Lucidity Page 6

  "What about stress induced disorders?" Vincent interjected, her passion contagious as he allowed his imagination to roam. "Migraines, chronic pain syndromes, peptic ulcer disease?"

  She nodded, gripping his hand and squeezing it in enthusiasm. "Yes, yes. Think how many people could be saved!"

  "Now I understand why you call this a place where dreams come true."

  "Lucidine is the future of medicine. I'm convinced of it. I need help to continue my work with it. Someone with a background in both adults and pediatric patients."

  Vincent straightened. "You want me to work with you?" He was both surprised and flattered by her offer.

  "I know you're worried you won't receive a staff position because of your malpractice suit. But you could work for me, Vincent. Help me finish what I've started here at the ECU. I'm planning to expand beyond Angels of Mercy. Start my own private clinic."

  He frowned. It was a very generous and tempting offer. But the whole reason he'd decided to stay out of private practice and specialize in hospital-based medicine was that he liked taking care of different challenges every day. From what he saw of her work so far, Eve was essentially a technician, punching a few buttons on the computer and monitoring the patient's vital signs during their time under the anesthesia.

  Lucidine would be a major boon to many patients, but did he want to spend his life staring at a computer screen all day long?

  "I don't think so, Eve."

  Her face filled with disappointment and she turned away, shoulders hunched. He felt like he'd disrupted something growing between them. He hoped not.

  "That's all right," she said, her voice neutral, almost cold. "Just think about it."

  "I will," he assured her. Then he remembered Helman's tumor patient. Now there was an interesting case, one he'd love to be involved with. "Could I observe when you start working with Dr. Helman's case, Grace Moran?"

  She turned to look back at him, appraisal in her eyes. "Why that case?"

  "With her psych history, I thought she might be interesting."

  Her lips pursed together and the corners of her mouth turned down. "Let me see how she responds to the Lucidine first."

  Was she hiding something? "Is there a problem with your Lucidine therapy?" he asked again, following her out to the nurses' station. "If I'm going to consider working with you, I need to know everything."

  Her back still to him, she shook her head as she handed Barbarosa's chart to the clerk. Then she swiveled to face him, turning so quickly her body pressed against his as she tilted her face up to meet his. Her smile was wide enough to reveal a small dimple at the corner of her mouth.

  "Lucidine isn't a miracle drug," she said, one hand stroking along his arm in time with her words. "But it will change medicine forever. If you work with me, you'll be a part of that. Together, we could make history."

  Her words sent a thrill through him, a promise of great rewards, a long and fulfilling career. He would definitely consider her offer. What did he have to lose? Given the way his malpractice case was going, Eve might be his only hope for a career in medicine.

  She squeezed his arm and slid sideways, out of reach. "What room did you put Grace Moran in?" she asked the clerk, leaning forward over the counter, giving Vincent a glimpse of her more than ample cleavage beneath the powder blue silk blouse she wore.

  "She hasn't arrived yet, Dr. Warden."

  Another frown puckered Eve's brow. Vincent found himself wanting to brush the worry lines away with his fingertips. He stepped farther away, out of range of her intoxicating jasmine perfume.

  "She should have been here hours ago. Dr. Helman wrote her transfer orders early this afternoon. Call down to the surgical floor and see what the hold up is."

  "Yes ma'am."

  Eve turned back to Vincent. "I guess that means I'm free for a while. Would you like to talk more about Lucidine over a cup of coffee?"

  Vincent allowed her to take his arm and lead him down the hallway to her private office.

  "You look exhausted," Grace told Alex after she was certain Kat would be all right. "Let's get you back downstairs."

  Alex had refused to explain anything more about the ECU. The subject obviously upset him, so Grace let it go. She was pushing him toward the main doors of the ECU when one of the treatment room doors opened and a morbidly obese man emerged. Alex motioned for her to stop, and she backed them into a small alcove that held a desk for charting.

  "That's Tiny," Alex whispered. "He was real nice to me and Kat. He made it out, but now he keeps coming back. I don't know why."

  Grace watched the man turn and wave happily at someone behind him in the room. He'd obviously lost a tremendous amount of weight, his skin draped over his waist in jiggling swaths that were obscenely hypnotic to watch. She could tell by his small feet and hands and narrow shoulders that his frame was actually that of a lean man which made the grotesque layers of fat seem artificial, the product of hours of stage makeup artistry.

  In reality she was certain they were the hard won product of years of trying to insulate himself from whatever he feared in the world outside. She should know--she'd built a similar prison around herself inside her house for the last four years. The only difference was that Tiny's prison was portable. And, from a medical point of view, quite deadly.

  "Duck," Alex told her, grabbing her hand and pulling her back as a man and a woman followed Tiny from the room. Their backs were to Grace and Alex. Grace watched the woman lay a hand on the man's arm and lean over to whisper something to him.

  "The Wicked Witch," Alex told her, his eyes narrowed as he watched the woman flirt with the man. "And Dr. V--what's he doing here?"

  "Who's Dr. V?" Grace asked. The woman laughed as she and the man disappeared around the corner, headed toward the nurses' station. Grace pushed Alex out into the hall and through the main entrance to the ECU into the elevator foyer. Suddenly the air seemed fresher, easier to breathe.

  "He's not supposed to be up here. He's my doctor," Alex said with a tone of betrayal.

  "And who was the woman?"

  "Dr. Warden. She's in charge of the ECU."

  Grace was more happy than ever that she hadn't moved over to the Extended Care Unit like Helman wanted. The new research unit might boast state of the art technology but something about it made her skin prickle, as if wasps buzzed just below the surface. Her headache was almost unbearable, the pounding so loud she could barely see. All that vanished as soon as they were in the elevator heading away from the ECU.

  They traveled down to the first floor where the Tower and Annex were joined by the administration wing and crossed back over into the Annex. Once they were back on Peds, she wheeled Alex to his room. She wasn't surprised to find that he had room 333, the one at the end of the hall, farthest from the nurses' station. Traditionally either the least sick or patients expected to die were given those rooms.

  And she knew which category Alex was in.

  It was obvious he'd been in this room for quite some time. Just like the room upstairs that he and Kat had taken over, this one was strewn with posters, art projects, autographed photos of Ben Roethlisberger, Mario Lemieux, and other Pittsburgh celebrities who had embraced the children of Angels of Mercy. An entire corkboard was covered with Polaroid photos of Alex with members of the staff, celebrating birthdays, Halloween, Christmas--as if the hospital was his only family.

  Grace switched his oxygen over for him and encouraged him to eat his dinner. He picked and ate about half, she finished the rest. Finally, he leaned back against his pillows, his pale skin blending into the hospital linens.

  "Go to sleep," she urged him.

  "It's not even six," he said, his words blurred with exhaustion.

  "Doesn't matter, you've had a long day."

  "All right. But first, tell me a story."

  A story? Grace almost panicked and it had nothing to do with agoraphobia or any of her other fears. What stories did she know?

  A flash of Lukas Redd
ing's wide grin, his face splattered with hers and Jimmy's blood, crossed her mind. The only stories she knew were horror stories.

  CHAPTER 7

  Spinning Tales

  Alex patted the bed beside him and Grace stretched out, her left arm circling his shoulders. "Once upon a time," she fumbled, trying to decide what came next.

  She stopped as the three girls from the playroom sidled in through the open door. Their chemotherapy treatments finished, they now roamed free from their IV lines. They nodded to Alex, who didn't seem at all surprised to see them, and crowded together on the upholstered chair, one of them swinging her legs over the arm.

  "Not a fairy tale," he complained. "Those are for babies."

  "A love story," one of the girls chimed.

  "Nothing sad," her neighbor put in.

  "Happy ending," the last said, her heels bouncing off the side of the chair in emphasis.

  Grace frowned. "A love story with a happy ending--"

  "But nothing gushy--and it's okay if there's monsters and space aliens and stuff," Alex told her.

  "A monster and space alien love story with nothing gushy or sad and no fairy tales, is that it?" she asked, more uncertain than ever that she could appease her discriminating audience.

  "Well, we maybe don't need the space aliens," Alex allowed.

  Grace took a deep breath. She was no good at this. Where was Jimmy with his blarney when she needed him?

  The chime of gold on gold came as Jimmy's hand covered hers, their wedding rings touching with a tone of pure harmony. She looked over to see Jimmy sitting on the other side of Alex. His right hand reached behind the boy and suddenly the three of them were snuggled together like family.

  Alex sighed with contentment and his eyes closed, his breathing eased. The three girls beamed. Grace wondered for a split second if they could actually see Jimmy.

  Of course not, he was her hallucination and hers alone. It was still nice to have him here.

  Tell them our story, love, he said, turning his wide smile on Grace.

  Of course. Not a fairy tale and it had everything except for the space aliens. Which were optional in any case.

  "Long ago and far away," she began, her voice steady and clear. Jimmy nodded his encouragement. "There once was a Queen named Maeve. She was a good Queen, a warrior as well as a diplomat. Some said she was a witch, others tried to call her a god, but she was just a woman. A woman who was strong and proud and worked hard to keep her people safe."

  "Yeah, Maeve!" One of the girls cheered. Alex's face creased in a smile so Grace knew he wasn't asleep yet.

  "Do you want to hear more?" Grace asked, now enjoying her role as raconteur.

  "Where's the love story?"

  "Well now, that happens much later--more than 3000 years later to be exact. You see, there was a great plague that fell upon Maeve's land. They didn't know it at the time, but a volcano had exploded and the cloud of dust blocked the sun all around the world."

  The children stared at her in rapt attention as Grace formed a large sphere with her hands.

  "You mean the whole world was dark, no sun?" one of the girls asked.

  "Like an ice age?" Alex put in.

  "Almost. This happened in the fall. That winter was the worst ever seen and it seemed never ending. Spring just never came."

  "That's not good."

  Grace nodded. "Not if you want to eat. So Maeve moved her people to the coast, hoping the sea would sustain them. She had to fight off many tribes of other starving people, people who wanted to survive as much as her clan. But she had to put her people first--that was her job as Queen."

  "Did she save them?"

  "Some of them. Enough so that once the dark years passed, her people survived and even prospered. Then a man betrayed Maeve and killed her."

  The girls all formed perfect O's of dismay with their mouths. Alex shifted on the bed, unperturbed by Grace's tale of villainy. Waiting for the space aliens, no doubt. Jimmy chuckled, effortlessly following her thoughts.

  "Her people buried Maeve in a hidden place, but over time they forgot where. Then one man began a quest to find her grave so the people would never forget their brave queen who had once saved them all."

  "Was he a knight?"

  "A prince?"

  "A space captain?" The last was whispered by Alex.

  Grace shook her head. "No, none of those. He was just an ordinary man." Jimmy wrinkled his nose and playfully pinched her at this. "Well, maybe not so very ordinary. He was a professor."

  "A what?" one of the girls asked, her forehead creased in puzzlement.

  "Like Indiana Jones," Alex put in, his eyes wide open now.

  Grace had no choice but to smile at that description. "Kind of like Indiana Jones," she conceded. "But this man's name was Jimmy, Jimmy Moran. He taught history."

  "That doesn't sound very exciting."

  "Sometimes ordinary people are the ones who do the most exciting things," Grace reminded them. "Jimmy thought he found Maeve. He was very close to uncovering her grave. But then--" She paused and the girls leaned forward as one. Alex sucked in his breath and held it. "Then it started to rain."

  "Rain? That's nothing." As if to contradict Alex's words, a peal of thunder and lightning shook the window.

  "Rain. But this rain was sneaky. It would be sunny for a while, then dreadful storms would move in. The island where Jimmy was searching for Maeve's grave was cut off."

  "How did he escape?"

  "Now wait. One day during a nice spell a woman came to the island. Her name was Grace." Jimmy squeezed her hand at that, their rings sliding over each other. As Grace told the story, edited into a PG version the children would enjoy, she couldn't help but remember that day.

  The best day of her life, even if she had spent most of it soaking wet and freezing cold.

  Almost six years ago, and she was so very different now that the memory of those days seemed to have happened to a different person. Back then she had known no fear, had a reputation as a maverick among her fellow ER residents. A reputation hard won, that gave Grace a blush of pride when she heard nurses or paramedics discussing her latest exploits.

  Once upon a time she had been fearless and brave. Like Maeve. Just six years and so much had changed. So much lost….

  She remembered the breath-taking beauty of the monastery on Inishmurray, feeling steeped in a timeless embrace of tradition and a regal solemnity as she entered the chapel ruins. The few remaining rock walls soared high overhead. Intricate round and arched latticed stone windows cast swirling shadows onto the ground as the wind scudded dark clouds across the sun.

  She had walked among the ruins, fingers tracing over carved images in the rocks, including the burial masks of several men who appeared to have been entombed directly into the stone walls.

  The chiseled letters were worn, only the faintest etchings remained in the rock. She wished Brother Leo were here, he would have been able to read the ancient script.

  Were they saints? she wondered, crouching to look upon the peaceful visage of one resident. Warrior kings who had given their lives to protect the monks? Wise bishops?

  It was nice to dream about. Her own monks, holding back the darkness in their own small, quiet ways, would approve.

  A slab polished with time and countless bent knees was all that remained of the altar. Grace crossed herself and knelt, placing a hand on the ancient stone. It felt strangely warm, vibrating as if with the sound of hundreds of male voices raised in praise. She could almost hear Brother Leo's voice, chanting along with the ancient, long buried monks.

  Brother Leo had convinced her to come on this vacation with Linda, a friend who was a nurse in the ER. He'd said she needed time away from the hospital to explore new lands. He'd been right. Leo always had an uncanny knack of knowing what she needed before she did.

  A shadow chilled her. Thick raindrops splattered the grey stone. Dark clouds climbing in thick, wooly layers devoured the sun. She flipped up the hood
of her Gortex jacket, cursing Linda and her romantic impulses. Linda had paired up with a man from the village who had brought them across Donegal Bay in his motorboat. The last Grace had seen of them, they'd had their heads together, examining the ring of standing stones on the hill above the monastery.

  The wind screeched through the holes riddling the ancient walls. Lightning struck nearby, shaking the ground. There was a small arched doorway behind the altar. She crossed through it, seeking shelter.

  It was a smaller room, still roofless. An iron door stood ajar in the side wall and a set of worn rock steps led down. At least she'd be out of the weather. She took care on the rain-slicked steps. A small brass plaque bolted to the wall at the top of the stairwell announced that this was the entrance to the King's Cairn. There was a thick rope attached to rings that acted as a safety railing. Grace followed it down the spiral of rough-hewn rock steps. Lights encased in weatherproof containers lined the walls, but none were lit today.

  Of course not, she thought, September is the low season. She remembered what the tour book had said. The Kings Cairn was a large underground burial site dating back to the Bronze Age. It was accessible through tunnels monks had laboriously carved beneath the hillside, connecting with older passages constructed by ancient inhabitants 3000 years ago.

  Grace glanced behind her. The rain was coming down harder and showed no signs of letting up. Might as well be nice and dry and soaking up local history, she decided, taking her flashlight from her coat pocket and turning it on.

  The sharp beam of the keychain sized Maglite sliced the darkness like a stiletto. Grace made her way safely to the bottom of the steps to where another iron grate sat open. This one was only waist high and led to a small tunnel carved into the hillside. Another thick rope served as a guide and safety rail. The passage was a little more than a yard wide and about the same in height.