Michael Palmer - Natural Causes

A few minutes after that, Sarah approached Wes. Charming the aide was easy. Charming him without having him touch her was not. She flirted as she had not for many, many years and pandered to his ego in every way she could. She made thinly veiled promises that had the man's fantasies exploding like Independence Day fireworks. She ran her lips over the rim of her coffee cup as if it held vintage Dom Perignon. By dawn, she had learned how mealtimes were organized on Underwood Six. Group A-one of two classifications-were the least stable patients on the unit. They went down for meals in the cafeteria, but with no more than two patients per staff member. However, the evening shift staff had determined that Sarah was not predictable enough even for Group A. Her breakfast was to be sent up to the unit. The day shift could decide about lunch. Now, some flattery, some promises, and a few come-hither smiles had bought her a promotion. Wes had moved a patient to Group B and added her name to the Group A list. She would be dining in the cafeteria from six forty-five to seven-fifteen.

A none-too-subtle allusion to the anatomical secrets known only to M.D.'s, and Wes also allowed her to use the phone in the staff office, although that deal almost fell through when she begged off sitting on his lap while doing so. Before Wes signaled that the shift nurse had finished preparing meds and Sarah needed to vacate the staff office, she had managed to make two calls. The first was to Matt's home; she felt sick when she heard his answering machine come on. The second was to the hospital page operator, who functioned as the answering service for Eli Blankenship. Sarah had written out the message she wanted the operator to give him. However, after a minute on hold, to Sarah's surprise, the medical chief himself came on the line. He had spent the night in the hospital, he said, and was napping on the couch in his office.

"Sarah, are you all right?" he asked as soon as he heard her voice. "How did you get to a phone at this hour?"

"I'll tell you that one when I see you, Dr. Blankeship. And no, I'm not all right. I need to get off this ward, and quickly."

"Sarah, Dr. Goldschmidt is the only one who can discharge you from a locked ward. I'm sorry, but that's the-"

"Please, Dr. Blankenship. I don't have much time on this phone. You said yesterday you believed me in your gut. And that was even before everyone found out I was telling the truth about Andrew. You've got to believe me now. Something terrible is going on in this hospital. It involves a company called Huron Pharmaceuticals-the company that supplies vitamins to Peter Ettinger's weight loss company. I can prove it."

"How?"

"I'm going to be in the cafeteria for breakfast at six forty-five. Can you be there?"

"Yes, but-"

"Just keep an eye on me. You'll know what to do."

"You said proof."

"Can you get us into the Chilton Building?"

"I… yes. Yes, I can."

"The proof is there. Dr. Blankenship, I've got to go. Please trust me. Please be there for me."

"Count on it," Eli Blankenship said.

One of the mental health workers called out the list of those in Group A. Sarah shuffled over to where they were convening by the electronically controlled door. After a brief discussion among the staff-Sarah sensed that it dealt with her-the door was buzzed open, and the procession of six patients and three overseers made its way off the locked ward. Standing off to one side, Wes gave her a wink and a thumbs-up sign.

The MCB cafeteria was modestly busy, primarily with residents and nurses. Sarah felt herself under scrutiny as she queued with her group. But after nearly six months of the hell she had already endured, she barely noticed.

Keep staring, everyone, she thought. In just a few minutes, you're going to get a real eyeful.

She selected items with no intention of eating them, and kept searching for Eli Blankenship. The mental health workers assigned each patient to one of two tables. Sarah positioned herself to get as wide a view of the cafeteria as possible. It was then that she noticed the delivery floor nurse, Joanne Delbanco, having coffee at the next table over.

"Joanne," she said in a half whisper.

"Oh, hello, Sarah."

The nurse looked away quickly, but not before Sarah saw the expression of distaste on her face. Sarah knew the keepers were watching her. One sign that she was annoying the hospital staff, and she might find herself on the way back to Underwood Six. Still, she had to try.

"Joanne, just tell me how Annalee is doing. Is she all right?"

The nurse hesitated for an interminable few seconds and then made a partial turn back, almost speaking over her shoulder.

"If you must know," she said coolly, "she's in active labor. She'll probably deliver sometime this morning or early this afternoon."

Sarah was horrified.

"What about the terbutaline?" she asked.

Sarah could see the two keepers at her table exchanging glances. She was operating right on the edge of their tolerance now, and Blankenship still hadn't appeared.

"Dr. Snyder stopped all her medications," Joanne replied. "He felt that the stress you-the stress she's been through was enough. The baby's big enough, and the surfactant level is-"

"Joanne," Sarah cut in excitedly, "you've got to find Dr. Snyder. He's got to do a section on her before it's too late."

"I've got to what?"

"Sarah, I think that's enough," one of the keepers said.

"Joanne, please. It's-"

"Sarah, if you don't stop right now, we're going back up to the unit early. Everyone in the group will be punished for your actions."

Sarah barely heard the man. The huge, bald pate and massive physique of Eli Blankenship had just appeared in the doorway farthest across the cafeteria from them.

Thank God. Sarah sighed. The news from Joanne Delbanco had changed everything. She was no longer fixed on getting into the Chilton Building. Now the only thing that really mattered was to explain the situation to Blankenship and get him up to the labor and delivery floor. With his influence, and perhaps Rosa Suarez's as well, they might be able to convince Snyder to perform a cesarean on Annalee before disaster struck.

If, in addition, they could stop the demolition of the Chilton Building, so much the better. But Annalee and her baby were far higher priorities than anything-or anyone-that might be buried beneath the rubble.

Okay, everyone, Sarah thought. It's showtime.

"I don't feel well," she whimpered.

"What's the matter?"

"I–I don't know. I'm dizzy and-and I keep seeing these little flashing dots of light."

"Has this ever happened before?… Sarah, I asked you if this has ever happened before?"

Sarah began by snapping her hands rhythmically at her wrists. Then she jerked her head up and down. Her eyelids flickered, and beneath them her eyes rolled up until only the whites showed.

"Sarah!" someone cried out.

At that instant, affecting a dreadful, gurgling moan, she threw herself backward, twisting just enough to avoid smashing her head against the linoleum.

"She's having a seizure!" she heard the mental health worker exclaim. "Back off, everyone! Back away! Just let her be!"

You ass, Sarah thought. Get me on my side!

"Out of the way!" she heard Eli Blankenship's voice boom. "Get her on her side quickly, before she aspirates!"

He worked his beefy hand beneath her head to cushion it, moved her on to her side, and then slipped his billfold between her teeth. Sarah bit down on the wallet, continued her seizure activity for another half a minute, and then allowed herself to slow down. Next would be a lapse into "unconsciousness."

"I'm her medical doctor," Blankenship explained with calm authority. "She has a past history of epilepsy. There's nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing. Everything's going to be all right. That's it, Sarah. You're doing fine. I think just in case, we ought to get her over to the ER. Would someone please call transportation and have a litter sent down?"