A FATAL REUNION – CHAPTER TEN
It was nearing 8:30pm and the sun had set on another searing July day. Rampart was now on lock-down - no person would be exiting without permission until Carla was found. Behind her, Carla had left a trail of shoved-aside trays, spilled vials, broken bottles and stunned people. In a fit of desperation to escape, she dived into a storage closet and huddled into herself, rocking on her heels and grinding at her tears with an angry fist. She bore little resemblance to the elegant woman who had previously visited John Gage. Her hair was a mess; she had broken the heel from one shoe, torn her skirt and her running mascara made thin black trails down her cheeks. In one hand she clutched a section of her hair that had come loose from the pins, and repeatedly jerked on it, relishing the pain it brought her, hoping it would clear her mind.
"Damn th-that stupid man!' she sobbed in anguish, remembering how Arthur Dobson had gotten help for Johnny despite her protests. "Another useless man ruining my life! If I were still in that room, I'd kill him too!"
She dug her nails into her own arms as she tried to wrap herself into as small a presence as possible, listening for the inevitable voices she knew were coming. She breathed hard and fast, yet knowing she had to calm herself to decide her next move. Somehow, she needed to make her way back to her brother's condo to retrieve the suitcase under her bed and escape California altogether.
She sniffed and wiped her eyes again as she scanned the cold, sterile-smelling room and spotted the laundry and waste chutes used by the janitorial and housekeeping crews. She opened her purse and retrieved what was left of the mushrooms, finally ready to toss them away. "I hope you've done your job...I guess I'll never know," she mumbled through her tears. She crumpled and twisted it, taking her fury out on the small package. With a shaking hand she released it, watching it slide down the chute into the garbage bin, headed for the incinerator.
This hall featured mostly spare offices, storage rooms, Medical Records and housekeeping. On most days, this area was basically unoccupied, so she knew it wouldn't be long before they came looking for her in here. Huge boxes of supplies were stacked against one wall and, desperate for a hiding place, she began to tear them open, hoping to find one with enough room inside for her. She got as far as the third box when she looked up, startled at the sound of voices outside. When the voices came closer and the door knob rattled, she dived into the only place she could find - a rolling laundry bin filled to the top with soiled bedding.
She burrowed down deeply, covered herself up and desperately tried to control her shaking. She allowed her tears and nose to run unheeded so as not to make any sound. The stench was stomach-curdling, but she refused to give up. The security guards she had assaulted earlier entered and began searching, peering around the shelving and tossing the sheets and supplies aside and shoving boxes out of their way. They even got so close as to lift the top few layers of stained and soggy laundry away from the bin but were, fortunately or not, disgusted by the smell and the mess and put them back, sure that no one could be hiding in that filth.
Satisfied for the moment that Carla wasn't there, they left the room and messaged the others over the HT that they were moving on to the next possible hiding place.
Her chest heaved with anxious breaths. They would be back, of course, for there were few places an adult could hide on the third floor of a hospital and she was certain all the exits would be closely guarded. She dug her way free from the foul linens, crawled from the bin and peered around. She hastily wiped her face and nose, licked her lips and swallowing hard, repulsed by the slimy feel and horrid smell of the sheets she had buried herself in.
She wandered around the storage room, hoping to discover a second exit, but was disappointed. She found a small locker area which the housekeeping staff used. Carla broke off several fingernails as she clawed at the lockers, hoping to find a uniform she could use. Each one was locked tightly and Carla failed at opening any of them. She turned enough to catch sight of herself in the mirror that hung from the wall. She took in her dirty and disheveled appearance and knew there was no way at this point that she could make herself presentable enough to not arouse suspicion. She glanced at her diamond watch - the only thing left that was unmarred.
"Getting late, Carla," she grumbled quietly, "what are you going to do?"
E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!
Per Dr. Brackett's orders, Johnny was swiftly moved to the ICU. He laid on the bed, a nasogastric tube snaking down to his stomach to deliver the activated charcoal as well as to pump any remaining toxins from his body. His arms were heavily bruised from the many injections and I.V.s he needed and the ventilator was regulating his every breath. Brackett noted that if the lab results concurred with his opinion, Johnny's kidneys were already suffering. John's blood pressure was checked every 15 minutes, the pen light flicked across his eyes, and the small rubber hammer tapped on his knees repeatedly. Doctor Brackett and Dixie called his name each time they were there, and still, not once during all that was being done to save him did he revive. The once tall, strong and handsome firefighter lay pale and unresponsive, looking very much like a corpse.
Dixie leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Fight, Johnny. Fight hard. We need you back with us." She stood up, gazed at her friend for a moment, and then quietly left the room. It was time to call Station 51 and let them know what had happened.
In the E.R., Roy was receiving a similar, albeit lesser treatment, with massive doses of penicillin being one of the very few known treatments for Amanita poisoning. Roy had already received two doses of Atropine, had a nasogastric tube inserted and activated charcoal dispensed to try to absorb as much of the poison as possible. Two I.V.s were running wide open to flush as much fluid through his system as it could handle.
Fortunately, he didn't require intubation as his breathing wasn't as labored as Johnny's. Based on the differences in their reactions, Roy clearly hadn't ingested as much of the mushroom as Johnny had. Still, it was enough to send a perfectly healthy man into crisis. Joanne had been called and was now sitting by her husband's side, gently stroking his pale cheek, tears running down her face. Roy was exhausted and sedated and so slept peacefully as the treatment was administered.
"How on earth did this happen?" Joanne asked herself repeatedly. "Johnny was the one who was ill the other day, not Roy. I just don't understand."
E!E!E!E!E!E!E!
Dr. Brackett returned to the ICU to check on a still-unresponsive Johnny. After examining John's chart, Dr. Brackett remained very worried. Gage's blood pressure was still far too low at 70 over 50 which in turn called for a Dopamine drip - another needle puncture, another bruise.
Brackett gently picked up one of John's arms and inspected how easily each injection had caused the purplish marks to appear. Finally, he ordered the insertion of a central line just below Johnny's collarbone and another one in his jugular vein to minimize the number of needle sticks. He examined the Foley and noted the poor amount of urine output. Johnny's skin still held a slight yellowish tinge as well.
Brackett shook his head and proceeded to listen to Johnny's heart and lungs. "So much medication and treatment needed for something as unassuming as a mushroom," he muttered, dismally. He placed a hand on Johnny's arm. "John, I am so sorry I didn't even suspect mushroom poisoning." There was no reaction. "I will do everything I can to make you well...stick with us, okay?"
Dr. Early quietly opened the door. "Kel? I thought I'd find you here. Roy's coming around - I think he's doing better. How's Johnny?"
"No change, I'm afraid. Joe, there's no response, no movements; kidneys look like they're shutting down. He's getting blood and platelets and fluids, he's on penicillin, Dopamine, Atropine, the NG for suction...I don't know...it's just not looking good."
"Is there anything else that can be done?" Early asked.
"We're doing everything that's suggested by the most current research that I can find, Joe. I've put out calls to every poison center in every hospital in California for advice, but so far, I've gotten nothing back. I'll tell you, if his next set of labs and his urine output haven't improved within the hour, I'm starting dialysis on him. The team is already on standby and setting up." His voice became soft and he sighed heavily, "I just wonder if all of these interventions are still going to be too little, too late."
A nurse opened the door and stepped inside John's room. "Dr. Brackett? There's a call for you at the desk."
Kel turned to her, "Hm? Oh, yes, Libby, thank you.
He left the room and Dr. Early remained, standing near the side of Johnny's bed. "You, my friend, are giving us quite a run for our money", he told Johnny. "But you're going to get better, and we're going to help make it happen."
As he turned to leave, he missed the tremble in Johnny's fingers and the slight flutter of his lashes in response to Dr. Early's promise.
E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!
Dr. Brackett punched a finger on the button of the phone. "Dr. Brackett," he answered.
"Kel, it's Mike Morton. Listen, I heard about Gage and DeSoto. I know a Dr. Marquardt at St. Francis' who's also an herbologist. This guy's been doing extensive research on poisonings and he's created an infusion made from Milk Thistle that's showing good results in Europe at neutralizing the toxicity of the Death Cap. It's not used much here in the U.S. yet, but Dr. Marquardt feels his treatment might be quite helpful. I think we should get him here."
"You know, Mike, at this point, I'm even willing to call in a witch doctor if I thought it would save his life. Everything that we know to try isn't working well enough to give me any confidence."
"I think it's a good idea, Kel, I really do. I'll go give Dr. Marquardt a call."
E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!
Unhappy that there was nothing for her to use as a credible disguise, Carla decided she would just have to be more aggressive. She took the mirror from the wall and placed it on a folded sheet on the floor. She lay another across the top of it and stepped firmly on it. She smiled when she heard the satisfying crunch of the glass breaking. She peeled away the top sheet and picked up a large piece of the silvery shards.
"This will do nicely...should I need it," she thought.
She removed her shoes and examined the one with a broken heel. There was no way to fix it, so she snapped the heel from her other shoe to make a matching pair. "Can't run with just one!" she giggled. Finally, she opened the door ever-so-slightly and peeked out. The hallway was empty, but distantly, she could hear the crackle of the HTs and the hushed buzz of voices and footsteps. It was now or never.
She tiptoed to the opposite side and slithered up near the windows. It was completely dark outside now and she flattened herself against the cool glass. Assured that no one was coming for the time being, she wiggled hopefully at the window latch and gasped with pleasure when it unlocked. As she open the pane, the heated air from outside rushed in, making a whishing sound as it blew though her hair. In one hand was the shard of glass from the mirror and with the other, Carla pulled herself out onto the ledge. Once she had gained purchase there, the window suddenly slammed shut behind her, effectively locking Carla out of the building. She scraped at it with her fingers, but the surface was smooth from the outside - no way to pry the window open. She was free...and yet still captive.
From down the hall, the smack of the window as it closed alerted the security guards and the police officers. They bolted toward the sound and checked each window on the way, to see which one had been opened. When they came to the unlatched one that Carla had used, an officer drew his gun while the other placed his palm on the glass and opened it.
Carla stood on the ledge, and without a sure way to escape, her desperation intensified. The hazy glare from the security lights allowed her to see the outlines of the construction scaffolding that stood nearby. She scanned her surroundings and decided that if she could make her way along the ledge about six windows further, she could step out on to the scaffolding, climb down and make her escape...or at the very least find a better hiding spot.
She turned abruptly when she heard the window opening once more and knew without waiting to see, that it was the police. Unless she was very, very lucky, it would be merely a matter of seconds before they found her. She pressed her body against the side of the building and slid herself as far as she could, inching ever closer to the scaffolding.
E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!
Joanne exited Roy's treatment room and slowly walked toward the waiting area. After leaving Mr. Dobson in Brackett's office, Dixie had returned to her post and looked up in time to see Jo passing by. She approached her and took Joanne's hands in hers and asked quietly, "Joanne? How are you doing?" She could see that Jo had been weeping.
"I'm alright…Roy's resting…he'll be moved to a room soon. I…I needed to walk around and stretch a little, I suppose. Thank you so much for...just...for just..." She paused a bit, then said, "Oh, Dixie…I just don't understand. Roy called and told me Johnny was sick enough the other night that he thought he should stay there with him, but we both thought it was a bout with a stomach bug. How on earth could they both be poisoned by a mushroom?" She began twisting the leather strap on her purse nervously. "I don't...I don't even know where it would have come from, anyway. Mushrooms aren't really something I would think Johnny would keep on hand, you know? He's not exactly a gourmand," she said, sniffling and wiping her tired, red-rimmed eyes.
Dixie chuckled just a little, "Yes, our boy lives quite the bachelor lifestyle, doesn't he."
Joanne wilted a little and Dixie wrapped a comforting arm around Jo's back. Joanne looked at her friend with tears threatening to fall again. "Dr. Early said it looks pretty good for Roy since he was treated so quickly after getting sick, but…it's been over two days for Johnny. What if it's too late for him?"
"Joanne, I'm not going to lie and tell you everything will be fine, but you do know that Dr Brackett never gives up without a fight...and neither will John." She smiled at Jo, "It's pretty late, but I was just going to give Hank Stanley a call and update him. How about you come with me and we'll get a cup of coffee together."
"That sounds lovely, Dixie, thanks," Jo said, taking a deep breath. "I could use the boost, I think." She steeled herself once more, determined to keep it together for her husband...and herself. The two women made their way to the doctors' lounge so Dixie could speak with Hank in private.
It was closing in on eleven pm, and Mike was the last one to head to bed after a late night trash fire. He was a bit startled by the ringing phone as he walked past.
"Station 51, Fireman Stoker speaking."
"Mike? It's Dixie McCall. May I speak with Captain Stanley, please?"
"Sure, Miss McCall, I'll get him for you."
Hank had just leaned back into his pillows and closed his weary eyes when Mike told him it was Dixie on the line. Hank leaped from the bed and scrambled to the phone, hoping against hope that it wasn't bad news. The others weren't asleep yet either and sat up in their bunks for a moment.
"If it's Dixie, it's news about Gage and DeSoto," Chet said, unnecessarily, "I'm going in there." He pulled on his bunkers and went into the kitchen.
Marco looked at Paul and Mike, then shrugged. "Let's go."
Hank wasn't really all that surprised when he found his crew huddled around him and the phone, waiting to hear what Dixie had to say. After just a few minutes - which seemed agonizingly long to the men - Hank hung up and turned to face them.
"Fellas, good news and bad news..."