Read Online Lethal Remedy by Richard Mabry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard Mabry
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light onto the papers strewn helter-skelter over the scarred surface of his desk. The page shook in his hand as he stared at the figures scrawled in the margins. It all came down to this.
The man scrabbled through the mass of documents and pulled another sheet. What was the line from Macbeth? "If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly." Decision time.
He eased himself from the chair like the unfolding of a carpenter's rule. Do this, and he could say good-bye to this tiny office. He envisioned a corner suite with a view—maybe even a private washroom. But tonight the community restroom down the hall would do.
The man locked himself in a stall and dug in his pocket for the dog-eared match folder he'd carried all day. He struck one match. It fizzled impotently. Two more attempts before one lit. He bent it against its fellows and the whole folder ignited. He touched the improvised torch to the papers he held and watched as they burst into flame.
Would the smoke set offthe fire alarm, activate the sprinklers? He cursed under his breath for not thinking of that. He held the flaming mass lower in the toilet and fanned the air furiously with his free hand. The ashes dropped into the water, and he breathed again. He flushed twice, and it was over.
He washed his hands, splashed water on his face, and walked back to his office. For good or for evil—probably a bit of both—it was done.
Jack Ingersoll reached out to punch the intercom button on his phone and was gratified to see that his hands were almost steady. A lesser man would have a tremor this morning. I should have been a surgeon. "Martha, page Dr. Pearson and tell him I'll be ready to make rounds in fifteen minutes. We'll start in the ICU."
"Yes, sir," Martha called through the open door that connected her office with his.
Ingersoll ground his teeth. Would that woman never learn to use the intercom? Oh, well. It wasn't worth the hassle of trying to get her replaced. No, he'd just wait a bit. If things went as he expected, it wouldn't be long before he'd have a nice new office, along with an administrative assistant that he didn't have to share with two other doctors, someone who would cater to his wishes. And that day couldn't come soon enough for him.
He swiveled in his chair and turned away from the windows and the bright sun that streamed in through them. The two Advil he'd washed down with black coffee seemed to be helping his headache. Another five minutes with his eyes closed, and he'd begin rounds. He hoped Pearson hadn't fouled up anything in his absence. At this point, every Jandramycin patient was pure gold. And he couldn't afford any slipups.
"Jack, got a minute?"
He opened his eyes and saw Sara in the doorway, one hesitant foot over the threshold. He couldn't recall that she'd come to his office since they'd divorced. Quick encounters on the ward or in the cafeteria, an occasional phone conversation about a patient, but never a personal visit. What was up? "Sure. Come in. Sit down."
She took one of the two visitors' chairs. "I won't keep you. I know you're about to start rounds, but I wanted to let you know what happened while you were gone."
He listened intently as she told him about the girl—what was her name? Chelsea. That was it. She told him about Chelsea's sepsis. What were the odds? Sepsis from Staph luciferus, responding to Jandramycin, only to be replaced by a garden-variety but potentially lethal infection from an indwelling urinary catheter. As Sara related the details, his mind raced to parse the implications.
Apparently, Jandramycin wasn't effective against E. coli. No harm there. It had a specific niche, and if the drug was never used against any bacteria except Staph luciferus, it would still have a secure position in the pharmacotherapy of infections.
The girl was still receiving Jandramycin along with the other drugs for her E. coli infection, and all the medications seemed to be working. That
The man scrabbled through the mass of documents and pulled another sheet. What was the line from Macbeth? "If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly." Decision time.
He eased himself from the chair like the unfolding of a carpenter's rule. Do this, and he could say good-bye to this tiny office. He envisioned a corner suite with a view—maybe even a private washroom. But tonight the community restroom down the hall would do.
The man locked himself in a stall and dug in his pocket for the dog-eared match folder he'd carried all day. He struck one match. It fizzled impotently. Two more attempts before one lit. He bent it against its fellows and the whole folder ignited. He touched the improvised torch to the papers he held and watched as they burst into flame.
Would the smoke set offthe fire alarm, activate the sprinklers? He cursed under his breath for not thinking of that. He held the flaming mass lower in the toilet and fanned the air furiously with his free hand. The ashes dropped into the water, and he breathed again. He flushed twice, and it was over.
He washed his hands, splashed water on his face, and walked back to his office. For good or for evil—probably a bit of both—it was done.
Jack Ingersoll reached out to punch the intercom button on his phone and was gratified to see that his hands were almost steady. A lesser man would have a tremor this morning. I should have been a surgeon. "Martha, page Dr. Pearson and tell him I'll be ready to make rounds in fifteen minutes. We'll start in the ICU."
"Yes, sir," Martha called through the open door that connected her office with his.
Ingersoll ground his teeth. Would that woman never learn to use the intercom? Oh, well. It wasn't worth the hassle of trying to get her replaced. No, he'd just wait a bit. If things went as he expected, it wouldn't be long before he'd have a nice new office, along with an administrative assistant that he didn't have to share with two other doctors, someone who would cater to his wishes. And that day couldn't come soon enough for him.
He swiveled in his chair and turned away from the windows and the bright sun that streamed in through them. The two Advil he'd washed down with black coffee seemed to be helping his headache. Another five minutes with his eyes closed, and he'd begin rounds. He hoped Pearson hadn't fouled up anything in his absence. At this point, every Jandramycin patient was pure gold. And he couldn't afford any slipups.
"Jack, got a minute?"
He opened his eyes and saw Sara in the doorway, one hesitant foot over the threshold. He couldn't recall that she'd come to his office since they'd divorced. Quick encounters on the ward or in the cafeteria, an occasional phone conversation about a patient, but never a personal visit. What was up? "Sure. Come in. Sit down."
She took one of the two visitors' chairs. "I won't keep you. I know you're about to start rounds, but I wanted to let you know what happened while you were gone."
He listened intently as she told him about the girl—what was her name? Chelsea. That was it. She told him about Chelsea's sepsis. What were the odds? Sepsis from Staph luciferus, responding to Jandramycin, only to be replaced by a garden-variety but potentially lethal infection from an indwelling urinary catheter. As Sara related the details, his mind raced to parse the implications.
Apparently, Jandramycin wasn't effective against E. coli. No harm there. It had a specific niche, and if the drug was never used against any bacteria except Staph luciferus, it would still have a secure position in the pharmacotherapy of infections.
The girl was still receiving Jandramycin along with the other drugs for her E. coli infection, and all the medications seemed to be working. That
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