Chapter 20

Meredith arrived to her night shift in plenty of time to stop at the Starbucks cart and grab a caramel latte. When she got to the Emergency Department, her assignment for this shift, she could see it was going to be a long night. People in the waiting room had been there for hours, and it seemed like the ambulances arrived without end. The ER was a place for life and death emergencies, but more and more uninsured people were forced to use it as a Primary Care because the ER was not allowed to turn patients away if they couldn’t pay. This meant her night could be spent treating sniffles or gunshot wounds—it just depended on the fates and the stars.

As she made her way into the patient area, she heard moaning, crying, and yelling, all within a few partitions. One of the nurses was rushing with a mop and bucket to the other side of the room, and she could smell the fresh antiseptic spray they used on the hard surfaces here. She could tell it had been a madhouse this evening, which usually meant the night shift would be worse. No matter. She took a sip of her liquid energy and stepped up to the triage nurse. “What have you got for me, Julie?”

“Nothing good. It’s a full moon with diarrhea tonight. We’ve got sickies, stoners, and shitheads. What’s your pleasure?”

They chatted as Meredith selected one of the charts. Ready to go, she went to the curtained partition assigned to her patient, a four-year old boy with a fever, chills, and congestion. Apparently, some of the crying that had been filling the department was coming from him. Meredith opened up the curtains and was immediately met with an upset little boy and his frazzled mother, who had tears sliding down her cheek, too.

Meredith quickly went to work soothing the boy, handing him one of the little stuffed animals the hospital kept for occasions like this. Once he was calm, she quietly spoke to the child’s mother, assessing her well being in addition to her son’s. By the time the boy was treated and he and his mother left, the mother was smiling and the little boy was soothed.

Back to triage, she finished her notes and handed the finished chart to Julie. “What’s next, pretty lady?”

“We’re playing requests tonight, Dr. St. Claire,” Julie said. “This guy refuses to be seen by anyone but you.”

“Hmm.” Meredith flipped through the pages in his chart. “I’m not sure I know him. He’s not a frequent flyer. Did he say why he wanted me?”

“Not to me.” Julie smiled. “He’s kinda cute. Maybe he’s an admirer.”

Meredith playfully scoffed and headed toward the partition. She went through the chart again, but nothing stood out to her. It was a typical one-time-visit to the ER chart for someone who probably would be better off waiting until morning and going to their primary care doctor. His complaints were typical of the season: fever, congestion, and headache. She got a dab of hand sanitizer from the wall dispenser, rubbed it in thoroughly, and opened the curtain to her patient.

“Hi, I’m Dr. St. Claire. I understand you’re not feeling well.” She closed the curtain behind her and looked at her patient. He was average height, but held himself confidently. His hair was blond and cut fairly short. He was attractive in a way, but something seemed off with him. Maybe wearing black from head to toe was too goth. Or maybe the fact that he still had his military-style coat and gloves on after waiting a few hours was odd. She couldn’t place her discomfort, but she knew it was there.

“Dr. St. Claire,” the man repeated. “You are the senator’s daughter?” He had a slight accent, which Meredith placed as Eastern European, but his English was precise enough to make identification of his speech difficult.

Meredith hated being associated with her father at work. It was always a distraction from her abilities as a doctor. “Yes, I am,” she said, pulling the digital thermometer off the cart. “It says you’ve had a fever. Let’s start by taking your temperature.” She put the thermometer in a plastic sleeve and held it to his lips.

The man knocked it away with his hand. “I have a message for you.” Meredith tried to back away, but the man held her by her shoulder with one hand and pressed a pistol to her stomach with the other hand. The muscles in her abdomen involuntarily clenched, and for a moment, Meredith thought she might get sick. Her head pounded with blood that had rushed through her system in panic. This place is full of people, separated only by curtains and false walls. She had to keep it together. She must be brave.

“All I have to do is scream and security will come running,” Meredith forced out through clenched teeth, squirming under his hold.

“And all I have to do is pull the trigger,” he sneered. “You think the rent-a-cops sleeping by the doors are going to be here in time to help you? You have a better chance if you hear me out.”

Meredith glanced between him and his gun, and tried to position herself closer to the examination table and the panic button hidden underneath. “What do you want?”

“That’s easy. I want Kostya Dychenko. I want the chip he smuggled out of the Ukraine. I want you to tell me where he is.”

“What makes you think I know? He’s a grown man. He does what he wants.” Her heart sped up as she lied to protect Kostya but took one tiny step closer to the table.

“As his sponsor you have made certain promises,” he smirked. “I don’t see you breaking those promises.”

“Promises to the government are easily broken,” she said as she tried to nonchalantly reach for and trip the panic button. Her fingertips brushed against the hidden button and she pushed it.

The man laughed out loud. “And you, a senator’s daughter. No wonder America is falling apart.” He lifted the gun to her head. “And now, I am making a promise. Tell me where Kostya is, or I’ll put a bullet in your brain.”

Meredith felt the rhythm of her breathing accelerating, so she forced deep breaths through her nose to try to slow her panic.

“What has he done?” she asked the blond man.

“That is none of your concern. The only thing you need to be worried about is telling me where I can find him.” The man’s voice became harsher and more insistent.

Meredith heard scuffling on the linoleum tiles a few partitions over. She needed to stall a few more seconds for security to mobilize.

“I’d feel better if you would put the gun away. There are a lot of people separated only by curtains.” She tried to pronounce “gun” clearly so security would know what they had to deal with.

At that moment, a surge of footsteps and activity outside alerted the man that help was coming.

“You bitch!” the man yelled. With one hand wrapping around her abdomen, he pulled her against the back wall of the partition, and with his free hand, fiddled with the oxygen valve found on the wall causing the gas to escape in a constant stream. Then, he picked up a can of antiseptic spray from a supply shelf and wrapped his arm around her.

“Take a deep breath, Meredith. Things are about to get interesting,” he hissed into her ear. Turning the pistol, he held the gun against her temple. “This would have been so easy. All you had to do was tell me where Kostya is.” He cocked the pistol against her as the curtains around them were pulled wide open.

“Put the gun down,” the head security officer ordered. Meredith knew him to be a good guy, an ex-cop supplementing retirement with this safe gig at the hospital. “I said, put the gun down, now.” Although his voice was authoritative, the guards, armed with Tasers and pepper spray, hardly wielded the same force as the man carrying the pistol.

“Meredith and I were just talking, weren’t we?” The man smiled. He pressed the gun against her ear and held on to Meredith while he inched her forward toward the guards. “It’s just a misunderstanding.”

“Then let’s talk and work it out,” the security guard said. “Place the gun on the floor and put your hands up, off Dr. St. Claire.”

Meredith allowed the man to push her forward another step, his gun pushed harder against her skull. “Please, put the gun down,” she pleaded.

“Listen, how polite she is.” He sassed her, “‘Please, put the gun down.’ Oh, Meredith. Can’t you see this was all unnecessary?” Suddenly, she felt the pressure against her head release, and the blond man shoved her—hard—toward the guards. As she tripped trying to avoid a collision with them, the man’s arm arced out of his pocket and he flicked out his lighter, a silver Zippo, and swung the aerosol can and the flame toward the oxygen valve on the back wall. Pushing the button to spray into the stream of oxygen, he tossed the lighter into the flow of the gas, igniting a stream of fire.

“Get down!” Meredith yelled and hit the floor.

The fire, surprisingly powerful, shot forward into the crowd of security guards. Curses and screams erupted as they scrambled to fight themselves free of the flames. Immediately lighting the curtains separating the partitions that were full of patients, the fabric fed the fire from one area to the next, quickly engulfing the entire Emergency Department into flames. Nurses, doctors, and security workers scrambled to evacuate patients into other areas of the hospital or outside into the cold.

Just a few seconds into the chaos, Meredith spun around searching for the blond man. She checked outside and in the hallway where some people were congregating, but she soon realized it was futile. She saw the head security guard and ran to catch up with him.

“Where did the gunman go? Did you see him?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. He shook his head. “Everything just got crazy and he disappeared. He caused one hell of a distraction.”

Disappeared, and he’s still after Kostya.

She had to find Kostya and warn him.