Author's Note: I've replied to everyone's reviews, and I'm looking forward to reviewing all your stories as well! The only people I can't send email replies to are Alyssa and Kura, so I'll thank you here: thank you both very very much for reviewing, and please continue to do so! Please let me know when things sound good/bad, so I can react accordingly and improve the story!
On with the longest chapter so far….. Make sure to review, because I haven't yet begun chapter 12 and I take all your feedback to heart!
Maybe it's nothing, Natalie thought, carefully watching Adrian and Sharona from the living room. Then she saw the glimmer of tears on his cheeks, and his eyes closed ever so gently. Oh, God, there was something – and there still is something – going on between those two. He's actually crying; the kiss is actually making him cry… And it sure as hell doesn't look like he's crying because of the tens of thousands of germs she's giving him right now. Oh, God….
Her eyes begin to sting with tears that suddenly and unexpectedly threatened, and she pulled her head back to avoid being seen by the unknowing couple.
Now, why am I crying? she pondered, slowly retreating back up the stairs. I'm an adult; I'm supposed to have complete self-control. She looked back one last time, although she wasn't in the line of vision with the kitchen, and wiped the tears that had started to brim over her eyelids. I do have self-control… unlike him.
She proceeded back up to the den, where she sat back down on the couch – the lumpy couch from hell—and got her shower supplies together. Now it seemed like a complete slap in the face that she was stuck with sleeping on this couch, Sharona rubbing salt in the wounds that Adrian had made. Maybe I'll get to sleep in Benjy's bed tonight, she fumed. Adrian can sleep with Sharona, since they've reunited, and all.
Adrian broke the kiss after what seemed like hours, and upon opening his eyes, he immediately looked down at the ground—avoiding all eye contact with Sharona.
Sharona stared right at Adrian, and used her good arm to lift his chin in hopes that his eyes would follow. When it failed to work, she spoke.
"Adrian, what's wrong? Please, look at me."
His shoulder twitched, as he took his arms out from around her waist, took a nervous step backward, and let out a long sigh. It was then that he looked up, but only for the briefest glance, then back down.
"Adrian," she said, lifting both her hands to his face and using her hand and cast to hold his face. "Look at me. Please."
A tinge of red crept up from his neck and spread across his face, concentrating on his forehead. He obeyed, yet dropped his eyes every few seconds. Cautiously he wiped his hands off on his pants, but did it slowly enough in hopes that she wouldn't notice. Sharona watched him swallow – his Adam's apple moving up, then down – hearing the sound of it quite loudly. She had never imagined in a million years that he'd be so worked up about something as simple as a kiss.
"I know you're probably grossed out right now, Adrian; you look like you're about to have a heart attack, but please let me explain."
She touched his arm, and he accepted it without a cringe or jump. Progress. Sharona smiled at the possibility that he might actually not be revolted.
"There's just something so… different about you, Adrian. You've really—I dunno— improved, for the better. I just—" she watched him carefully for any sign of disgust, pride, or however else he could respond to the compliment. His face was blank, so she continued. "I just—I'm so happy you're here, and that you flew all the way out here just to help me, after I've treated you so badly. I gave you no good reason to help me by my bein' such a—pardon my French—bitch, for so long, and yet, you came out here anyway."
He gave her a half-smile, which faded quickly – too quickly.
"I just thought that, well, because you seemed to have improved so much, and because of the last time we saw each other—well, I, I thought that a –"
He visibly cringed at the word that was to follow. She noted this, and avoided the word kiss. Why does he have to be so…different? Does he think that that was cheating on Trudy? She never imagined that kind of affection would bother him so much—how could he have changed so much since the last time we'd met?
"—that a, well, you know—was the best way to express my gratitude, and my absolute, complete regret for how I'd treated you: never calling you, never giving you a number to reach me, never coming back home—"
Something struck a chord with Adrian in what she had said, and he finally spoke.
"Home, Sharona? You are home. And I don't feel any different than I did before—I think…. Maybe it just seems that way because it's been so long, but—"
He began to turn away, to leave the kitchen area, but Sharona dashed around him and stood in front of him.
"Okay, I deserved that for raggin' on ya yesterday about Benjy. But please believe me when I tell you that I would have left New Jersey in a heartbeat if it weren't for Mom bein' here. And you have changed. You're not as—"
"I believe you," he said simply, holding his arms out in defense. "—but I really need to take a shower now and—"
He tried to slip past her, but she shifted over and blocked his way, needing to know what was going through Adrian's head before he left. This might be the last time she could confront him in this way, because maybe he'd solve the case today and go home and that would be it—she'd never know what had happened between them. There was something very different about the way he handled the kiss, she could sense it—not really disgust on his part, but guilt. And the fact that he still hadn't mentioned Trudy's name in all this made it all the more strange for him to be feeling guilty. Had he found someone else?
"Wait—" she said, touching his arm, as he immediately looked uncomfortable. "Can I ask you just one question before you go away?"
His shoulder twitched, and he muttered a small yes.
"Do you have a girlfriend, is that why you were bothered by that kiss?"
His face blanched white and he suddenly became unable to breathe. Natalie isn't really my—girlfriend, officially, but I'm committed to her—if only in my mind. How do I answer this without looking like a liar? If I say yes, I'm lying, because I don't officially have one, and if I say no, I'm lying, because Natalie is like—well, to me, she is my girlfr— but then, if I say no, what if Sharona pursues me—Yes is more truthful than no, to me, but it's still a lie. Both are. If I said "kind of," even though that's the truth, it would be confusing to Sharona, and she'd probably start bombarding me with more questions. I wouldn't be able to handle it if Sharona thought I was coming on to her—I did allow her to kiss me—I kissed her back! I better just say….
"Yes."
Sharona couldn't believe her ears—Adrian has a girlfriend, she repeated in her mind over and over again, flooding out anything else she could have been thinking. She stood paralyzed in place, mouth slightly agape, staring in some random downward direction, as Adrian deftly slipped past her and disappeared up the stairs without another word.
Once upstairs, Monk retreated to Benjy's room and picked out another outfit to wear, since the one he had on had been destroyed by all that eye juice. He just had to shower as soon as was possible, for his mind was spinning. Dizzy, he plopped down heavily onto the bed and held his head in his hands, letting all the thoughts he had been holding back flood forth into his consciousness.
Oh, my God, what have I done? How could I have let that happen? Why didn't I pull away, when I knew what she was going to do? Wait—how could I have known—eh, who am I kidding— I knew, and I still let it happen! And now things are going to be weird between us, now that she thinks I have a girlfriend. How am I going to act around Natalie? I cheated on her. I was unfaithful. I'm an adulterer, no better than Trevor Howe himself….
He somehow managed, in his mental turmoil, to get his shower supplies together. His lips, his face, his back and shoulders, his chest, all screamed germs at him, screamed infidelity. All places that had been touched, desecrated, defiled, in his unfaithful romp in the very house that Natalie was staying.
Walking in a stupor with his supplies and change of clothes, he reached the closed bathroom door and mindlessly attempted to open it with a sleeve-covered hand. It was locked, and the sound of the shower running was soon apparent. He could faintly hear a sniffling sound; was Sharona in there, crying? Oh God, what have I done.…? He froze in place in front of the door, paralyzed from the enormous amount of guilt running through every nerve in his body, trapping him in place to listen to his own racing thoughts and the sound of the sniffling from behind the door.
"Mr. Monk?"
The detective visibly jumped and jerked away from the source of the sound, startled by the sudden appearance of Benjy at his side.
"Mr. Monk, are you okay?"
Benjy touched Monk's sleeve, preparing to shake it a little, for the man was now staring blankly at the wall behind him. The little shake that ensued finally allowed Monk to make eye contact with the boy.
"Yes, I'm fine—wait—how long have you been standing there?" he said, in more of a monotone than a question.
"Only for a few seconds. Are you waiting for the shower?"
Adrian was taken aback, and looked down at the items he was carrying to be certain of the purpose he was standing in front of a locked door.
"Yes…." he managed to state, trailing off in the end.
"Well, Mom's in the one downstairs, so Natalie must be in there; Mom usually doesn't take long…."
So, Natalie's in the room with the sniffling sound? Maybe the spigot's broken and leaking out water with a sniffling sound…. Thank goodness it's not Sharona, crying or something…. Suddenly he realized what he had forgotten, and retreated to his room without another word.
Shower head, shower head, shower head, his mind repeated, as he searched feverishly for the elusive item. He always carried the object with him in his luggage, but for some reason, it was nowhere to be found in its usual spot: directly to the right of the Sierra Springs bottle most recently purchased.
After a time of absence, Benjy returned upstairs, intently watching Monk searching through his luggage, until it was obvious that Monk wasn't going to be done anytime soon.
"Mr. Monk," he said, watching the detective whirl around from his spot by the bed, eyes wide. "Mom's done now. You can shower in the downstairs bathroom."
"Oh—" he managed to choke out, horrified by the prospect of what the boy had just said. Benjy soon disappeared from the doorway, and Monk was left to think again. He simply couldn't do that. Not only had he been unfaithful to Natalie, but the prospect of showering, naked or almost, in the same exact space that Sharona showered naked, was absolutely appalling. A distant memory surfaced in his mind.
The worst thing about doing that—showering in that room— is, I know what Sharona looks—well, looked—like naked—and it would get stuck in my mind—oh God, he was picturing that image in his mind and attempted to think of the missing shower head, but it kept creeping back into his mind again. I'm being unfaithful again, thinking of someone else in such an uncalled-for way! Damn Dexter Larson, why—why he did have to show me that—that picture of her? Why did I have to look? Everything is my fault….
He went to the door and took a glance down the hallway, seeing the bathroom door still shut. Hoping to clear his head with a fearful view from a second story perspective, he went over to the window and looked down. It was hopeless. His mind-numbing fear of heights couldn't rescue him from the guilt he was feeling. He put his hands on the sill, not even considering the grayish layer of dust that had grown there. The feelings of guilt were actually conquering his OCD at the moment, and he was truly terrified at what was to come as the day wore on.
I can't do this today. I can't go investigate this mur—well, whatever this is—with both of them. I think I'd rather die than do that. I can't do—
"Adrian," he heard, from the doorway. Sharona's voice. He couldn't bring himself to turn around, to look her in the eye ever again. He had lied to her. He had cheated on Natalie with her, and then lied to her about his relationship status.
He could hear her coming closer, her soft footsteps entering the room. Please please don't let her touch me, his mind screamed, as his body froze in place.
She stopped moving once she was by his side. She spoke quickly and quietly.
"Adrian, I'm so so sorry for what I did. I didn't mean anything by it…. I hope you're not weirded out by me now."
He turned his upper body towards her, but couldn't look away from the tantalizing view of the window that was keeping his intense guilt at bay for the moment.
"No," he murmured quietly.
Sharona brightened by this, even though he couldn't actually see her.
"Well, I'm done with the shower now, Adrian. We're still going out today, aren't we?"
At the last statement his head shot up, and he looked right at her, only to look away again. Her hair was up in a towel, her pajamas were still on, but she had since applied some makeup. Recent nakedness still surrounded her.
"What?" he barely croaked, shoulders tensing up, hearing the words going out and their immediate implication. Hadn't she just said she didn't mean anything by that—that thing she did? Why does she have to make this so difficult for me?
"Ya know, to the hospital. To interview people. You said yesterday that we should t—"
His shoulders visibly relaxed and he looked back at her, giving her a faint smile. She was smiling, but her crystalline blue eyes were pleading with him—he had no choice but to give in.
"Yes, we'll go."
She smartly decided to change the subject to one that he could handle, since it was apparent that the tension was still there about what had happened.
"Okay, well, I'm done in the shower, just to letcha know. I still have to dry my hair, but you'll get the hairdryer back before you're done." She turned around and began to leave the room, looking back at him for a brief second for one last comment.
"It'd probably be best to leave within the next two hours or so," she said, staring at the back of his head, as she left the room. Who is his girlfriend, anyway?
Leave. The word sounded awfully good to him right now. All he wanted to do was forget that he had ever went to Sharona's house and forget about all this complication with assistants and just go back to the way things were. The simple life was much better: no kissing, no relationships, just him, his apartment, and his memories of a woman who loved him. He turned and picked up the picture of Trudy he had placed on the nightstand.
Oh, Trudy, what have I done? he mused, gazing at her pretty picture. You're probably frowning down on me right now, and you have a perfectly good reason to do so. I screwed up big time. I kissed Natalie and fell for her, then I kissed Sharona, and then I lied to Sharona about the whole thing. I've really dug my own grave this time….
His beautiful wife didn't appear to him in any form, for his mind was holding too many conflicting thoughts to allow such a vision. Instead, there was a small knock at his door. He turned around and looked. It was Natalie.
"Mr. Monk, shower's all yours," she said, a halfhearted smile on her face fading immediately. Her face had no makeup on it, even though her hair was dry, he noticed. Something about her expression gave him the chills; could she sense that he had wronged her? Maybe I should tell her everything now, before I go completely insane—
She departed without another word, leaving him with a slew of new worries. Does she know? Can she sense a difference in me? She's acting… different. She didn't even call me Adrian! Oh God, she knows, and that's why she's doing this…. Or am I just imagining all of this because of how horribly guilty I'm feeling?
After gathering his shower supplies and clothes once more, Adrian stood in the hallway outside Natalie's room, staring at her door. Silence met him. Maybe I'm just imagining things, he thought, shaking his head. She shouldn't have to hear about what happened right before we're going to leave for the day. There'd be weirdness between Sharona and her then. He proceeded into the bathroom. The mirrors were still foggy from Natalie's shower.
Shower head, he forced himself to think. No nudity, no kissing, no skin to skin contact—for hours on end, successfully comforting her, feeling her body warmth radiating against his own. No! The shower head I have is gone. This one makes a weird sound. I hope it's not clogged with grime, or bacteria or heavy metal deposits….
He turned on the faucet and directed the water to the shower head by pulling out on the dial. No sniffling sound. The spigot was clear and perfectly clean. Sharona probably made sure of that before I showed up, he thought, soon realizing what that meant. Was Natalie crying?
Natalie began applying makeup in her room, and couldn't help but think deeply. Adrian didn't make any attempt to tell me what happened; he was looking at Trudy's picture, though, probably to say goodbye to her for good to move on to Sharona. It figures; he tells Trudy everything, but doesn't even bother letting me know what's going on.
I have no claim on him, though. All we did was kiss and hold hands for hours…. He didn't ask me out, I didn't ask him out, we aren't married. He can do whatever he wants…. She sighed, applying the last of her blush. I just thought he was more sincere than that, or at least could exhibit some form of self-control. And to think, I really thought I knew him as a shy, devoted, monogamous guy. I don't know how long I can last around him without confronting him….
Monk finished up with his shower and used the hairdryer to block out all invading thoughts of Sharona and Natalie, but let the usual phobias proceed through. My phobias are actually comforting; I'm actually thankful for them right now, he thought, as he put his clothes on.
Sharona met him downstairs, but Natalie was nowhere to be found. He would have to invite her along, even though it would be hard to hold back the dammed-up emotions he had sitting on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be expressed.
After checking the wall clock for the sixteenth time, Adrian sighed and walked back toward the stairs, preparing to invite Natalie along on the first day of the investigation.
Upon ascending the stairs, he realized that Sharona was right behind him. He couldn't allude to the fact that Natalie was the "girlfriend" that he had been referring to, and if Natalie truly didn't know what had occurred, nothing should be wrong with the two of them appearing at Natalie's door. Maybe it would make Natalie more likely to come along, the encouragement of two.
He knocked on the closed door. Soon Natalie opened it, dressed and made up.
"You're coming, aren't you?" he mumbled, unable to look directly at her.
"What?" she said, noticing Sharona behind him, smiling at her. Bitch, her mind screamed.
"To the hospital—to, you know, interview the employees."
"Yes, I'm ready. I've been ready. I wasn't sure when you were leaving, so I stayed put."
He watched her turn around and grab her purse, leaving the pack of wipes on the bed.
"Aren't you going to take the wipes?" he blurted, as he watched her face turn a shade of red. She was angry with him!
"No, actually. You seem to do pretty well without them," she heard herself retort. I can't believe I said that just now. Wait—maybe it's a good thing—he might react—and tell me what I need to know. Why does Sharona have to be standing right there though? A kiss or more or whatever they ended up doing, and now they're inseparable.
Adrian sensed the derisiveness of her comment, and flinched. She knows; I knew that she knew! Oh—if she does know, and I didn't tell her when I could when she was at my door, she's just going to get angrier and angrier…. He glanced back sheepishly at Sharona, hoping she had wandered off, but she was still present.
"Well, let me grab them then," he said, slipping past her expertly. That was one thing he was very good at: managing to get past a person without actually physically touching them. He had perfected the art.
Once he had reached the bed where the wipes were sitting, Natalie had already disappeared out the door. He watched Sharona stare at her in disbelief.
So does she believe that Adrian has actually improved, like I had thought, or was she being sarcastic? Sharona mused. It sure sounded sarcastic to me. What's her problem, anyway? I'm the one with all the freakin' problems and she's the one in a pissy mood. She's probably angry because she got stuck with the lumpy couch, but I don't have another bed for her. I wonder how Adrian can put up with someone so moody day after day….
The ride to the hospital was the most nerve-wracking car trip he had ever taken. It wasn't because of improper driving, stoplight-running, or heavy traffic; it was the pair of eyes he could feel burning into his neck as he sat in the passenger's seat. As Sharona explained the plan to them—their undercover operation—she showed them the outfits she had bought for the investigation, and Monk couldn't do much more than nod and watch the road hoping for a distraction to take his mind off of the unwavering silence from Natalie's seat. The widowed assistant didn't said a word the entire trip, and the constant silence from behind him made his ears ring, hanging in the air so thickly that he found it hard to breathe.
Upon arrival at the hospital, Natalie hopped out of the car as soon as Sharona stopped the car, but before she had shifted to park. She began walking toward the hospital while Sharona and Adrian exchanged glances in the car.
"What's up her ass?" Sharona said, watching Natalie storming toward the building as she shifted to park.
Adrian didn't—couldn't—say anything, so he wordlessly got out of the car as well, waiting for Sharona to get out. Chasing Natalie through the parking lot would not look good, for she most certainly wouldn't respond favorably, and Sharona would then know what was going on, and would probably have a field day with little pointed comments. Sharona could be nasty when she wanted to be, and the fact that she had already made a negative comment about Natalie was not a good sign as to the nature of their relationship.
What is their problem? the nurse thought, switching the car off. They're both in really weird moods today. I should be the one in the crappy mood. My mother is dead, my husband is gone—somewhere—probably murdered her, I have a broken arm, five broken ribs, and will probably have a scar on my forehead from that wreck, my car is gone, I make an absolute fool out of myself in front of Adrian, finding out he has a girlfriend after the fact—and now they're both acting like they don't want to be here.
Adrian began to walk toward the hospital once he heard the car shut off. Sharona soon emerged from the Taurus and caught up with him, hoping to make an amends. She knew that the comment about Natalie was a bit harsh, and felt guilty about it.
"Okay, I'm sorry for what I said. It really sounded harsh. I have nothing against Natalie. It's just—I just feel like neither of you want to be here, and that I'm gonna have to watch as my last hope goes back to Frisco."
"I'm going to try to help you, Sharona," he replied, continuing to look ahead of him at the advancing Natalie.
The trio stood in front of the front desk, waiting on verification. The woman at the front desk was being difficult once she saw the nurse come in with the detective and his assistant, knowing damn well that the trio wasn't in for a visit.
"I know Sharona's been accusing the hospital employees of negligence, murder, and whatever else. I know damn well she's not here for a visit. What are you, some kind of a detective or something?" the desk worker snapped at Adrian. Sharona and Natalie stood near the door, their arms both crossed as they watched the conversation intently.
"I'm just a regular guy," Monk said to the worker at the front desk, a middle-aged woman with big pink-rimmed glasses and a mess of blondish-dyed hair that screamed for a comb. "I'm just curious that perhaps Mrs. Fleming may have died from something else."
"You can't just accuse our employees of—"
"I'm not, that's the thing. I'm a friend of Sharona's from California, and I only want—"
"I don't care where you're from or what you do, sir, but you can't just come in here and try to find our employees guilty of whatever you're—"
He leaned in closer to the rude woman, out of earshot of the assistants.
"The thing is, Sharona Fleming wants me to make sure that it was a heart attack that her mother died of. I have a bit of medical—well, pathology—experience." A lie had begun to be started, but he was already on a role from earlier, so he continued. "If it was a heart attack, then the chest pains Sharona's been experiencing may need to be checked up on, and her son—"
"She's experiencing chest pains?" The woman said loudly, as she glanced over at the curly-haired nurse, watching her apply some lipstick with a compact. Sharona looked up, flashing an angry look in the direction of the desk. "She should be checked into the ER as soon as possible then." The worker reached for the phone in an official way.
He held his hand up in defense. This was getting complicated. He was going to be in over his head if she didn't allow him in soon.
"You see, the thing is, she was just in the emergency room for a car accident and she doesn't want her insurance paying so much in so little time. Her, uhm, premiums will go sky-high if—"
"Tina, if you don't let us in nice and quietly, I'll tell Barry that you've been cheating on him with Dr. Marcovsky."
Cheating. The word tore at Adrian's heart, as he pictured Natalie glaring at him from her position by the double doors. Sharona appeared alongside Adrian, an evil grin accompanying her words of blackmail, as the woman at the desk, now identified as Tina, looked like she was about to either cry or scream.
"You bitch," she said menancingly to Sharona. "You wouldn't."
"We just want to go upstairs and visit. For God's sake, it's my mom, Tina, don't you give a crap about what's happened?"
Adrian stared at Tina with interest, watching her expression change from that of rage to that of defeat.
"Okay. You got me for now. But if I hear one word about an employee being accused of anything by you, sir—" she pointed at Monk—"everyone is going to know about how you blackmailed me to override the system, and you'll be the one sittin' in prison."
Sharona didn't say anything more, instead making her way past the desk, with Adrian following, and Natalie lastly.
They got into the elevator, and as Adrian stood next to Natalie, he could sense an iciness. She didn't say anything, just took an interest in the floor buttons.
"Where do you wanna go? The cardiac floor? That's where the employees on duty that night usually work. We're gonna stop on the staff floor first to change, okay?"
"Okay."
They first stopped on a separate floor to change their outfits and calculate their approach, and then made their way to the nurse's station on the cardiac floor, where Pam, Donna, Geena, and Gary were sitting, all but one of the employees on duty the night Cheryl Fleming died. Pam immediately walked over to her with a pitying expression and gave her a big hug.
"Sharona, you shouldn't have come to work today," she managed to say. "It's too soon…."
"Well, I was supposed to train two new employees today," she responded curtly. "Everyone—this is Mr.—" She suddenly appeared confused, and looked back at Monk, to produce more of the "complete stranger" appearance. "What was your last name again, sir? I'm sorry."
"It's Baska," he muttered, looking over at a silent Natalie.
"Mr. Baska and—Ms. Teeger. They were just transferred here from really small clinics, and they really don't know the ropes yet, and I volunteered to help them."
Monk and Natalie stepped forward, each wearing a pair of scrubs matching the hospital's, as well as neat white tennis shoes. Monk's tennis shoes were practically reflective; Sharona made sure he had nothing to complain about. They had professional-looking laminated cards and were wearing the required uniform, so they'd be able to get the inside scoop on what exactly went on that night after Sharona had left.
"You have to train them?" Gary managed to say, from his position behind a computer at the station. He was a balding man in his mid-thirties with a hint of a moustache and dark eyes that hid behind a pair of large plastic-rimmed glasses with thick lenses. This outburst by Gary surprised Sharona, for Pam was supposed to be the one to offer. It looked even better for Gary to offer though, for everyone knew that she and Pam were close, but not Gary. "You shouldn't have to do that today—let me do it, Sharona. You can go home." He stood up and moved out from behind the nurse's station. Monk and Natalie exchanged contrived unknowing glances to further throw off the scent of familiarity with Sharona and her predicament.
Sharona had been prepared for this offer. It would look even better on her part not to be present, even though it was hard not to be amidst it all, hearing everyone's sides about her mother's death. Everybody at the nurse's station looked accepting of the two new temps.
"Well, if you insist, Gary," she said, walking over to him for a hug. "I guess maybe I should take the day off. Now, are you sure about this?"
"I'm positive. You've had a tough couple of days. You need to sleep, and rest that arm."
"One thing, Gary," she said, leaning in close to him. "They told me they are really bad messing with needles and things, so keep them on light duty for today. No surgery room or anything like that. They'll get better as the week progresses, so just let them do basic stuff so nothing bad happens, okay?"
"I understand, Sharona. I really hope you feel better as soon as possible."
Sharona gave a quick nod to both Monk and Natalie and left the floor via the stairs. No need for Tina to see her, and arouse suspicion by leaving without Natalie and Monk.
Sharona sighed as she left the hospital via the door near the emergency department, preparing for the roundabout walk to her car. She had told Pam the preliminary plan the night before on the telephone so that she would be prepared to egg the other employees on in trusting the two newcomers as real nurses-in-training. She had hoped that Pam could just introduce the duo without her even having to appear, but Pam hadn't wanted to get too involved in such a risky undercover operation dealing with no real legal investigating team. She'd play along as a nurse on the floor catering to Monk and Natalie, but she didn't want to get blamed if the whole operation should fall apart and Monk and Natalie get blamed. That's understandable, Sharona had scoffed, hearing her friend make the excuses to avoid the responsibility. Now that I'm outta there for the day, I just have to find Trevor….
Monk and Natalie were left standing in front of strangers on the nurse's floor, with the employees eyeing them up as the level of comfort dropped from bad to worse. Nursing was such a dirty line of work, what with having to touch people, inject them with needles, hand out medicine, the list went on. And Natalie was really playing her role well, acting as if she had no idea who he was. His assistant had begun playing the part prematurely; she had been acting that way all day. Things are definitely different between us…. This can't just be my imagination interpreting it this way because I'm feeling guilty….
A blue light came on in above one the rooms, along with a telltale bing, and Gary signaled for Monk and Natalie to follow. The nervous pair followed him into a room where a man, wired up to a heart machine, was thrashing about, and had inadvertently hit the call button.
"Mr. Davis, please calm down," Gary said, rubbing the man's arm soothingly.
"My…chest—" the patient managed to utter, as he attempted to claw at the annoying wires and tubes connected to him all over his body. The electrocardiogram machine beeped erratically, stopping for horrific amounts of time, and starting to beep again wildly in an attempt to make up for the lost time, or so it seemed.
Gary glanced back at Monk and Natalie, who stood like statues by the doorway, frozen with fear. The man looked like he was dying. The balding nurse then looked back at Mr. Davis, who had not stopped thrashing, and ran out into the hallway.
"Everyone—come quickly—I think this patient is experiencing myocardial infarction."
The whole lot of nurses raced to the room from the nurse's station, with Geena staying behind to alert a doctor. Monk and Natalie ducked back out of the room and stood in the hallway watching the commotion as the defibrillator was wheeled in and doctors answered the call, to race down the hallway and enter the large group of individuals.
The electrocardiogram machine had flatlined. Monk backed up against the wall, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. This was a familiar scene: Trudy's last moments. His heart was racing, as the patient's heart was failing, with nurses shouting "clear" and applying the electrodes from the defibrillator, hearing the gurney rattle with their efforts. All the while Natalie completely ignored him, pretending to struggle to see the patient over the heads of the doctors and nurses present in the room. He suddenly felt very alone, and sunk down to the ground in the hallway, his head in his hands. Now wasn't the time for this kind of investigation; his heart wasn't into it, Natalie hated him, and he was now a cheater—he was now no better than Trevor.
Geena approached the group and stood beside Natalie, but didn't struggle to see over the group.
"Do you want through?" Monk heard Natalie ask the nurse.
"Nah, there's too many in there already," Geena responded. She looked back at Monk.
"Are you alright, Mr. Baska?"
He looked up at her, studying her concerned face. She had dark shoulder-length hair, a pleasant face, and greenish-blue eyes. She wore no wedding ring, so she probably was in her mid-twenties. Surely she has someone though, he thought, using his detail-oriented mind.
"Yes," he started off haltingly. He could use the pity from her as a means of extracting needed information. "I just—never had to deal with… such chaos at my old clinic. What's going on in there?"
"The patient is having a heart attack. He's been ill for—"
"Does this kind of thing happen often? Because if so, I don't know if this is the—the ward for me…."
"Well, one of our patients died of a heart attack the night before last—"
"Was no one around? Can people not help those kinds of patients?" he interrupted, looking concerned.
"I wasn't here when it happened, so I don't know—"
"Oh, you mean, you weren't on duty?" He knew the answers to some of the questions he was asking, but he wanted to hear it from her side.
"No, I was on duty, but Sharona—that nurse who brought you in here—was in a car accident and I went and picked her up."
He looked over at Natalie, who had pushed her way into the room. My, was she convincing as a complete stranger to him….
"Wow, a lot happened that night. I wouldn't be able to handle that."
"Well, as you can see, Sharona ended up being okay, and you'll get used to people passing away… it just happens. No one ever died at your hospital?"
"So that's why she couldn't train us today, because of the accident..." He pretended to ignore the last snippy comment she had made.
"Yes, that and—yep, because she's banged up pretty good."
Surely she knew that Sharona's mother was the woman who had died. Why hadn't she mentioned it, being that Sharona was supposedly training him today?
"Must not be too bad, to come in for work anyway."
"You're awfully nosy, Mr. Baska. She'll probably be back tomorrow, or the day after. She's had a rough past couple of days. Don't you think we can train you as well?"
The long beeeep of the electrocardiogram machine was silenced when the machine was turned off, as he watched the doctors and nurses file past a saddened Natalie, shaking their heads.
"Did he just die?" Monk asked, starting to stand up.
She looked at the train of people leaving the room, and turned back to him.
"Yes, he did. There was nothing we could do—"
"Two people have died without that other nurse here. Do you think she could have prevented them from dying?"
"A nurse, prevent a heart attack? Not hardly, especially if it's an acute attack."
While Monk stood near Geena in the hallway, Donna, a heavyset redheaded nurse in her mid-forties, signaled for Natalie to follow her into another room with the nurse call button activated. It was an elderly female patient.
"Hey there, Judy. What do you need?" she kindly asked the patient, who stared up angrily at the television set.
"I think—I think the dang remote control is dead," she said, pushing a button on a white device connected to the hospital bed. "I can't turn the tv on."
The nurse smiled kindly and walked over to the patient's right side, where the controller was connected.
"Well, that's because you're hitting the call button instead of the power button." She clicked the power button for the patient and the television came on.
"Oh, thank you, nurse. I'm not used to hospitals; I hope I never have to get used to them!"
The two women laughed, and Natalie joined in towards the end, enjoying the good natures of both the nurse and the patient.
As they left the room, Natalie decided to begin her questions.
"So, Judy's new?" she said, as they walked back to the nurse's station.
"Yeah, she just came in here yesterday, thought she was havin' a heart attack but it was just heartburn; we're gonna observe her for a night just to be sure."
"Well, that's good. Was she on all those machines in there?" Natalie mentioned, having noticed a slew of heart machines all disconnected and sitting on the unoccupied side of the room.
"No. Two nights ago, one of our patients had a heart attack and died in that room. We tried everything we could to get her back, but it was too late. She was the mother of one of the nurses that works on this ward, and the sad thing was, that nurse was off-duty and got in a car wreck at the time that she passed away. She's the one who was supposed to train you today."
"I can't believe she even thought she should come in. That's terrible what happened to her."
Monk wiped off his scrubs with sleeve-covered hands, disgusted by the sight of a yellowish pool of liquid on floor next to him, less than a foot from where he sat. How had he not seen that? Geena watched all of this with great interest. A germaphobic nurse, what an oxymoron, she mused, smiling to herself. Wait—something about him sounded familiar…
He watched the brunette nurse pause for a moment as if deep in thought, and then she decided to speak, instead of just answer him.
"Well, you're gonna learn the tricks of the trade quickly here, Mr. Baska; you ask an awful lot of questions. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to make a phone call."
He looked at her, extremely suspicious. She smiled sheepishly, pointing down.
"There's urine on the floor next to you. I didn't notice it before, but now I have to call an orderly to clean it up. That is, unless you want to, which is fine…."
He cringed visibly, taking a step away from the human liquid waste.
She laughed. "That's what I thought. It's okay, it is pretty gross. It doesn't usually happen though, so don't worry."
She touched his arm, watching him jerk away as she took off in the direction of the nurse's station. Pam nodded to Geena as she approached Monk from the nurse's station, a tag in her hand.
"Well, we're going to have to wheel this patient down to the morgue. Would you like to see the facilities, Mr. Baska?" she asked him. A tour was preplanned so that Monk could view Cheryl's records and notice if anything seemed wrong. Unfortunately for the patient but fortunately for Monk and Natalie, there was now a legitimate reason to head down to the morgue today. Cheryl's body would still be down there, but this was the last day it would remain before it was sent to a funeral home, so the plan had to be airtight, fast, and effective.
"Alright."
"Here, bring the tag down to the room. Gary's waiting in there, so you don't actually have to put it on the patient yourself."
Natalie joined Monk and Gary in the room as the preparations were made for the body to be brought down to the morgue in the hospital basement.
The detective handed Gary the tag, a piece of paper with a strong synthetic thread looped through it, but not tied in a knot. The nurse proceeded to pull the sheets completely off of the patient—Monk closing his eyes at the sudden movement—and tie the thread around the patient's toe.
A jab in the side from Natalie, and Monk reopened his eyes, to see her looking at him—no, glaring at him—the patient thankfully covered in his nether regions with the remnants of the hospital gown around his waist. I have to tell her, he told himself over and over. I keep seeing things, interpreting her glances, her words, as sinister. But Natalie can't be like this. She just couldn't know. The—the thing—only lasted 22 seconds or so. I timed it. It's just not possible that she could have happened upon us at that time without saying anything. This—this just has to all be in my head. I have to tell her—before I explode in front of everybody. I have to….
"Now, guys, we have to put a special sheet under this patient before we can wheel him down," Gary said, the usual nurse to handle the lifting jobs, being as he was stronger than the other nurses on the ward. Pam waited back in the nurse's station, watching Geena disappear into the waiting room at the end of the hall. "Could somebody hold his head and roll him over with me so we can slide the sheet underneath?"
Natalie acted as if she hadn't heard the nurse's request, randomly pulling a stray wipe from her pocket and wiping her hands off with it, first one, then the other. Monk watched her, eyes agog, as she ensured that each finger and space between had been covered. What's she doing? Why is she ignoring the nurse? Where did she get that wipe? Monk pondered, his mind leaving the environment and focusing on this strange, Monk-like behavior by his assistant. Afterwards, she promptly tossed the used wipe into the trash can, ignoring the fact that Monk's mouth was now agape. She's mocking me; that's what she's doing!
"Mr.—Baska? Could you help me?"
Monk was shocked at the request, and stood there blankly, gaping at the body. Me, touch a dead body, a person that had just died? A stranger? There's no way I'm getting near it, let alone—
"Ms. Teeger? Can you hold his feet for me?"
"I'm sorry," she replied. "I'm extremely germaphobic—mainly about the deceased, though. I'd need like three pairs of gloves to touch him, and by the time I get them on, an hour would probably pass." She noticed his surprised gaze. "I could do it, but you may have to wait awhile." She paused, giving the nurse a half-smile. "At the clinic where I used to work, I was the sterility expert, so there was a use for me. No one ever caught hospital-borne infections in my ward."
"I believe you," Gary said, flashing her an approving smile. Is she flirting with this man right in front of me? Monk mused, suddenly feeling very out-of-place.
The blonde looked proud for a moment, smiling back at Gary, and then began speaking again. "So, would you still want me to—"
Monk flashed her a look of fear, which quickly turned to a look of confusion. What the hell is she trying to do? If I turn him down as well, it's going to look bad. I don't think I can handle this…. It's a dead body, though probably still warm…. Oh God.
"Mr. Baska, please help me. It's probably better that you help, because you can probably lift more anyway."
He immediately shot a look at the nurse, who was indicating the spot where Monk should stand, and he timidly walked over to it, using his peripheral vision to watch Natalie smile and cross her arms. We were so close, he thought. She always treated me so wonderfully, so caringly. She knew how much things bothered me, and helped me through them. God, I could kick myself for getting in such a mess….
The male nurse indicated the foot that Monk was to lift to facilitate flipping the corpse onto its side. "Just lift his left foot there—the one on your right—and hold it up so I can slide the sheet underneath him."
He went to touch the foot, and pulled back, unable to make eye contact with the nurse.
"Do you by any chance have any gloves?" he mumbled weakly, his stomach turning.
"You don't need 'em. This is a really quick process. Just lift up on it with me, okay?"
Nausea surrounded him, as his food meandered its way back up his throat. He gulped, hearing the loudness of the sound and praying that Gary didn't get suspicious. Natalie had blown any excuse he could have used dealing with his very real germaphobia, which now also meant that for the rest of the day he'd be forced to do the dirty work—around Gary, at least.
Grimacing, the detective managed to touch the bare foot of the dead man with his thumb and two fingers, but pulled away.
"It's still warm..." he murmured, itching for a wipe. How revolting. Three horrible elements in one job: a dead person, a bare foot, and it being a complete stranger with who knows what all over himself. The only dead person he hadn't minded touching in his entire life was Trudy, but even so, he hadn't fully comprehended her death at that point, so it truly didn't count.
"Yes, the body slowly cools down postmortem, but we have to speed that process once he's in the morgue for better preservation. Are you ready, Mr. Baska?"
Gritting his teeth and preparing for the ever-rising stomach contents to fill his mouth, he grabbed the man's foot and looked up at Gary in a near-panic, sweat beginning to bead up on his forehead but already dripping down his sides from his armpits.
"On the count of three, hold him up. One—two—three!"
Monk and Gary lifted simultaneously, Gary deftly sliding the sheet that he had draped over one arm underneath the body. The detective closed his eyes as he lifted the man, pretending as if it was the effort that was making him need to close his eyes in the struggle to lift. Natalie ran over and helped position the sheet, noticing that Monk had to be freaking out right about now, but that his eyes were indeed shut tightly. He's really dealing well, considering, she mused, watching him intently. Dead person. Bare foot. And the body, exposed in the open back of his hospital gown. Why won't Adrian just explain himself so all this foolishness can stop? I hate making him do this, but he needs to know just how much it hurts to be discarded for another on the very next day
"Okay, you can put him down now," the nurse added, after the sheet had been straightened.
Monk promptly let go, allowing the body to hit the sheet with a thud. Germs covered his hands, dead person germs, nakedish person germs, stranger germs. Gary was staring at him, still stunned that he had just let go of the body, so he had to wait to begin to wipe his hands off.
mmmmmm
Back in San Francisco, Captain Stottlemeyer and Lieutenant Disher were making their rounds along Pine Street where Adrian Monk resided, when they heard an alarm blaring from the vicinity of Adrian's house.
"Wanna swing by Monk's place, Captain?" the young cop asked the red-headed man sitting in the passenger's seat.
Stottlemeyer considered for a second and smiled at Disher, who jumped at any chance he could to drive the squad cars a little bit further than planned.
"Why not? That alarm going off can't be his own, but even so, we may as well see what's going on and stop that alarm before he freaks out completely. Wait—he probably already has."
Both men chuckled, knowing the detective all too well.
"Do you think he'll be home?" the lieutenant inquired.
"Of course," Stottlemeyer replied matter-of-factly. "He never goes out, unless he's on a case or—grocery shopping, but he always does that on Mondays. Isn't it funny how I remember that?"
"How did you remember something like that, sir?"
Disher sure did know how to make someone feel competent, if nothing else.
"Well," he began to say, feeling his face getting warm. "I always notice that there are an awful lot of people that seem to come out of nowhere with unbagged groceries on Monday mornings, and no one's ever chasing them, and no store alarms are going off."
He took a moment to laugh before finishing up describing his observations.
"On Mondays, Monk always finds at least a buggy-full of expired groceries to clear out of the store before he begins shopping. I watched him do it one time. I think the tightwads of the town have become aware of this development too, and wait for the groceries to be thrown out back."
"Wow, Captain!" Disher commented, pulling out a pencil and notepad as he slowed the squad car down in front of the detective's apartment complex. "Those are great observations, proving why you're the captain of the department." He paused briefly, turning the page of his notepad over to reveal a clean sheet. "Um, you were saying… Which grocery store does he shop at?"
After some good-natured laughter from the captain, the answer wasn't given as it was now obvious that it was Adrian's apartment complex which had the blaring alarm. Disher excitedly parked the squad car in front of the entrance to the complex, and the two men walked up the front stoop to the gated doors, noticing that they had been jimmied open.
It had been a boring day at the SFPD so far, with no major criminal occurrences other than the occasional call of vandalism or a purse snatching, and so, a slight change of pace was welcome. However, their day was about to get much less welcoming, as the pair approached Adrian's heavily damaged, wide open front door.
Whenever you review my story I will acknowledge you each and every time, AND I will make an effort to read & review your stories, even if they are a different genre. So you will be getting more reviews as well as me. I don't think of this fanfiction thing as a contest, but I'll assume that the people who refrain from reviewing do. I think of the R&R process as a mutual friendship between authors seeking feedback. Let's face it, we all post here for that. Why else would we go through all the trouble of letting others read our stories? Thanks, everyone. --Amy