Virgil felt as if he had been drugged then abandoned to stagger alone through a pitch-black night. He recalled brief visions here and there – people talking to him, their voices fading in and out, darkness pierced by sudden flares of light, vague pains and random movements, bouts of unconsciousness interrupted by rasping pain, conversations he seemed to participate in only to wonder some indefinite time later if they had really occurred or had been just a dream.
Twenty-four hours after being drowned in an ocean of smoke Virgil Quinn staggered awake in a white bed in a white room, wide-eyed and gasping for breath. His lungs felt as if he had been sunburned from the inside out. There was a window to his left but it was as flat and dark as if painted black. The clock on the wall showed 10:17. Had it only been a couple of hours since . . . Janet!
Virgil looked around wildly for a call button, but was seized by a racking cough that set his chest on fire. Somewhere in the distance he heard a woman’s voice call, “Doctor! He’s awake.”
Virgil hunched forward and concentrated on breathing. The air made a hollow rasp as it went in and out. Finally, the fire in his chest began to fade and, as he fell back against the angled mattress, he saw an Asian man hurry into the room. Virgil slowly turned his head and the man gave him an uneasy smile.
“Detective Quinn, I’m Dr. Cheng. How do you feel?”
“I’m–” Virgil began, but the words died in his throat before they made it past his lips. Ignoring the searing pain he hacked and tried again. “My lungs hurt. How bad is . . . .” Another cough doubled him over in pain.
“Sorry,” Cheng said, putting on his stethoscope. “I shouldn’t have asked you to talk.” He eased Quinn gently back against the bedding and listened to his chest. About twenty seconds later he pulled the tube away and straightened up. “How about if I talk and you listen. The good news is that you’ve only got a couple of small, superficial burns. After the initial explosion you were exposed to more smoke than fire. Your lungs are functioning pretty well, all things considered. Oxygenation is at about 90%. The discomfort you’re feeling is related to the smoke and chemicals you inhaled. Apparently the building was some kind of a drug lab and we can only guess what toxins were in the air you breathed. I’m hopeful that your lungs will heal and that the pain you’re feeling will recede over the next few days. Barring any unforeseen complications, I think you should make a full recovery.”
Cheng paused, and before he could descend into a litany of medical mumbo-jumbo Quinn rasped, “How long?”
“Until you’re fully recovered? That’s difficult to say. Again, barring any complications I would hope for normal functioning in two or three weeks.”
“No,” Virgil said in a whispery voice, “How long since–”
“Since your injury?” Cheng interrupted. “You were brought here last night so a little over twenty-four hours. The first units on the scene found you on the front steps. Luckily, you had managed to crawl entirely out of the structure which undoubtedly saved your life. Do you remember doing that?” Quinn shook his head then cautiously took a shallow breath.
“Janet?” he asked, though he already knew.
“Do you mean Captain Tanner?” Cheng asked, and Virgil saw the answer in the droop of Cheng’s eyes and the pained gap between his lips. “I’m sorry to have to tell you that Captain Tanner did not survive. For what it’s worth, she didn’t suffer. She was struck by a piece of debris and died instantly. I’m sorry.” Virgil closed his eyes, and Cheng waited until he opened them again. The doctor paused then glanced uneasily behind him as if concerned that someone might overhear.
“There is one more thing you need to know, Detective. I could give you an inventory of the chemicals commonly used to cook methamphetamine, but in addition to them are the byproducts produced by burning them. Undoubtedly, you absorbed all kinds of substances through your skin and your lungs before you got out of that building. We have no way of knowing what, if any, effect they will have on you.
“It’s extremely important that you let us know if you experience anything unusual – headaches, internal pain in areas other than your chest, sores, changes in your urine or stools, blackouts, loss of memory, auditory or visual hallucinations, loss of hair, sensitivity to light or odors, essentially any physical or mental conditions that are out of the ordinary. That’s not necessarily a serious problem. I would expect all kinds of short-term aches, pains, and ailments after what you’ve been through, but we need to keep on top of them so that we can separate the ordinary and expected from anything that we may need to deal with.”
Virgil opened his mouth, but the doctor held up a hand.
“I’m not saying you will have serious or long-lasting complications. As I said, I’m hopeful that you’ll make a full recovery, but it would be reckless not to be on the lookout for any conditions that we might need to monitor or treat.” Cheng studied Virgil’s face. Did he understand? Was he terrified? After a moment, Cheng forced a professional smile and moved on.
“So, I want you to try to get some rest. I’m going to give you something that will help you sleep and depress your cough reflex. I’ll see you again in the morning, and then we’ll get you back on solid food. If everything goes well we should be able to discharge you by tomorrow afternoon. I don’t want you talking any more than you have to between now and then, but if you have a short question I’ll try to answer it.”
Do I have a short question? Do they have any leads on the guy who set off the explosion? Have they found Chain Boy? When is Janet’s funeral? What kinds of complications are they really worried about? Virgil closed his eyes and repeated in his head the things the doctor had warned him to look out for.
“My lungs,” Virgil whispered. “How bad?”
“We’ve got you on a prophylactic course of antibiotics to forestall any infection, but all our tests have come back negative for any serious structural damage. The big concern is always pneumonia, but so far we’ve seen no signs of that. Again, right now I think the chances for full healing are good. Anything else?”
Anything else? What else had the doctor warned him about?
“Mental problems? Hallucinations? Memory loss?” Quinn asked in a whisper.
“Some of the chemicals you inhaled have known psychotropic properties and hallucinations have been reported in some patients who were involved in drug lab . . . events. It’s just a possibility,” Cheng said in a rush when he saw the concern on Virgil’s face.
“If you did, I mean if it did happen, it would likely only be a short-term problem. I just mention it so that it doesn’t freak you out. It would just be something we would monitor, and I would expect it to resolve on its own as your body purges itself of the chemicals.” Cheng patted Quinn on the shoulder and took a step back. “I want you to get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning. The nurse will be back in a moment to give you something that will help you get a good night’s sleep.”
Cheng turned and gave the nurse in the corridor a little wave. Before Quinn could ask them to call the squad she was already at the bed, jamming a needle into his IV port. A moment later he felt the room cloud up and drift away.