Intentional End
Chapter 22
Sunday Morning
October 14
Bobby drove to Methodist General, his mind awash with random thoughts. He had spent his whole childhood and adolescence living with a crazy woman and it seemed he would continue to do so as a husband. He was able to ferret out the sequence in Gleason's behaviour from years of tracking his mother's sequences. Bobby learned early to recognise the subtle changes in expression, breathing, stance and this ability helped make him the detective he was.
He knew his wife was not crazy and certainly not schizophrenic. Gleason's oddities early in their relationship stemmed from her upbringing and Clive's abuse. But this, this was different.
He was certain she had been programmed not to reveal any details from the work she had done. She'd been in Russia, which explained the sudden speaking of it. Pushtovkin, in the upper tundra . . . he needed to research that.
Bobby pulled into the emergency lot and entered the ER.
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"You get her and get this over with, do you hear me?" Peterson was out of his mind. This one woman had caused the department more time, anxiety, and money than any other recruit. Jesus! Malcolm Conway had been a piece of cake, not that he had contributed anything to the expedition; nevertheless, he had wiped clean in one try. That Sutton fellow had posed a problem, too, but not like this. Of course, they had fixed that problem before it got out of hand. This was out of hand.
Wycoff flipped shut his phone and checked his watch, then prepared for his afternoon.
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"You can go back and see her, Mr. Wintermantle; she's in bay seven, through those doors."
Bobby nodded and waited for the controlled-access doors to open, then stepped through. He found Gleason and was shocked to see George Huang by her side.
"Detective," he said softly.
"Doctor Huang! What are you doing here, I, forgot to let you know. . ." Bobby stammered, stealing looks at his wife.
"Detective Eames informed me when I arrived at your office." Both men looked at the woman asleep before them. "What happened?"
"Uh, this, this is what I wanted to speak with you about. She's, uh, she's been . . .," Bobby stopped and had to take several deep breaths, he was fighting tears.
"Detective, let's talk outside," Huang put a gentle hand on the tall man's upper arm.
"No! No, I need to stay with her; they might come for her. I, I can't leave her," Bobby said urgently. "I can't leave," Bobby set a hand on the blanket covering Gleason and held onto her shin.
Huang looked at Bobby and the pieces started to fall in place. His use of 'they' made sense in light of last evening's phone call. "Let me speak to someone. I'll make sure she's safe and then we can talk outside." He wasn't sure the detective even heard him.
The doctor left and Bobby stared at the only woman he would ever love. He stepped to her head and ran his palm over her forehead, the back of his hand over her cheek.
"Excuse me; I need to get her vitals," a male nurse said, whipping back the curtain. "Please step outside."
"I'm staying," Bobby replied.
The nurse gave Bobby a disdainful look, clipped an O2 monitor onto Gleason's left index finger and proceeded to take her temperature, blood pressure, and the rest whilst Bobby stood aside and observed.
"All set," Dr. Huang said, returning to Bobby's side. "A guard will be posted here and nothing will happen. Since she's calm now, she will probably go to a medical room and they will monitor her." Huang looked at the woman and was eager to get the detective outside. "Come on, Detective, let's go outside."
Bobby was reluctant to go, but agreed when the security guard appeared. Bobby looked at Gleason one more time and followed the short doctor through the doors and outside.
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After four more phone calls and much discussion, Wycoff made the decision to abort the second abduction. No way was that maniac husband of hers going to let her out of his sight tonight or anytime soon. The whole plan was set back until she was back in Evanston. Now Wycoff had to call Peterson and inform him of the change of plans. The boss was not going to like this.
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Huang and Bobby sat together on a bench; Bobby sat forward, his head in his hands, wondering where to begin. And then Huang shocked him.
"I cannot help you, Detective."
Bobby's head shot up and he said, "What? Why not?"
Huang stood and said sadly, "I cannot help you. Let this play out. You cannot make a difference. It has to happen as it will."
Bobby could not believe what the most respected shrink in the NYPD was telling him. "They got to you, didn't they? What did they tell you?" The doctor looked away. "You have to help me. I don't know what to do. Please."
Huang wanted nothing more than to help this man, but he had been warned and he was smart enough to believe what he had been told. Huang knew that what these people were doing was wrong and he hated himself for not being strong enough to help his colleague; but, he was no fool, he also knew what they were capable of. Besides, it was fruitless to try and convince Goren of anything; his reputation for tenacity was legendary.
"I am sorry, Detective."
Bobby stood up and put his hand on the other man's shoulder, "Please, what have they done to her? That's all, tell me that. Is she going to recover? Will she ever be the same? Just tell me." Bobby looked down at the psychiatrist with pleading eyes.
"Detective, I, I really am sorry. Forgive me." And Dr. Huang turned and walked away.
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"Are you shitting me?! Absolutely not! You take care of this now, today. Do you understand me? Today, Wycoff, today!" Peterson smacked shut his phone and threw it across the room. Then, he crossed and picked it up from behind the sofa table just as Marian came down the steps.
"Who were you yelling at?" she asked.
"The ass-hole."
Marian chuckled, "What did he do this time?"
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Bobby sat on the bench for several minutes, elbows on knees, hands wringing, mind spinning. He had never felt so alone. He honestly didn't know what to do. Then, his cell rang, "Goren."
"Bobby, it's me. How is she?"
"Eames. She's, uh, she's quiet now, asleep."
Neither partner said anything; then Bobby asked, "Is Deakins pissed?"
"He's not been in. So, no."
Another long silence which Bobby broke with a soft, "Are you?"
Eames didn't respond right away, "No, Bobby, I'm not upset. I'm just worried about you. You and Gleason."
"We'll, we'll be ok. Listen, if they keep her, and they probably will, I'll come in this evening. Leave what you want me to do on my desk. If, if they let her come home, I'll stop by and pick it up. Ok?"
"Bobby, forget it; I've got it covered. Just take care of Gleason. And yourself. Call me tomorrow and let me know how she is."
Bobby had to take a minute to steady himself, "Alex, thank you. Thanks for understanding. For taking care of everything. Thank you."
Eames heard her partner stifle a sob, "I'll talk to you tomorrow. Get some rest."
Bobby slipped his phone into his pocket and sat on the bench with his thumbs under his chin and fingers steepled against his face. He had to find someone to help him. They had gotten to Deakins and Huang; but not Eames.
Bobby stood and returned to the ER.
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Wycoff had never disobeyed an order and did not want to start, but he knew he was right to wait. This would probably be the end of his career, and he didn't particularly care. He would submit his resignation anyway and go into private service. He had had it with Peterson and the rest of it. Fuck it, he thought and dialed the nine hundred sex-line number from memory.
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Bobby waited at the controlled-access door until someone noticed him and opened it. He walked through and headed for bay seven, where Gleason lay. He rounded the corner and found the bay empty.
"Where's my wife?!" he said to the nurse he grabbed going by, "Where is she? She was right here. Where is she?" He was near panic.
"Calm down, sir, calm down. Let me find out. She may be off having tests. Stay right here. I'll see where she is."
Bobby's hands went to his face and he turned, looking for her. Jesus Christ, they took her! I knew I shouldn't have left her. I knew it! The guard, where's that guard? The nurse was taking too long and Bobby found her at the nurses' station waiting for someone to finish on the phone. "Did you find out where she is? A guard was posted to keep an eye on her."
"We're looking for her now. This person is checking. Just wait," the nurse replied kindly.
Bobby ran his left hand over the top of his head and down the back of his neck. He couldn't keep still. His right hand went over his mouth. He kept turning around, searching. "Where's that guard? You know, that security guard who was supposed to watch her. Where is he?"
"Sir, please. Give us a moment."
The person on the phone hung up and said to Bobby and the nurse, "She's been admitted to a medical room, 602. You can go up and see her."
Bobby nearly slumped with relief, "Thank you, thank you." He turned, looking for the elevators.
"Around the corner, down the hall, on your left," the person behind the desk said.
He started off and the two nurses just shook their heads.
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Bobby found room 602 and entered. She was in the first bed, asleep. He stood at the foot and thanked God. He went to the side and pulled up the chair, sat, and set his left ankle over his right knee. He slouched with his left elbow on the arm of the chair and chewed on his thumb.
"Oh, hello."
Bobby looked up at the doctor standing in the doorway and stood. "Hi, I'm Robert Goren, her husband. Are you, are you her doctor?" Bobby stuck out his hand and the men shook.
"Dr. Stuart, her neurologist. What happened, exactly, why did you bring her in?" The doctor dragged over the other chair and they sat.
For the next twenty minutes, Bobby told it all – every detail, including his call to Dr. Fairchild and her refusal to see Gleason. He also shared his theories about what was going on. It felt so good to tell someone, to give it to someone. Dr. Stuart listened without interruption.
When Bobby finished, the men sat quietly and then Dr. Stuart said, "Well, that is fascinating. You wife's file showed she had seen Dr. Fairchild following the miscarriage. I spoke with Dr. Fairchild about your wife before coming up to see her." The doctor stood and then said, "As soon as you wife wakes up, I'm going to release her." Bobby looked up at him in disbelief.
"What? You're going to release her? Why? Don't you need to do tests?" Then he knew – "They told you to leave her alone, didn't they?" Bobby stood and his gut burned.
"Mr. Goren, your wife is fine; there is no reason to keep her. This is an informed medical decision based on assessments of her well-being and insurance recommendations. That's all, nothing sinister." The doctor spoke sincerely, professionally.
If the insane events of the previous days hadn't shaped his reality, Bobby would have believed him and been grateful. He put his hands to his face again and two-stepped in a box, not knowing what to say, what to do.
The doctor watched the detective pace and was eager to leave; he wanted to get this woman out of his hospital and to forget all about these two. "She should be awake within the hour. I'll get the discharge papers ready and you'll be ready to take her home as soon as she is awake." The doctor turned and left. It was one o'clock in the afternoon.