Saturday / Sunday
At change of shift, Jim found himself hustled back to his own room and tucked in for the night. He ached from the tension of the afternoon and his arms hurt where they had given him the rabies shots and he felt a little sick from the antivirals, but he wasn’t planning to sleep. It might be his last night on earth and he didn’t want to miss any of it. He tucked his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.
Jim hadn’t really thought about their third patient, yet. He did so now.
Hal Williams was also in the Neuro ICU, also on injections and antivirals. But, unlike Jim, Hal had symptoms.
Dr. Armstrong had come quietly into Jim’s room and sat down and reported to him. The virus wasn’t moving as fast as it had with Professor Craig. The medications were helping, but the damage was being done. Neural cells were dying and there didn’t seem to be any way to stop the process, just delay it.
Dr. Armstrong had risen and stretched. He was going home to get a few hours of sleep, but would be back to check on Jim before the night was over. Jim should sleep, let his body concentrate on fighting the invader. Jim had nodded.
He found himself considering the situation in a purely clinical light, with no emotional component. They were not dealing with pure rabies. This virus didn’t exist in nature. Nor did it behave like rabies. For one thing, it targeted the peripheral nerves first, rather than going straight for the brain. It also seemed to be exclusively paralytic; no foaming at the mouth with this one, and it was much, much faster than normal rabies.
There were no studies, no drug trials, no literature he could rely on. It was all guesswork. The drugs recommended by the CDC were slowing the virus down. That had implications for other drugs or a new combination of drugs. He went through his arsenal in his head.
There were some similarities between HIV and rabies. Both were neurophilic, both encapsulated, both RNA viruses, and both took advantage of the ability to hide inside a nerve to escape the human immune system.
But there was no way to know if the HIV medications would work. They had been developed for specific proteins on the immune system cells, not the peripheral nerve cells targeted by this virus, and all of those drugs came with serious side effects.
With Hal, it might be worth it; allowing the HIV drugs to destroy some tissues in exchange for halting the spread of the virus and preserving the remaining neurons. For Jim, that was an unacceptable risk.
Hal would have to be offered the choice, though. Jim had the authority to change Hal’s medications, but had let everything he suggested be funneled through Dr. Armstrong, to make sure there was no conflict of interest. He glanced at the clock. Two a.m. How long did they have, realistically, before there were too few neurons left for it to matter?
Jim climbed out of bed and pulled on the extra shoes he kept in his locker in the E.R., then grabbed his lab coat, opened the door, and came face to face with one of the ICU nurses.
“Dr. Mackenzie. I was just coming to get you. It’s Mr. Williams. He is asking for you.”
Jim nodded. “I’ll come.”
The two of them made their way back to the Neuro ICU, Jim wondering what he would find when he got there. He went first to Ginny’s room and assured himself she was asleep, then walked down to the other end of the unit and looked in at Hal’s door.
The room was full of people.
Hal sat in the bed, leaning over the rolling table, a stack of papers in front of him. He seemed to be trying to sign something. Jim watched him struggle with the pen, taking note of the hand position and use of shoulder muscles to move the pen across the paper. From the looks of it, even if they were able to halt the advance of the virus, Hal could end up a quadriplegic. He glanced up and saw Jim.
“Please come in.” He waved at his entourage. “Accountant, lawyer, boss.” Jim noticed there also seemed to be a man of the cloth sitting on the window ledge, waiting. “Detective Tran has come and gone. I’m working on my Last Will and Testament.”
The man designated as boss interrupted. “Was there anything else?”
Hal shook his head. “I can’t think of anything. You have the keys?”
“Yes.”
“Then I turn it over to you. You’ll hear from the lawyers about the disposition of the company.”
“Hal—”
Hal raised a hand to stop him. “Tell your wife goodbye for me.”
The other man nodded wordlessly, then turned and left.
Jim had to step aside to let him through the door. When he looked back, he found Hal’s eyes on him. They looked at one another in silence, neither cordial, neither exactly hostile. Perhaps they were both remembering better times.
Jim spoke first. “I have a proposition for you.” He explained about the additional antivirals. Hal nodded.
“Whatever you think is best.”
“You trust me?”
Hal looked straight at him. “I have always known you were a good physician.”
Jim nodded. “I’ll make the changes.” He turned to go.
“Jim.”
He turned back to find Hal still looking at him, his face troubled.
“I have something I want to do and I need your help.”
“Oh?”
“It’s about Ginny.”
“Oh.” Jim crossed his arms on his chest, waiting.
“I have something of hers and I need to give it to her, but I don’t think she’ll take it from me.”
“Well, that’s her choice, isn’t it?” Jim hadn’t meant his voice to sound so cold.
Hal nodded. “Except it’s not from me. It’s from my mother.”
Jim waited for him to continue.
“Before she died, she set up a trust fund for Ginny. It was intended as a wedding present.” He shrugged apologetically. “Mother always wanted me to marry her.”
Jim said nothing.
“I want to transfer the funds to her directly, for her to use in any way she chooses. Mother would approve, given the circumstances.” He sighed. “She liked Ginny very much.”
“Where do I fit in?” Jim asked.
“It needs a trustee. My name has been on it, but that has to change.”
“Why me? Why not one of these gentlemen?” Jim indicated the accountant and lawyer.
“Because she’ll just say no to them. That is one stubborn woman.” The corner of his mouth twitched.
Jim sighed. That much, at least, was truth.
“I want you to retain control until you can persuade her to accept the gift my mother intended her to have. None of it is my money, never was. It’s always been hers.” Jim saw the accountant nod in corroboration. “Will you do that?”
Jim found himself thinking he wouldn’t want anything that had ever belonged to the Williams family, but Ginny might feel differently.
“I’ll need to think about it.” He turned on his heel and made his way to the nurse’s station.
He pulled up Hal’s chart and got busy writing the new orders, then picked up the phone and called the pharmacy, giving them detailed instructions. When he hung up the phone, he turned to find the chaplain seated nearby. The man introduced himself.
“I’m Joseph Wallace, Pastoral Care.”
Jim eyed him. “I didn’t know Hal cared about that sort of thing.”
“I don’t know that he does, but I do. What about you?” The other man had an unexpected mildness about him that made the question seem reasonable.
“I’ve been known to attend church services on occasion.”
The chaplain nodded. “I take it Mr. Williams has treated you and the young lady very badly.”
Jim shrugged. “He was jealous of me, but he rigged a trap for her, to stop her from finding out the truth about him.”
The other man frowned. “That complicates matters.” He looked at Jim, studying him. “Are you going to do as he asks? Protect the young woman from acting too rashly?”
Jim sighed. “I suppose so. She can always get rid of it later.”
Chaplain Wallace nodded. “Will he live?”
“Probably not.”
“But you are trying.”
“Yes.” Jim met the man’s eyes. “Hal Williams is not the only person who might benefit from our efforts. We will do our best to save him, because, even if we can’t, we may learn something that will help us save someone else.” He shrugged. “It’s what doctors do.”
The other man nodded, a ghost of a smile playing at the edge of his mouth. “And I am going to do what chaplains do. If I talk, will you listen?”
Jim frowned, unsure what he was getting himself into. “What is it you want to say?”
“You already know that God sees all that you do, all that you think, all that your heart contemplates. There are no secrets from him.”
Jim nodded.
“The same is true for Hal Williams. It would be good for everyone involved if Mr. Williams was allowed to say he’s sorry.”
“Is he?”
“You were at school together. What do you think?”
“I think he’s sorry he got caught.”
The chaplain laughed. “They all are. But I’m not thinking about him. I’m thinking about you, and the young lady.”
Jim frowned, thinking about the injuries Hal had done to him, to Ginny, to those innocent genealogists and their families.
“Has he told you why he did it?” Jim asked.
“No. You?”
“No.” Jim studied the other man for a moment. “I don’t understand why you aren’t concerned for his immortal soul.”
The chaplain spread his hands. “Some things are between him and God. I know from experience that few deathbed confessions are genuine. But if he thinks about the pain he has caused, admits it, and asks forgiveness, that brings him closer, and it helps those left behind.”
Jim set his mouth in a thin, grim line. “Well, I’m in no mood to make his life, or death, easier on his conscience.”
The chaplain nodded. “That’s why I’m concerned. Time may be very short and you may not have the luxury of waiting until you are ready.”
Jim caught his breath. Did this man even know what he was saying?
“Dr. Mackenzie?”
Jim looked around to find a nurse hovering.
“I have your medications and the lab is right behind me.”
Jim nodded, letting her confirm his identification and take his vital signs before handing him the cup of pills. She had been right. The lab tech was ready when she was through. Jim held out his arm and let the young man collect his blood, carefully labeling the tubes and putting them in his basket.
“Thank you.”
Jim looked over at the chaplain to find him frowning hard.
“You’re right, Chaplain Wallace. I may not have time. He tried to kill me with that virus and we’re still waiting to see if he succeeded.”
“Dear God!”
Jim nodded. “So, if you will excuse me, I have work to do.” He stood up and walked back to Hal’s room.
He paused on the threshold. If he couldn’t defeat this virus, Ginny would need someone else to be trustee. For the moment, though, he preferred to believe they would both live. He strode over to the lawyer.
“Where do I sign?”
* * *