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ALICIA APPROACHED THE nurse’s station, weariness settling upon her like a cloak. This had definitely been the longest day of her life. She slowed to take a sip from the cup of lukewarm coffee in her hand and grimaced. Awful! Tasted like someone had left the grounds in the pot overnight. Turning to throw the still half-full cup of sludge into the nearest receptacle, she heard someone speak her name.
“She was here a moment ago. I’ll page her for you,” the desk nurse said. “Oh...there she is. Dr. Brock!”
Alicia groaned inwardly but acknowledged him with a stiff smile.
“You’re Doctor Brock?” the man asked, his expression dubious. “You don’t look old enough to have finished medical school.” There was something familiar about him. She was sure she’d seen him before. But where?
The strident beep of a monitor punctuated the relative quiet of the floor and the nurse rushed off to attend to a patient, leaving the two of them alone for the moment. Alicia regarded him coldly, and tapped the nametag attached to the lapel of her white coat. “Is there something I can help you with other than to convince you of my credentials?”
“Sorry. I’m Lionel Richards. The police said a woman was brought here after being hit by a car, clutching a piece of paper with my name and phone number. She didn’t have any identification on her. The nurse at the emergency desk told me I should speak with you.” He ran nervous fingers through his hair. “I guess I need to know if . . .”
She thrust her hands in the pockets of her coat to keep them from shaking. No one told her she would have to deal with relatives. The woman was supposed to be homeless.
“Was it Darla Radcliff?” he asked. “Is she all right?”
“Are you a relative?” Practiced professionalism erased any trace of empathy.
He shook his head. “Darla and I were... friends.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Richards. We can’t divulge patient information to anyone other than a close relative or spouse.” She stepped to the desk and leaned across to retrieve a pen.
“Look, Doctor. Darla and I lived together at one time. I still care about her. Can’t you just tell me what condition she’s in? She has no family to speak of. She suffers from schizophrenia. The last time I saw her she’d quit taking her meds.”
Richards...now she knew where she’d seen him. On the six o’clock news. He was a celebrity of sorts–a clairvoyant. The police sometimes used him to find missing people. Obviously, his abilities weren’t working today. She took him by the arm and led him toward a group of chairs along the far wall, and then sat next to him. “I’m truly sorry, but your friend didn’t make it. She died this afternoon in surgery.”
“What? How? I don’t understand.” He rubbed his hands over his face and then dropped them to the arms of the chair, his fingers curled into fists. “What about the baby?” he asked, his voice heavy with dread.
“Baby?” She glanced at her watch as though she had an appointment to keep.
“The last time I spoke with her, Darla told me she was pregnant. That it was my child.”
“Really? Was this about the same time she quit taking her meds?” Alicia stood, and adjusted her coat. “Schizophrenia can cause paranoia and delusional behavior. No doubt she really wanted a baby.” She folded her arms and chewed her bottom lip for a moment, debating whether to divulge anything more. “Did the police tell you that she stepped in front of a car on a busy intersection? A man tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“I know, but she seemed so happy about the baby.”
Alicia glanced away and back again, unable to stance a flow of compassion. If he really had some sixth sense, he would know she was holding back.
“But there was no baby,” he said, as though to convince himself. He shook his head. “Could she have had a miscarriage and never told me?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”
He slumped over, head in his hands. “Why didn’t I know? I should have known.”
“Are you all right, Mr. Richards? Perhaps you should take a minute to let it sink in. Losing a friend can be quite a shock.”
She put a hand in her pocket and felt the ring. She’d meant to put it with the rest of the woman’s personal affects, but something had stopped her. Now she knew why. She held it out. A tiny rhinestone, set at the top of a sterling silver horseshoe, sparkled as it caught the light. “She was wearing this when she was brought in. I think she’d want you to have it.”
He took the ring and held it between thumb and forefinger. “I bought this for her at the state fair last year. She called it her lucky charm.” He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably, stuffed the ring into his front shirt pocket. “I can’t believe she was wearing it seven months after I kicked her out of my house. What does that say about her, Doctor? She really was crazy?”
“I think it says she really loved you.”
He made a sound of derision.
“Why did you kick her out?”
“I never wanted to bring a child into this world cursed with the same gift I have. Darla knew that. Besides, she had more problems than I do. How could she possibly expect to give birth to a normal baby?” He shook his head, his lips pressed into a hard, thin line. “It was a very bad idea.”
Alicia was fairly good at reading people. The man’s arrogance was a cover up for fear. As a clairvoyant he might be able to see things other people overlooked, but when it came to love he was as helpless as the rest of them. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Richards.” She turned to go.
“Doctor, do you often work in the ER?”
She stopped, slowly turned. He was suspicious. She released the breath of a laugh. “You mean, why was I in ER when she was brought in? I’m down there more often than I’d like. I take extra hours to help pay off school bills.”
Her answer seemed to satisfy him. He nodded and leaned back in the chair.
She left him to his grief. At the nurse’s station she pretended to search for something on the computer, all the while watching the man in the waiting area. He fished Darla’s ring back out of his pocket and slipped it on his pinkie, absently twisting it round and round. Was he seeking peace or hoping for absolution? Was his rejection of Darla and her pregnancy the reason she lost herself out on the street? The reason she got caught up in this web of deceit? Was she an innocent victim for Frank Howard to manipulate or did she have secrets of her own?
Alicia knew what it was like to live with a secret and how easily someone could use it against you if they discovered it–or planned it. She stared at the computer screen until words blurred and the past played once again in her mind’s eye.
It was so dark that night. Not even a slip of moon peaked out of a cloud heavy sky. Rain spit down enough to smear her already dirty windshield but not enough to wash it clean. She was exhausted. She just needed a couple hours sleep before her next shift...
Her head jerked up when the nurse sat heavily in the chair next to her. “Tired?” she asked.
“A little.”
Her glance met Richard’s across the room as he slowly stood. He stared at her strangely for a moment and then made his way toward the elevators. She gasped.
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” she lied, “Nothing.”
She couldn’t take her eyes from Lionel Richards as he entered the elevator. He was still wearing Darla’s ring on his pinky. She covered her mouth with both hands. No! What was she thinking? She had just given a clairvoyant a direct line to the truth. A blond man in a dark business suit followed him into the elevator and the doors slid closed.
*****
“FRANK. THERE’S A CALL for you. You left your cell on the kitchen table again.”
Frank opened his eyes and blinked at the brightness of the lamp beside his recliner. He must have dozed off. He glanced down at papers scattered across the floor. They had fallen off his lap. He was working on something... He cleared his throat and stood up. “Who is it?”
Marion stifled a yawn with her hand. “Your lawyer.”
He lifted his glass from the end table and drained the last of the brandy. “He knows I don’t like to be disturbed at home. What legal issues could possibly be important enough to call at this hour?”
“I don’t know, dear, but I’m done cleaning up and I’m going to retire for the night.” She handed him the phone and trudged off in the direction of their bedroom.
Frank waited until she was out of earshot. “Howard here.”
“I’m sorry to call at such a late hour, Sir, but I thought perhaps you’d like to know that all the loose ends have been tied.”
He sighed. “Didn’t you already give me this information earlier? You were able to get everything lined up for the adoption in the morning, weren’t you? My nephew will be very peeved if things don’t go smoothly. And so will I, for that matter.”
“The papers are in order, Sir. I was calling about another matter. A Mr. Lionel Richards. He stopped by the hospital today to ask about the woman.”
The name was familiar. Ah yes, the man Darla Radcliff insisted was the father of her babies. “Did he speak with anyone? Dr. Brock by any chance?”
“He had a short conversation with the doctor. She told him the woman died.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Frank bent to pick up the papers he’d dropped earlier. He was tired and didn’t want to play twenty questions with his dour-faced lawyer tonight. “She’s dead. He goes home. End of story. Right?”
“We couldn’t take the chance. He was curious, asking questions about her pregnancy. Dr. Brock gave him the woman’s ring. Not a good idea. He was clairvoyant, after all.”
“Was?” Frank slowly straightened, and let the papers fall back to the floor.
“Yes sir. Was.”
The deadly calm voice was enough to rattle Frank’s nerves. He sat heavily on the edge of the chair. What had he started? Blackmail was one thing, but murder? He had no intention of being connected with murder. Bad enough that the crazy woman stepped off the curb and got herself killed, but deliberately...
“What have you done, Andrew?”
There was a lengthy pause and then, “Nothing, Sir. I was just calling to see if you’d had time to catch the evening news.”
“The evening news,” he repeated like a dumb parrot.
“Have a good night, Sir.”
Frank set the phone down and looked for the remote. He clicked the television on and leaned back in his chair to watch. Ten minutes in a reporter stood at a crash scene.
“I’m here at 44th and Dodd where there was a train/auto accident this evening. The driver of the car was killed instantly. He has been identified as Lionel Richards, a well-known clairvoyant who has often worked with police on high profile missing person’s cases across the country. According to police, a little after dusk, Mr. Richards drove onto the tracks and was hit by a cargo train as it cleared the crossing. Police say it is unclear at this time exactly what happened, pending further investigation. This is Jilly Seacrest with channel five news. Back to you, Robert.”
Frank clicked off the television. His hands shook, and he clasped them on the desktop. This too would pass. He’d built Howard Pharmaceutical up from nothing and he wasn’t about to let it fall apart now.
*****
“INCOMING!” PETER SAID as he pushed the wheelchair through the doorway to the delivery room. Curly red hair topped his six-foot-five military-straight frame. Dressed in tan scrubs, he resembled a giant matchstick. “Welcome to your temporary accommodations till we get that baby outaya.”
The woman stared up at him as though he spoke Klingon. She gripped the arms of the wheelchair. “I think it’s coming,” she said on a groan, her brow furrowed.
Peter settled her on the bed and Alicia began her examination. “Let’s see how far you’re dilated, and we’ll know if Peter needs to put on his catcher’s mitt.
Her joke fell on deaf ears. The woman burst out crying. “I can’t take anymore. Just knock me out.”
Peter raised his brows. “Don’t worry Mrs. Tatum,” he said, his voice as mellow as an old Nat King Cole album. “I’ll go roundup your husband and get the ball rolling.”
“I don’t care about my husband,” she said, “He isn’t here now, and I need drugs!”
Her husband bounded through the door seconds later, a sheepish look on his thin face. He stepped awkwardly around Alicia, and gripped his wife’s hand, his smile of assurance paper-thin. “Sorry, babe. I got lost after I filled out the papers downstairs.”
“You promised you’d be here every step of the way,” she said, in a small, frail voice, unlike the demanding one she’d used earlier. She scrunched her face and jerked her hand away from his to push dark bangs off her sweating forehead.
He gently took her hand back. “I know, but I’m here now. I’m not going to leave you.”
Her eyes pooled with tears. “It hurts so much, Sam. I didn’t think it would be this way.”
“Don’t worry, hon. You’ll be fine. The baby will be fine. I promise.” He pressed a kiss against her lips and looked up at Alicia for reassurance.
Alicia signaled Peter. Things were not fine. She turned to face the woman and her husband. “The baby is breach and in significant distress. We need to get you to OR right away.”
Peter immediately prepared to transport Mrs. Tatum. He called two other nurses in and they moved her out the door. Alicia followed, Mr. Tatum hanging close by her side.
“Are you sure about a C-section, Dr. Brock? Lori really wanted to do this naturally, if possible,” he said. He grabbed her arm before she could follow his wife through the swinging doors.
“That’s no longer an option. But I promise to take good care of them both. It’ll be all right.” She pulled gently away and left him standing there, while something deep within her proclaimed quite the opposite.
The baby had already turned blue when they pulled her from the womb. Dark hair lay matted and bloody against a tiny forehead as wrinkled as a Gnome. Alicia cleared the baby’s airway and patted her back. The sound that came forth after a few interminable seconds was really more like the mew of a kitten than a human cry. If they hadn’t all been holding their collective breath, it may have gone unnoticed, drowned out by the natural hubbub of the surgery.
Alicia glanced at the young mother, heavily sedated and oblivious to the fact that she had just given birth to a child that would not survive. The anguish of loss would come with knowledge, but perhaps in this case, the bliss of ignorance would be preferable for everyone.
She handed the baby to Peter and stepped back to allow the surgical intern to close, her eyes on the job at hand but her mind visiting a baby girl in neonatal who now had a much better chance of survival. The Tatums would not go home empty-handed and heartbroken. She would see to it.