on the idea immediately. Matter of fact, as Mark thought more about what happened, Kelly might have had the idea first.

  If she hadn’t . . . don’t go there, he reminded himself. He’d survived, and so had Kelly. The gunman was on his way to the morgue to lie alongside his brother. As for the policeman who’d killed him . . . Mark pushed thoughts of Ed Purvis aside. Anna was right. The man knew the risks. And despite what his heart told him, Mark’s head reminded him he couldn’t save everyone.

  As soon as Mark returned to the emergency room from the OR, the police had grabbed him for questioning, asking the same things again and again. No, he had no idea of the identity of the gunman or the patient. No, he’d never seen them before. No, he was pretty certain the gunman fired first, but it all happened so fast. Yes, Sergeant Purvis identified himself as a police officer and ordered the gunman to surrender. And on and on and on it went.

  Actually, Mark had some questions of his own. Who were the men who’d invaded the emergency room—both the gunman and the wounded man? How did the shooter get past the metal detector at the ER door? What was the condition of the hospital security officer the gunman struck down? After his first couple of questions went unanswered, Mark decided the police weren’t interested in giving out information. Maybe he’d learn more eventually.

  The questioning was finally over, but Mark had the feeling there’d be more. But, for now, he was alone. He crumpled his empty cup and flung it toward the wastebasket in the ER staff lounge, missing by a foot. It lay amid two other cups and a wadded candy wrapper, a testament to poor aim by staff called away before they could pick up their trash. Mark started to get up to clean up the mess, then decided he’d do it in a moment. He leaned back on the couch and looked at his cell phone as though it could provide the answer to his frustration. Come to think of it, perhaps it might, if Kelly would only answer.

  ***

  Kelly was relaxing—or at least, trying to relax—in a hot tub when she heard the ring of her cell phone. Her first instinct was to get out of the tub, wrap herself in a towel, and trudge into the bedroom to answer the call before it rolled over to voicemail. After all, that’s one of the first reflexes instilled into medical personnel. It could represent an emergency. The hospital—or, in this case, the police—might need something.

  Then again, the call might be from Mark. After it was all over, she wanted to hug him, tell him how brave he’d been, to say how glad she was that he was alive, to pour out her heart to him. But now Kelly wondered if that talk should wait until they both calmed down some more. She hadn’t even dared share with her pastor what she’d really thought tonight. Maybe neither she nor Mark was ready for this conversation right now.

  Kelly turned on the tap to run more hot water into the bath. She needed to relax muscles that were tense as bowstrings. She sighed, eased back into the water, closed her eyes, and went over the events of the evening for what must have been the twentieth time. Her pastor had been right. What happened tonight was a natural springboard for a conversation she needed to have with Mark. But there was more there than the pastor knew . . . and she wasn’t certain she was ready to tell Mark everything.

  ***

  Mark’s call went to voicemail. His message was brief: “Kelly, this is Mark. I’m sorry I couldn’t see you right after the shooting. Please call me.” But she didn’t. Finally, after waiting as long as he could, he called again . . . and yet again. The results were the same, except that he didn’t bother to leave a message on those occasions, although perhaps the chip responsible for voicemail picked up the sound of his grinding molars.

  Even though Kelly, like Mark, relied on her cell phone, she had a landline number. He tried it now, but there was no answer. Many hospital personnel, including Mark, complied as inexpensively as possible with the hospital’s requirement they have a landline by using a “voice over Internet protocol” or VoIP phone. Most of the calls Mark received on that line were either wrong numbers or telephone solicitors, so usually he simply ignored the phone when it rang. Maybe Kelly was doing the same thing. After what they’d been through, he certainly couldn’t blame her.

  Common sense told him to give up, go home, try to get some rest. But he wasn’t in a mood to rest. He was as jittery as the cook in a meth lab right now, and he knew there was no hope of his getting to sleep until he came down from his nervous high. He could call Anna King—she’d probably still be awake—but for some reason he wasn’t ready for another conversation with her. Mark wondered if their conversation in the OR hadn’t revealed too much of her already.

  He had a few friends, most of them doctors, but Mark hated to wake them up. His parents wouldn’t understand, and his call would only upset them. He tried to think of someone else to whom he could talk, but Kelly’s name kept coming to the forefront.

  Mark knew that some of his colleagues drank to relax after a particularly difficult case. Anna was a case in point. Maybe he should call her, perhaps drop by her home to wind down with a drink. He squelched the thought as soon as it popped into his mind. That wasn’t any kind of a solution. It would only make matters worse.

  He couldn’t escape the feeling that what he and Kelly went through tonight had somehow tightened the bond between them. What did that mean about his relationship with Anna King? Maybe tomorrow he’d think about it. He had to take things one step, one day at a time.

  The clock on the wall in the break room hadn’t worked since the Reagan administration. Mark abandoned the practice of wearing a watch when he started working in the ER. He looked at the time displayed on his cell phone and discovered that it was almost one a.m. He shrugged into the white coat he wore to cover his scrub suit as he went to and from work, pulled his car keys from the pocket, and headed out the door. Common sense dictated that he drive directly home, maybe stopping at an all-night fast food place for a burger or malt. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen. There was no doubt in Mark’s mind what his next stop would be.

  ***

  Finally, Kelly could put it off no longer. She crawled into bed, but sleep eluded her. All she could do was lie there and stare at the ceiling. She tried closing her eyes, but the images kept coming. A hot bath and a bowl of Blue Bell vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup was her usual bedtime prescription for nights when sleep wouldn’t come, but tonight the remedy hadn’t worked. She read a Bible passage, but the words kept running together, and she got no comfort from them. Her prayers were a jumble of thoughts and incomplete sentences stemming from emotions running rampant in her brain.

  She’d seen the “missed call” messages on her cell phone:
three calls from Mark. While she was in the tub, still winding down from her ordeal, she hadn’t been ready to talk with him. Afterward, when she started to call him back, she couldn’t bring herself to press the button. Was it too late? Or was she just not ready for the conversation? In either case, the call went unmade.

  Now Kelly tossed and turned, seeking sleep that wouldn’t come. She was about to get out of bed and turn on the TV, usually her last resort, when she heard a car pull up outside her house. That was unusual at this time of the morning in her neighborhood. The occupants of the homes around her were mostly older couples whose children had long since left home, and by this time of night the street was quiet and empty.

  Kelly eased from her bed, wrapped a robe around her, and slid her feet into worn, comfortable scuffs. She tiptoed to the front room and parted the blinds far enough to see the white sedan parked in front of her house. The lone occupant sat unmoving, shrouded in darkness, for several minutes. When he opened the driver’s side door, the car’s interior light came on, and she recognized Mark. He hesitated for a moment before striding toward her front door, his white coat highlighted by the light from the street lamp.

  He paused on her doorstep, and she could almost hear the thoughts going through his head. It was late. There were no lights on in the house. Should he wake her? What would she say?

  Kelly examined her own feelings. Should she remain quiet? If he knocked, would she answer it? Or would she let her inaction turn him away?

  Almost without making a conscious decision, she moved a few steps to the end table in the living room and turned on the lamp there. Apparently that was enough encouragement for Mark.

  He tapped lightly on the door. “Kelly, it’s Mark,” he called softy. “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to you. May I come in?”