C. Lawrence - Silent Screams

He squinted up at the doctor's face. "St. Vincent's."

Dr. Patel's face brightened.

"Good," he said, like a teacher bestowing praise upon a promising student. "Very good."

Lee felt pleased with himself, and sank back into oblivion.

When he awoke again the light outside his window had faded into a twilight gray, and the blinds had been partially drawn. A suspended plastic bag dripped clear fluid into an IV line in his left arm. To his great relief, his right arm was unencumbered. He cleared his throat, startling the young nurse who was studying his chart at the foot of his bed. She let go of the chart and looked down at him. Her eyes were honey colored, just a shade lighter than her hair, which was the color of winter wheat, and very straight. It was pulled into an untidy ponytail fastened at the nape of her neck. She was very young, with a pointed chin and a sweet, heart-shaped face. The sound of his voice had startled her, but she tried to cover her surprise with a professional manner.

"Mr. Campbell, you're awake." She looked at him as if that were impossible. "How do you feel?"

"Well, let's see. Sort of like I've been run over by a large vehicle, then thrown down several flights of stairs, and finally, been used as a punching bag." His neck was so stiff he couldn't move his head, and his whole body felt heavy and exhausted. "Is this the psych ward?"

She looked puzzled. "No, of course not."

Relief flooded over him like rainwater. "Good. That's good. So what's wrong with me?"

The young nurse lowered her eyes. "I'd better let the doctor explain that to you."

"Okay, can I see him-or her?"

The whole conversation seemed to take place underwater-dreamlike, through a dim haze. The nurse looked at him wistfully and walked out into the hall. Her expression puzzled Lee-was he really that sick, or was he misreading something else for pity? He sank back into sheets smelling faintly of bleach and closed his eyes. He dreamed of swimming in the indoor pool at his high school, where the aroma of Clorox pervaded the air.

When he opened his eyes again, Dr. Patel was standing beside his bed. He wore the same crooked name tag, and he looked tired. He had a dolorous, basset hound face with sad dark eyes and a sagging jaw line. His skin was very dark, and his heavy lips had a bluish tinge.

"Do you know why you are here, Mr. Campbell?" he asked. His voice was very British, very correct, with only a graceful twist of his r's and slight roundness of vowels to suggest his Indian origins.

"I'm sick?"

"What can you remember?"

Lee tried to think, but all he could recall was being at home. There was some bad news, very bad news. He remembered hearing Butts's voice outside his door, then falling-sinking? — to his knees on the living room rug.

"Eddie," he said.

Dr. Patel looked puzzled. "Eddie? Who's that?"

"I think I can help you, Doctor," said a familiar voice behind Patel.

Nelson stepped forward into view. He didn't look good. His blue eyes were rimmed with deep purple circles underneath them, and his skin was mottled and dull looking. He looked exhausted.

"You gave us bit of a scare, lad," he said, leaning over the bed. The smell of alcohol oozed from his pores.

"So who is Eddie?" Dr. Patel demanded, his voice petulant.

"He was a good friend who died," Nelson answered.

Dr. Patel reached for Lee's wrist to take his pulse. He looked overworked and impatient, but held his personal feelings in check behind a firm professional facade.

"Are you my doctor?" Lee asked.

"I'm Dr. Patel, your neurologist."

"Neurologist?"

"You have an infection of the brain," Dr. Patel continued. "For a while it was touch and go, but we believe we now have it under control."

The first thing Lee felt was relief. It wasn't depression-an infection he could handle. He looked up at Nelson, and he wanted to tell him not to worry, that this was far better than mental illness, but he couldn't think of how to communicate that.

He caught the nurse looking at him again as she fiddled with an IV line. Was that longing in her eyes, or just compassion?

"We're treating you with a series of wide-spectrum antibiotics," the doctor continued, "and so far you've been responding well. How do you feel?"

Like my head has been used as a paperweight, Lee wanted to say, but he just shrugged.

"Fine."

Nelson snorted. "Okay, how do you really feel?"

"Not bad," Lee lied. The truth was that no matter how much his head throbbed, no matter how weak and confused he felt, it was better than those endless, mind-numbing days of depression, when his soul felt as if it were on fire, and consciousness itself was an unbearable burden.

"How's the investigation going? What have I missed?"

"Very well, that's enough for now," Dr. Patel intervened. "You mustn't wear yourself out."

"How long have I been here?" said Lee.

Nelson and Patel exchanged a glance.

"How long?" Lee demanded.

Finally Nelson spoke.

"Three days."

"Three days? What the hell was going on for three days?"

"You collapsed in your apartment three days ago with a cero-spinal meningitis," Patel said, his voice very clipped and brisk.

"Cero-what?"

"It is a brain fever, usually bacterial. You remained in a coma for three days, from which you have now awakened."

Lee looked at Nelson.

"It's true, lad," Nelson said softly.

Lee shifted his gaze to Patel. "Bacterial…so it's not contagious?"

"No."

"When can I get out of here?"

"Let us not be in too much of a hurry, now," Patel cautioned. "You have been very ill, you know. You are responding well to the antibiotics, but-"

"But I'm working on an important case-"

"Lee," Nelson interrupted, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Chuck is concerned about you. We all are."

That sounded like a prelude to bad news.

"What? What is it?" Lee demanded, feeling panic rising in his throat. "What's happened? Was there another victim?"

"No, no, nothing's happened," Nelson reassured him. "It's just that-" He paused and looked away.

"He's not taking me off the case?" Lee could hear his voice tightening, becoming shrill.

"Please," said Dr. Patel. "Please do not become agitated-"

Nelson rubbed his left eyebrow and looked away from Lee. "Chuck thought you could use some rest."

"I just had three days of rest, for Christ's sake!"

"I know, I know," Nelson replied.

Dr. Patel attempted once again to intervene. "Now, I really must insist-"

"But Lee, you almost died! Did you know that?"

"Well, I'm here now, aren't I?"

"Gentlemen, please!" Dr. Patel's voice now held an edge of panic.

"Let me talk to Chuck," Lee pleaded.

"You can try," Nelson said, "but I don't know-"

"Now you really must be leaving!" Dr. Patel practically shouted, taking Nelson by the shoulders. "If you are not leaving I will be calling security to have you removed!"

"All right, I'm going," Nelson growled. "Chuck will be by when his shift is over. You can talk to him then," he called over his shoulder as the doctor pushed him out of the room.

Patel returned to Lee's bedside after Nelson was in the hall. "You must not be getting so upset," he said, checking Lee's pulse. "It really is not advisable."

"Sorry." Lee's temples were pulsing with pain, and his body ached with exhaustion.

Dr. Patel frowned. "I am going to be blunt with you, Mr. Campbell. If you do not allow your body time to heal, you cannot hope to recover. If you attempt to hurry the process, you could very well end up in hospital again-or worse. Do you understand what I am saying to you?"

Lee looked away. "Yes," he said, trying to stifle a yawn. "I understand." But what he was thinking was how quickly he could talk them into letting him out of this place.