JACKSON, WYOMING. THE SAME DAY.
2 P.M. MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME.
Esma was still. It was over.
Who designed this cruel machine? J.P. thought.
Her blood was on the bed, but her body was not. A tangle of cords remained in a nest by her pillow. J.P. stared at it, still in shock. Then he let out a sigh of relief and looked to the corner of the room, where Layle was helping soothe Esma while the doctor stitched up her incision.
On the floor next to the bed lay an unusual looking device. Small like a pill and shiny chrome. It hadn’t buzzed or sparked or done anything movie-worthy. Instead, it clicked softly every thirty seconds or so, and continued doing so now on the linoleum.
Layle must have noticed J.P. staring. “Don’t touch it.”
J.P. walked over and crushed it like a bug with his size 12 Timberlands. Then he sat on the bed to catch his breath.
It had been a blur to J.P. Deputy Layle had raced into the hospital room, hollering about Esma’s heart attack and threatening to “take the damn thing out myself!”
The doctor then resisted, while J.P. looked on in horror.
Layle took out his phone and called Jake. No answer. He left a short voice mail. “Jake! They won’t listen!”
“I’ll call security if I have to!” the doctor shouted.
Layle had finally seen enough; he pinned the MD against the wall and spoke calmly but sternly. Their faces were only an inch apart. “Listen to me. That woman right there is going to die. You can choose to be either a hero or a hindrance.” He tossed the man to the ground and approached Esma.
“Fine! Don’t touch her!” The doctor stood up and shouted into the hallway for local anesthetics and an extra hand.
A careful incision was then made four inches above her left breast while J.P. and Layle held her down. With the help of a surgical assistant, a thoracoscope was inserted into Esma’s chest cavity.
“No history of heart disease?” the doctor asked the assistant.
“None.”
“Okay, there’s something here. Confirm, please, that she doesn’t have a pacemaker.”
“No pacemaker.”
“Oh my God.” The doctor was frozen for a second. “You’re right. It’s something . . . I don’t know . . . man-made.”
“Hurry!” J.P. shouted.
The doctor startled and got back to his task. He reached in carefully with his hemostats and removed the device. For a second, he held it in front of his eyes in amazement.
Click. Click.
“Shit!” The doctor dropped the chip, hemostats and all, into a surgical tray. “Thing shocked me!”
“Nobody touch it!” Layle kicked the whole tray to the ground.
It was a peculiar-looking object, like something from a sci-fi film. Two short nodes on one end, and two tiny wires leaving the other.
“Pretty sure it’s dead,” the doctor said. J.P. was still standing over the crushed mess of tiny wires. “We’re going to take her to a clean room. Give us ten minutes.”
J.P. only nodded. He walked out to the waiting area with Layle, who, after helping him sit, brought over a Styrofoam cup of ice water. J.P. gulped it down.
“You’re okay.” Layle was kneeling on the tile in front of J.P. “Look at me. You’re okay. We did it.”
“Fucking nightmare,” was all J.P. said, and Layle laughed.
“No shit.”
Dr. Antol bustled through the waiting room in street clothes, saying, “I’ll be right back with you,” and headed back toward the ICU. The surgical assistant had called for her.
The color started to return to J.P.’s face. “How did you know?”
“Jake called me.”
A few minutes later, Dr. Antol returned to the waiting room.
“C’mon back,” she said in a soothing voice.
Esma’s new room was only a few doors down. Layle waited outside while Dr. Antol took J.P. in.
“We gave her an injection for the pain, so she’s sleeping now. She’ll still have to be treated with antibiotics. A two-day course, at least.”
“And?”
“I’d be lying if I said we’ve ever experienced something like this.” She looked into his desperate eyes. “But, I’d assume with that thing gone, she’s not at risk anymore. How did this happen?”
“Some other time.”
The doctor left J.P. alone with Esma.
He slid a chair over from the window and sat. He leaned forward, rested his head on the bed at Esma’s side, and started to cry.