With a deliberate and rapid pace, Charles moved down the corridor, hoping the nurse did not feel obligated to make any confirming calls to either radiology or Dr. Keitzman.
He reached Michelle’s room and, stepping around the front of the gurney, started to push open the door. He caught a glimpse of a seated figure, head resting on the bed. It was Cathryn.
Charles averted his face, backed out of the room, and moved the door to its original position. As quickly as he could he pulled the gurney the length of the corridor, away from the nurses’ station, half expecting Cathryn to appear. He wasn’t sure if she’d seen him or not.
He had not anticipated her being with Michelle at that hour. He tried to think. He had to get Cathryn out of the room. On the spur of the moment he could think of only one method, but it would mean working very quickly.
After waiting a few minutes to be sure Cathryn was not coming out on her own, Charles swiftly retraced his steps back to the treatment room, which was just before the nurses’ station. He found surgical masks and hoods by a scrub sink. He donned one of each and pocketed an extra hood.
Eyeing the nurses’ station, he crossed the corridor to the dark lounge area. In the far corner was a public telephone. He called the switchboard and asked for Anderson 6. In a few moments he could hear the phone ringing in the nurses’ station.
A woman answered the phone, and Charles asked for Mrs. Martel, saying that it was an emergency. The nurse told him to hold the line.
Quickly he put down the receiver and moved to the doorway of the lounge. Looking back at the nurses’ station, he could see the charge nurse come into the corridor with an LPN. She pointed up the hall. Charles immediately left the lounge and scurried back down the hall, passing Michelle’s room. In the shadow at the end of the hall, Charles waited. He could see the LPN walk directly toward him, then turn into Michelle’s room. Within ten seconds she reappeared and Cathryn, rubbing her eyes, stumbled after her into the hall. As soon as the two women turned toward the nurses’ station, Charles ran the gurney down to Michelle’s room and pushed it through the half-open door.
Flipping on the wall switch, Charles pushed the gurney over to the bed. Only then did he look down at his daughter. After twenty-four hours he could see she was perceptibly worse. Gently he shook her shoulder. She didn’t respond. He shook her again but the child did not move. What would he do if she were in a coma?
“Michelle?” called Charles.
Slowly Michelle’s eyes opened.
“It’s me! Please wake up,” Charles shook her again. Time was limited.
Finally Michelle woke. With great effort she lifted her arms and put them around her father’s neck. “I knew you’d come,” she said.
“Listen,” said Charles anxiously, putting his face close to hers. “I want to ask you something. I know you are very sick and they are trying to take care of you here at the hospital. But you are not getting well here. Your sickness is stronger than their strongest medicines. I want to take you away with me. Your doctors would not like it so I have to take you right now if you want to go. You have to tell me.”
The question surprised Michelle. It was the last thing she’d expected to hear. She examined her father’s face. “Cathryn said you were not feeling well,” said Michelle.
“I feel fine,” said Charles. “Especially when I’m with you. But we haven’t much time. Will you come with me?”
Michelle looked into her father’s eyes. There was nothing she wanted more. “Take me with you, Daddy, please!”
Charles hugged her, then set to work. He turned off the cardiac monitor and detached the leads from her. He pulled out her IV and yanked down the covers. With a hand under her shoulders and another beneath her knees, Charles lifted his daughter into his arms. He was surprised at how little she weighed. As gently as he could, he lowered Michelle into the gurney and covered her. From the closet he retrieved her clothes and hid them beneath the sheet. Then, just prior to pushing the gurney out into the hall, he put a surgical hood over Michelle’s head, tucking in what was left of her hair.
As he walked down toward the nurses’ station he was terrified Cathryn would appear. It was a long shot, but under the circumstances he could not think of any safer alternatives. He had to force himself to walk at a normal pace rather than run to the elevator.
Cathryn had been sound asleep when the LPN touched her shoulder. All she had heard was that she was wanted on the telephone and that it was an emergency. Her first thought had been that something had happened to Charles.
When she got to the nurses’ station the LPN had already disappeared. Not knowing what phone to use, Cathryn asked the charge nurse about her call. The woman looked up from her paperwork and, remembering the call, told Cathryn she could pick up the phone in the chart room.
Cathryn said hello three times, each time louder than the last. But no one answered. She had waited and repeated several hellos, but with no response. Depressing the disconnect button rapidly had no effect until she held it down for an instant. When she released it, she was talking to the hospital operator.
The operator didn’t know anything about a call to Anderson 6 for Mrs. Martel. Cathryn hung up and walked to the doorway leading to the nurses’ station. The nurse was at the desk, bent over a chart. Cathryn was about to call out when she saw a vague figure in white, complete with surgical mask and hood, push a patient across the dimly lit area in front of the elevators. Cathryn, as sensitized as she was, felt a wave of sympathy for the poor child being taken to surgery at such a late hour. She knew that it had to be an emergency.
Fearful of intruding on the nurses’ important tasks, Cathryn tentatively called out to her. The nurse swung around in her chair, her face expectant.
“There wasn’t anyone on the line,” explained Cathryn.
“That’s strange,” said the nurse. “The caller said it was an emergency.”
“Was it a man or a woman?” asked Cathryn.
“A man,” said the nurse.
Cathryn wondered if it were Charles. Maybe he had gone over to Gina’s. “Could I make a local call from this phone?” asked Cathryn.
“We don’t usually allow that,” said the nurse, “but if you make it quick . . . Dial nine first.”
Cathryn hurried back to the phone and quickly dialed her mother’s. When Gina answered, Cathryn was instantly relieved. Her mother’s voice was normal.
“What have you had to eat?” asked Gina.
“I’m not hungry,” said Cathryn.
“You must eat!” commanded Gina, as if the consumption of food solved all problems.
“Has Charles called?” asked Cathryn, ignoring her mother.
“Not a word. Some father!” Gina made a disapproving clucking sound.
“How about Chuck?”
“He’s here. You want to talk with him?”
Cathryn debated about discussing the need for a marrow transplant with Chuck, but remembering his previous reaction, decided to wait to do it in person. “No. I’ll be home soon. I’ll make sure Michelle is sleeping soundly, then I’ll come home.”
“I’ll have some spaghetti waiting,” said Gina.
Cathryn hung up, intuitively convinced that the mysterious caller had to have been Charles. What kind of an emergency could it have been? And why didn’t he stay on the line? Passing the nurse, Cathryn thanked her for allowing her to use the phone.
She walked quickly, passing the partially opened doors of the other rooms, smelling pungent medical aromas, hearing the occasional cry of a child.
Reaching Michelle’s room, Cathryn noticed that she had left the door completely open. As she stepped into the room, she hoped that the light from the corridor had not bothered Michelle. Quietly she pulled the door almost closed behind her and walked carefully over to her chair in the near dark. She was about to sit down when she realized that the bed was empty. Afraid to step on Michelle in case she’d tumbled onto the floor, Cathryn quickly bent down and felt around the bed. The na
rrow shaft of hall light glistened on the polished vinyl and Cathryn immediately could see that Michelle was not there. In a panic, she hurried to the bathroom and turned on the light. Michelle was not there, either. Returning to the room, Cathryn switched on the overhead light. Michelle was not in the room!
Cathryn ran out of the room and down the long hall, arriving back at the nurses’ station out of breath. “Nurse! My daughter’s not in her room! She’s gone!”
The charge nurse looked up from her writing, then down at her clipboard. “That’s Martel?”
“Yes! Yes! And she was there sleeping soundly when I came down here to answer the phone.”
“Our report from the day shift said she was very weak?” questioned the nurse.
“That’s the point,” said Cathryn. “She might hurt herself.”
As if she thought Cathryn was lying, the nurse insisted on returning to Michelle’s room. She glanced around the room and checked the bathroom. “You’re right, she’s not here.”
Cathryn restrained herself from making any disparaging comments. The nurse put in a call to security telling them that a twelve-year-old girl had vanished from Anderson 6. She also flipped on a series of small signal lights that called back the team of RNs and LPNs who’d been out working on the floor. She told them of Michelle’s apparent disappearance and sent them back out to search all the rooms.
“Martel,” said the charge nurse after the others had left. “That rings a bell. What was the name of the child taken down to radiology for that emergency flat plate?”
Cathryn looked bewildered. For a moment she thought the woman was asking her the question.
“That’s probably it,” said the nurse, picking up the phone and dialing radiology. She had to let it ring almost twenty times before a harried technician picked it up.
“You’re doing an emergency flat plate on a patient from Anderson 6,” said the charge nurse. “What is the name of the child?”
“I haven’t done any emergency flat plates,” said the technician. “Must have been George. He’s up in the OR doing a portable chest. He’ll be back in a minute and I’ll have him call.” The technician hung up before the charge nurse could respond.
Charles wheeled Michelle into the emergency room and, without any hesitation to suggest he didn’t belong there, pushed the gurney into the examination area. He selected an empty cubicle and, pulling aside the curtain, brought Michelle in next to the table. After closing the curtain, he got out Michelle’s clothes.
The excitement of the caper had buoyed Michelle’s spirits and, despite her weakness, she tried to help her father as he dressed her. Charles found that he was very clumsy, and the more he hurried, the clumsier he was. Michelle had to do all the buttons and tie her shoes.
After she was dressed, Charles left her for a few moments to find some cling bandage. Luckily he didn’t have to look far. Returning to the cubicle, he sat Michelle up and eyed her.
“We have to make it look like you were in an accident,” he said. “I know what we’ll do!”
He tore open the bandage and began winding it around Michelle’s head as if she’d suffered a laceration. When he was finished he stepped back. “Perfect!” As a final touch, Charles put a regular bandage over the bridge of her nose, making her laugh. Charles told her she looked like a motorcyclist who’d fallen on her head.
Pretending that she weighed two hundred pounds, he picked up his daughter and staggered out through the curtain. Once in the corridor he quickly became serious, heading toward the entrance. To his satisfaction the emergency room had become even busier than when he’d first entered. Tearful children with all manner of cuts and bruises were waiting, while mothers with coughing infants queued up to check in. Amidst the confusion Charles was unnoticed. Only one nurse turned as Charles and Michelle passed by. When Charles caught her eye he smiled and mouthed the words, “Thank you.” She waved back self-consciously as if she thought she should recognize them but didn’t.
Approaching the exit, Charles saw a uniformed security man jump up from the nearby chair. Charles’s heart fluttered, but the man didn’t challenge them; instead he scurried to the door and said: “Hope she’s feeling better. Have a good night.”
With a welcome sense of freedom, Charles carried Michelle out of the hospital. Quickening his steps, he hurried to the parking garage, settled Michelle in the van, paid his parking fee, and drove off.
THIRTEEN
Cathryn tried to be both patient and understanding, but as time passed she became increasingly nervous. She castigated herself for leaving Michelle to answer the telephone. She should have had the call transferred directly to Michelle’s room.
As she paced the lounge, she involuntarily thought about Michelle’s comment: “I think it would be better if I were dead.” She’d initially put the statement out of her mind, but now that Michelle had not reappeared, it kept coming back to haunt her. Cathryn had no idea if Michelle could do herself harm but, having heard all sorts of grisly stories, she could not dismiss her fear.
Checking her watch, Cathryn walked out of the lounge and approached the nurses’ station. How could a hospital lose a sick twelve-year-old child who was so weak she could barely walk?
“Any news?” asked Cathryn, directing her question to the evening charge nurse. There were now a half dozen nurses sitting around the station chatting casually.
“Not yet,” said the nurse, interrupting a discussion with a colleague. “Security has checked all the stairwells. I’m still waiting for a call from radiology. I’m sure Martel was the name of the child radiology came and picked up.”
“It’s been almost a half hour,” said Cathryn. “I’m terrified. Could you call radiology again?”
Not bothering to hide her irritation, the nurse called again and told Cathryn that the radiology technician had not come back from the OR but that he’d call when he did.
Cathryn turned away from the nurses’ station, acutely aware how the medical people intimidated her. She was furious at the hospital, yet was unable to show her anger no matter how justified she thought it was. Instead she thanked the nurse and wandered back down to Michelle’s empty room. Absentmindedly she looked into the bathroom again, avoiding her reflection in the mirror. Next to the bathroom was the closet, and Cathryn looked inside. She had the door almost closed when she reopened it and stared, dumbfounded.
Running back to the nurses’ station, she tried to get the charge nurse’s attention. The nurses from the evening shift who were going off duty and the night nurses who were coming on duty were grouped around the center of the nurses’ station having their inviolable report. It was a time when emergencies were proscribed, medical or otherwise. Cathryn had to yell to get attention.
“I just discovered my daughter’s clothes are missing,” said Cathryn anxiously.
There was silence.
The charge nurse cleared her throat. “We’ll be finished here in a few moments, Mrs. Martel.”
Cathryn turned away angrily. Obviously her emergency wasn’t as important as the ward routine, but if Michelle’s clothes were gone, she had probably left the hospital.
The phone call must have been from Charles, and its purpose was to get Cathryn out of Michelle’s room. All at once the image of the man pushing the child to surgery flashed before Cathryn’s eyes. He was the correct height, the right build. It had to have been Charles! Cathryn rushed back to the nurses’ station. Now she was sure that Michelle had been abducted.
“Now let me get it straight,” said the stocky Boston police officer. Cathryn had noticed his name tag said William Kerney. “You were sleeping in here when a nurse tapped you on the shoulder.”
“Yes! Yes!” shouted Cathryn, exasperated at the slow pace of the investigation. She’d hoped that calling the police would speed up the whole affair. “I’ve told you ten times exactly what happened. Can’t you go out and try to find the child?”
“We have to finish our report,” explained William. He held a weather
-beaten clipboard in the crook of his left arm. In his right hand he struggled with a pencil, licking the end every so often.
The group was standing in Michelle’s vacant room. It included Cathryn, two Boston police officers, the evening charge nurse, and the assistant administrator. The administrator was a tall, handsome man, dressed in an elegant gray business suit. He had a curious habit of smiling after each sentence, reducing his eyes to narrow slits. His face was gloriously tan as if he’d just returned from a vacation in the Caribbean.
“How long were you out of the room?” asked William.
“I told you,” snapped Cathryn. “Five minutes . . . ten minutes. I don’t know exactly.”
“Uh huh,” murmured William, printing the answer.
Michael Grady, the other Boston police officer, was reading the temporary guardianship papers. When he finished, he handed them to the administrator. “It’s a child-snatching case. No doubt about it.”
“Uh huh,” murmured William, moving up to the top of the form to print “Child Snatching.” He didn’t know the code number for the offense and made a mental note to look it up when he got back to the station.
In desperation, Cathryn turned to the administrator. “Can’t you do something? I’m sorry I can’t remember your name.”
“Paul Mansford,” said the administrator before flashing a smile. “No need to apologize. We are doing something. The police are here.”
“But I’m afraid something is going to happen to the child with all this delay,” said Cathryn.
“And you saw a man pushing a child to surgery?” asked William.
“Yes!” shouted Cathryn.
“But no child went to surgery,” said the nurse.
William turned to the nurse. “What about the man with the X-ray form? Can you describe him?”
The nurse looked up toward the ceiling. “Medium height, medium build, brown hair . . .”
“That’s not too specific,” said William.
“What about his blue eyes?” asked Cathryn.