Chapter 6

Michael woke with the sudden jolt of realization that he hadn't been dreaming; a building had really come down with him in it! For a split second it had felt like the end of the world when he was blinded by the swirl of debris and the floor beneath him gave way. It was the same 'whooosh' sensation one would get on the hill of a roller coaster times about a hundred...or a thousand. The bottom truly dropped out and the walls closed in - not as a figure of speech either, but in the truest sense of the words. He'd hit ground level sideways as the house of cards that had once been National Medical Center toppled, with one arm beneath him...His arm! His hand! Were they broken? For the first few awful minutes after he opened his eyes, Michael couldn't move them...or even feel them! (What if Jaime needed more surgery? They couldn't be broken!) He looked at the limb, trying to take stock of his own injury and while it wasn't in a cast, the entire arm from shoulder to wrist had been immobilized. As he looked himself over, suddenly he could feel again - and it was agonizing. With his other hand, he hit the call button.

In response to his questions, the attending physician told Michael that he'd suffered a dislocated shoulder (that had been re-set). ''There were no fractures -''

''Thank God,'' Michael interjected.

''But you've suffered a severe bone bruise. I'm sure you know the drill better than I do. Immobilization, anti-inflammatories, rest...and it could be weeks or even months -''

''Was there a woman brought in from the building collapse?'' Michael asked quickly, his thoughts already on his patient rather than himself. If Jaime had been struck in the head by falling debris, the result could be devastating!

''Yes; your patient is here. She wasn't injured in the collapse though. Possible overdose.''

''I need you to discharge me,'' Michael requested, ''so I can get in there and start treating her. She needs me.'' (He would check out Against Medical Advice if necessary, but going through the proper channels was always preferable.)

The attending physician nodded. If Michael had been a 'normal' patient, he might've been kept another day or possibly longer before discharge - but his reputation as an expert in his field was weighty enough that his request could be honored. ''I'll get the paperwork going right away,'' the doctor told him.

While he waited, Michael laid back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling as he tried to figure out what had happened. He'd seen Mark - with the tranquilizer gun drawn and primed, ready to fire - make a sudden charge down the hall so quickly that he'd nearly lost sight of him. Michael never saw Steve or Jaime, never heard them either - but he knew they were still there because he heard Mark yell for Steve to stop, to put Jaime down and leave her there. Then there had been SO many sounds simultaneously that he could barely sort them out. A window was broken...a shot was fired...and from somewhere deep inside the building, Michael was sure he'd heard one more sound...a bomb.

After she'd given her patient some time to collect herself and nap off more of the effects of her overdose (and overwrought exhaustion), Irene Cohen returned. The only warning was a steady, hostile glare - and then the therapist barely had time to duck to avoid the dinner tray flung in her direction. ''Now that wasn't wise,'' she told Jaime, stepping over the strewn food and tableware and shaking her head. ''Are you auditioning for a 72 hour psych hold?''

''Leave. Me. Alone!''

''I can have you sent upstairs right now with the propensity to violence you've just shown me! Do you want to be locked up?''

''Irene, I'll take over from here,'' said a calm voice from the doorway.

''Mark!'' Jaime cried in relief. ''Please...help me!'' Then she saw Oscar standing just behind him, his dark eyes even more grim than Jaime was used to and his worry lines deepening into crevices. ''Noooo...'' she said softly, turning her face and then her whole body toward the wall.

Irene looked questioningly at the two men. ''I'm not 'back','' Mark tried to explain as they stepped aside to indicate that Irene should leave. ''We'll keep you posted.'' He followed her several steps into the hallway and whispered the rest of his 'instructions'. ''But you'll be 'locking up' my patient over my dead body,'' he snarled, very softly. ''It isn't going to happen. At all. Ever.''

Irene pulled away from him, turned on her heels and stalked off down the hall while Mark returned to the room. He stopped at the foot of Jaime's bed and had to take a moment to collect himself. What had happened to her in the less than 24 hours since she'd been admitted? Jaime's gaze was wild, unfocused and not there, as if she were watching some unseen horror unfolding. Her face was puffy and tear-stained and at some point she'd cried hard enough to make both of her eyes look blackened but the sobs that wracked her whole body now were tearless. Although she'd spoken to Mark (and glared stonily at Oscar) just moments before, suddenly she didn't seem to even know they were there...because in her mind she wasn't there. Mark knew all too well what these signals meant - and it broke his heart to see she'd taken such a drastic backslide in less than a single day.

He didn't dare approach her; not yet. Instead, he turned to Oscar. ''Send someone for ice, fast'' he ordered, taking charge even though he was the one being supervised. ''And lemons.''

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