CHAPTER 5: Weaver

It was deathly quiet when I entered the NICU. Less than a minute ago. I'd heard that Abby had gone into premature labor and was in the OR, where they were doing everything they could to avoid a hysterectomy. When I found Luka standing beside the incubator, I figured that Abby had told him to be with their baby, which was perfectly understandable. After all, if I was in her position, I sure as hell wouldn't want my baby to go through this alone.
"Jerry's in recovery," I told Luka. "I thought you might wanna know."
Even that bit of good news didn't do much to lift Luka's spirits. "And what about Sam?" he asked.
"Her left arm is broken, and she'll be in a cast for at least six weeks. But other than that, she's fine. No concussion, no internal damage. And Alex is gonna be okay, too."
Eyes still downcast and focused on his son, Luka nodded.
"This is a scary place. I—I remember the feeling just walking in here. I know your baby is a lot sicker than Henry was, but everything turned out okay for him, Luka. And I know yours will be okay, too."
Luka turned to face me. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was struggling to come to grips with what he'd been through so far, and what he was going through now. "They're—they're concerned about prolonged hypotension," he said, barely keeping his voice steady. "And he's on 100% oxygen, so there's a risk of toxicity. And—and they..." He stopped to fight the sobs that were gnawing at his throat before continuing, "They're gonna do, uh—periodic ultrasounds. To check for intraventricular hemorrhage."
My heart sank when I heard those words. Statistically speaking, most babies who are born two months premature have a high chance of survival, although complications can still occur. There was also the risk of cerebral palsy, cognitive impairments, or vision problems, depending on the severity of prematurity. But I had to stay positive—not just for Luka and Abby, but for their newborn son as well. "There's nothing more you can do for him," I said gently as I put a hand on his shoulder. "You should go be with Abby."
"She doesn't want him to be alone," he reminded me.
"He won't be. I'll stay with him."
"Thanks, Kerry. Oh, c—can you ch-check on Sam?"
"Absolutely."
Luka nodded again, then slowly turned and walked away. Also, I'm not too sure, but I thought I heard him very softly praying in Croatian.
I stayed with the baby for at least half an hour before one of the NICU Residents took over. After telling her to keep me in the loop, I went down the hall to find out which room Sam and Alex were in.
"Hi, Sam," I whispered when I entered the room.
"Hey," she murmured in response. She had a bandage over her right eye, both hands were bandaged, and her left arm was in a cast. Alex was sound asleep in the bed next to her. Other than the bandage on his forehead and some bruises on his face, he would live.
"How are you, sweetie?"
"Eh, I've been better."
"You're gonna be okay. You only bruised your ribs in the crash, and the ultrasound showed that you didn't even need a splenectomy. You were very lucky."
"So they say."
I bit my lip before asking, "Uh, I know this is kind of awkward, but—did they do a rape exam?"
Sam shook her head. "I don't need one. That bastard didn't get a chance to do anything."
"That's a relief. Did, uh—did they find Steve and the others?"
"They're all dead," Sam answered. "Mary and Rafe were killed in the crash, and Steve took the chicken-shit way out and shot himself."
"Oh."
"God forgive me, and don't tell Alex I said this, but as far as I'm concerned, good riddance."
I was taken aback when I heard Sam say that, but at the same time, I could appreciate where she was coming from.
"Look, Sam," I said as I pulled up a stool and sat down at her bedside, "I know you've probably heard this a million times today, but none of this is your fault. You know that, don't you?"
"Yeah, I know, Dr. Weaver," Sam nodded as a tear slid down her face. "I'm more worried about Alex than me. He hasn't said a word all this time. Not when I found him in the back of that van, not when the cops were chasing us, not even when we were brought back here. If he ever does start talking again, I'm afraid he's gonna do something really crazy. Oh, my God, what if he grows up to be like Steve?"
And that's when the floodgates opened. She covered her face with her good hand and started crying. And I mean the deep, loud, guttural cries that finally break through after spending God knows how much time trying to maintain that stiff upper lip.
"Oh, Sam, shh," I soothed. I stood up and, being as careful as possible not to touch her injured arm, wrapped her in a protective, motherly embrace. As I held her, I could tell that she was shaking life a leaf.
"I'm scared, Dr. Weaver," she sobbed, clinging to me for dear life. "I'm so scared for him. I don't want him to go down the same road his dad went down."
"I know. I know you're upset, and I don't blame you. Steve and his friends had no right to do what they did to you, Luka or Alex. It's not his fault, it's not Alex's fault, and it sure as hell isn't your fault. This was all their doing. But it's over now. They can't hurt anyone anymore. And right now, you need to stay focused on getting well, and taking care of your son. Okay?"
Sam nodded against my shoulder. She was still crying, but her tears had subsided somewhat. I held her and let her cry for as long as she needed to.
"Sam," I said once we separated, "I know you probably don't wanna hear this, but if I were you, I would talk to somebody in Psych about this."
She took a minute to consider my suggestion, then said, "Maybe. I dunno."
"Want me to talk to Dr. DeRaad?"
"Well—I suppose it could help," she acquiesced. "And you're right, Alex is gonna need someone to talk to."
"I'll call him first thing in the morning."
"Thanks. God, my arm hurts like a son of a bitch."
I helped Sam lie back in bed, then pressed the analgesia button to administer some morphine. And yes, the machine had been set to give her the proper amount.
"I need to get home now. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay. Hey, could you check on Abby before you go?"
"Sure thing. In the meantime, you need to get some sleep now."
"Way ahead of ya."
"Goodnight, Sam."
"'Night."
I whispered goodnight to Alex, then quietly walked out of the room.
As I made my way down the hall, a million things went through my head. I was concerned for Alex and Sam, and even more so for Luka, Abby and their baby. But more than anything else, I was dreading my meeting with Anspaugh and the review board. There was no question that they'd be looking for someone to take the rap—not only for what happened today, but also for the whole Clemente fiasco. And it was blindingly obvious that that someone was going to be Luka.
But, as cliché as this sounds, we'd cross that bridge when we came to it.